Chapter 20: Past Imperfect Ren Thraysk paced the opulent sitting room, paused before a full-length mirror, and impatiently adjusted his tunic. He was not in a good mood. Ren hated waiting, and he hated having to report to the Loremaster High Council, so he was moving from one displeasure to another. Why am I here answering to the Council while Randae is no doubt snuggled in a warm bed in a fine suite in Sel-kai? Ren didn’t even have Drey Laachek to share his misery with: the Journeyman Loremaster had been ordered immediately back to the west coast with an Elder to meet with Kier Ianis and offer their support. The Loremaster yawned. And why is that coffee taking so long? It was midmorning here in Karilôn, though to Ren’s body -- used to time many hundreds of leagues to the east in Jaiman -- it was still the middle of the night. This ‘Jump-lag’ was something that all Loremasters (and Navigators) were familiar with, but it was always difficult to adapt to, especially for the mortals who required more sleep than their Elven counterparts. Naturally the valet arrived with coffee only moments before the doorward announced that the Council would see him. Ren shrugged and picked up his cup before following the ward. No sense wasting perfectly good coffee. Located somewhere in the Lonely Sea, the headquarters of the Loremasters is spread across a tightly clustered group of volcanic pillars called the Karilôn isles. The complex itself is known as the Loremaster College, encompassing a vast library, classrooms, living quarters, and the Tower of the Winds, home to the Loremaster Council. The council chambers are located in a domed room at the very top of the tower, and access to this inner sanctum is carefully controlled. In fact the only way in and out of the magically shielded room was via a round elevator platform in the center chamber, and when the elevator was in operation it was separated from the rest of the room by a translucent wall of etched laen inlaid with strips of kregora. Only those with special rings could operate the elevator, and when guests were called before the Council, they could be seen through the transparent laen before being admitted into the chambers; this was done by lowering the laen tube into the floor while the platform itself remained. Ren Thraysk thought the whole apparatus was a bit extreme, but when he got as old as some of those Loremasters on the Council, maybe he would be as paranoid. He put those thoughts aside as the platform finished its rise and locked smoothly into place, perfectly level with the floor of the Council Chamber. He could see the council members indistinctly through the frosted laen; they were seated behind a ring-shaped table open in the middle and broken in four places to allow access behind it. Behind each section of the ring -- facing the center of the chamber -- were three beautiful chairs. All were similar but of a slightly different design. There were twelve in all, but one--in the center of one section--was slightly elevated: this was the seat of the permanent Council chairman, Kirin T’thaan, the only remaining original founder of the Loremaster Order. All other members served 100-year terms (or until death, whichever came first). Traditionally, six members of the Council were of Elven descent, and six of pure (or nearly pure) mortal blood. Immortal members would be eligible for re-nomination after performing a century of fieldwork, so even among the five other Elven seats there is some turnover. As the surrounding laen wall began to lower into the floor, Ren scanned the room and took stock of the Council members in attendance. Seated at a small desk behind each council member’s chair was a personal aide; most of them were also trained scribes. Ren noted that two of the twelve seats were empty. He took a quick mental roll call of the Council membership. Kirin T’thaan was there of course, looking more dour than usual. He wore his usual grey robes trimmed with grey leather. Next to him in a special stand was the Loremaster Scepter, its multifaceted crystal head flickering with an inner light. To Kirin’s left was Cindarastal, a tall slender Thesian woman. Her black hair was now nearly all grey, but her dark chocolate skin remained smooth except for a few laugh-lines around her dark eyes. She wore a simple loose robe of golden yellow cotton. Next over sat Megathstor of Clycallah, a Laan Mage. Though well into his third century, he remained in robust good health and excellent physical shape, a fact clearly visible with the snug-fitting tunic and breeches her preferred. The only suggestions of his age were the graying of his ebon hair at the temples… and the spectacles he was forced to wear when reading. He peered over them now at Ren, his lips pursed. To his left in the center of the table