Delver Magic: Book 06 - Pure Choice (24 page)

"You are a sorcerer of great
power," Scheff replied.

"And you think I need to make
some display of my home to prove my ability?"

"I doubt anyone that knows
you would doubt your ability. You cast black magic in a perfect circle."

"Yet you are surprised by my
home."

"And you seem obsessed by my
surprise."

"Because I am trying to
understand you."

"Why is that necessary for
someone like you?"

Ansas expression of mild amusement
turned to a scowl of disappointment.

"Let me warn you, my patience
has a limit. You are here at my will. For some reason, I often have to explain
myself to others that can't see the rationale for my actions. I allow that
because I understand your limitations, but only within reason. Now, for the
last time, why are you surprised by my home?"

Scheff, not truly wanting to
cooperate, didn't want to anger the sorcerer, either. He found no harm in
revealing the truth about his expectations.

"You are right. I expected
more. I would have thought you would have surrounded yourself with a sanctuary
befitting the power of your magic. A king does not live in a hut. An emperor
does not call a meager cottage a home."

"Foolish," Ansas replied
with a shake of his head. "I expected more from you."

"I am sorry I disappointed
you."

The sorcerer's eyes narrowed and his
disappointment soured more toward hostility.

"Just as I do not like
evasive answers, I also do not appreciate sarcasm. Do not test me. I assure
you, despite the credit I freely give to your skills, you are nothing to
me."

Scheff almost replied with even
greater sarcasm, but something in the sorcerer's words caught his attention. He
believed he had actually been complimented by the sorcerer, and he further
believed that such an offering was rare indeed.

"Now, to the six of
you," Ansas declared with authority as he abruptly ended his discussion
with Scheff and addressed the six elves that stood off to his left. "You
aided the other spell casters by channeling energy into them. I wish to know
how each of you approached the process."

None of the elves responded.

"I don't care which one of
you goes first," Ansas proclaimed, "but one of you better
begin."

The six elves remained quiet.

Ansas did not sigh or shake his
head, nor did he grumble in frustration. He understood that, for the most part,
the elves within his study were leaderless. Scheff had assumed some measure of
authority, for his skill with magic was unmatched by the other elves, except
for maybe Haven. And while Haven remained cautious, neither she nor Scheff
would presume to speak for the entire group.

The other elves had no one to look
to for guidance. There was no elf guard to take control, no elf from the
council to direct them, and no elder to assume command. The six elves he
questioned became rigid in their unwillingness to aid the sorcerer.

Ansas could persuade them with his
magic, punish and torture them, but that would be both a waste of his time and
energy. It annoyed him to deal with such petty concerns, but certain
irritations seemed unavoidable.

Ansas stood up from his chair and
walked to one of the shelves. He snatched a stack of papers and quickly paged
through them. Finding the one he wanted, he handed it to one of the elves that
was responsible for channeling magic to the other spell casters.

"Read this out loud,"
the sorcerer demanded. "I want everyone to hear it."

The elf said nothing at first. He
only looked down at the hand written notes. After reading a few lines to
himself, he decided to start over at the beginning and read them for all the
elves to hear.

"'Ebony magic directed with a
mix toward shadow and alteration has the power to move through the mind as a
sponge, a knife, or both. In regards to a sponge, it can absorb thoughts by
becoming a shadow of memories. After the spell is given adequate time to seep
into the target's mind, the shadow must only be consumed by the caster and the
thoughts become apparent. With added alteration, the very same thoughts can be
erased from the target's mind. With greater concentration focused upon
alteration and less on shadow, the magic can be utilized to seize the thoughts
by cutting through the layers of consciousness and creating a silhouette of
each broken strand. By themselves, the strands are nothing more than jumbled
memories, but the silhouette will seek to reform into an organized image and
bring the thoughts back into their original form.'"

The elf stopped and looked up at
the sorcerer who had returned to his desk.

"I hope the point of that is
not lost on any of you," Ansas stated. "I don't need to be congenial.
I can simply take what I want from you, but I will ask again—and this is the
last time—how did you approach the process of channeling the energy to the
casters?"

It was Scheff who spoke up.

"One of you answer him."

Ansas raised an eyebrow.

"Are you assuming
responsibility for them all?"

"If I have to."

"That's not quite the elf
way."

"I do not want to see anyone
get hurt."

"What you want is irrelevant.
I'm not looking for resignation or even surrender. Surrender means nothing to
me in this particular case. I seek information."

One of the other elves who
understood the sinister meaning behind the words from the paper decided to
speak up rather than have his mind invaded by magic he knew he could not
withstand.

"I think of buckets."

Ansas immediately disregarded
Scheff and turned to the other elf.

"Buckets?"

"Yes, I view the target of
the spell as the final receptacle, one large container that has to be
constantly filled. I use other buckets to scoop up all the magic within me and
then pour it into the receptacle."

Ansas shook his head and dismissed
the consideration with a wave of his hand.

"Your thought process is inefficient.
You created a series of intermittent steps when they are not necessary. What
about you?" the sorcerer demanded as he turned to another elf.

"I think of a flood. The
magic has to..."

"Completely foolish,"
Ansas interrupted, unwilling to hear anything further. "The principle is
reversed. There is no flood. The magic is diminishing. It is the complete
opposite."

"I project a wave,"
another elf offered.

"What kind of wave?"

"Like on the sea. It pulls
more magic in from..."

Ansas waved that elf off as well.

"More nonsense. All of you
seem obsessed with water, but that can't be right. One of you was doing
something different. Now I want to know who it was and what guided the
process!"

"Hunger," a young elf
whispered.

Ansas eyed the
elf.

"Say again!"

