The hall was low roofed, wood and stone predominant in the construction. Sturdy tables were set in rows on either side of a central aisle. On one side of the hall, a large fireplace stood empty, the weather being mild, and the windows were open, letting in light and a soft breeze. The walls were unadorned except for two large diagrams sewn into cloths. These were on the wall opposite the door, and it was in front of these that Tebro paced as he spoke.
He continued his opening tirade, “But just possibly one of you might amount to something. If that happens, it will be my glad duty to abstract and compress fifty years of learning and research into an incredibly intense forty year program of study, leaving you with a double handful of years to extend that knowledge, with a responsibility to transmit that knowledge,” Tebro’s voice became a shout, “undistorted, to the next generation. That being said, let us progress to an overview of those most useful of symbols, the phoenix and the square. The strength of these symbols are that they break the whole cloth of magic into distinct areas of influence, allowing us to deduce the mindset, gestures, and incantations necessary to produce the desired effect. In short, they form the basis for all magic theory and free us from the drudgery of meticulous record keeping and memorization.” Tebro spread his hands and lowered his gaze, “Our exalted ancestors are to be praised for this work, which has made possible the derivation of these symbols by my own esteemed uncle, Genro.”
 |
| The Square of the Elements |
The door to the training hall was thrown open suddenly enough that it banged into the stone lower half of the wall. The newcomer trotted into the hall and caught himself against the back row of tables, placing his other hand on his side as he caught his breath. His cloak, a deep blue trimmed with grey, and his mail, marked him as a member of the town watch. Tebro watched him impatiently.
“Under attack,” the guard panted, “crops are burning… Tebro, you must come quickly.” The students shifted nervously in their seats and gave off a general murmur of alarm. Some stood, among them the two third degree wizards and three of the second degree.
Tebro, however, strode quickly down the aisle and recovered his outer cloak from where it had been slung over the seat at the front of the hall. He turned to the guard and said, “I will not. The defense of your town is not my concern.” Tebro walked back to the front of the room, finished packing his notes into a small valise and rolled up the diagrams. “Obviously this is, at this moment, no fit place to find an apprentice. If any of you care enough, come to Genro’s tower, it is to the west of the capitol. The tavern master of the Stout Porter will know the way.” He made for the door.
The guard stood in his way. “Please, Tebro, for the sake of the honor of your ancestors. These attackers, they are monstrous, like nothing I have ever seen.” Several of the students now stood around the doorway; the guard pointed a general direction to them, and they rushed off toward the distant smoke.
“Then defend the town,” said Tebro impatiently, “If you and your comrades are more willing to suffer the pain of injury and death than the attackers, you will necessarily win: die a thousand times, ten thousand times for your town. If you are not willing to do that,” Tebro pushed past the guard, “then the town is not worth keeping and you should return to the mountains of our ancestors." Tebro paused. "As I said, this is not my problem.”
The smoke of the burned farmland rose black against the southern sky as Tebro left the hall. He walked past several residences toward the passage into the mountain. The mountain loomed gigantic across the narrow valley from the sea. All industry and most residences of the town were contained in this narrow valley. To the south, the valley widened into excellent farmland, now on fire.
At the doorway to the tavern, Tebro’s aides, who had been looking at the smoke and at the guards running in the direction of the farms, saw Tebro leave the hall and rushed to accompany him. As they approached, Tebro spoke without preamble or slowing his stride, “The attack is obviously motivated by simple economy,” he said, “an investigation of nearby towns which currently produce an excess of food, textiles, herbs, or plant-based intoxicants should quickly reveal the offending parties.”
“Then what, master Tebro,” said Boradi, the younger of the two aides, deferentially, “should be done after the guilty parties are found?”
“Obtain the cooperation of all cities and towns within the distance of profitable trade under conditions of extreme scarcity,” Tebro said, “and institute complete embargo, nothing into the town, nothing out. A force of guards sufficient to overwhelm any trade caravan must be stationed at the offending town. Eventually the lack of some crucial product will cause the town to be unsustainable. The inhabitants will find other places to live and the city will be emptied. When it is empty, it should be burned to the ground.”
“I will inform the lord mayor, master Tebro.” Boradi continued to walk alongside Tebro, awaiting a word of assent or final instruction.
“On no account,” said Tebro, “inform me of the results of the investigation or subsequent action. I have more important matters to attend to. You may go.”
The aide left at a run.
“May one inquire into the nature of these important matters?” asked Dor, the remaining aide. His traveling cloak was draped over his arm, and five stripes were on the sleeves of his robe. He had been with Tebro for many years, and they had taken to dropping formality when in private.
“It’s my esteemed uncle Genro. He is approaching his final death.”
“Yes, I know. It credits you well that you wish to remain with your exalted uncle in his final months. Are you writing his history during that time? I wrote my father’s, you know. It was heart-wrenching to know that soon he would no longer be with me. My cousin wrote for my mother, and she said…”
“I will not be writing, Dor.” Tebro interrupted, “I will not be seeing him.”
