EPISODE 2
The Glass Desert
Even so, his fantastic conception had been an errant one. Seventy-six years ago, Bessarias proved it false, beyond any shadow of a doubt. It was not entirely wrong, for the calengalad, as his master had named his hypothetical grain, was real enough. The problem was that it was more truly a seed than Arilon had ever imagined, for it was not so much an object in its own right as a little world containing worlds of its own. It was an accumulation of other, smaller elements, ethereal sparks of light that danced and whirled like maddened fairies intoxicated on the bacchanal blood of a toadstool. It could even be broken, as Bessarias learned to his horror when he accidentally created the Glass Desert.
It was a dreadful mistake, but a significant one. In more ways than one. Indeed, the ghastly cataclysm brought about by his experiments marked only the third time in recorded history that Elebrion’s High King had dared to intervene in the affairs of the Collegium. But on this occasion, there were no protests from the proudly independent college of magicians. Indeed, open relief was expressed throughout the college. A royal decree was made—there would be no more experiments involving the shattering of the sphere—as was Bessarias’s fame.
Or perhaps infamy would be a more accurate term. His name was known throughout all Selenoth now, and feared, as if he had meant to call up devils from that unknown plane of unthinkable power and knowingly penetrated the veil that should have at all costs remained inviolate.
But fear had brought him more than fame. It brought him power too. Now he was of the Seven, a member of the college’s ruling council. He was only the fifty-third archmage to hold mastery in two of the eight formal disciplines of the Octovium, and the fifth to do so in three. Arilon had been the fourth. He lacked for nothing. And yet, at this very moment, would he not trade everything for a simple answer that would tell him why the cursed giloi were behaving so strangely?
He had tried everything, drawn upon every single one of the Collegium’s vast resources. He had lashed demons with whips of celestial fire, mercilessly ripped speech from the lips of the dead, sent scores of apprentices digging through the college’s most ancient archives, and still he had learned nothing. The truth, whatever it was, would have to be found some other way.
There was a soft knock on the door. He waved a hand, and the door opened in obedience to his will.
“Greetings, Magistras.” The hooded elf bowed respectfully as a large grey cat leaped out from his arms. “Mastema suggested you might be finishing soon. I trust I do not disturb you?”
“Ah, Kilios. Come in, come in. I am already disturbed, though not by you.” He sighed heavily. “I wrestle with the pillars of the universe, and they are less forthcoming than your visions.”
“Such is the burden of greatness, Bessarias.” The cat’s yellow eyes were mocking. “Pillars aren’t generally known for their elocution. Perhaps that’s your problem.”
“Silence, Mastema,” Kilios rebuked his friend’s familiar. He was a gaunt wizard of great height, with eerie pupilless eyes set deeply in their sockets. He was a seer, a powerful one, and not all of his visions were pleasant. The knowledge of evil yet to come is perhaps the hardest wisdom of all, and over the years it had left its bitter mark on his haggard face. Blind, but not without sight, he walked the winding corridors of the great tower as easily as any other mage possessing more conventional vision.
“He tells me you have been holed up in here for three days. Will you eat?”
“Soon, I think. I am not yet hungry.”
“Of course. It is always hard to return to the world of carnate concerns.”
“It is indeed. Now tell me of the latest gossip. I remember there were rumors of an incipient battle in Nordfall.”
“Were there? I did not know. I was meditating alone yesterday, until Mastema did me the honor of paying his respects.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, seer.” The cat looked up from the paw it was washing. “There was a rat on your corridor.”
