A Vote for War

Cirus rose to his feet. "I would," he said, stepping into the center of the circle. He cleared his throat. "The Order of Sorcerers is nearly as old as the Auran Empire itself. Since our founding in the reign of Sailaron the Third, our relationship with the Empire has been tenuous at best."

Once again, Wells found his attention wandering. Even Cirus, who normally spoke with directness, had adopted the quasi-Shakespearean tone of the Council. It was only when Cirus mentioned Uncle Jonas that Wells forced himself to listen.

"...but when Jonas and I helped elevate Lord Silus to the station of High Wizard, we believed we had quenched the internal conflicts within our Order. We were wrong. Factions remain, and His Lordship has been largely unsuccessful in dissolving them. Therefore, I believe conflict is inevitable, regardless of our decision here. The Order is already sharply divided on this matter, and tensions are high. A schism among sorcerers is not merely possible—it is already forming. If we strike the Empire now, we may yet quell this uprising before it erupts into a new magical war." With a nod to King Haelen, he concluded, "That is all," and returned to his chair.

"Cirus speaks the truth," Galano began, his voice rumbling from his position at the circle’s edge. "Wizards are—"

He was cut off by the long, deep clang of a distant bell.

The scribe cleared his throat. "The Council will take a five-minute recess," he announced crisply. "Afterward, the remaining guests will make their arguments, and then we shall vote."

As everyone stood and began to mingle on the veranda, Wells made a beeline for the antechamber. He found his friends sitting in bored silence. Their faces brightened when he entered, but their smiles faltered when he collapsed onto a bench in exhaustion.

"How's the Council?" Alexa asked.

"Remember in eighth grade when your mom taught that economics class for three weeks, and we had to research fifty years of U.S. economic trends?" Wells asked. Alexa nodded. "This Council makes that look like a picture book."

Juliana stifled a yawn. "Still must be more exciting than sitting in here."

"What have you been doing?" Wells inquired.

"Well," Vance replied, "Aidan got to fifty bottles of beer on the wall before we made him stop. Then we talked about what we’re going to do."

Wells sat up a little straighter. "I thought you were staying here."

"We are, but we need something to do," Vance said. "You're all set. You’re going to be learning sorcery—"

"Only to get us home!" Wells interjected fiercely.

"I know, let me finish," Vance said calmly. "You're off becoming a wizard, Wells. Did you really expect the rest of us to just sit around quietly and wait for you?"

"No," Wells admitted. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I think I'll learn swordplay," Vance declared. "I've always wanted to, and this seems like the perfect place to learn."

"And I'm heading to the Royal Library tomorrow," Nikolai added. "I want to get some books on the history of this place, their level of science, that sort of thing."

Aidan snorted. "Nick, you're weird."

Nikolai winced. "Please don't call me that. You know that's what my dad calls me."

Looking guilty, Aidan mumbled an apology. It was clear he'd struck a nerve.

Before the awkward silence could deepen, the bell rang again, its toll muffled but distinct. Wells sighed and got to his feet. "I think I have to go back."

"See you later," Aidan muttered dully as Wells headed for the door.

He returned to his seat just as the other members were reconvening. He noted that Lady Isilde and the fairies seemed particularly incensed. When the Council was again settled, the scribe announced the next speaker: "Sir Alaric of the White Thorn."

The armored man strode to the circle's center, his chainmail hauberk clinking with each step. He wore a scarlet cloak embroidered with an intricate white thorn, a design repeated on the scabbard of the sword at his hip. He removed his helm, revealing a pale face framed by shoulder-length dark hair.

"Greetings," he said, his voice deep and full. "I am Sir Alaric, a Knight of the White Thorn, in service to both Neron and the Shaper. Like Lady Isilde, I have journeyed a long and perilous road to reach this Council. It took me more than two months to ride from the city of Saint Elfor on the Western Sea. I implore you to heed my words."

"My country and my faith are under siege by the Auran Empire. Emperor Lyron, a man foreign to the pious ways of Morgath, threatens our very way of life. On a whim, he has altered laws we have held as a nation for seven centuries. Diplomacy has failed. We cannot allow the rights of the Neronites to be trampled! Emperor Lyron must be driven from our lands."

