felt a bead of sweat drip
down his back. Practicing forbidden arts was usually punished by death, and the
Court of Wizardry laughed at those claiming ignorance as a defense.
“Ignorance is no excuse.” The
orange-robed wizard intoned, as if he’d read Pancras’s mind.
“He was trained under the law.”
The Violet Wizard raised his hand in reply.
“Yes, yes.” The archmage glanced
aside to the Violet Wizard, irritation etched on his furrowed brow. “That is
why I am not ordering his death.”
Pancras let out a breath he did
not realize he had been holding. He heard the armor of the Golden Slayer rattle
as she shifted her weight behind him. Delilah tugged at his sleeve. Pancras
shook her hand away and gave her a short, crisp shake of his head in reply.
“I am thankful for that, Masters.
May I speak?”
The archmage rubbed his nose and
sniffed. “I suppose.”
“I am prepared to make payment
for all my lapsed guild dues, as well as any future dues I will accrue for the
remaining years of my life… to your best estimates, of course.” Pancras hoped
the lure of gold would be enough to put an end to this archmage’s machinations.
“He seeks to make restitution.”
“As an honorable wizard should.”
The archmage cut them off with
the wave of his hand. “Yes, fine. That is what you owe, but there is a matter
of punishment for the forbidden arts.”
“In my defense, I have not
actively practiced necromancy in at least five years”—he gestured at
Delilah—“as my friend here will attest.”
The archmage laughed. “I will not
accept the testimony of a renegade in this matter. It’s never even been trained
in the arts.”
Pancras sensed Delilah bristle
and placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in check. “She is a skilled
sorcerer. She has acquitted herself well in battle in the defense of others.”
“Whatever.” Archmage Vilkan
rubbed his knees and leaned forward. “Defense against wizards like you is a
skill so many of our kind neglect to learn. Indeed, reports from the north
indicate even teachers who know how to defend against your type are in short
supply.”
The fur at the back of Pancras’s
neck stood on end, and his stomach knotted up. He dreaded where the archmage
was headed with his tirade, and he suspected it would end with a conclusion he
would find unpleasant.
“You”—the archmage drew his wand
and pointed it at Pancras—“will go to Vlorey and assume the mantle of defenses
master there. Yepakououn katanankasmo sas mechri thanto .” The blast of
azure energy smashed into Pancras before he parsed the words spoken by Archmage
Vilkan. He’d never heard a spell recited so quickly.
Pancras wanted nothing more than
to go home. No, that’s not it. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes
shut. I want to go to Vlorey. They need a teacher. The icy fingers of
the shadow crept through his mind, and his head filled with hollow laughter.
Yes, Necromancer. You will go to
Vlorey. You will join us.
“Pancras? Pancras, are you all
right?”
He was on his knees now. Delilah
shook him. Pancras opened his eyes to see the Golden Slayer looming over him,
her hand outreached.
He brushed them off. “I’m all
right. I’m fine. It was just… it’s nothing. Fine. I’m fine.” Pancras stood, unsure
if he worked to convince them or himself that he was fine.
“You will serve in that capacity
for no fewer than five years, Pancras. Beginning from the time you take office,
of course. Gisella”—the archmage stowed his wand—“take the minotaur away. Assign
a slayer to accompany him to Vlorey to ensure he meets his obligation.”
“Sure the geas you placed upon
him—”
“Do as I say, Slayer.”
The Golden Slayer bowed and then
took Pancras by the arm. The minotaur allowed her to lead him out, all thoughts
of standing by Delilah replaced by a desire to journey to Vlorey as soon as
possible.
* * *
As the Golden Slayer took
Pancras’s arm to lead him away, Delilah
down his back. Practicing forbidden arts was usually punished by death, and the
Court of Wizardry laughed at those claiming ignorance as a defense.
“Ignorance is no excuse.” The
orange-robed wizard intoned, as if he’d read Pancras’s mind.
“He was trained under the law.”
The Violet Wizard raised his hand in reply.
“Yes, yes.” The archmage glanced
aside to the Violet Wizard, irritation etched on his furrowed brow. “That is
why I am not ordering his death.”
Pancras let out a breath he did
not realize he had been holding. He heard the armor of the Golden Slayer rattle
as she shifted her weight behind him. Delilah tugged at his sleeve. Pancras
shook her hand away and gave her a short, crisp shake of his head in reply.
“I am thankful for that, Masters.
May I speak?”
The archmage rubbed his nose and
sniffed. “I suppose.”
“I am prepared to make payment
for all my lapsed guild dues, as well as any future dues I will accrue for the
remaining years of my life… to your best estimates, of course.” Pancras hoped
the lure of gold would be enough to put an end to this archmage’s machinations.
“He seeks to make restitution.”
“As an honorable wizard should.”
The archmage cut them off with
the wave of his hand. “Yes, fine. That is what you owe, but there is a matter
of punishment for the forbidden arts.”
“In my defense, I have not
actively practiced necromancy in at least five years”—he gestured at
Delilah—“as my friend here will attest.”
The archmage laughed. “I will not
accept the testimony of a renegade in this matter. It’s never even been trained
in the arts.”
Pancras sensed Delilah bristle
and placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in check. “She is a skilled
sorcerer. She has acquitted herself well in battle in the defense of others.”
“Whatever.” Archmage Vilkan
rubbed his knees and leaned forward. “Defense against wizards like you is a
skill so many of our kind neglect to learn. Indeed, reports from the north
indicate even teachers who know how to defend against your type are in short
supply.”
The fur at the back of Pancras’s
neck stood on end, and his stomach knotted up. He dreaded where the archmage
was headed with his tirade, and he suspected it would end with a conclusion he
would find unpleasant.
“You”—the archmage drew his wand
and pointed it at Pancras—“will go to Vlorey and assume the mantle of defenses
master there. Yepakououn katanankasmo sas mechri thanto .” The blast of
azure energy smashed into Pancras before he parsed the words spoken by Archmage
Vilkan. He’d never heard a spell recited so quickly.
Pancras wanted nothing more than
to go home. No, that’s not it. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes
shut. I want to go to Vlorey. They need a teacher. The icy fingers of
the shadow crept through his mind, and his head filled with hollow laughter.
Yes, Necromancer. You will go to
Vlorey. You will join us.
“Pancras? Pancras, are you all
right?”
He was on his knees now. Delilah
shook him. Pancras opened his eyes to see the Golden Slayer looming over him,
her hand outreached.
He brushed them off. “I’m all
right. I’m fine. It was just… it’s nothing. Fine. I’m fine.” Pancras stood, unsure
if he worked to convince them or himself that he was fine.
“You will serve in that capacity
for no fewer than five years, Pancras. Beginning from the time you take office,
of course. Gisella”—the archmage stowed his wand—“take the minotaur away. Assign
a slayer to accompany him to Vlorey to ensure he meets his obligation.”
“Sure the geas you placed upon
him—”
“Do as I say, Slayer.”
The Golden Slayer bowed and then
took Pancras by the arm. The minotaur allowed her to lead him out, all thoughts
of standing by Delilah replaced by a desire to journey to Vlorey as soon as
possible.
* * *
As the Golden Slayer took
Pancras’s arm to lead him away, Delilah
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