Astrantiar (Revised Version)

Chapter One

There were thrones for twelve. Only five of them were filled. The remaining seven were empty.

The table was a twelve pointed star. Between each sharply shooting point was placed a throne. A throne for a mage of the Council of Exnor-Lancastris.

None of the five of them spoke. They all knew that they were not allowed to. For it was now the time for the Ritual of Remorse. It was time for each mage to look upon the seven empty thrones and promise to himself that his throne would never go empty like the seven.

“The Will has been done,” The Archmage raised his robed arms into the air, signaling the end of the ritual.

“And may it be forever.” The other mages intoned in unison, a monotone chorus.

As if he had been waiting, for he had, a mage, noticeably younger than the other four looked around at the others and opened his mouth.

“We must attack!” He began, fervor flaming in his piercing green eyes which moved from one mage to the next. On the back of his throne was engraved the figure of a falcon. “Arcothron and his three have not yet reached the Alcazar of Restricogath! We must destroy them before they ever set foot into that unholy place.”

“Call him not Arcothron.” The Archmage cried. His flowing white beard blended perfectly with his equally pure robes. On the recline of his seat was shown a shape of a swan. “But rather Xardormagne, the Lord of the End, as he is so keen to title himself ever since his act of treason.”

“We may call him whatever we wish!” The younger mage forcefully slammed his palms onto the glistening mahogany table. “But if we do not complete the duty given to us by the Will, by the name of Astrantiar, we will be calling him the Lord of Jasvandar by sunset!”

“Ah, the zeal of youth.” A mage, sitting directly opposite from the one who had spoken prior, leaned back in his throne and hissed. His carved insignia was that of an owl. “Young Emperous Firemaven, childish eagerness is no excuse for brashness. Neither is it reason to remind the Council of what its duty is, or swear by the name of our beloved world.”

“The futility of strife!” Emperous Firemaven, the only Elven mage present upon the Council was hardly daunted. His slender hands on the table clenched into fists and he kept his gaze on his antagonist. “Artemis, I am not here to discuss the lack of experience of myself, neither to chatter about what we should or should not name our foe. All we need to know is that we have a foe, and that he is ever so steadily preparing for war.”

“Preparing for war?” Another mage scoffed, exchanging glances with first Emperous, and then Artemis. “Preparing for war? All that Xardormagne is doing is trying to get himself to Restricogath, in the accursed province of Jasvandar. On what powers do you suppose such a thing, O mage of the falcon?”

Emperous Firemaven’s tense countenance sudden eased to a faint smile. “Ah, I supposed you to ask that, Argendriam the Astute.” Halting his words for a moment, he raised his hand towards the last mage who had not yet spoken. “Asmet the Adventsight shall tell you what he and I saw this morning.”

All eyes fell upon Asmet who slowly nodded his head. His face was haggard and gaunt, yet there was a shattering gaze in his azure eyes. “Asags and Verugas.” His words came forth in monotone as if it were a chant. The aged mage then closed his eyes, retrieving the ominous vision in his mind. “Thousands of Asags and countless Verugas came out of the earth and made obeisance to Xardormagne and the three as they crossed the Veruga Cest, the Sunken Lairs. With their magic they have awakened those demons from their lifeless sleep, and together they march to Restricogath. Even now their swarm, hundreds if not thousands, are at the River Oc-vari-grist on which the other side lies Jasvandar.”

Silence prevailed for a moment, but voluntary silence was a rare thing within the Council, and so was quickly shattered.

“And how,” Artemis the Second Mage sneered towards Asmet who was in the motion of at last opening his eyes. “Do you know this in such detail?”

It was Emperous the Elf who answered. Fuming, the young mage once again brought his widely opened lily white hands crashing onto the table. “Second Mage!” He thundered. “Both you and this Council know good and well how Adventsight acquired the power of seeing deep into the present and future after passing the Fires of Trial! Have you not heard what has just been said, and likewise felt the dread of it all? The swarm of Asags, the hordes of Verugas have been awakened and is now led by a even more deadly foe than Drascon the Asag Warlock! Is this not concrete proof that Xardormagne the Traitor is preparing for war?”

“Huh,” Artemis snorted. “Did Xardormagne truly call for their Awakening? Or did they do so out of their own will and purpose?”

“Artemis Galemason!” There was an edge of complete exasperation in Emperous’ voice. “Whether or not they were aroused out of their lifeless sleep by a Xardormagne’s spell of Awakening is irrelevant! The Asags and Verugas are demons of destruction, creatures of war! Are you to tell me that the scythers (Scythe-like swords) the Asag devil wields is not for shedding blood? And that the Veruga axe is not for sacrifice to their wicked god of war, Baz’turuk? Out of any here, I know Xardormagne, or rather Arcothron at that time, for he was my Companion Mage. And knowing him, he will use them for war against Exnor-Lancastris.”

Once again, there was an uneasy interlude of quietness. Artemis indignantly leaned back in his seat, and then turned to the Archmage.

“As is the law of the Council, we cannot make any decisions regarding martial matters of the City of Exnor-Lancastris before acquiring consent from the Assembly of the Champions. Therefore I suggest, according to the law of our Council, that we postpone this verdict, until a time we feel we came make a well informed…”

There was a loud clatter at the end of the table, and all looked to see Emperous Firemaven throw back his chair and rise to his feet. “Time is a fleeting commodity.” The young Elven mage’s clear echoed throughout the chamber. “And if the Council will not take this matter seriously, then I have no other choice than to take it into my own fragile hands.” He reached for his long pallid staff that was leaned beside him.

“It is against the law of the Council that its mage should rise before the Council is declared dismissed.” Artemis’ replying voice that was heard over his shoulder was cold and dry. “Will you dishonor the law and step over the door as Arctriel did at the temptation of Xardormagne? Will you rise and knock over your throne as a symbol of betrayal as Ambrosian did for the alliance of the Lord of the End? Will you raise your head and spit on the Council Table as Albancren did three days ago?”

All eyes, one sorrowful, the others ominous, waited with bated breath as Emperous looked over his shoulder, swept over the Council with his glistening green eyes, and then walked out without a further word.

Then they turned to look at the empty throne in silence. There were twelve thrones. Only four of them were filled. The remaining eight were empty.