Work Text:
A summons waited on Astalor’s desk. He’d been back from Talador all of three hours, and now he was greeted by this. He cursed himself for stopping by his office in the Hall of Blood too quickly. Had he given it thought, he could have returned home for at least one evening of peace. But no.
The rest of his office was as bare and austere as he’d left it. Perfectly neat bookshelves without a spine out of place, a clear desk, not even a speck of dust on the floor thanks to the broom he’d enchanted before he left. That seemed to make it worse, somehow, and made it impossible to look away. The gilded envelope stared at him, daring him to open it. He picked it up and held it in trembling fingers. His nostrils flared as he eyed the familiar trim.
He only recognised it before he’d opened it because he’d seen this sort of thing once before. In the aftermath of all that happened when Kael’thas’ forces took Quel’Danas, he and Rommath had been summoned to a magical conduct hearing and questioned about their role in M’uru’s corruption, specifically whether they could have predicted its transformation into Entropius. At the time, they could answer an honest no.
Astalor had a sinking feeling that if this was regarding what he assumed it would be, the answer wouldn’t be so simple.
He tore open the envelope and scanned his eyes over the letter once, and then a second time immediately afterward.
Dear Magister Astalor Bloodsworn,
Your attendance is required on the third day of the month for a hearing regarding your role in the death of your apprentice, Kaelynara Sunchaser.
The Magisterial Council and representatives from the Sunsworn expedition will be in attendance, so please prepare any statements and/or evidence for both.
Proceedings are to begin mid-morning, but please arrive as early as possible to prevent any delay.
Yours Sincerely,
Grand Magister Rommath
The letter wasn’t in Rommath’s handwriting. Instead, it bore his secretary’s impersonal but elegant flourish. Appended was a scrap of paper, and this one was in Rommath’s hand: less flourish, more precision, and with a characteristic angularity to his letters.
Formality, rigamarole. Do not worry too much. Just attend and speak truthfully. I will, of course, be forced to berate you a little. But that’s nothing new.
R.
Finally, included with a label that merely read ‘evidence’ was a copy of the letter he’d sent to Kaelynara, dismissing her from her apprenticeship.
Kaelynara,
It is with some regret that I must inform you that I am relieving you of your duties as my apprentice. I blame myself for being mistaken of your potential; I hope you can understand that even the most talented of mages sometimes make mistakes. At least now you can put your ineptitude behind you and pursue a more reasonable goal. Perhaps basket weaving may prove more suitable for your...talents.
Unfortunately I do not associate myself with any basket weavers specifically and am too busy to write you a recommendation. Please return to Azeroth at your soonest convenience.
Astalor
Astalor crushed the letter in his hand, squeezing the paper into a ball until his flare of frustration had passed. He was expecting it; he’d have been a fool if he wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he was pleased.
What happened to Kaelynara was unfortunate, but it wasn’t his fault. He’d dismissed her. If she had listened to his advice, she would have been safely back in Silvermoon and not causing havoc in some draenei mine. He would rather not be blamed for the actions of his reckless apprentice—no, he corrected himself, reckless former apprentice—who had taken matters into her own hands and acted without instruction. He’d never even wanted an apprentice in the first place.
After a steadying breath, and then a second, and then a third for good measure, he smoothed the letter out until it was once more legible and slid it back inside the envelope.
If he knew Liadrin, which he did, she would have also returned to the Hall of Blood before anything else, and wouldn’t have left yet. He stuck his head out of his office door and called to one of the nearby Blood Knights.
“Have you seen Lady Liadrin?”
The knight nodded. “At the armoury, Magister Astalor. I’m sure if you make haste you’ll catch—”
A crackle of arcane magic interrupted him, and Astalor teleported from his office to the armoury before the knight had even finished his sentence. All he left behind was a faint shimmer in the air.
Liadrin was crouched over a mess of iron and steel. She mumbled something under her breath as she separated and counted each sword hilt, then made a tally mark in her logbook. She didn’t turn her head, but raised a hand to stop Astalor from interrupting. He fought the urge to say a random number aloud to break her streak and instead waited.
Eventually, when she’d finished, she turned to him.
“You know you could probably have the junior knights take inventory for you,” Astalor said.
