He wandered the paths of his huge garden. Aside from the occasional role as Council Historian, Gerrand spent his time in his garden. It proved to be the only important task he would attend to himself on his estate. He was quite proud of his garden; offering vegetables and fruit to everyone he met. The road wound down a hill before it passed by his walkway and he could see a mile in the other direction. Whenever a traveler reached his walkway, Gerrand would be waiting with produce in hand. Many travelers planned their stops around Gerrand's garden and most did not know he was a sorcerer.
Time sped until the young Mage arrived. The sun crested and began its afternoon descent. The shadows lengthened giving Gerrand a different perspective of the land around him. He loved to see the changes of the day and could have spent an entire day watching the sun move over the earth.
Faeya Ryr was one of only three female Mages. The Council consisted of eleven men and the three women. Four of the men were sorcerers, including Gerrand and their power was greater than the Mages. Her wagon rolled down the hill, its pale blue curtains waving in the breeze. He saw three attendants besides the driver and shook his head. She traveled like a queen. Gerrand believed she was related to High Priestess Melena, but he never questioned her on it. He liked to believe she was royal and did not want to find out if it proved false. An attendant opened the door and the petite Mage hopped down like a bird. Her glance immediately found Gerrand and her stern expression dissolved to smiles. He watched her glide over to him. She wore dark blue robes that shimmered as she moved and her black boots shined. Her short dark hair curled around her face. Her eyes were blue and they sparkled at Gerrand. He felt his blood race.
"Greetings, Gerrand," said Faeya Ryr. "Are you ready for our journey?"
"I am always ready for a journey in your company, dear Faeya. See, my trunk is packed, and I am prepared."
"Excellent." She clapped her hands and her servants loaded Gerrand's trunk on the wagon. "I expect the crossing to be smooth."
"When has it been smooth? Do you know something I do not?"
"No, good Gerrand. But you convey a feeling of comfort wherever you go."
"Faeya, if I were but six hundred years younger…"
"Do not let that thought tail away," she said, winking at Gerrand. "I am not conservative in all my undertakings."
"Well, well. This shall be a comfortable voyage."
She waved a finger in his face. "I am not throwing myself at you. I expect a full and proper courtship."
"That pleases me even more. Shall we have tea?"
"No time, my dear. We are late enough. Have you reason to remain?"
"No. We may leave." Gerrand turned back to see Urnban wave stiffly. Gerrand walked to the wagon, and then turned again to wave at Urnban, but already the man walked back toward the fields. Gerrand's arm fell to his side.
Faeya Ryr assisted Gerrand into the wagon and settled in next to him. She shouted commands to the driver and the whip cracked over the horses. The bumpy road pitched them into each other as it wound its way to the sea. Faeya Ryr smiled, shaking her head at Gerrand and pushed him back to his side of the seat.
"Pushy, aren't you?" asked Faeya Ryr. "I told you a full and proper courtship."
"Yes, yes. But you can't expect an old man to withstand the jolts from this road. Perhaps your driver better slow down." The landscape seemed to sweep by them at an alarming rate.
"We need to make the tide. I tried to get here before lunch but we met Torby Mola on the road."
"What did the Warlord want?"
"Information. The usual questions. But his eyes narrowed when I mentioned your name. Past disagreements?"
"Something like that. He knows we are both going to the Council meeting?"
"Yes. He mumbled something about Mages under his breath. I think I am glad I could not understand it."
"I do not trust that man," said Gerrand. "There is some shadow behind his eyes that I can't fathom. He tried to obtain my services once. For what, I don't know. However, I told him even the High Priestess needed to petition me for my services. I have lived far too long to be at the whim of mere mortals."
"You said that to Mola?"
"More or less. His tone irritated me and I did not try to avoid the confrontation. His hand crept to his sword. I ignored it, hoping he would draw it so I could kill him."
"Gerrand! How barbaric!"
"Of course. Everyone was a barbarian when I was a lad. The Isle of Cothos was just being resettled. I have no regrets, other than I did not have the opportunity to kill him. I think Torby Mola will cause much weeping in Cothos before his life ends."
