Fireballs Among Friends: Part Five

      But seeing Grimjon here in the borderlands, standing outside Seradar's tower, was nearly enough to make her forget all that practice.

      Grimjon was a tall golden Kougra, dressed impeccably as always in black and gold. He would be quite handsome if it weren't for his habitual knowing smirk, which seemed to be begging Rasala to punch it off his face. She reminded herself that punching a subordinate was conduct extremely unbecoming to a First Mage of the Order of the Red Erisim – and that Grimjon was a subordinate, as much as he pretended otherwise.

      And he had Yvenya and Miskal with him.

      Yvenya was an older Skunk Xweetok, though her face was smooth, the white markings sharp under her silver hair. She was one of the world's foremost air mages, and behind her silver robes spread a pair of silver wings that she had created with magic. Rasala only wished she had the control of air to create something like that. Yvenya was absolutely brilliant – and all too aware that she was. She looked coolly at Rasala as she approached.

      Miskal, a tall, gangly woodland Nimmo, had thrown the hood of his green robes back to allow the crop of ferns that served him for hair to show in the light. He'd support Grimjon and Yvenya – he was a very strong mage with a true gift for plant magic, but he didn't have an original idea in his head, and tended to simply add his seal to whatever a more cunning mage said. Hilda had said that he was the sort of mage who'd end up taking the fall for someone one day, and not understand how he'd ended up in the middle of something unscrupulous. All three of them were dressed far too nicely, and looked strange and somewhat foolish in front of the rough-hewn stone of Seradar's tower.

      Grimjon asked, with just enough mockery that she couldn't force him to answer for it, "What am I doing here? Merely attending to my duties. What are you doing here, Rasala?"

      Two could play at that game. "My duty as duly elected First Mage of the Order of the Red Erisim."

      Grimjon said, "I would believe that our First Mage should have more pressing duties than one practitioner of black magic who can't manage his own warding spells."

      "Well, that is outside of enough!" Seradar stormed down the dune to stand by Rasala. "I never asked any of you Order folks to handle this. You kicked me out of your Fyora-blasted Order, so do me a favor for once and get out of my life in return!"

      Yvenya asked, "Do you deny that your warding spells are out of control?"

      "No! But what am I to do to protect my workings from ambient surges without the power necessary to ward against them? Where am I supposed to get that sort of power! I don't have it anymore – not after the Darkest stuck her claws into my head! And there are few indeed willing to give it to me after you labeled me an evil sorcerer waiting to happen!"

      Grimjon asked silkily, "As Seradar has brought it up, I would like to ask once more. Rasala, just what are you doing in Qasala, where there are no active members of the Order – and in the company of two known practitioners of black magic?"

      Jazan's shadow fell over Rasala as he passed her. She had to ask that man for lessons – he did intimidating extremely well. "I am king of Qasala, Grimjon, and these borderlands are under my jurisdiction. Seradar has sworn no oath to me, but is within his rights to ask for my aid. And I am within my rights – and responsibilities – to repeat the First Mage's question. What are you doing here?"

      Oh, and he'd used her title! Rasala could have hugged the king, if she hugged big, scary, surly people who still hadn't said whether or not they'd join the Order.

      Yvenya said icily, "We were working on incantations at Grimjon's tower when I sensed that there had been a disturbance here that had not yet been dealt with. All mages have a duty to contain errant spells such as those in this tower, whether they created them or not."

      Seradar muttered, "My spells. My duty. Which I was perfectly capable of handling without you interfering busybodies. The automaton is contained."

      Grimjon said in horror, "The automaton? What in the blazes are you doing trying to make automata? That's what apprentices are for!"

      "How, pray tell, am I supposed to find an apprentice? What sane Neopian would apprentice themselves or their child to a mage who was kicked out of both the Order of the Red Erisim and the Greensward Guild? How dare you stand there and tell me what I should do when you're the ones who've made it impossible for me?"

      In the dead silence that fell, Rasala heard Aldie whisper to Caspar, "You know, he has a point."

      Grimjon's orange eyes flicked toward the twins, and then he gave King Jazan a very slight bow. "I apologize – I fear proper introductions have been neglected. I am Grimjon Goldclaw. This is Yvenya of the Winds, and this is Miskal."

      Jazan's nod was even slighter, and the look in his eyes made it clear that Grimjon's insubordination had been both noticed and remembered. "I am King Jazan the Fourth of Qasala. This is my son and heir, Prince Caspar, and this is my daughter, Princess Esmeralda."

      Aldie asked, "Father, are we still going to help Mister Seradar fix his spells, or are the other Order members going to do it?"

