The moon was high in the sky, but Master Kelmor had no eye for the nightly beauty as he stuck the object he was holding into his armpit to wipe his sweaty hands on his robes. When he had made his way to the dark nook he was hiding in, he had been calm and determined. As the minutes passed, uncertainty and fear slowly crept up to him like predators from the shadows.

If his plan went wrong, the best-case scenario was that he lost everything he had spent the forty-four years of his life building and had to leave the country and hide. At worst, and much more likely, he would be dead.

Movement pulled him out of the maelstrom of doubt. In the distance, a figure in grey-and-red robes, much like Kelmor’s, was walking unhurriedly along one of the paths, an orb of light floating over their head. Finally, the sign. The coast was clear.

Kelmor squeezed through the bushes that had hidden him back onto the footpath and immediately turned left. His first steps were uneven and hasty, but he took a few calming breaths and slowed to a determined gait that wouldn’t make him stand out if somebody saw his figure from afar.

The paths between the Master Lodges weren’t well lit, as the residents could just as easily conjure their own illumination whenever they needed it. Spending mana on permanent lighting here would have been a waste. In the past, Kelmor had considered this unnecessarily frugal. He was the Head of the Pel Marrad College Spellweaving faculty, one of the most important mages in Marrad. Surely him and the other esteemed masters living in these houses couldn’t be asked to cast their own light spells every time they wanted to leave their homes. What were a few mana crystals here and there compared to his comfort?

He had mentioned the matter in the Council shortly after he had ascended to his position some three years ago, but when the old grouches hadn’t wanted to even consider it, he hadn’t pushed. It wasn’t that much of an imposition to cast a light spell, he considered himself one of the best spellcasters in the New World after all, and there were much more important matters to spend political capital on. Now, the darkness played into his cards.

Kelmor turned right, choosing to loop around the back of one of the houses instead of passing by the front door. Master Beltar was the Head of Ritualism, and the annoying man had retrofitted his lodge with an expansive ritual, tying together all kinds of amenities to run off a central mana crystal. He liked to boast to whomever would listen how nice and comfortable it was, completely glossing over the fact that it had been a horrendously expensive frivolity.

Part of that system was one of the few lights of the living complex, an orange magelight just above Beltar’s door, shining brightly enough to illuminate the path that ran between the buildings.

Kelmor’s plan hinged on him not being recognized, so he went around, sticking to the shadows.

Finally, he arrived at his destination. The lodge looked like all the others; a quaint two-story building surrounded by hedges. Light shone from the windows, installed high enough that passersby couldn’t peek in. Looking around a final time, Kelmor ascended the steps that led up to the door and knocked. This was it.

He checked himself over while the seconds stretched into an eternity. He realized that his grip on the bottle was so tight, his knuckles were white. He quickly switched hands again and dried its neck with his expensive robe’s sleeve. One more deep breath. Just as he heard a key turn in the door, he remembered the most important thing and fixed a fake smile on his face.

The door opened, revealing Master Monrei. The Head of Healing was ancient, twice Kelmor’s age, and his wrinkled face was framed by locks of white hair.

“Kelmor.” He said, surprise evident on his face. “What brings you to my door at this hour?”

“Good Evening, Master Monrei.” Kelmor replied. “I had hoped to find you still awake.”

“A reasonable assumption,” Monrei said, returning his smile as he opened the door fully and leaned against the frame. “As you know I like to spend my evenings in contemplation with a glass of wine.”

“I do.” Kelmor agreed. “I found myself doing the same today. As I was opening a bottle, I realized that my behavior earlier was uncalled for, and I made my way here to talk to you.”

“Oh nonsense.” Monrei said easily. “You are passionate about what you believe in. Even if we don’t see eye to eye, I won’t hold that against you.”

“No, please, let me apologize.” Kelmor said, producing the bottle from behind his back where he had hidden it, holding the label into the light shining through the open door.

Monrei squinted in the low light, then his eyebrows shot up and he laughed, stepping aside.

“Kelmor, my boy, if it is this important to you, how could I refuse? By all means, come in!”