"How pessimistic. He is a fine Warlord."
"Faeya Ryr, you are a dear girl, but do not try to improve my view of Torby Mola."
"Evun Mola and Hamar Mola are the most powerful nobles in Cothos."
"Which explains how their brother became Warlord."
"Really, Gerrand. It is so difficult to talk to you sometimes. And do not call me a 'girl' again. Especially at the Council. How am I to gain respect if you do not respect me?"
"Do not tell me I don't respect you. I do, very much. But to me, every woman is still just a girl."
"There you go, harping about your immense age. One would think it was your only talent, this great age you have achieved."
"No respect for their elders. What's the world coming to these days? What do they teach you at those schools?"
"You need a nap, Gerrand. The port is still a couple hours."
"Now you treat me like your grandfather."
"I never dream about my grandfather."
"You dream about me?"
"Enough, Gerrand. Rest yourself. We shall speak no more of dreams today."
"You dream about me." Gerrand murmured to himself. He grinned as he closed his eyes. Faeya Ryr shook her head.
Gerrand awoke a half hour later. Faeya Ryr stared out the window. He sensed tenseness about her, but decided not to ask her about it. He thought about what he knew of her, and found his knowledge slight. He kept to his estate so much he did not hear much about the outside world. He preferred it that way. However, now the outer world required him to join it again and he felt lost and old coping with the changes of recent times.
She saw him watching her and smiled.
"This is not a normal summons," said Faeya Ryr. "There is much more to this, and I believe you know the entire tale."
"Yes, I do. At least, I know the cause of the summons, but I cannot guess the mind of Tyman Stile. And so, the response of the Council is unknown to my mind."
"Do you not trust Tyman?"
"His mind is foreign to me. His quest is of power and influence. I do not have time for such a trivial pursuit. Despite my years, there are more things that I do not know than I do know. Tyman Stile will never come to that realization and the Council suffers for it."
"Why don't you ask to lead the Council?"
"I led it for many years, but the last three hundred or so I've been told I was too old for such a stressful position. I last led the Council fifty years before Petyr Wolk was born and he is the next eldest in the Council."
"You are a sorcerer. That's the only answer. Yanor, Petyr Wolk, Doad Bess and you are the only sorcerers and are always passed over for leadership. They had to appoint you librarian only because you know the last 800 years from personal memory."
"And Tyman Stile even questions that."
"How am I to act among them?" asked Faeya Ryr. "I have only been to one other Council meeting and I am unsure of the alliances."
"As I am. Do not trust Tyman Stile, Cehana, Yanor or Hile Berbac. That much is for certain. Place no absolute trust in anyone, other than myself of course, but there are two individuals who may surprise me: Zae Pol and Artus Endria. While their strength is limited, their minds are open to new ways."
"What about Petyr Wolk?"
He looked out the window and sighed.
"I cannot answer that anymore. Once, I would have counseled to trust him with your life, but he has changed much over the last years and I wonder if he spends too much time in the mountains of Curesia."
"Why? What's there?"
"It is rumored, and I cannot verify it, that Macelan's body lies hidden in a cave in those mountains."
"Macelan? It would be ashes by now."
"Not Macelan. He vowed never to die and whether he is truly dead I cannot say with any certainty. Macelan knew more about this world and the forces around it than anyone who ever lived. I learned some of his lore, more certainly than the council suspects." He winked at Faeya Ryr. "I doubt if he taught me a fifth of what he knew. I would catch him working on something that he would hide away as soon as I appeared. There were many such occasions. I saw him appear out of a mist when I knew him to be a hundred miles away."
"He could travel great distances at will? Across the continent?"
"Yes. Most things that you can think of to be impossible he could do. When he vanished Macelan left a statement behind that would herald his coming. I imagine some cataclysmic disaster is what he had in mind."
"Why does it concern the Council so, that Macelan should return? Jealousy?"
"No. Macelan changed over the years. He was a bitter man who felt he deserved more praise from people. However, he was feared more than adored, and adoration was what he sought. The people of the land ran from the sight of him. He began to revenge himself upon them in little ways. Sick animals, fouled water and the like incited the people against him. He fled into Curesia, to the mountains and there set off the spell that killed his pursuers and he was never seen again. It is rumored that he vowed to return to the land and crush it under his heel."