“I could. And you could have them see to your library. Shall I suggest that?” Though it was phrased as a question, her tone made it clear she knew the answer.
He shuddered as he thought back to the last time he’d allowed junior blood knights to use his personal library, and how the books were returned with bent spines and then placed back in entirely the wrong order.
“Point taken. Here,” he said as he slipped the letter back out from its envelope and passed it to Liadrin. “You’ve been invited to this, I suppose?”
She skimmed her eyes over the contents and gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
“You’ll put in a good word for me then?” He attempted a wry grin, but feared it appeared as more of a grimace.
“I’ll say what I saw of the situation. No more, no less.”
Such an answer was expected. Duty above all was Liadrin’s way. Still, a word of encouragement might have been nice. He said as much as he crouched next to where she sat, then slumped until his back was fully pressed against the stone wall. Liadrin afforded him a brief sympathetic glance.
“How are you feeling about it?”
“Not good. But this is hardly on me. I wasn’t the one who told her to hold a mine hostage in search of a crystal. She wasn’t even my apprentice by then. I had dismissed her, if you remember.”
“Yes. I saw the letter. You could have worded it with…” She paused for a moment, chewing her lip as if trying to find diplomatic phrasing. “More kindness.”
“She tampered with one of my golems. Her negligence resulted in deaths!”
“As did yours.”
Astalor bristled. “It’s no worse than what I would send to you if you were my apprentice and had done such a thing. And definitely no worse than the dismissals I’ve seen Rommath send.”
“I’d hardly hold the grand magister as a paragon of handling apprentices. You know Rommath as well as I do. He’s many things, but tactful is not one of them. Rude, dismissive, brusque… shall I go on?”
Her bluntness prompted a short, sharp laugh from Astalor before he shook his head.
“No, but I mean he’ll be serving on the hearing council, so it would be hypocritical of him to find fault in the letter.”
“Which bodes well for you, I suppose.” Liadrin paused. She was resting on her haunches, and shifted slightly. As she did so, she fixed an even stare on Astalor. “I would be surprised if they blamed you for her death. Not outright, anyway. They may well settle on a dereliction of duty, though.”
“And you’d support that?”
Liadrin didn’t hurry to answer. Instead, she let out a long sigh and glanced up for a moment, as if hoping to find an escape on the ceiling. “You’ve a sharp mind, Astalor, but I believe it thrives when left to its own devices. It’s not a mind meant to nurture.”
Something about the way she said it stung, and his words came out more petulant than he’d intended. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning,” she said in a voice growing increasingly weary. “That while I think dereliction is a strong word, I do think there is more that could have been done for the girl. You could have sent her home with an escort, at least. Or you could have tried not to humiliate her with your dismissal letter.”
Astalor pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. He wanted to argue, but everything that came to mind sounded like an excuse. Worse, his stomach was feeling heavier as their conversation drew on. It wasn’t guilt. He knew it couldn’t be because what happened wasn’t his fault. Regret, perhaps? Whatever it was, he didn’t relish the idea of it growing any worse.
“In any case, it isn’t a criminal trial. At worst, they’ll strip you of your title for a year or so. More likely you’ll get a slap on the wrist and nothing more.”
The sensible tone with which she tried to dismiss his fears instead just stoked his temper.
“Or I’ll face public humiliation and will never be able to show my face in Silvermoon again,” he hissed. It was an exaggeration, he knew that, but his tongue had acted before he’d thought.
“Perhaps it would do you good. Or at least give you some sympathy toward Kaelynara.” Liadrin’s eyes widened slightly as she spoke, and Astalor wondered if she’d spoken before thinking as well. Even if she had, her words still struck with force. The air grew heavy as their weight settled in.
“It’s late,” Astalor said. He needed an excuse to get out as quickly as possible. “I should…”
Liadrin didn’t argue; she just murmured something in agreement. “I have more to inventory, so…”
With no goodbyes exchanged, Astalor teleported himself out of the armoury and directly home.
***
The morning of the hearing was already clammy and promised a hot day ahead. Astalor hoped the prickle of sweat on his neck was merely from the building heat and not his nerves. He had nothing to be nervous about, after all. That’s what he repeated to himself as he climbed the filigreed staircase up toward the chamber where the case would be heard.