section was M’chen Ah-chen, a Y’nar Scribe from Orbis. Stocky and muscular, he looked like an unlikely scribe, but was in fact a soft-spoken intellectual with a near-photographic memory. Next was Sri-chi-a-kaa from the Mazzara Delta. A Híraz, he currently had his huge beautiful white-feathered wings folded tightly behind him. Sri-chi wore only the usual belted kilt traditional to his people, leaving his golden-skinned upper body bare but for a pair of crossed shoulder straps. His wide shoulders and massive chest suggested incredible strength, but in fact the Hírazi were fragile beings. To be light enough to fly, they had hollow bones and muscles that were filled with tiny air sacs. Sri-chi had a striking face as well, brilliant blue eyes and pure white hair-feathers standing straight up, trimmed to be flat across the top a few inches above his brow. At the end of the next table, long legs stretched out into the aisle, lounged Councilman and Changramai Master T’vaar Dekdarion. A mixed-blood Linaer/ Dúranak/Myr, T’vaar looked most like a Myr: tall, powerfully built with thick blond hair, but with some Elven aspects: slightly pointed ears and a face that was almost as pretty as it was handsome. T’vaar though preferred the attired of the Dúranaki: today he wore calf-length black silk breeches and sleeveless black silk tunic, and barbaric studded armbands. His hair was short and spiked upwards. He nodded curtly to Ren, though overall he seemed more bored than anything. Next, sitting up in perfect posture, was Pukul-bo, a Kuluku Mystic. His skin was a few shades lighter than Cindarastal’s, but still a deep brown -- and a striking contrast to his emerald-bright green eyes. His kinky black hair (graying at the temples) was a halo of twisted spikes jutting out four or five inches from his scalp. Pukul-bo’s attire consisted of a loose tunic and breeches of simple cut but covered with delicate embroidery. On the Kuluku’s other side, bent over a scroll, was Birellion a Kivantor. A Linaer Elf of Lys, Birellion was a Bard and scholar. His elegantly draped robe was of a shimmering white silky fabric with gold metallic trim. He kept his long blond hair bound loosely in a tail at the base of his neck. The first seat of the next desk was empty; Thraysk recalled that it was the place of Tendis Radirin, Erlin Elf from Remiraith. The venerable Yael Ziriv-Kari, an Iylar Elf, occupied the center seat. Her petite, almost pixyish appearance belied her formidable Mage powers. She had already served several century terms on the council, alternating with her required field tenures, so she was no stranger to the necessary compromises that had to be made when dealing with real-world situations outside of the antiseptic council chambers. Dressed in purple and an asymmetrical felt hat, she gave Ren a tight smile and a little nod. Ren was relieved to see her here; he knew that he could usually expect Yael’s support. Next to Yael was Enistor Valan, Loar Elf from Kykor Ku in the Empire of a Thousand Dawns. And the last seat, on Kirin’s other side, was also vacant. This was the place of Desaar L’prunei, a mortal from the wild continent of Folenn. The laen wall finished its descent, locking flush with the floor and now seemingly only a clear ring inlay. Kirin nodded to Ren. “The Council welcomes Loremaster Ren Thraysk. We understand that you met with Drey Laachek and may be able to elaborate more fully on the circumstances surrounding Kier Ianis. Seeing the need to re-establish contact with him as quickly as possible, we dispatched him with an other Loremaster before he could report to the Council.” “I am afraid I do not have much to add beyond the basic facts…” Ren began, but he was promptly interrupted with a question. “Does Kier have the Sea-drake crown? We have still been unable to determine its location.” Enistor Valan leaned forward. “I believe the last rumored keeper was the Dragonlord Sulthon N’shaang.” Ren raised an eyebrow. He was not surprised by Enistor’s interest; the Loar had made an intensive study of the Jaimani artifacts, and Ren suspected he would like to get his hands on one if he could. “Drey said that he was not wearing the diadem, and Kier made no mention of it. Drey said that from what he has been told of the Crowns, the Prince showed no indication that he was under its influence. Drey even cast an Inner Thoughts in addition to his Mind Typing and discovered no anomalies in the Prince’s thought patterns.” “Certainly if Kier had put the Crown on, we would have felt the change in the Essænce.” Yael posited. Kirin leaned back in his seat and templed his fingers. “I believe that the crowns -- and perhaps the other artifacts as well -- have certain cloaking powers available to their owners.” Birellion raised a hand. “Do not the items require some sort of