The streets of Balthine were more crowded than Sorela remembered. After dodging several pushy hawkers and numerous beggars, she shouldered through more crowds—many were foreigners from the north, probably refugees—and decided to avoid the main roads. It was distasteful.

Wasting no time in the city, she directed a carriage driver to take the side streets where there would be less people. After some time, the carriage stopped at the top of the mountain where steep black-chiseled steps lead up to the Hall of Mages. On either side of the wide steps were various statues of notable mages, all long dead, holding lit torches that guttered in the wind. She turned to regard the beautiful city for a moment. A rumble of black clouds shaded the south.

After climbing the steps and providing her signet ring which hung from a leather cord from her neck, Sorela was admitted past the formal sentries into the grounds. The Hall of Mages had been built with purple marble and a steep-arched, tiled roof. Only one story high, she still had to crane her neck to see the Symbol of the Hall at the top, the symbol of her signet ring, just under the arched tiled roof. It consisted of a purple silhouetted figure surrounded by intricate scrollwork. The Hall was the largest building on the grounds where the High Council gathered. Other outbuildings, much more modest, scattered the grounds and consisted of living quarters for mages and initiates alike, as well as the most comprehensive library in Balthine.

Sorela approached the large, ornately carved waterwood doors leading into the Hall. Porters moved to admit her through. The pale green doors slammed shut behind her. Her footfalls echoed through the quiet interior reverberating off the columns on each side as she moved through patches of pale light shining through arched windows taller than three men would have been standing atop one another.

Formal honor guards stood at attention, motionless in front of each column, and abreast of them on either side were large braziers that kept the Hall a little too warm. Memories came back to her of her time in training. She smiled, watching the intricately carved chandeliers pulse with yellow light from the luminescent magically infused crystals there.

Sorela shook herself and continued until she reached another large set of waterwood doors at least two hands thick. Porters admitted her and she proceded into the council chamber, immediately recognizing Master Athus, one of the high seat holders among the Council. Sorela approached the older mage, bowing gracefully as soon as she was close enough. She held her pose, which was customary, until the older mage finished speaking to another man, who she did not recognize.

“Thank you, Zanith,” Master Athus said. “You may go.” The young man, probably still an apprentice, bowed before uttering the customary farewell of the Hall, and made his way out of the chamber through a small side door as Athus watched him go. Finally he turned to Sorela, “Rise, child, so that I may see your face.”

Sorela did as she was instructed. She met the older Mage’s eyes, friendly, but his face held an edge of tired gauntness.

“Ah,” Athus said, “Sorela...it is wonderful to see you. How are you, child?”

“I am well, Master. Thank you, though I wish I were here under better circumstances.”

There was a moment of silence before Athus spoke. “Come, have a meal with me.” He gestured for her to follow. “You must be famished after your long travels. How are lord and lady Warfink?”

“Not well, I’m afraid,” Sorela said, “considering the circumstances.”

Master Athus was well aware of the situation and mumbled something indistinct as they carried on. They went to the back of the council chamber and entered through a small door like the one Zanith had disappeared behind, leading her down a narrow corridor with many rooms that were well lit and warm, until they reached a door near the end that lead into a spacious room with a high ceiling. Tapestries, hundreds of years old, adorned the ceiling, depicting different histories of the Hall.

“It is my supper time, as you can see,” Athus said, gesturing to a table laden with food. “Please, sit.”

The older Mage began making his plate with deft fingers as Sorela sat. “Master...” She was not sure where to begin. Or even if she should begin now. She had just arrived. “Master Athus...I seek an audience with the council. I have an urgent matter to bring to your attention.”

“Ah,” Athus said as he finished choosing the various foods he wanted, which were quite a lot. Sorela was surprised a man of his age had such an appetite. “Of course you do.” He popped a grape into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Please, eat,” he said, “and then you can tell me all about your troubles, child.”

Sorela enjoyed the food, especially after eating only bread, hard cheese and dried meat during the journey, though she ate fast in her haste to tell the master mage of recent events. After they were both finished—she had to wait for Athus, who took considerably longer than she had—she proceeded to tell him of her dilemma. “Lord Warfink will go to war with Nelothar if I am unable to attain permission from the council to venture forth in finding his son.”

The older mage was aware Lord Jalen was missing and had been kept appraised of the situation ever since it had become an issue. Athus stroked his beard for a moment. “I would not put it past Lord Nightkar to hold Lord Warfink’s son hostage, but do we know if he is or not, child?”

“No,” Sorela said reluctantly. “We know so little, and yet I feel this occurrence of the lords son going missing are much more complex than we may imagine.”

Athus continued stroking his beard. “We are mages, child. The Hall is here to serve and protect.”

“Then you understand what I am asking, Master?”

“Hmmm, yes I do, child, and I agree with you. Lord Warfink should not be given an excuse to go to war with Nelothar. We should dissuade this line of attack.” He chuckled. “Pardon the pun. Enough lives are being wasted in the wars already being fought. I believe that leaves only you as a viable option, my deer.” Then, after a moment he added, “And I do believe that it is entirely possible that Lord Nightkar is in fact holding Lord Warfink’s son for ransom, though he would never admit to such, for fear of an attack on a second front, I think.”

If lord Nightkar is holding young Jalen, Sorela thought, how will I find him?

“You must not make any accusations against lord Nightkar to your lord Warfink. We do not yet know if his treachery is indeed truth. Lord Warfink joining the war will cost many more lives, lives that can be spared if such bloodshed can be avoided. We have already fallen short, as mages, in preventing so much strife in recent times. We must be diligent.”

Sorela nodded. “Do you believe the Council will grant my request?”

“Masters Kolan and Fenwar are currently away in the north trying to end this war. That leaves only myself, mistress Isela, and master Pafin on the council.” Athus scratched his chin pensively. “I believe that with my help, since you already have my confidence, we will have little trouble persuading the others to see things our way.” He smiled. “The council is sometimes too concerned with how the world sees us, even at the expense of the greater good. I have little doubt we will have any problems with the others, providing you believe you can prevent yet another war.”

“I am confident I can manage the situation, Master.” Sorela hoped Athus was right about the other members. We will see, she thought.