The room was grand enough to be imposing, even by Silvermoon’s standards, and Astalor couldn’t help but wonder if that was a conscious choice. Great marble pillars lined the walls, each adorned by golden leaves that snaked out and across the cornices. The elegant, high-backed chair he would be sitting in faced toward a long desk carved so intricately it appeared to have been formed from tiny vines, and was positioned to look more like an enormous pulpit. That was where the council would be seated. It loomed.
Behind was the public gallery for those who wished to observe. As he scanned his eyes over the space, wondering who would choose to spend their time watching something like this, he noticed he wasn’t alone: Rommath was reclining in one chair at the back, head buried in notes. Beside him sat his secretary, rifling through a separate pile of notes.
As Astalor approached, Rommath set his papers down.
“Careful, if anyone else arrives we might be accused of collusion.” There was the merest hint of amusement in Rommath’s tone. Just enough for Astalor to notice, though for most others it would have been lost beneath his stern affect.
“Perhaps more tolerable than having to sit through this,” Astalor said, rolling his eyes. “I won’t ask for your thoughts on the matter. I know you can’t give them.”
“No, I can’t.” Rommath turned back to the notes on his lap and pulled one sheet from the pile, a facsimile of the letter Astalor had sent to Kaelynara. Rommath began to read aloud. “Unfortunately I do not associate myself with any basket weavers specifically and am too busy to write you a recommendation.”
There was nothing Astalor could do but cringe internally. It sounded so different read aloud. Vitriolic, almost. He wondered if he came off like that all the time.
“It’s witty. It sounds like something I would say,” Rommath said. “Though, as I hear it, that shouldn’t be taken as a compliment.”
Before Astalor could respond, Rommath’s secretary finally lifted her head from her papers and interrupted. “You know, if you state your case poorly, there’s every chance they’ll execute you and you’ll end up as lynx food.”
“No, he won’t,” Rommath scoffed. It almost sounded as though he were admonishing her, and for a moment Astalor wondered if he was coming to his defence, then he deflated as Rommath continued. “That was just a rumour, and no criminals were ever actually fed to the imperial lynxes. Hanging has traditionally been far more common.”
Astalor could see where the conversation was going, and he excused himself before the nervous weight in his stomach grew any heavier.
“Thank you for the encouragement,” he groaned, as he turned to head back toward his seat.
***
It took a further two hours for the chamber to fill. The public gallery was mostly taken by magisters in jewel-toned robes, who gossiped among themselves, not caring about the building cacophony. Astalor caught snatches of conversations: some knew Kaelynara, but most were merely attending out of a morbid curiosity. He couldn’t blame them entirely.
Rommath had disappeared at some point, and Astalor only saw him again when the council for the hearing and the representatives from the Sunsworn filed in and took their seats at the front.
Silence fell when Rommath stood at the head of the room. He didn’t need to ask for it. The gathered magisters knew him well enough not to dare open their mouths while he spoke.
His introduction was brief and businesslike: an overview of what would happen, a request for continued silence from the gallery and a reminder that there were no criminal charges to be presented. It was merely an attempt to find the truth in tragic circumstances, and to ensure this wouldn’t happen again.
Astalor found his eyes drifting down to the desk before him. Its surface shimmered with tiny, painted runes that formed a binding charm. He had seen it activate during criminal cases brought to the magisterial judiciary, and he’d seen the looks of horror on the faces of the accused as the wood warped and twisted, and trapped their arms for the length of the proceedings. He was glad, at least, that such humiliation didn’t await him.
His attention was drawn back to the front of the room when Magister Quithas took his position to question him first. His nervous glances around gave away his discomfort, and there was no hiding that he was more at home in a lecture theatre than a magisterial court chamber. While Astalor hadn’t expected him to be on the hearing council, it made sense given his oversight of the magister apprentices.
“The death of any magister is a tragic event,” Quithas began. Though he started off shaky, his voice grew steadier as he spoke. “But the death of an apprentice even more so. It represents not just the loss of one of our own, but also the loss of potential. Witness statements have been collated and corroborated, and all agree on the following course of events: Kaelynara Sunchaser, in the course of her apprenticeship to Magister Astalor Bloodsworn, was assigned golem maintenance duty. On one occasion she caused a malfunction which led to what has since been referred to as the ‘frenzied golem’ incident, and which resulted in the deaths of several Sunsworn magisters and knights in Talador.”
