Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,28

a granite block, and just as deeply pitted. “I’ve never heard of such a school before!”

“Nor have I,” said the much quieter voice of Master Seldszar.

“You should pay more attention to cavern clack,” another of the masters said. “This past month, the mage halls have been buzzing with rumors that a new school had been founded. Everyone was trying to guess what it might speŹcialize in.”

The speaker’s sphere shifted back to Master Guldor’s sharp-angled face. “The School of Bae’qeshel Magic is based on an ancient bardic tradition.”

“Bardic magic!” Master Antatlab exploded, pounding his fist on the golden ball in front of his podium. The quicksilver face quivered as if an earthquake were surging through it. “This is a conclave of mages, not minstrels!”

“Our constitution only prohibits clerical magic,” Master Guldor countered. “It is silent when it comes to the bards’ arts. And why? Because the mages who founded the Conclave recognized that bardic magic is a brother to sorcery. Both arts draw their power from the same source: the practitioner’s own heart and will.”

Q’arlynd cleared his throat softly in an attempt to get Master Seldszar’s attention. According to the rules of the Conclave, Q’arlynd was forbidden to speak unless directed to. If only he could speak, he could end this, right now, by pointing out the one thing the masters didn’t realize. While it was true that bae’qeshel was a bardic tradition, it was one that could only be practiced by someone who had taken a particular goddess as her patron deity.

Lolth.

On the surface, Guldor’s nomination of T’lar Mizz’rynturl’s school looked like nothing more than a means of countering Seldszar’s play for an allied eleventh master on the Conclave. Yet Q’arlynd knew it had to have deeper roots than that. Guldor Zauviir shared a House name with the priestess who headed up what remained of Lolth’s temple in Sshamath. And there were rumors the ties were knotted even tighter than that. Streea’Valsharess Zauviir smoldered like a coal under the heels of the wizards who had ground out her rule in Sshamath. T’lar Mizz’rynturl’s “school” was likely the high priestess’s attempt to burn the Conclave from within.

If Q’arlynd could only catch Master Seldszar’s attention, T’lar’s “school” would have as much hope of being accepted into the Conclave as a boy did of becoming matron mother of a noble House. A few quick flicks of Q’arlynd’s fingers would do the trick.

Q’arlynd cleared his throat a second time.

Seldszar still didn’t acknowledge him.

Another of the masters was speaking. “Guldor does have a point.” The speaker’s sphere bore a female face now—that of Master Felyndiira, a breathtaking beauty with long-lashed eyes and luxurious hair that swept back from a peak on her forehead. What the Master of Illusion and Phantasm really looked like was anyone’s guess. “Bards are very similar to sorcerers.”

Ah, so Felyndiira was allied with Guldor. Seldszar had wondered if she might be. There were rumors she worshiped the Spider Queen in secret.

Antatlab threw up his hands, not even bothering to touch his golden ball. “So are shadow mages, and you fought their admission to the Conclave dagger and nail!”

Felyndiira rolled her eyes. “The School of Shadow Magic was merely a cloak for Vhaeraun’s clerics. Everyone knew it—everyone but you.”

Q’arlynd cast a cantrip that plucked at Seldszar’s embroiŹdered sleeve, but the Master of Divination paid it no heed. Seldszar reached for the golden ball in front of his podium. As he touched it, the quicksilver face widened, and its eyes darted back and forth in time with Seldszar’s own. Even at this critical juncture, his attention was at least partially on his scrying crystals. “This Conclave was convened to consider the nomination of the School of Ancient Arcana, a nomination that has already been second-spoken,” he said with a nod at Master Urlryn. “Since no second has spoken for the so-called ‘school’ Guldor has nominated, I suggest we focus on the task at hand and not be distracted by frivolous—”

“I second the nomination of the School of Bae’qeshel Magic.” The sphere’s features shifted, adopting the face of the only other female among the ten masters. Shurdriira Helviiryn, Master of the College of Alteration stared at Seldszar and arched an eyebrow, as if daring him to protest her second.

The speaker’s sphere shifted to a gaunt male face with hungry eyes. “The nomination has been second-spoken,” it said in a paper-thin whisper that filled the chamber—the voice of Tsabrak, Master of the College of Necromancy. The vampire drow’s real face was little more than a