"Hunger," the elf
repeated, and then expanded on the thought process. "The caster is burning
through energy and must be replenished. Hunger."

"A flame based technique.
Very interesting. Do you inherently cast in an orange hue?"

The elf nodded.

Ansas had learned what he needed
and disregarded the elves around him. He placed a blank sheet of paper on his
desk and began to speak. As he did, his words appeared magically on the paper.
It was as if his hand completed each stroke of ink, but such mundane tasks were
no longer necessary for a sorcerer of such power.

"Forming links of magic from
one caster to another can be accomplished in several manners, with some more
efficient than others. Utilizing the concept of hunger can facilitate a
substantial transfer of energy, especially if concentrating upon replenishing
the energy in a similar fashion that food or fuel is used to sustain fire. In
order to utilize ebony power, hunger must be viewed as a transitional state.
Expelling magic through incantations leads to a loss of energy, an alteration
from a full state toward an empty state. In terms of ebony magic, it is the
transition that is key. Hunger is not the process, but the flag, the warning
that a state of change has taken place. Change in the other direction is necessary
to remove the hunger."

Ansas stopped and reviewed the
writings. He nodded and put the sheet of paper upon another pile. Satisfied, he
returned to his chair and sat back down.

"Is that all you
wanted?" Scheff asked.

"From those six? Yes."

"And the rest of us?"

"You, the girl that glows
yellow, and the one that casts strong emerald magic are of possible use to me.
The three of you have a decision to make."

"What if we decide we wish to
go home?" Scheff pressed, wondering just how much latitude they were being
offered.

"You will only go home if and
when I desire it," Ansas responded, but then his nearly disinterested tone
swayed slightly into an expression of greater expectation, as if the elf before
him was actually worth his attention. "For one moment in your
insignificant life, forget the boundaries of your meager aspirations and
consider an opportunity that is unlike any other you could possibly
receive."

Scheff shook his head.

"You refuse already?"

"It is all so... common. I
expected more from you."

Ansas appeared more surprised than
annoyed.

"You haven't even heard what
I have to say."

"Does it matter? You will
offer us some agreement, a choice for us to make. 'Do this for me and I will
spare you' or 'Join me and I will give you power' or something similar in
nature. It is as old as elflore. That is why you brought us here, and I find it
tiring."

"Interesting, but
inaccurate."

"Truly? You were not going to
offer us some choice of aiding you or facing terrible consequences?"

"You think I require your aid?"

Scheff considered that for a
moment and realized he had perhaps spoken too soon. He wondered what kind of
aid he could actually offer a sorcerer of such ability. Still, even sorcerers
of great ability often utilized spies and minions.

"You said we could be of
possible use to you. Those were your words, not mine."

"Yes, but that is not the
substance of the issue. You do have a choice. You need to decide if you wish to
become more than you could possibly achieve on your own. Your skills are
somewhat impressive, but in truth, you are hunting for scraps when you could be
reaching for so much more. If you can raise your inner expectations, you have a
chance for greatness, but you must be willing to move forward. I have no
intention of wasting my time or energy on trying to persuade you."

Scheff sighed. "So then it is
nothing more than a beggar's deal."

"You consider yourself a
beggar?"

"My low opinion is not of
myself, or even you," Scheff added in order not to insult the sorcerer.
"It is of the situation you create. You accuse me of holding to low
aspirations and then entice me with riches in power I cannot touch."

"Then you have a small mind
indeed."

"Be that as it may, I have no
intention of offering my services, my life... or my spirit to you in exchange
for freedom, position, riches, or anything else you intend on offering."

"I offer absolutely nothing
of the kind. I was only interested in whether you wished to be more than you
currently are, but not through simply what I offer. Your growth is based on
what you can do on your own."

For the first time, Scheff was
intrigued.

"You have seen what I can
do," the elf finally replied. "I cast the power of the storm and in a
perfect circle. You believe I can grow further? Cast perhaps in pure white or
even a second circle?"

"Are those your
aspirations?"

"What else is there?"

Ansas eyed the elf carefully.

"There is the purity of your
natural hue," the sorcerer announced with growing enthusiasm. "You
think you have been true to your inherent ability, but we both know that is not
reality. You have allowed other magic to stain your spells. You have dabbled in
spells of water and fire."

"Both are part of violet
energy. The storm brings rain and lightning."

"If you are going to make
excuses, then we are already done and you are of no use to me."

The words actually bit into
Scheff's desires. He didn't want the conversation to end just yet. He thought
of being more, of growing, of reaching a greater potential. He always thought
he might someday expand his abilities and cast a pure white circle. For most
spell casters, that was the ultimate ambition, but the sorcerer seemed to offer
something else, something uniquely waiting for Scheff, something that he and he
alone could grasp.

"I want to hear more."

Ansas didn't smile, revealed no
satisfaction. In fact, he felt no great joy or gained no sense of victory. He
had neither hopes nor expectations for anyone in particular. If Scheff didn't
accept his insight, he would eventually find someone, or something, equally
talented in violet magic that would dare to be more. He did, however, find
greater interest in discussing what was the center of his own ambitions.

"Understanding magic is more
than discovering new spells, increasing your efficiency, or expanding your
talents. It's about remaining true to your inner self, finding the quality that
separates you from the rest. I admit you are more skilled with magic than the
others in your camp, but what does that make you? How are you truly different
than every other elf of the forest?"

"I cast in a perfect
circle," Scheff responded almost defensively.

"Is that what you consider
different? Other elves have achieved a circle as well. They have been
forgotten, just as you will be someday."

Scheff found the remark
unsettling. He didn't wish to simply fade away into irrelevance. He tried to
defend himself, disclose some reason why the sorcerer was wrong, but he
couldn't find the words.