attunement procedure?” T’thaan looked like he was about to speak, but Enistor leapt into the discussion. “The origins of these items predate the Wars of Dominion, so little documentation of their powers and nature remains. And of course their two creators -- Andraax and Tethior -- are lost to us. Zener Morndaak, under my supervision, is preparing a full report on the history and current situation with the Jaimani Crowns.” The Loar pursed his lips, perhaps realizing just how officious that statement sounded. Kirin shot Enistor a disapproving look. “To answer your question, Birellion, the pendants almost certainly required attunement; and perhaps the swords as well. But the powers of the crowns are different, granted telepathically to the wearer the first time it is donned -- assuming the wearer is the rightful heir to the kingdom, a slippery concept in itself. But at any rate, the powers are conferred by the crown, as well as, undoubtedly, knowledge of any attunement procedure. I discussed the nature of these items with Andraax and Tethior long ago, and have witnessed quite a few coronations, so I know of what I speak.” Ren took a sip of coffee and waited for the reprimand to sink in. Periodically, Kirin T’thaan needed to remind the council -- even the relatively young immortal members like Enistor -- just how long he had been around. Ren, as a mere mortal, could not even begin to grasp what it must be like to be as old as the founding Loremaster. Thirteen thousand years was just too great a span to wrap his mind around. A hundred and thirty centuries… hundreds of lifetimes. One drawback of such a long life, however, was that -- as most philosophers, Mentalists and Healers would agree -- the human or Elven brain had a finite memory capacity, and new memories would eventually start overwriting old ones in the complex web that was the mind. Ren wondered how much Kirin had forgotten over the long centuries… “I think the question then is whether we would even want Kier Ianis to don the crown.” Yael said slowly. “With the immense powers also comes some sort of mind-conditioning, does it not?” Enistor opened his mouth, and then shut it. Lesson learned, at least for today. “You are correct.” Kirin nodded. “Part of the nature of the crowns was to control aggressive impulses in the kings and in so doing, to maintain a certain stability across the continent. To accomplish this, however, they often caused an unfortunate change in the kings’ personalities. The monarchs eventually learned that if they rarely donned the crowns, they could curtail this influence but still retain access to the powers when needed. But this subversion of the intended purpose of the crowns led to a breakdown in the stability of the relationship between the kingdoms.” “If I may ask a question, Master?” Ren ventured. “Very well.” “Is there any evidence that the other items -- the pendants and swords -- affected their owners in a similar fashion?” “I recall no indication of such influence.” Kirin said after a thoughtful moment. “But remember also that their capabilities were significantly different, and much more localized. They did not possess the strategic powers of the crowns.” Pukul-bo the Kuluku sat up then. “If I may shift the topic for a moment, what of the shadowy Priest of Yaarth who had declared himself regent of Helyssa? It seems hardly in doubt that he is a Priest Arnak, bent on controlling the west coast.” “Evidence would point to that conclusion.” T’vaar continued to slouch in his chair while fiddling with a silvery chain, “Though this is an unusually high profile for the Iron Wind.” “Also unusual is this apparent partnership with the Lord of Ulor, is it not?” M’chen Ah-chen asked. “Does not the Iron Wind usually subvert and control minions to be used as tools rather than form alliances? “It’s unusual for the Iron Wind to ally with other forces, but not unheard-of.” T’vaar idly twirled his chain. “And who is this ‘Lord of Ulor’ anyway? I suspect he is more than some petty warlord.” M’chen pressed. “But Ulor is just a small island off of western Jaiman, is it not?” “Observe.” T’thaan touched his staff and a spray of light fanned out from its crystalline head, projecting a globe of light above Ren. Thraysk stepped back away from T’thaan so he could also view the projection. The globe was in fact a representation of the planet Kulthea, slowly seeming to spin upon its axis in the center of the room. Then the globe began to grow, while one part of the surface remained in the center of the room. Part of the projection was quickly blocked by the chamber walls, but a small area west of Jaiman filled the chamber. It was the Bay of Ulor, with the island of the same name in the center. “As you can see, Ulor has a location ideal for controlling much of the western coast of