      Seradar snapped, "Aye. Do I get to take care of my own mess like a grown-up, or will you busybodies go ahead and wipe my chin for me as well before you depart?" He was still clearly upset, and Rasala could hardly blame him. The Order didn't just get to interfere like that. It was the privilege of a mage to risk blowing up their own tower as long as they didn't harm anyone else. And Seradar's mangled ward and automata spells were contained. As long as there was no imminent danger to innocent people, Grimjon was in the wrong. The Order couldn't become bullies. Stepping in like this was the first of those steps that could lead to the Order becoming a band of magical tyrants.

      Rasala said carefully, "Grimjon, Seradar has solicited Jazan's aid as well as my own in dismantling his ward spells, unmaking the automaton, and laying groundwork to prevent further surges from affecting his work. The surges in the Qasalan borderlands are influenced by old magic, and are very difficult to work with."

      Yvenya scoffed, "Even with three gifted mages you could hardly attempt all those... oh. Oh. Twins."

      Her eyes widened. Yvenya, always called the Ice Queen by apprentices, was actually shocked. Grimjon's and Miskal's jaws dropped. Miskal said in amazement, "Twin mages! They're twin mages!"

      Rasala knew what was going through their minds. Twin mages, as well as being powerful, were incredibly rare. There were perhaps three or four other sets out there in Neopia – Rasala didn't count the abominable twins at the Obelisk, since whether or not they'd been mages in life – well, in life was the important bit there. The undead played by different rules. Or, in the twins' case, no rules.

      And none of the other sets of twins were working with the Order. Rasala knew that the twins who served the Emperor of Shenkuu had actually been forbidden by their liege to divide their loyalties, not that they'd been interested in the first place. This was a chance to dramatically increase their power once the twins were grown.

      Aldie said, "He's Caspar, and I'm Aldie. He likes books and I like swords. He's going to be king and I'm going to be his top general."

      Jazan laid one hand on each of the twins' shoulders. His eyes had gone completely scarlet. Suddenly, his concerns made more sense. Rasala refused to put children in danger, no matter how powerful they were, and she had been insulted that he had implied she would. But she wouldn't trust Grimjon or Yvenya not to coerce children into fighting their battles or powering their plots. Sweet Fyora, Aldie's sandals didn't even match!

      Grimjon shot Rasala a deadly look – she raised her chin and met it. She knew that he'd likely understood what she was trying to do. But what she was trying to do was right. And if dangling the potential power of twin mages in front of the Order of the Red Erisim was what it took to get the bylaws changed, then it was worth it.

      Jazan sniffed the air, and then looked up at the sky. His eyes widened. "Sandstorm. Within the hour."

      Rasala looked up. She saw no more than usual clouds on the horizon, but she had spent very little time in the desert and saw no reason to doubt him. Aldie asked, "What are we going to do? Can we transport back to Qasala, Father?"

      Seradar scowled. "I can feel the spells on my tower deteriorating. If we have to wait another day to come back here, we might only find a slag heap."

      Grimjon snapped, "You said you had this under control!"

      "I did, because I knew it would be taken care of today! I remember when you nearly set Timeo's whole collection of Shenkuu scrolls on fire when you were an apprentice, boy!"

      Rasala knew that, entertaining as it was, she didn't have time to let Seradar belabor Grimjon. She said, "Our choices are simple. Use magic to depart – however, the effort involved would likely keep us from returning today, if the sandstorm even allowed it, which might lead to the destruction of the tower. Or we attempt to dismantle the wards and the automaton quickly, before that sandstorm arrives. We could rebuild the wards and the surge protections from inside and wait out the storm there."

      Seradar said, "There's enough magic here that we could simply overwhelm the automaton. That wouldn't take long."

      Rasala wanted to help. She really did. That was what the Order was for – that was what she firmly believed magic was for. And she rather hoped that Grimjon, Yvenya, and Miskal wouldn't relish the idea of risking their skins and would leave.

      But Grimjon nodded once. "We three will aid you. Three more mages could make the difference between beating the sandstorm or not."

      Aldie said to Caspar, "You know, if Mama hears about the sandstorm she'll never let us go out with Father again."

      Caspar sighed. "You know she'll hear about it. Father will tell her. We'll just have to be so much help that she can't forbid us from working magic with Father."

      Grimjon crossed to Rasala. He whispered to her, "If you think I'm leaving you to fraternize with impressionable twin mages and practitioners of black magic, you're even more unfit to lead the Order than I thought."

      Rasala could have struck him. She nearly did. But then Jazan called, "Hurry! We have little time, and the sandstorm won't wait!" He added, only half under his breath, "Because nothing else is about to go incredibly wrong with this little jaunt."

      Rasala agreed entirely.

To be continued...