* * * * *
As Iltar reaches the council chambers he notices death’s stench is finally gone and there appears to be no more signs of battle. The room itself has been repaired; the damage caused by the rebel’s errant magic was smoothed over by a substance native to Kalda that could mimic the appearance of stone. It was often used in the maintenance of many stone structures around the world.
Iltar takes his usual seat on the left of the council table. He looks around the table and raises his brow, noticing he is not the last to arrive.
After several minutes Jalel, the youngest member of the council enters, taking his seat across from Iltar.
With all their members at the table, Alacor rises and greets them.
“My brothers, welcome,” Alacor extends his hands toward the six other necromancers, and they each bow their heads in return. “I have very high hopes for tonight. Tomorrow, a glorious new day will dawn upon our Order. Master Iltar, the floor is yours.” He speaks the last to Iltar as he sits in his elaborate chair.
“Indeed, tomorrow will be glorious,” Iltar starts his speech. He restrains his hopes for his own glory and power and focuses instead on the lie he is about to spin.
“These past few days I have meditated on the cause of our plight, and also counseled with men I deem to be wise; men whom I have often looked to for solutions to other dilemmas.
“One man, whom many of us hold in high esteem, Amendal Aramein, brought the pages of the past to my attention. Now, I do not mean my suggestion as a complete reformation,” Iltar placating extends his hand, seeing some of the members frown. “But only as a suggestion to rekindle our former glory.
“In the days before our tenure here at our Order, the council was balanced among the seven schools of magic. That is not practical for our time,” Iltar interjects, shrugging off the notion of reforming the Necrotic Order. “However, it came to me that if we are to rebuild our great Order, we must also include other schools of magic in our posterity’s education.”
Hearing Iltar’s words, several of the members of the council fold their arms, physically rejecting the notion. However, Iltar expected this, and he continues in a vein he hopes they will be open to.
“Necromancy, the source of our power, is supreme. It shall reign supreme among the newer members of our Order. But they shall have other influences at first. By offering more, we can gather more, and without incurring too many followers than the six of us can handle.
“I myself was not introduced into the magical arts solely by necromancy. The illusionary art was my initial training; yet, I realized at a young age that true power was held in necromancy.”
Across the table, Melnor and Jalel ease their defensive composure and lean forward, intrigued by Iltar’s speech.
“Therefore, in an effort to broaden our potential, I have chosen to take several of this island’s finest mages with me. I will use their wisdom and experience in choosing the right candidates for our order.
“In the mean time, I propose a task for the rest of you to undertake: choose men, or even women, versed in the other schools of magical arts. When I return with a flock they shall be ready to nouris–”
“I hope this is not a means to establish an unequal power base within the Order, Iltar,” Jalel speaks up, interrupting Iltar’s address. “I would hate for this to be a seed of nepotism, planted in order to gain control of the council at some future time.”
Deliberately hesitating, Iltar glances at the younger council member; Jalel himself was a product of the same act he accused Iltar of plotting. For he was brought to the brotherhood of the council on account of being the younger brother of Alacor, several years ago.
“I assure you,” Iltar clears his throat, “My friends, masterful as they are at their individual crafts, have no desire for the council.”
Looking directly at Jalel, Iltar says in a calm assuring voice, “And I thought after these many years you would have known me by now, Jalel. To think I would bring someone onto the council because they are close to me? I do not operate by such cowardice.”
The other council members quietly observe Iltar; though his words are calm, all knew his comments were an indirect attack upon the leader of their guild.
For many years Iltar had considered Alacor weaker than himself in the arts and assumed that his true strength was only in politics. His rise to the council was much like his younger brother. His meager talents were boastfully elevated by his former master. The latter had been a standing member of the council for many years and had earned his right through true tests of power. It was a time right before the magical disciplines became unbalance within the Order.
Quickly breezing over the tension, Iltar continues. “I have no intention of usurping this council.” These words, at least, Iltar speaks truthfully. The council is too small for Iltar’s ambition, and like all other things in his life, is a mere stepping-stone in his search for power.
“With these men, I intend to first search the surrounding islands. After this initial sweep, we will move on to the mainland, and perhaps some of the other islands in that vicinity.
“I have booked a ship, the Farling, and hired Captain Joselin Kenard, pending your approval, to sail us to our destinations. Cornar and several of his men will also accompany us. However, Cornar and his men will provide for themselves for this journey. Thus the only dependants for this trip will be the crew, myself and the other four mages. I estimate we shall be gone for several months. If needed I will use my own fortune to help finance the voyage, at least for my needs and those of my friends I convinced to come along.”
With his proposal concluded, and Jalel sufficiently cowed, Iltar sits in his chair. From across the table he notices Melnor chuckling; his face showing his belief in Iltar’s last statement. Iltar knew it rang true to Melnor, and he hopes his belief will add a sense of seriousness to his proposition.
“Is there any amendment to be made Iltar’s plan?” Alacor asks, leaning back in his chair.
“No,” Melnor responds quickly. “I move for a formality.”
“Is there a second?” Alacor looks to the other four necromancers.
On Alacor’s left, Toroth, who had remained silent nods his head in affirmation and Iltar feels a modicum of relief; he hadn’t realized his apprehension about the acceptance of his proposal until it was no longer in danger.
“Then it’s decided. Iltar, meet with the keeper of the treasury to finalize the funding of the expedition,” Alacor commands and continues with the meeting.
Ignoring what he deems, trivial matters, Iltar’s mind is taken elsewhere. He muses, This was the easy part. Keeping the true nature of my expedition, and any subsequent trips concealed from the other six members of the council will be another matter altogether.