Jaiman, and its many peninsulas offer excellent potential for harbors sheltered from the traditionally rough waters of the bay. The ‘Lord of Ulor,’ as he has been called, is also known as Lorgalis, a half Dyar, half K’ta’viir warrior mage. He is a member of the Jerak Ahrenreth. By these qualifications does he stand as a force worthy of alliance with the Iron Wind. And indeed he has worked with its minions many times in the past. Together they were instrumental in the fall of at least three of the Jaimani kingdoms. He has been relatively quiescent until recently; in fact there was some speculation that he had been killed and replaced at the Ahrenreth Council, but now I believe that is not the case. He has risen again and built an army and fleet to assail western Jaiman. His eventual goal is probably conquest of the entire continent. Why he has chosen now to pursue that goal he seemed to abandon long ago, I do not know.” “Perhaps he wishes to build a power base to stand against Ondoval.” T’vaar ventured. “He would still have to contend with the remaining crowns -- At least the Phoenix -- and with the Sea-drake if Kier Ianis can acquire it.” “Unless he has discovered a way to control the crowns himself.” Yael made an ominous suggestion. “To do so he would need to locate Tethior’s secret forge and the Vault of the Crowns, and learn how to alter their programming. I suspect that such accomplishments are beyond even a Lord of Essænce, though prudence would dictate that we not underestimate Lorgalis.” Kirin drummed his fingers on the desk. “Do you think we should visit the Forge of Arion and be certain that it is still secure?” Enistor ventured, trying unsuccessfully to cover his eagerness. “That is an option I would prefer not to pursue yet. I don’t think that the forge would allow admittance to anyone but me, and I’m not certain that it would even admit me after all this time. Furthermore, I was never fully briefed on the operation of the Crowns or the details of their nature. That was between Andraax and Tethior.” “Who are both long dead.” M’chen Ah-chen said, but it came out as a half-question. “I am not completely certain that Andraax is dead, though it is only an intuition that tells me that he lives.” Kirin smiled tightly at the Y’nar. “However, he was always somewhat… erratic… even in the Second Era; the Wars of Dominion had a further deleterious effect on his mind. Even if he lives, I fear that he would be of little value to us.” Sri-chi-a-kaa the Híraz suddenly stood, his great snowy wings quivering. “Did anyone else hear that?” He demanded in his shrill voice. Andraax materialized in the Jaimani night, his layered robes swirling about him in the cold breeze; quite a shock from the sunny warmth of the Loremaster Council Chamber. The Essænce Lord stood on a disused path near the base of a roaring, shimmering waterfall. With Orhan only a sliver towards new, the waterfall spray reflected mainly starlight. A band of the points of so thick that it almost seemed like a spark-flecked cloud of light arced across the night sky overhead. It was called the Great Arch of Lights; few but the Essænce Lord knew that this was the disc of the galaxy seen edge-on. The ease with which he had once again infiltrated the Loremasters’ inner sanctum gave Andraax some concern. His old order had grown lax. An Alliance spy remained undetected in their upper echelons; could Ondoval or the Jerak Ahrenreth infiltrate as easily? His annoyance at the incompetence of the Loremaster Council and of Kirin’s stodgy officiousness faded as the ancient K’ta’viir allowed himself a moment to contemplate the twinkling lights above him. Long ages ago he had traveled to many of those stars, visited the worlds circling them. Kulthea was so small and insignificant in that greater context, but it was his charge. He sighed and walked the badly overgrown path towards the falls, and into the narrow passage hidden behind the wall of water. Set further back along this shelf, in a niche perhaps a dozen feet deep, stood a large and unusual door. More than twice his height, it was composed of a light grey metal with a satiny finish. It was not one panel but three, one at the top and two side sections. Where the three met each had an inset of dark red glass. The door was streaked and stained, but he knew that this was not corrosion but merely accumulation of water deposits running over the metal. Considering how old the door was, it didn’t look all that bad. Andraax touched the Wyvern pendant dangling around his neck and the bauble came to life with a pale light. The three triangles set in the door sections slowly awoke in response, emanating a soft luminescence. Without hesitation, the Essænce Lord pressed his palm to the three panels, going from left to right. Each panel dimmed as his skin touched