“Archmage Duncan,” he said. “I will ask you to please explain your actions. What you have done is not only an embarrassment to the rank of Archmage, but to all in Magia, even the powerless. Why have you done such a horrible thing?”
Duncan, without permission, stepped down from the podium and began to pace the hall, walking aimlessly around the four-sided table while he rubbed his staff between his palms. He spoke as he paced.
“It’s rather simple, Holy Magus. It was either I lock them up or kill them.”
“Kill them?” Bennet shouted. Issius was too shocked to reprimand Bennet for speaking out of turn. “What do you mean, kill them?”
“Excellent question, Archmage Bennet,” Duncan said. “Those fifty mages who I have imprisoned—along with the two elven intruders—are all useful, powerful mages that will be instrumental to my cause. It is for this reason they shall be imprisoned until they can swear loyalty to me. Of course, after I have removed the rest of you.”
There were more shouts of outrage from around the room. Issius repeated the words in his head. What did Archmage Duncan mean by ‘removing the rest of you’? Then he felt his eyes widen as Duncan’s intentions became clear. He must’ve been insane! Was he suggesting some kind of coup d'état of the ruling council? Him, alone, against the entire council? The very thought was absurd. It reminded Issius of the elf who reports claimed attempted to singlehandedly lay siege to Magia.
Wait a minute—this is exactly like what the elf attempted
!
“How dare you say such treasonous things?” Thomas shouted. “Have you gone mad?”
At Thomas’s suggestion, Issius realized that the High-Mage might have just stumbled upon something important. Perhaps Duncan’s actions were not his own fault? Could this be a sickness that impaired a mage’s judgment while succumbing him with delusions of grandeur?
“Have you fallen ill, Duncan?” Issius asked, genuine concern now replacing anger. “I think perhaps you may be suffering from an affliction similar to the elf who attacked us.”
Issius could see his question reflected on the faces of the other mages. It certainly made sense. If Duncan had gone mad, it would more than explain why one of their own Archmages would exhibit such reprehensible behavior.
“Forgive me for speaking without permission,” Archmage Uramore said. He stroked his silver beard. “But I think you are right, Holy Magus. I’m surprised I didn’t make the connection sooner. Archmage Duncan has not been the same since he returned from his voyage to Shinsar.”
Uramore was correct; Duncan had never been a pleasant fellow, but he’d certainly changed since returning to Magia half a year ago. Issius chided himself for not seeing the signs. Duncan had become sadistic, often gleefully punishing apprentices for minor offenses that most would normally let slip.
“I hate to interrupt your little conversation,” Duncan said. He returned to the podium, making himself visible to all present in the ruling council. “But sadly, you are wrong. I am not mad.” As if in opposition to his words, he released another cackle. “No, I am most certainly not mad.”
“I believe you are,” Issius said. There were nods from all around the room. “You need help, Duncan. You are a changed man since you returned from Shinsar—but first, we must free the poor mages whom you have imprisoned. They must be terrified.”
“You will do no such thing,” Duncan said. “Because none of you are leaving this hall. Magia is now my city.”
There was a chuckle from one of the Mistresses, who received scolding looks from those nearest her—it was cruel to laugh at the mad. Magia had a place where those with injuries of the mind could be rehabilitated, and Issius would see that Duncan was treated with respect and dignity.
“Archmage Duncan, I am going to ask one of the guards to escort you to—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Duncan interrupted. He sighed. “You’re right—I haven’t been the same since Shinar.”
“So you acknowledge it?” Issius asked.
“I do. But not because I have gone mad.”
“Then why?”
“Because,” Duncan said, “I never really returned from Shinar, for I was murdered by a wild hawk and have since been reborn anew!”
At Duncan’s words, the High-Mages exchanged disturbed looks. Clearly, it upset them to see one of their Archmages in such a pathetic state. A few gave sympathetic smiles, but most averted their eyes. Issius wouldn’t allow Duncan to humiliate himself further. Whatever afflicted him, Issius would see that he was cured of it, and it wouldn’t do to allow the man to demean himself any more than had already been permitted.