“Thank you, Master.” Kelmor said, and the grin that spread across his face this time came naturally.

“I wasn’t aware that you had such a gem in your collection.” Monrei said as he ushered him into the living room. “May I see it?”

“Of course.” Kelmor agreed, passing the bottle to the older man. “I’ve had this for a while. I had intended to open it the day I became faculty Head, but things were a little hectic and I forgot. Since then, I’ve waited for an opportunity.”

Monrei turned the bottle in his hand appreciatively. “It must have been twenty years since I last had the fortune to taste this wine. I know most collectors value the earlier vintages more, but if you ask me, Pellart just hadn’t nailed down the taste in those early years after the war ended. This year was the first really good one.”

“I agree.” Kelmor said. “Sadly, there are only a few dozen bottles left if I am informed correctly.”

“Should we not invite some of the others?” Monrei asked. “If Gerlin and Beltar hear that we drank this without them…”

“Who is going to tell them? Also, do you want to share?” Kelmor asked, then he laughed at Monrei’s sly face.

“Don’t judge an old man over his one vice, Kelmor.” The old healer admonished lightly. He placed the bottle on the table, then took the opened bottle and half-filled glass that already stood there, carried them into the next room, and returned with two clean glasses. “When you get to my age, finding things you truly enjoy becomes harder and harder. And I truly enjoy this wine.”

“I didn’t say anything, Master,” Kelmor said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But instead of arguing, we should be opening this bottle.”

“Right you are.” Monrei agreed, placing the glasses on the table. “And really, you should stop calling me Master. We are both members of the Council now, and it has been a long time since you were a student.”

“You’re right, but I cannot seem to shake to habit. How about you humor me for tonight, and tomorrow I will make an effort to call you by your name.”

“That is acceptable.” Monrei nodded sagely. “But only because of your magnificent gift. May I?”

“Please.”

While they talked, the bottle lifted off the table seemingly on its own. The cork slowly rose from the neck, vacating its position with a final, loud pop. Monrei plucked the bottle from the air and poured. For a while, neither of them spoke as they took their glasses, smelled the wine, and finally drank.

Monrei leaned back, sighing in contentment.

“Well, my boy, if it is forgiveness you wanted, consider yourself forgiven.”

“Thank you, Master. I know you do not approve of what I am trying to achieve.”

The old mage shot him a suspicious look. “You’re not here to try and convince me, are you? You know I would never change my mind, no matter how good the wine.”

“I am not, I swear it,” Kelmor said, shaking his head. “I wish you would see things my way, of course, but I know better than to try and bribe you.”

“I too wish we could find common ground, Kelmor.” Monrei said sadly. “I just do not understand how you get these ideas. Peace and non-violence have been the foundation of the magical society ever since the College’s founding. What you are proposing is… it is unthinkable to me.”

“I know, Master.” Kelmor said, looking down at his glass. “Please, let us not argue tonight.”

“You are right, of course.”

For a few minutes, the two mages sat in companionable silence, enjoying their extraordinary wine. Finally, Monrei’s eyes began to droop, and he yawned.

“Apologies, my boy, but it seems I’m more tired than I thought. I am afraid we need to cut this evening short.”

“Of course, Master.” Kelmor got up, placing his glass on the table. “Please, keep the rest of the wine.”

“That is too kind of…” Monrei said, only to be interrupted by another yawn. “Oh my, it seems the last few days are really getting to me. It is off to bed for me, I suppose.”

“A sound idea, Master.” Kelmor said with a smile. “I will do the same.”

As the two walked to the door, Monrei suddenly stumbled, catching himself on the back of a chair.

“Now really, what is going…” The old man mumbled. Then he froze.

His legs gave out and Monrei tumbled to the floor, scrabbling for purchase with weak hands. Kelmor stepped aside, watching the spectacle with a strange mix of emotions.

The old man was becoming weaker by the second, barely managing to roll onto his back and meeting Kelmor’s eyes. The confusion, fear, and betrayal on his former teacher’s face stabbed into his heart much more deeply than he had imagined.