"Do you believe it?"
"We are summoned because such a sign was revealed. I am sure of it."
The wagon bounced one last time before moving onto the smooth roads of Osaha. The small shacks of the countryside slowly gave up to brick and mortar dwellings crowded together as the wagon neared the center of town. They slowed as other vehicles and horses moved in to congest the streets. Shouts of the drivers accompanied the jostling of the wagons and carts. The voices died down when Gerrand was recognized in the wagon. The bystanders bowed to the sorcerer. He waved his hand jerkily.
"Just like the High Priestess," said Faeya Ryr. "No wonder she fears you."
"Fears me? Ridiculous."
"It would explain Torby Mola's interest in you. The High Priestess wants you watched. What are you up to, Gerrand?"
"Nothing, nothing." He threw up his hands. "I am an old man. Why do people care what I think?"
"I remember you griping about the lack of respect you receive from the Council. You have plenty of respect here. Why is this different?"
He turned to her. "Are you trying to point out my faults?"
"It is a good custom prior to marriage. There would be no surprises later."
"Marriage? Were you actually serious?"
"Gerrand, I am hurt. Do you think I flirt with everyone?"
"I do not know. I only see you with me, rarely in other company."
"Trust me. I have eyes only for you." She smiled at him.
"Now I'm worried."
She hit his shoulder.
"Why I try to be serious with you is beyond me."
"You are beyond me, Faeya Ryr. You are young and pretty and I cannot see your interest in an old, old man."
"It is the fact that you are a man that makes your comment believable. Do not place such value in appearances. I thought you might have learned something over eight hundred years, but then as you say, you are a man."
"You are quite cruel. You would be a formidable opponent."
"There's another of your habits. When cornered, resort to flattery. Now be quiet, we are here. I don't want the captain to overhear us. He is friendly with Torby Mola."
"Why does everything have to do with Torby Mola?"
"You are the wise man, O Ancient One. You tell me."
"I am afraid, Faeya Ryr, that your discourse on relationships and marriage have scared my wits into hiding and I cannot recall them at this time. For future reference, do not touch upon such topics if you are to require my mind, for the two do not mix well."
"You are a most unusual case, my dear Gerrand. One that will require much in depth study."
"Oh, why did I agree to this journey? An old man needs to stay home and comfortable."
A servant opened the door to the coach and Faeya Ryr stepped onto the back of another servant kneeling in the mud. Gerrand followed her; the servant's back bowing under the weight of the sorcerer. He stepped over to a plank walkway and followed Faeya Ryr into a building with no windows. However, glass covered the ocean wall of the building, allowing more light than Gerrand expected into the interior. A rugged man with graying hair and a trimmed beard greeted them. He stood a hand taller than Gerrand and still carried much of his youthful muscle. He scowled at them.
"You are Faeya Ryr? Then this is Gerrand?" He looked closely at the sorcerer. "Not at all what I expected."
"What did you expect?" asked Gerrand gruffly.
"Someone taller," said the man. He raised his hand in greeting. "I am Captain Har Tonle. My ship is ready to sail within the hour. Are you prepared?"
"We are ready," said Faeya Ryr.
Har Tonle nodded his head. "My men will assist you in loading. Three servants will accompany you?"
"That is correct," replied Faeya Ryr.
"Servants? You are taking servants to the Council meeting?"
"I take my servants with me everywhere."
"No one else will have servants," replied Gerrand.
"I see this does not concern me," said Har Tonle. "I will see you on the ship." He walked away without hiding his amusement.
"Why should that matter to me? Am I portraying the wrong image? Is there an ideal that I should aspire to?" Her voice rose as she spoke and Gerrand began to back away in the hope of following the captain to the boat.
"It hasn't been done, that's all. Forget I said anything."
"I shall not!"
Gerrand pressed his hand against his forehead as he followed the captain to the ship. Faeya Ryr's pounding footsteps closed the distance behind him.