knees of Prime Warlocks. I feel better already. But can we get this show on the road?”
“There are times I feel as if I need a translator,” Tithian said.
Nicolas stared into the chamber, nerves threatening to get the better of him again.
“You’re going to do fine,” Tithian said. “I’ll precede you and make my way up the dais. When I announce you, you enter the chamber, climb the dais, and stand beside me. You’re not officially the archmage yet, so I’ll seal the chamber without your permission and begin the ceremony myself. And that will be the last time in our relationship that happens. Ready?”
Nicolas nodded. “But just so you know, I’m not wearing that funny hat outside of that room.”
Tithian smirked and entered the Council chamber.
A voice yelled “Tithian Bel-Enrog, once and future Prime Warlock.”
The hundred or more magi in attendance stood in unison and the room grew quiet.
Tithian faced them when he reached the top of the dais.
“Magi of the Council,” Tithian said. “I present to you Nicolas Murray, formerly Ardirian, heir apparent to the Obsidian Throne.”
This was it. Nicolas entered the chamber and kept his eyes on Tithian. The place smelled sweet from the incense, like a mixture of frankincense and sandalwood.
A loud thud told him the Pinnacle Guard had closed the heavy stone doors behind him.
For the love of god, don’t let me trip over these robes.
The climb up the dais set his nerves on edge with every step. The higher he climbed, the sharper the stares of the Council’s eyes on his back became.
“Magi of the Council,” Tithian said. “We have come here today to perform a ceremony according to Arin’s law. Let the chamber be sealed!”
“May it be as you command,” the Council responded in unison. Nicolas hadn’t been expecting that, and he jumped at the chorus of voices.
A wave of necropotency emanated from Tithian, giving Nicolas mental goose bumps, as if someone had tickled his mind. The giant stone doors sealing the chamber took on a yellow glow that grew in intensity then vanished, leaving a yellow echo in Nicolas’s vision.
With the amount of power Tithian had used, Nicolas was pretty sure it would take an army to bust down those doors.
“The chamber is sealed,” Tithian said. “Nicolas Murray, before you lie two symbols of the office you seek. The chain, by which you bind us to Arin’s holy words. And the qiyaaht , by which you protect and safeguard our knowledge of the faith.”
Key-yacht sure is a funny word for zucchetto.
“These are symbols that cannot be given,” Tithian said. “You must take them upon yourself, free of compulsion, free of doubt. And so we ask you, Nicolas Murray, heir apparent, to spend the next few moments in prayer with us before you take them up.”
Everyone kneeled and Nicolas followed along. It was odd, being asked to pray to Arin. And it was another offense that would make him worthy of a catechism uppercut from one of the nuns back home.
Nicolas , a voice said in his mind.
Nicolas held his breath. He remembered that voice. It was Arin.
You embark on this journey during perilous times , Arin said. I warned you of this the last time we spoke.
But what should I do? I don’t know how to be an archmage! I don’t know how to fight a war!
Be the person we chose , Arin said. Take your rightful place in the world, the place few think possible, and the fog will lift.
And with that, Arin’s presence vanished from Nicolas’s mind.
But something had remained behind.
A sharp burning sensation struck his mind, and he turned inward. Fiery text emblazoned itself inside his well of power, beneath the symbols of the skull and the arrow—the keys to unlocking his necromantic power. When the fire dimmed, and the letters turned black, he recognized the text. It was the last thing Arin had told him. Take your rightful place in the world, the place few think possible, and the fog will lift .
Nicolas didn’t
“There are times I feel as if I need a translator,” Tithian said.
Nicolas stared into the chamber, nerves threatening to get the better of him again.
“You’re going to do fine,” Tithian said. “I’ll precede you and make my way up the dais. When I announce you, you enter the chamber, climb the dais, and stand beside me. You’re not officially the archmage yet, so I’ll seal the chamber without your permission and begin the ceremony myself. And that will be the last time in our relationship that happens. Ready?”
Nicolas nodded. “But just so you know, I’m not wearing that funny hat outside of that room.”
Tithian smirked and entered the Council chamber.
A voice yelled “Tithian Bel-Enrog, once and future Prime Warlock.”
The hundred or more magi in attendance stood in unison and the room grew quiet.
Tithian faced them when he reached the top of the dais.
“Magi of the Council,” Tithian said. “I present to you Nicolas Murray, formerly Ardirian, heir apparent to the Obsidian Throne.”
This was it. Nicolas entered the chamber and kept his eyes on Tithian. The place smelled sweet from the incense, like a mixture of frankincense and sandalwood.
A loud thud told him the Pinnacle Guard had closed the heavy stone doors behind him.
For the love of god, don’t let me trip over these robes.
The climb up the dais set his nerves on edge with every step. The higher he climbed, the sharper the stares of the Council’s eyes on his back became.
“Magi of the Council,” Tithian said. “We have come here today to perform a ceremony according to Arin’s law. Let the chamber be sealed!”
“May it be as you command,” the Council responded in unison. Nicolas hadn’t been expecting that, and he jumped at the chorus of voices.
A wave of necropotency emanated from Tithian, giving Nicolas mental goose bumps, as if someone had tickled his mind. The giant stone doors sealing the chamber took on a yellow glow that grew in intensity then vanished, leaving a yellow echo in Nicolas’s vision.
With the amount of power Tithian had used, Nicolas was pretty sure it would take an army to bust down those doors.
“The chamber is sealed,” Tithian said. “Nicolas Murray, before you lie two symbols of the office you seek. The chain, by which you bind us to Arin’s holy words. And the qiyaaht , by which you protect and safeguard our knowledge of the faith.”
Key-yacht sure is a funny word for zucchetto.
“These are symbols that cannot be given,” Tithian said. “You must take them upon yourself, free of compulsion, free of doubt. And so we ask you, Nicolas Murray, heir apparent, to spend the next few moments in prayer with us before you take them up.”
Everyone kneeled and Nicolas followed along. It was odd, being asked to pray to Arin. And it was another offense that would make him worthy of a catechism uppercut from one of the nuns back home.
Nicolas , a voice said in his mind.
Nicolas held his breath. He remembered that voice. It was Arin.
You embark on this journey during perilous times , Arin said. I warned you of this the last time we spoke.
But what should I do? I don’t know how to be an archmage! I don’t know how to fight a war!
Be the person we chose , Arin said. Take your rightful place in the world, the place few think possible, and the fog will lift.
And with that, Arin’s presence vanished from Nicolas’s mind.
But something had remained behind.
A sharp burning sensation struck his mind, and he turned inward. Fiery text emblazoned itself inside his well of power, beneath the symbols of the skull and the arrow—the keys to unlocking his necromantic power. When the fire dimmed, and the letters turned black, he recognized the text. It was the last thing Arin had told him. Take your rightful place in the world, the place few think possible, and the fog will lift .
Nicolas didn’t
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