Quithas paused for a moment to catch his breath.
The scene was still fresh in Astalor’s mind. The golem, his golem, rampaging across the camp and trampling those whose path it crossed. Kaelynara’s face contorted in terror as she tried and failed to subdue it. The stench of blood and rusted metal, and her constant stammered apologies. His work on the golems was already controversial enough; he couldn’t afford her poor handling to reflect poorly on him. But she had looked so scared. Had he comforted her? No, he remembered now. He simply dismissed her from his sight.
He’d said nothing more to her before he sent the letter.
“As punishment, Kaelynara was dismissed from her apprenticeship. Council members, Sunsworn representatives, you have been provided with a facsimile.” Quithas allowed enough time for those with a copy of the letter to read it before he continued.
“Kaelynara did not return to Silvermoon following this dismissal, and instead proceeded in an attempt to steal a crystal relic from the Jorune Mine. The major arcane emergency that followed injured several miners, disrupted the local fauna, and resulted in Kaelynara being killed by Archmage Elandra of the Kirin Tor and her assistant, following their identification of Kaelynara as a serious threat.” Quithas set his eyes on Astalor. They were not accusatory, as he’d expected, but full of sadness. “Would you agree that this constitutes an accurate and unbiased account of the event, and the factors contributing to it?”
“I would.”
“Then if I may, Magister Astalor, I have a few questions.”
Astalor wondered for a moment what would happen if he said he may not. Quithas’ only purpose at the hearing was to ask questions of him, so it seemed such a useless request. The thought amused him, but he decided he would merely come across as belligerent if he said it, and that was the last thing he wanted right now.
“Please ask.”
“How long had Kaelynara been your apprentice?”
“Half a year or so.”
“And had you taken any apprentices before her?”
“No, never.”
“What would you consider to be the purpose of taking an apprentice?”
Silence followed. Astalor blinked. It wasn’t the sort of question he’d expected, nor the kind he’d prepared for.
“The purpose?” he repeated. It was simply what was done, surely? Kaelynara had been recommended to him as someone who should have been able to understand his work, and so he’d offered her the position. It was as simple as that. He had never even wanted an apprentice, but was advised it was ‘proper’ to take one. “For transferring knowledge.”
“Well yes, that is one aspect of it. But would you not say there is anything more?”
Astalor stared blankly at Quithas and found himself reminded of a deer he’d once seen looking helplessly into a farstrider’s arrow. Not a single shred of understanding as it faced the tool of its execution.
“No.” He knew it was the wrong answer as he said it.
Quithas gave an almost pitying smile. Astalor had been coaxed like a struggling student, and failed. The tone with which Quithas next spoke annoyed him more than it should.
“I would say, from my many years of working with apprentices, my aim above all is to encourage growth. That growth may be in power, or it may be mental—such as the transfer of skill or knowledge, as you said. But it is also personal. The resilience to deal with mistakes, the courage to own those mistakes, and the wisdom to make them right. Do you believe you nurtured that in Kaelynara?”
There it was again. That heavy, sinking feeling. There wasn’t a sound behind him as the spectators watched with bated breath.
“No.” This time he spoke with less defiance. His voice was quieter.
“As I recall, Magister Astalor, this is not your first time in attendance at such proceedings. Last time you were not in any sort of formal apprenticeship, but you were working closely with Grand Magister Rommath as a subordinate, am I correct?”
“You are.” Astalor found his hands gripping the edge of his chair. Once again, Quithas had taken his questions in another direction than expected.
“And do you feel any resentment toward the grand magister for involving you in such a situation?” Quithas looked up from his notes and out toward the gallery. “For those unaware, Magister Astalor was previously questioned for his role in the corruption of the naaru M’uru.”
Astalor glanced toward Rommath, whose glare was fixed on Quithas.
“No,” Astalor answered. “Why should I? I had every opportunity to refuse or stop. The grand magister is in no way responsible for my actions, and nor do I blame him in any way.”
“And I assume that means you would give the same freedom to any apprentices you take on, and expect they would take the same responsibility for their actions?”
Astalor frowned as he turned back to Quithas. It seemed such an obvious answer. “Of course.”