“What did you do?” Monrei croaked.

“I am sorry, Master.” Kelmor said sadly, carefully kneeling next to the dying man. “I know that you are too set in your ways to see it, but this is for the best. We wield the greatest power in the world, and we use it to light lamps and preserve vegetables. The College’s rules have turned us into slaves when we should be rulers. I will bring about a future where mages can finally live up to their potential.”

He carefully took the hand of the dying man, cold sweat slickening his fingers.

“And while this saddens me, I am doing you a kindness. Seeing the world change would break your heart.”

Monrei was already too weak to respond as the poison paralyzed his muscles. His chest was barely rising as his lungs became too weak to draw breath. Kelmor watched like a hawk, sadness and disgust with himself warring with the fear that it might not work, that Hilera’s concoction would be too weak to finish the man off. Mages grew stronger with age for most of their lives, and while Monrei was already a decade or so past his peak, he was still easily half again as powerful as Kelmor himself, if not more, not to mention his additional forty years of practice. If he had the use of his mana, he would crush Kelmor within seconds.

It wasn’t considered particularly hard to kill a mage. They were just as vulnerable as a normal person when they were sleeping, or even when they simply weren’t expecting an attack. Killing one without leaving a mark was an entirely different prospect.

Until a short while ago, Kelmor would have insisted that poisoning a mage, especially a master healer, was flat-out impossible. As soon as they realized that something was wrong, healing magic would flood through their body at the speed of thought, purifying it of whatever agent tried to destroy it. Then, help had come from the most unexpected direction. The Alchemists.

For decades the faculties of Alchemy had been sponsoring forays into the wild, sending poor fools into danger to bring back unknown plants and creatures. It was generally considered a massive waste of time and resources, but every now and then something useful came of it. Hilera was one of his oldest friends, as well as deputy chair of Alchemy, and he trusted her implicitly. Still, when she came bursting into his office, telling him between labored breaths that she had found a way to block a mage’s access to their mana, he thought she was delusional.

A mage’s core was part of them, maybe even more so than their body. The idea that that connection could be blocked, even if only for a short time, was almost sacrilegious.

And yet, she had proven her claims to be true. That’s when a plan had started to form in Kelmor’s mind – the plan that had brought him here, kneeling over the dead body of the most highly respected mage in the entire New World.

The wine they had both drunk had been laced with two poisons. One was a poison called Final Frailty, a well-known substance that used to be all the rage a few hundred years ago, during a time when getting rid of political rivals was still a generally accepted way to move up in the world. It was colorless and tasteless, it acted reasonably quickly, and it couldn’t be detected after the fact. There was, however, an antidote, and when it got to the point that every important person in the country always carried at least one vial of the stuff, the fad ended, and the nobles went back to stabbings in dark alleys.

Kelmor had taken a sufficient amount of the antidote before he left, and he carried another two vials in case something went wrong. This way he could drink the wine without worrying about his own life.

The second poison was Hilera’s new mageblocker. While she had perfected it to the point where Kelmor was willing to drink it, there was no antidote for it. Kelmor reached for his core – and shivered when his mental questing found only emptiness.

This is what it feels like to be mundane. How do they stand it? How do you live like this?

Thankfully, it would wear off in a few minutes.

The old man’s hand in his had finally slackened completely, Monrei’s chest wasn’t moving, and his eyes had rolled to the back of his head. Kelmor reached down to close his eyelids, silently bidding farewell to the old man. Then he stood and grabbed the corpse under the shoulders.

Dragging it back into the chair was hard work, harder than he had imagined. As small and frail as the healer looked, a human body still weighed quite a bit. When he finally managed to arrange him in a reasonable position, he walked into the kitchen to retrieve Monrei’s opened bottle and glass. He returned them to their previous places on the table, then took the two glasses they had used and emptied them. A quick but thorough rinse later and they were back on the shelf where they belonged. The cork went back into his own bottle, and after a final scan of the room for anything out of place, he slipped out of the door and disappeared into the night.

Behind him, seeming small in the plush chair, Monrei’s body was already starting to cool.