Ringwall's Doom. Wolf Awert
between stupid and mad, yes. Brave isn’t the word I would have used. To be honest, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand.”
Ambrosimas’ wide face cracked into an amused grin, his eyes twinkling with pleasure. “When I assumed your patronage, an outcry went through Ringwall, I’ll tell you that. Imagine: an archmage, getting involved with the education of a student! We made history that day, Nill. We shook at the very foundations of Ringwall, you and I.” Ambrosimas chuckled and gave his thigh a light slap.
“You never said why you did, though,” Nill said cautiously. Perhaps this would finally be the moment; he would finally get some answers.
“I didn’t?” Ambrosimas seemed surprised. “I thought it would have been obvious to all.” He adopted a bored, indifferent tone, as if none of it mattered any more. “Without my patronage, you would be dead. A little neophyte managed to scratch the Archmage of Metal’s shiny veneer of honor. And you know how much value Bar Helis places on dignity and honor – especially when it’s his own. And Mah Bu – the way he played with your life force was almost a direct attack. Only nobody in the council saw it that way, me included, I must admit. He would not have lifted so much as a finger if you had not managed to save yourself. Up until his last moments he believed you were the Changer, but you already know that. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“You disagree? You think I’m not the one mentioned in the prophecy?”
“Boy!” Ambrosimas cried in mock exasperation. “I am the Archmage of Thoughts. I sniff out the truth and separate it from the lies; I wade through the tales of fishwives to find the tiniest kernel of it. No, the person from the mists, the Changer, the great spirit who comes to tear down the foundations of Pentamuria – this you are not.”
Ambrosimas laughed, his multiple chins bouncing up and down. The very air in the room seemed infected by it, swirling and dancing in merriment. Nill could not tell whether this laughter was real or staged; the archmage was too good at his game. He felt relieved, though a hint of doubt remained. “Never trust an archmage,” he heard Brolok whisper in his ear. He remembered Dakh-Ozz-Han’s words: “The opposite of a truth is not a lie, but another truth.” Yet the voices seemed distant and faded; they had lost all strength.
“But if I’m not the Changer, who am I?”
Ambrosimas was visibly enjoying answering Nill’s questions. Every one told him a little of what worried Nill, what he knew, and what absorbed him. He phrased his answers so that every answer would demand another question; once he had Nill asking, he would keep asking.
“That, my dear boy, is the question all of Ringwall would like an answer to. You’re not the only one concerned with it; I myself would give much to know the answer.” His laughter had stopped quite suddenly, his eyes bored into Nill’s. Then he abruptly began to laugh again, throwing his hands up in the air as he liked to do when he was playing at helplessness. “If I knew who you are, I’d know how you are too. Or, perhaps, if I knew how you are, I’d know who you are.”
Nill had long since foregone any attempt at understanding the archmages’ word games. “As I said, I feel fine.”
“Yes, you feel fine.” Ambrosimas added some moroseness to his performance as he stuffed a few more cushions behind his back – as if a comfortable seat was the most important thing in the world. “You feel so fine you don’t even need to sleep at night.”
Nill flinched; his caution was shattered. “How do you know—?”
“How do I know?” Ambrosimas himself was so perplexed at the turn the conversation had taken that he could not think of anything else. He shook his head and abandoned his magic for the moment.
“Nill, please. You act as though you don’t know what this is all about. Let me help you. Only two things matter in Ringwall: truth and power. The White mages search for the truth, although each has their own understanding of it. And the Elemental mages are only interested in influence and power. You may call it a game, but it isn’t. It’s much, much more than that. It’s a constant struggle for balance. Imagine a young bird sitting on a branch – if the branch sways too hard, the bird must fly off. Mages can’t just fly off. The mages must stay in Ringwall. If a mage could ever depose the magon, he would need the strength to take his place as well; otherwise, the new order he hopes to create will be nothing but chaos. There is nothing we fear more than chaos.
“And now, for the first time in the history of Ringwall those who want power for the sake of power sit at a table with those who know that any revolution will only bring misery to the innocent. ‘Nothing will be as it was,’ as the prophecy puts it. There could be no worse fate.”
“I know that. But is that an answer to my question of how you know about my every movement? Or are you trying to tell me that you belong to those who can live without power?”
Nill had raised his guard again. He knew that Ambrosimas’ mind never followed a straight path; it zig-zagged like a hare, leaping and feinting and doubling back all the time. Nill did not want to get lost in the labyrinthine paths of his mentor’s thoughts.
Ambrosimas cursed under his breath. One moment of carelessness and the boy had slipped through his net. He decided to ignore Nill’s question.
“What is the key to power?” Ambrosimas asked, and answered before Nill’s thoughts could scurry off in wrong direction. “Knowledge,” he whispered, “the knowledge of how to rule. And that includes everything that concerns you. Not one of your steps goes unnoticed. Nothing has changed in that regard. Have you forgotten why you’re here in the first place?” Ambrosimas’ voice had become steadily more urgent.
Nill said nothing. He knew exactly why he was here. He was here because Ringwall was the center of magic, because the collected wisdom of the arcanists was kept here, and because the sorcerers had come together here to find the truth behind the magic. He was here because he had dared to participate in the mages’ tournament. He was here because this was the only place in the world where he could hope to find a hint of who his parents might be. The prophecy was, as far as he was concerned, only the key that had granted him access to Ringwall. After his education he ought to have left. Who had forgotten something – Nill or Ambrosimas?
“You are here because the prophecy tells of the end of all order in Pentamuria,” Ambrosimas interrupted his thoughts. “Everyone can see that you have a weighty part to play in this game with fate. The only thing everyone disagrees on is your actual role. Are you truly surprised that everyone wants to know what you do, and that those who can follow you and never let you out of their sights?”
“And what if everyone’s wrong? What if I don’t want to play along?” Nill was outraged. His life was his own, and only his.
Ambrosimas laughed again. “My dear boy, fate doesn’t ask nicely. Only fools believe they have control over their own destiny. Unfortunately, some of these fools sit on the council. We can be grateful if we’re allowed to decide what happens in the future.”
“I understand exactly why every last archmage knows why I can’t sleep at night.” The color was rising in Nill’s face. His anger was almost palpable.
“Well, yes, not all the archmages,” Ambrosimas admitted as he diminished his aura to a small and humble size. “The magon, certainly, and me too. Just a little. The others, I hope, don’t. But that is the reason I wanted to meet with you.”
Ambrosimas could feel Nill slipping out of his grasp. Slippery as an eel, he thought. I should’ve known the boy would hate being watched, but he must have known. He decided to take a different course.
Ambrosimas said nothing. He had to think, but there was little time to do so. Nill sat across from him, straight as a candle, shrouded in a fog of annoyance, anger and stubbornness that grew denser and denser. Ambrosimas conjured up a flock of birds that twittered loud enough to interrupt Nill’s thoughts. He raised his head.
“Do you think you have the patience to listen for just a few more moments?”