Issius nodded compassionately at Duncan. “I see. Well, I suppose we can consider this matter settled. Please step down from the podium, Archmage Duncan. I would like to—”
“You still don’t get it, do you,
fool
?” Duncan asked. “You think I’m mad? Perhaps it’s time I show you I’m not.”
Duncan switched his grip on his staff so that he held it in both hands. Then he slammed it down against the floor. A bright flash of light lit the room a neon blue. The light faded, and for a moment, all was quiet. Then, a buzzing sound filled the air. Issius caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. Looking down at the area by Duncan’s feet, he could see tendrils of electricity traveling along the paved flooring, spreading out and slowly snaking their way towards all four sides of the table.
“H-he’s attacking us!” one of the masters shouted.
Issius jumped out of his seat, confused. What spell had Duncan cast? The Archmage had chanted no words, yet dozens of what appeared to be electrical snakes slithered off the podium in every direction, slow enough to walk away from but numerous enough to encircle nearly all of them.
What spell is this
?
“Cease this at once!” Bennet shouted. “You fool, you’re attacking fellow mages of the Order! Someone, pacify him, quickly!”
“On it,” Thomas said. He stood up from his seat and whispered under his breath. A bright, orange beam of light soared across the room, making its way towards the back of Duncan’s head. It wouldn’t harm the mad Archmage, but it would put him into a restful sleep.
Before Thomas’s spell could make contact with the Archmage, a cloud of what seemed to be red mist appeared as if from thin air, swallowing the light. Issius had never seen such a spell. And he was positive Duncan hadn’t chanted a single word.
The electricity continued to slither along the floor, now halfway to either side of the table. Someone shouted a warning, and then all at once, dozens of projectiles were launched at the mad Archmage. Multi-colored beams of light struck at him from every angle.
Duncan laughed. “Is this
all
that the best Magia has to offer can throw at me?”
More of the red mist appeared, but this time in far greater quantity; there was now enough of the mist to make it seem as though Duncan had vanished. Issius watched in confusion as, one after the other, the mist swallowed each projectile—swallow being the only word Issius could think to explain the magic-cancelling mist. It seemed to wrap around the light, causing each projectile to become discolored and darken, before vanishing entirely.
“Everyone get back!” Issius ordered. “Do not let this magic reach you.”
The Masters and Mistresses, High-Mages, and Archmages, sprang out of their seats and attempted to back away. Duncan, appearing once more as the mist faded, wiggled his finger and shook his head no. Repeating the earlier gesture, he raised his staff in both hands and then struck it against the podium.
Everything happened in an instant. Until this point, the bluish, electric-like tendrils had been traveling at the speed of an insect. But the moment Duncan’s staff clicked against the floor, more of the wiry blue electricity left the area around Duncan’s feet. Both this new electricity as well as the hundreds of tendrils already slithering towards them picked up so dramatically in speed that to Issius’s eyes they moved in a blur.
The electricity zipped across the room, leaving Issius but an instant to mumble a barrier spell. Yet he knew that only he and the most experienced of mages would be able to react in time. There were now so many tendrils of electricity that the floor resembled a giant web of sparkling blue electricity.
His heart sank as cries of agony filled the hall. The masters and mistresses were the first to die. Issius had wondered what would happen when Duncan’s magic connected with their feet, and now, his question was answered. Issius watched as his mages were roasted like meat cooked over a fire. Smoke left their ears, mouths, and eyes. They fell to the floor and writhed on the ground. Screams of pain and terror rang out amid pleading, begging, and cries for mercy.
Issius burned with rage. “What have you done, Duncan? You traitor!”
Duncan laughed. “I’ve done only what I felt to be necessary. Let this be a lesson to all those who oppose the Hawk.”