it. For a long moment nothing seemed to happen. Then deep in the stone there came a low grinding sound and the three panels lurched apart an inch or so… and then stopped. Andraax scowled then raised his hand again, but this time held it a few inches away from the recalcitrant doors. A blue-white nimbus began to form around him, centered over his outstretched hand. Then the light coiled out to dance along the edges of the door. The Essænce Lord pressed his lips together and pushed his palm upward slightly. The light brightened, and with agonizing slowness and a shriek of metal scraping against stone, the door panels resumed their separation: the center panel rose into the frame while the other two retracted into the side walls. Beyond, a corridor stretched away into the distance, lit by blue tubes set at intervals in the inwardly-sloping walls that were reluctantly flickering to life. Andraax lowered his hand and the blue light around him faded. He stepped through and placed his palm on the red panel set on the inside of the center door section, which still protruded down to just over his head. The three doors ground slowly shut, moving more smoothly than before. Andraax stood for a moment, assessing his surroundings. The air had a slightly musty smell; that was to be expected. Aside from a light coating of dust, the floor seemed unmarred. No moisture had seeped into this ancient vault. He detected no presences within his considerable range -- not that he expected to. No one lived on the Isle of Ghosts; in fact no one had probably even set foot on it in thousands of years. Protected by subtle yet powerful enchantments that worked upon the minds of all who approached, it discouraged visitors with suggestions of haunting. Hence the name. Andraax strode briskly forward, then touched the pendant as he broke into a jog. A mist flowed from the Wyvern orb to envelop him, and he began to accelerate forward, though his running pace did not increase. His feet no longer touched the floor of the corridor as the Windrunning spell took effect. The K’ta’viir covered the four-mile long passage in a matter of a few breaths, arriving at a triangular door covering the entire end of the corridor. This one was split in two halves that met at an angle. In the wall on the right side was set another red glass triangle, already glowing softly. Andraax placed his six-fingered hand on it and the panel glowed more brightly for a long moment, then dimmed. The door split and opened smoothly, in marked contrast to the first door. Beyond loomed a vast six-sided chamber. Illuminated only by the starlight entering through a hexagonal glass pyramid in the center of the ceiling, the room would have been quite dark to a mortal. But Andraax’s slit pupils opened wide, and it seemed as bright as an overcast day to him -- his eyes could make out more detail in poor lighting than even Elven sight. Twelve doors gave access to this room: one centered in each wall and one at each of the six corners, including the one that Andraax was exiting from. Instead of heading to another door, however, he moved to the center of the room, crouched and placed his palm on the large red glass triangle inlaid in a low hexagonal dais in the center of the floor. Like the others, it lit up at his touch, and a moment later the entire platform began to sink into the floor. When it had descended about twenty feet into the metal-sided shaft, the top was sealed off as six panels rotated in towards the center and locked in place. It continued another hundred feet or so before the metal shaft changed to a six-sided transparent tube. Soon the platform was low enough to reveal the chamber below. Andraax was descending into the center of another hexagonal room almost twice the size of the last. This one had shiny black marble walls covered with writing, and was supported by six ribs at the corners. The floor was a vast mosaic of fused transparent tiles: a map depicting the continent of Jaiman. Curling lines of light in five different colors glowed softly from beneath the map. In the center of each wall stood a pedestal of grey metal about six feet tall and three across. Each had a shallow niche in the front covered with black glass; multicolored lights flickered in mysterious, complicated patterns behind that pane. And crowning each column was a beautiful sculptured capital with glass inlay that glowed with a certain color, and resting on each was a different crown, each the twin to one of the six crowns of Jaiman: The Unicorn Crown of Urulan was made of a bright silvery metal trimmed with gold, the accent of this helm was the single, twisted horn of shimmering gold projecting from the forehead area. The crown was decorated with yellow gems that glittered with a life of their own. The capital beneath the