Wells had the urge to applaud, though no one else did. Sir Alaric was a natural orator, and Wells hung on his every word, much as he had with Uncle Jonas's stories. Most of the other humans, save for Cirus, seemed similarly captivated.

"Did he use magic?" Wells whispered to the wizard.

Cirus grinned. "He did. And you could already identify it?"

"No, I just thought..." Wells trailed off, searching for the right words. "You must have more magical strength than anyone else here. What did he do?"

"Sir Alaric's family founded the Order of the White Thorn, a powerful faction in Neron. They wield magic differently than we do, focusing on a class of myran our Order considers too... intrusive," Cirus explained. "Notice it did not affect the centaurs and the fairies."

Indeed, as Sir Alaric answered a few questions and sat, Lady Elina, her twin, Galano, and the other centaur, Erebos, had their heads bent together in urgent conference.

The two senators from Corala spoke next, arguing against the war. As they spoke, Wells leaned toward Cirus again. "So there are classes of myran?"

"Yes," Cirus replied softly. "Six or seven, if you count personal myran. There is water, earth, fire, air, light, and pure myran. Each absorbs certain amounts of different elements, except for pure myran." He paused to ask the Coralan senators a question. Satisfied with their answer, he allowed them to sit.

Galano and Erebos followed, delivering the briefest speech of all. "Centaurs do not meddle in the affairs of men," Galano stated simply. "As your allies, we will stand by your decision, but the decision is not ours to make."

While Erebos launched into a short tirade about some King Holst, Cirus finished his explanation to Wells. "We will begin your training with water magic. It is the simplest. I will explain more later."

"All right," Wells nodded.

As the word left his lips, he realized both centaurs had turned their heads to stare directly at him. His face flushed. He looked at Cirus, his eyes wide with urgency. "They want you to speak," Cirus murmured.

"What? Me?!"

"You are at the Council," Cirus said, as if it were obvious. "It is expected."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Wells hissed, furious. "I could have at least thought of something to say!"

The scribe cleared his throat. "Lord Cirus, does your apprentice not wish to speak?"

"No, he'll speak," Cirus stated firmly.

"What?"

"Wells, do not raise your voice. It is disrespectful," Cirus said coolly, giving him a nudge in the small of his back. Wells rose reluctantly, glaring at Cirus as he strode to the center of the circle, his legs feeling like lead.

"Er... hi," he managed, his face growing hotter. Public speaking was one of his greatest fears. He'd once fainted two minutes into a ten-minute speech for a school project.

Every eye was on him. He took a gulp of air. All right, just get it over with. He opened his mouth, then closed it, another gulp of air catching in his throat.

"Okay," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm not good at this sort of thing, so I'll just get this over with. To be honest, I don't really know what's going on." He paused, sweat beading on his brow as he faced the silent, expectant crowd. "So. The war. Right. Where I'm from, we've had a lot of wars, and they're always, uh, really bad. Yes."

He was bombing, and he knew it. Internally, he cursed himself for sounding like a complete idiot. "But sometimes," he said, clinging to a memory from a history textbook, "war is necessary. Like when Germany—" He stopped, met by universally blank stares. "Er, or when England taxed the—" He trailed off again. Whoa.

He finally managed, with a sliver of conviction, "Look, it seems like this Lyron guy is overstepping his bounds. And I think... I think a war would be justified. To return—Neron, was it?—to return Neron to the way it was, and to protect other countries from being invaded." He finished lamely, certain his face was the color of a ripe strawberry. Turning, he hurried back to his seat and buried his face in his hands.

"You did fine," Cirus whispered in his ear.

"That was mortifying," Wells protested into his palms.

"You did fine."

The king rose once more, looking mildly amused. "We will now vote on the course of action our kingdoms and orders shall take. All those in favor of declaring war on the Empire?" Cirus, Sir Alaric, Lady Isilde, King Haelen, and one of the Coralan senators raised their hands. After a moment's hesitation, so did Wells. "All those opposed?" The other senator and both fairies raised their hands. "Abstaining?" Galano and Erebos held up their six-fingered hands.

The king nodded to his scribe. "So be it. Anolin will go to war with the Auran Empire. Corala and Elara will put the matter to their own votes. This council is adjourned."