The electricity cut off, and the room quieted. All of the Archmages and half the High-Mages had survived. Now, those left standing had visible, glowing orange light surrounding their bodies: barriers against magical attacks.
“He’s too dangerous,” Bennet said. “We have to kill him, Issius!”
Issius nodded. “Agreed. He will pay for what he has done, regardless of his mental state.”
All except Duncan backed away; Issius knew that few wanted to be in the way when the Holy Magus became violent. Issius glared at Duncan, extended his hand, and then shouted, “
Kellos Salas
Vi
Nara Kendros RAHL
!”
Five black orbs shot forth from each of his fingertips. Each was only the size of a coin, but the power within rivaled anything Duncan could possibly summon forth. The orbs hurtled towards the treasonous Archmage. The room darkened wherever they sped past, light bending in on itself around the dark circles.
Under normal circumstances, Issius would think twice before conjuring up something so nasty. Yet his desire for vengeance fueled his temper. The orbs would attach themselves to Duncan’s face and suck away first his skin, then his bone, until only his body remained. It would be as agonizing a death as he had caused his fellow mages.
Issius was tempted to look away. This would be brutal. Duncan appeared unworried, however, which Issius took to be a confirmation of his madness.
The orbs approached to within a few feet of the Archmage, and then red mist reappeared, as Issius had expected it to. The orbs came to a halt, and now the two forces collided together to create the single most spectacular sight that Issius had ever seen. The red and black mixed, and the combined swirling light created something in resemblance to the cosmos. Issius stood transfixed while he watched his magic compete against the mad Archmage’s. The orbs shrank and grew, backed away and pressed forward while they battled against the mist.
“Quite a nasty thing you’ve thrown at me, Holy Magus,” Duncan said. “But unfortunately for you, it’s not nasty enough.”
Duncan clapped his staff against the podium for the third time, and Issius froze in terror as the mist expanded. The orbs shrank then faded away, disappearing as if swallowed, just like all the other magic that had been used against the Archmage.
Issius became gripped with panic. What could he do? He needed to prepare another spell. He inhaled—then gasped as he noticed that the mist hadn’t stopped its expansion. The room darkened as it reached farther and farther out, wrapping quickly around all those who were still alive. Would it swallow them, too?
“Duncan, you must stop this!” Bennet cried. “We are your friends! Your allies!”
“No,” the Archmage replied, “my only ally is the Hawk.”
The mist continued to devour the room, covering the hall in a dark, grainy red, until Issius could no longer make out anything more than a few feet in front of him. It was as if he were trapped inside a crimson sandstorm. Eventually, he could no longer see his own hands in front of his face. To his horror, the barrier he’d erected blinked once and then vanished, leaving him vulnerable.
“Don’t worry,” trailed Duncan’s voice. It sounded distant. “I won’t kill you. I’m sending you somewhere you won’t be able to trouble me.”
Issius tried to back away and nearly
tripped
over his own feet; the floor was no longer solid. The room had changed. Glancing up, he noticed that the hall’s ceiling was gone; now, there was only a black, endless void in place of the sky. He looked down, and his heart leapt in his chest. Rather than the hall’s flooring, all he could see was red sand. It was then that he realized he was no longer in Magia, but somewhere distant, somewhere…endless. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing more than an infinite stretch of red sand. Where was he? What was this place?
Issius saw a fist-sized ripple; a tear in the space in front of him, through which he could see the Hall of Governance. The red mist faded all together, and the last thing Issius heard before he was sealed off from Magia was a final bout of Duncan’s cackling laughter.
“Holy Magus!” Bennet shouted. “We’re over here!”
Issius looked in the direction of the voice and then exhaled a sigh of relief as he spotted the group of High-Mages and Archmages, who were thankfully still alive. Wherever this place was, at least he wasn’t here alone. He spun around in a circle, taking in his surroundings. In every direction, this red desert stretched on forever. They were truly trapped.