crown glowed with a bright golden light, and behind the black glass of the niche, the little lights blinked and flickered actively. A hard, bright matching line of color appeared dimly around the large island of Urulan. Andraax smiled to himself. So the Unicorn crown and Urulan may yet have a part to play in the future of Jaiman. The Phoenix Crown of Rhakhaan was fashioned of gold with many red inlays. Cheek-guards extended down, and great latticed wings of gold accented with red gems rose up from the sides. But in comparison to the Unicorn crown the gems and light of the crown seemed subdued. The blinking lights hardly changed. On the map, there was a faint, blurred line seemed to shift between to original, designed borders of Rhakhaan and north into what had been Zor, as well as west into old U-Lyshak. The Pegasus Crown of Tanara’s silver metal gleamed softly, and it had a tall crest made of a resilient white material fashioned like a horse-tail. In addition, silver and frosted clear laen wings sprung from the sides. The capital had a white light, dim like the border around Tanara. Like the Phoenix Crown, the Pegasus seemed asleep; the lights beneath it almost static. The Gryphon Crown was in a similar state, but the bluish radiance that once surrounded Zor now was a tiny ring within the borders of Rhakhaan. Andraax sauntered over to that ring and examined the abstracted topography, then went to the column supporting the crown. He watched the blinking lights for a long moment. They were not as active as the Unicorn pedestal but more so than the Phoenix or Pegasus. Interesting. Someone has reprogrammed this Crown. Who would have the ability to do this besides Tethior and myself? Has the Artificer been meddling again? Next was the Wyvern Crown. The metal had a violet hue, with reptilian-looking wings springing from the sides. But the gems of this crown were dull and without fire. The capital had no glow at all, and no lights glimmered in the niche. There was no sign of a violet border on the map. Andraax new the cause of this: the Wyvern Crown of Saralis had been destroyed: cleaved in two by the sword of an Ordainer. Finally the Essænce Lord came to the Sea-drake Crown. The helm, in design similar to the Wyvern with reptilian wings and forehead like a short drake snout with amber jewel eyes over the temples, glittering with green fire. The Crown and top of the pedestal glowed as brightly as the Unicorn or Phoenix, though the blinking lights were not as active as the ones in the Urulan column. There was a green border approximating the old boundaries of U-Lyshak, but it flickered and moved. Andraax again studied the pattern of the flickering lights. So, the heir is indeed alive, but he has not yet put on the Crown, he mused. He leaned down to examine the panel more closely, then reached out a finger and traced it along the surface of the black glass face of the niche. The light patterns shifted where he touched. There was a flash of blue light behind the Essænce Lord. He paused, smiling as if to himself. He stood slowly but did not turn around “Hello Tethior; I wondered if you would put in an appearance, since our last encounter seemed to leave you… ill at ease. But I see that concern over our old debacle allowed you to overcome your fear. That’s a neat trick, by the way, Teleporting directly into this chamber. I wouldn’t even try that myself.” “Yes, I sensed an intrusion in the Forge.” Tethior chose to ignore the implied question in Andraax’s comment about his being able to transport into the Crown Vault. “May I ask, what are you doing here?” The artificer demanded indignantly. Andraax turned then. Standing by the tube in the center of the room was the Iylar Artificer, hands on hips, his expression something between anger and fear. He wore the voluminous black robes he donned in his guise as the Nameless One, but they hung open, revealing an azure silk tunic and breeches underneath. Around his neck he wore an amulet of a dull silvery metal that encircled a large flat transparent cabochon that glowed brightl blue. On either side of him stood an unusually imposing Changramai monk in white belted tunic and loose calf-length pants. It did not escape Andraax’s notice that one wore a maroon belt, the other a green one: fairly high ranks, both of them. The pair stood in battle-ready stance. “I have as much right to be here as you, as you well know. The Crowns could not have been made without my knowledge of synaptic reprogramming.” Tethior’s shoulders slumped just slightly. “I recognize your right to be here, though I wonder why you would bother. Jaiman hardly seems significant in the larger picture. What of your concerns about Ondoval and the Eyes and the Great Barrier holding back the East?” “Little things… interest me.” Andraax smirked, as if