The aide stopped, shocked, “What? Tebro, you can’t be serious!" Tebro stopped and turned to look at Dor. Dor continued, "You are going to allow his history… your own history, to die with him? Genro is a great man, the greatest wizard this world has ever produced! And, by all the gods, he taught you everything he knows… everything you know.”
“Which is exactly why I will not see him. He has nothing more to teach… and I need to learn.” Tebro turned his back on Dor. “Magic affects everything; matter, force, energy. There must be a magic that affects the soul. I must find that. If I do, it might be possible to keep Genro from final death.”
Dor spoke softly, insistently, “Tebro, reconsider. It is not possible, and even if it were, what you are talking about is defying the plan of the gods. The final death is part of the gods’ design.”
Tebro clenched his fist, held it at his side. His face contorted as he looked up at the sky. “Then may the gods die unremembered," he said, "and may they be buried far from their fathers.”
The capitol of the dwarven kingdom, and the mountain in which it was constructed shared a name, "Home." Hundreds of feet underground, in places, and in others poking through the surface of the mountain with towers, spires and balconies. For hundreds of miles the land and mountains about were tunneled through. Vast, labyrinthe series of tunnels and corridors, quite a few leading to traps or dead-ends. It behooved visitors to have a good map of the route which they were to enter from and on which they intended to leave. The dwarves did not need any map. To a dwarf, the passages seemed to resonate with a shared cunning, and it was as natural as breathing to know that this passage led to safety and this passage led into a trap. To find a new passage in a new design, containing pitfalls and dangers previously unsuspected, was a joy for any dwarf. A perplexed dwarf was a happy dwarf.
In the center of these radiating passages was tunneled, built, and carved the city "Home." Here also visitors were well advised to bring a map. In the center, a vast natural cavern. In the center of the cavern, a huge stone base fit for a towering monument. No monument sat atop the base. An inscription, large enough to read a furlong away, read, "To the ancestors of our ancestors, and to the gods. They are known only to themselves, but remembered always." The cavern itself was some half of a mile in diameter, and from its sides descended stairways and extruded walls, windows and balconies.
Deep inside Home, Tebro stood outside a doorway and hesitated. The greater part of the city had been dug directly into the mountain. In this area, the rock overhead came down, meeting the tops of the buildings, so that the effect was that of long corridors and rooms carved into rock rather than buildings. Tebro was alone. He had sent Dor on ahead to his uncle, claiming pressing business in the capitol. Damned gnomes and their damned air, Tebro thought, my head is too full… and I’m picking at my arms again. I’ll clear my head. With a clear head the inspiration can come. Perhaps I will get some work done, have a breakthrough. Three months! Great grandfather, help me. He went in.
 |
| The Phoenix of the Spheres of Magic |
A gnome walked around the bar and toward Tebro, “And what can I do for you, sir?” The gnome’s expression and tone were exactly the same as when Tebro had first entered the place, years before. Tebro knew the gnome, Airfinge, by sight, and had no doubt that the gnome recognized him.
“A room suitable for study, please,” said Tebro.
“Certainly, sir. I have just the place. If you will follow me.”
Tebro followed the gnome down a hallway flanked with doors. There were fourteen doors, seven to each side, set widely apart. Tebro knew that most of the space between these rooms was rock wall, drilled with voids which were filled with some material or other. No sound traveled from room to room, so it was impossible for an occupant of one room to tell whether the adjacent room was occupied. Lining the walls of the hallway were the same lamps as lit the whole of the city. These were more elaborate than most. Some of the metalwork was so delicate that Tebro could have sworn it was actually lace. The gnome opened the fourth door on the left, and stood aside to let Tebro in.
The room was much the same as the entry; the same rug, only smaller; the same warmth; the same fire; and the same armchairs, two of them. Beside one armchair was a small table suitable for holding a drink and a book as well as the lamp. In front of the chairs was a desk. The middle sunk to accommodate tired feet, drinks, books… anything the occupants might want near their knees. The ends of the desk were raised and curved toward the chairs, and would allow the occupants to write without quite getting up. Tebro turned to the gnome. “Lemon water and some air, please.”
“Right away, sir.” The gnome left, shutting the door quietly behind him. Tebro sat in one of the armchairs, waiting. He got a book out of his pack and read until the gnome came back. The gnome carried a large, metal canister in one hand. A hose was attached to the top of the canister, it was covered in braid and had an ivory mouthpiece. In the other hand, the gnome carried a large glass with ice floating in a slightly yellow, translucent liquid. Tebro handed the gnome two silver coins. The gnome placed the glass on the table, the canister on the floor, and took the coins. He bowed slightly and left.
Tebro twisted a knob on the valve connecting the canister and the hose, then sucked at the mouthpiece in a long draw. He sank back into the chair, contented, his eyes unfocused. After a few seconds he produced a parchment and pen from his pack, had another pull from the canister and set to work.
