face and your manner and something else, something about your aura, gives it away. You are a wizard too, aren’t you?’
‘And so are you,’ Teclis said. He knew who this was now and he had a suspicion that he knew where they were. ‘Your name is Caledor.’
‘It was. At least I think it was. I sometimes forget. I sometimes forget everything except the task, and there are dangerous moments when I forget even that. Even now I am neglecting it. My fellows must take up the slack and carry my burden for me. We do not have long here you and I. I must return to my duty. It is all there is for me now.’
The conversation had a strange logic that reminded him of something.
‘This is a dream, isn’t it?’
‘I have difficulty telling dream from reality,’ said Caledor. The muscles on his face twitched a little. Teclis wondered if he was quite sane.
‘I read something. I cast a spell written in slann runes. It was written in your hand,’ Teclis said.
‘That sounds about right. I found the secret of the Vortex written in slann runes. I found it in the burned-out rubble of one of their ancient cities. I saw the pattern of it and I saw the way it tapped into the magical structures that lie beneath the surface of reality. I saw how it could be used to save the world and that is what I tried to do. How long has it been… since I died?’
‘Over six thousand years,’ said Teclis.
‘So long,’ said Caledor, his soft voice sounded wistful. ‘If I’d known…’
Teclis did not dare ask him what he meant. He suspected he already knew the answer. Caledor and his fellow wizards had given their lives to create the Vortex. Would they have done so if they had known what was waiting for them?
What must it be like to spend six thousand sleepless years weaving a spell that was constantly trying to unravel itself, to have to protect it from the forces that would destroy it?
‘We have met for a reason,’ Teclis said. ‘At least, I would like to believe that this has not happened by chance.’
‘It is hard to say what happens by chance and what does not,’ said the first Archmage. ‘Once I thought there was a pattern to everything, that it all made sense somehow and that I could understand it and it would be wonderful. I’m not sure any more. I am not sure of anything.’
‘You’ve spent millennia maintaining a pattern, preserving the order of things.’
‘I think that is what has changed me. If we were not here, if we did not constantly keep re-weaving our spell, there would be only Chaos now. And that is perhaps one of the reasons why you have been called here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The pattern is starting to unravel. It is sliding out of our control. The power of Chaos is growing stronger. The Vortex is becoming tainted by its energy and there are those out there who seek to accelerate the unravelling.’
‘That is madness,’ said Teclis. ‘What possible benefit could be had from doing that? It would destroy Ulthuan and eventually the world.’
‘It is good that you understand this,’ said Caledor. ‘But there are those who do not see things as you do. There are those who see the unmaking of the Vortex as an opportunity. They think that they can control the power of Chaos and remake the world as they want it to be.’
‘Is it possible?’ Teclis asked. It seemed that someone desired to transcend their own mortality, to have power like unto a god.
‘In theory. In practice, I doubt that things would work out the way that Morathi expects.’
‘So it is the Hag Queen that we are talking about.’
‘Yes, and possibly her son, Aenarion’s child, Malekith.’
The scale of the ambition revealed by Caledor’s statement was breathtaking.
‘How would they do it?’
‘Tempted?’
‘Who would not be?’
Caledor’s smile was strange and sour. The complexity of the emotions in it made Teclis feel ashamed. The old wizard spread his hands wide and shrugged. ‘Indeed. Who would not be?’
‘What do you think they are planning?’
‘If the pattern of the Vortex is destroyed, Chaos will overflow into your world. Eventually, matter itself will become mutable, the very structure of reality will become fluid as the powers of Chaos exert themselves. Once that happens, a mage of sufficient power and skill would be able, in theory, to remake the world in an image created by themselves.’