Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,27

quicksilver suspended by magic at the center of the circular hall.

He snuck a glance at the driftdisc as he rose. On it was a female he didn’t recognize. She was bald and well muscled—not seated cross-legged on the driftdisc as was normal, but crouched on it like a spider waiting to spring. She wore a black, short-sleeved, skin-tight tunic that hugged her torso and thighs, and ended at her knees. Not a single weapon or magical item was visible on her. Even so she exuded an aura of danger.

One of the masters must have invited her to the Conclave. She would never have gotten past its guards and wards otherŹwise. Q’arlynd wondered what her business here could possibly be. He hoped it could wait until after the vote.

Master Seldszar waved a hand at Q’arlynd. “Masters of the Conclave, I present Q’arlynd Melarn.” The Master of Divination beckoned Q’arlynd to stand next to his podium. Q’arlynd strode smoothly to that spot. Seldszar smiled benevoŹlently at Q’arlynd through the crystals orbiting his head, but at the same time his nostrils flared slightly: a reprimand for Q’arlynd’s tardiness. In this hall, where all displays of emoŹtion were tightly constrained, it spoke louder than a shout. Aloud, Seldszar said, “As you all know, the reason we have convened is to discuss the promotion of an eleventh school to the rank of College, and the addition of another master to our conclave. As I gave notice in my sending, it now pleases me to nominate Master Q’arlynd’s School of Ancient Arcana for elevation to College.”

“I second the nomination,” Master Urlryn said from across the room.

So far, so good. The Master of the College of Conjuration and Summoning had made good on his promise, and he had good reason to. In return for second-speaking Q’arlynd’s nomination, the awarenesses inside the kiira on Q’arlynd’s forehead would assist Urlryn with an ongoing problem: the Faerzress that surrounded the city. It hampered divination and prevented mages from teleporting in and out of the city—something that had caused no end of embarrassment to Urlryn’s school.

Urlryn might have the appearance of a slothful indulger, with his heavy jowls and soft, corpulent frame, but the mind behind those heavy-lidded eyes was as sharp as a dagger. He knew which side of the sava board to play if he wanted to restore his College to its former standing.

As the female on the driftdisc moved to the podium occupied by Master Guldor, Q’arlynd quickly scried his two apprentices. Piri and Eldrinn were just as he’d left them, frozen back to back. He was thankful that the Cage occupied an infrequently visited corner of Sshamath. With luck, the Conclave’s debate would be brief, the vote would carry, and Q’arlynd would be able to teleport away before anyone noticed what he’d done to the duelists. With even more luck, he might talk his apprentices out of killing each other.

As the driftdisc sighed to a stop beside the Master of the College of Mages, Guldor touched the gold ball that hovered in the air in front of him. The speaker’s sphere assumed the likeness of his face: a chin as pointed as his ears, and eyes that matched the slant of eyebrows that extended to meet the hair at his temples.

“I too have a school I wish to nominate this day,” Guldor said, his voice seeming to come from the animated quickŹsilver head.

Q’arlynd swore silently. Seldszar had warned him to expect opposition from the College of Mages, but not this. Things weren’t going to go as quickly as Q’arlynd had hoped. Not if the Conclave had two nominations to consider.

“I present to the Conclave T’lar Mizz’rynturl,” Guldor continued. “I nominate her School of Bae’qeshel Magic for elevation to College.”

Q’arlynd’s breath caught in his throat. Years of practice at stifling his reactions allowed him to hide any further reacŹtion. The bae’qeshel tradition was extremely rare, with only a handful of practitioners. His sister Halisstra had been one of them.

He took another look at the female on the driftdisc. Had Halisstra known her? The more he looked at T’lar Mizz’rynturl, however, the more he doubted it. Had someŹone so distinctive visited Ched Nasad, Q’arlynd would have remembered her.

“What’s this School of Bae’qeshel Magic?” Master Antatlab asked, mispronouncing the name. His deep bass rumble reverŹberated through the floor, up into the soles of Q’arlynd’s boots. Even without the benefit of the speaker’s sphere’s augmentaŹtion, it had that effect. The face of the Master of Elemental Magic was as square as