this comment suggested some private joke. “On another topic, I must say your brother outdid himself with the Daath Leersoi.” He held up his hand and a ring glittered on the middle finger then vanished. “Their cloaking powers are quite impressive. Something he learned from Oran Jatar, no doubt. Those Dragonlords are deviously clever. Sometimes I think they are smarter than the K’ta’viiri. Good thing there are so few of them.” Tethior’s eyes narrowed. “How did you come to possess one of the Makers of the Shadow-Drakes?” “Found it by the roadside.” Andraax shrugged and smiled evilly. “I assume that you are using one to help cloak your own identity when you play foreteller.” “You didn’t answer my first question.” Tethior folded his arms across his chest, determined not to be intimidated by the Essænce Lord. He knew that his Changramai guards were useless against him, of course: Andraax would paralyze them with a thought, or just as easily best them in combat. “I did; perhaps you were not paying attention. There are several things in Jaiman that I find worthy of my attention: the Sea-drake Crown and its rightful owner, the Lord of Ulor, and some nobles in Rhakhaan. And Urulan looks as though it might provide an interesting diversion as well.” Tethior glanced at the Unicorn pillar. “Have you been tampering with the programming?” “I hardly think it fair to call it ‘tampering.’ As you acknowledged, I have as much right to this facility as you do. But if you must know, I did not alter anything. I just wanted to see the history of usage.” “I’m curious: if you are so concerned about the fate of the world, why don’t you just get the Soulsword and dispose of Ondoval yourself?” Andraax chuckled softy. “You give me too much credit. Even I could not single-handedly penetrate Ondoval’s fortress and slay him. And besides, I don’t even know where the Soulsword is. “That does complicate things just a bit.” Tethior said sarcastically. “Oh, I’m sure it will turn up when the time comes. These things tend to work themselves out, even if they need a little nudge here or there.” “I still don’t understand why all the maneuvering. Why not just handle it yourself?” Because, my dear old friend, I cannot be sure when the crisis will occur. And in case you haven’t noticed, my ‘clarity of mind’ (for lack of a better term) comes and goes without warning these days. I unfortunately can’t trust that I will be able to do the right thing when the time comes. Therefore I recuse myself from a starring role in the drama which is unfolding.” Tethior did not know what to say. The oldest and arguably most powerful being on this planet had just essentially confessed that he slipped in and out of sanity. Not that the Artificer hadn’t already suspected it, but to hear Andraax admit to it, and in such a nonchalant manner… it made his blood run cold. “Well I shall leave you to your… study, then. You know how to reach me should you require assistance with anything.” “Very good. Actually, now that you mention it, I could use the services of an extremely powerful Cleric, particularly one experienced in removing curses. I suspect you have better contacts in such areas than I do these days.” “Dare I ask what curse you need removed?” “It is on a K’ta’viir artifact called the Guardian Mind. I can’t even determine who placed the curse, though I suspect it was that slimy head of the Jerak Ahrenreth, Schrek. The Mind is an information storage and retrieval device that would prove invaluable in my current endeavors, but the curse has locked me out from accessing any of its data. Quite vexing. I’m surprised that it slipped my mind until just now; it’s been some time since I last visited the artifact.” “No one among the Loremasters could do it?” “I’d prefer not to involve them.” Andraax said curtly. “Very well, I’ll see who I can recruit. I doubt that I have the expertise myself. How will I contact you?” “We’ll be talking again soon, I suspect.” The Essænce Lord turned back to his examination of the lights on the pillar. Tethior pursed his lips. He didn’t like the idea of an intermittently mad Essænce Lord playing around with the Crown programming, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He made a mental note to return here in a few days and see if, indeed, Andraax was only observing. Not that even he fully understood some of the workings of the Crowns and their controlling columns; the K’ta’viir Essænce/technology fusion was beyond even his comprehension. He barked a command to his guards to stand ready, then touched the amulet on his chest. It flashed and a hemisphere of blue light engulfed the three of them for an instant, and when it faded they were gone. “Hmph.” Andraax grunted disapprovingly, peering at the lights. “Where was I?”
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