“It strikes me that your letter could be read as particularly cruel and contributing to this whole situation.” It was a statement, not a question. Astalor’s eyes averted and fixed themselves on the wood of the table before him.
“I was unhappy with her, but she would have known it was meant facetiously.”
“It doesn’t read that way to me,” Quithas said, his eyes lingering on the letter he had flattened against the desk.
“Because you and I barely know each other,” Astalor said with a scoff, before realising that was probably ill-considered in the moment. He cleared his throat and tried to adopt a more contrite tone. “Perhaps I could have worded it better, but I told her to return home. I did not tell her to run amok in a crystal mine.”
“Not in so many words, no.” Quithas didn’t elaborate. Instead, he gathered his notes and placed them back into a tooled leather binder. “I have no further questions.”
A murmur spread throughout the room, but Astalor had no time to try to hear what was being said before Rommath stood again and silence fell.
“And now, if I may welcome Lady Liadrin to make her statements,” he said as he gestured for her to stand where Quithas had stood moments earlier.
Liadrin had come dressed in the ceremonial armour of the blood knights, and she cut an imposing figure in a hall of silk and gold. Her expression was as unreadable as ever, if not more so. It was almost as if she was trying to appear even more intimidating than usual. Astalor tried to swallow a nervous lump that had built in his throat. While she was his friend, that was not the capacity in which she attended the hearing.
“As commander of the Sunsworn forces in Draenor, I feel every loss. Kaelynara was one of our own, but so were the magisters and knights who lost their lives to the golem. Had circumstances been different, I dare say she would have been questioned here in a similar manner today.” Her words had been addressed to the gallery, but she then turned and fixed her attention solely on Astalor. “Magister Astalor, did you teach her all she needed to know about golem maintenance beforehand?”
“I taught her everything I could. I was thorough.”
“And did you believe she knew all she needed to before taking on the work?”
“To the best of my understanding, yes.”
“I assume you inspected the so-called ‘frenzied golem’ after its rampage?”
Though Liadrin’s face remained perfectly still, there was a glint in her eye. She knew exactly what she was asking, and he could almost run forward and kiss her, despite how awkward that would be for them both. She’d speared the heart of the issue directly.
“I did. Kaelynara had not followed my instructions. I had shown her the proper way to connect the central animus store to each golem, and she had questioned whether the process could be made more efficient. Under no uncertain terms, I told her no. What she proposed would have destabilised the fuel source and risked corruption. She then went ahead with the idea while running routine maintenance on the golem that later malfunctioned.”
“So it was a lapse in judgement, not teaching.”
“Yes, which is why I was so angry with her. Her negligence led to deaths. And it was precisely that negligence I had already warned her of.”
A stirring behind told him this information had come as a surprise; he just hoped it worked in his favour.
“So that was when you dismissed her with the letter we all saw. I must ask, would you have any objections if I read one of your letters to me aloud to the room?”
Astalor quirked his head to the side. Just slightly. Just enough for only Liadrin to notice. She responded by raising her brows in a very tiny gesture that said ‘just go with it.’
“I wouldn’t,” Astalor said.
Liadrin cleared her throat, then held a letter up before her. “I received this the day after a ball held at the Sunfury Spire: Dearest Liadrin. I know a pig farmer in Silverpine whose sole remaining work shirt was stained by murloc shit last week. Might I suggest you visit him to find a more flattering outfit next time? Yours, A.”
A nervous titter then carried through the room. No one seemed to know quite what to make of this latest development. Except for Rommath, who snorted in laughter.
“Astalor, would you say we are friends?” she asked.
“I would.”
“And yet you’d send me such an unpleasant letter?”
“Because we’re friends. I knew you’d see it was meant in good humour.”
“Just as you assumed Kaelynara would see what you had, in an admittedly misguided moment, intended as a touch of levity in her dismissal letter? She was your apprentice after all. She must have grown used to your habits. This being one of them.”
“Well, yes,” Astalor said.
“So to summarise so far: Kaelynara acted against your warnings and caused the deaths of several through mishandling of a golem, and you wrote a dismissal letter in a severely misjudged tone.”
“I would say that sounds about right.”
“Then—” Whatever Liadrin’s closing statements were intended to be were cut short by a shout from the public gallery.
“Do you feel remorse, Magister Astalor?”
It was as though a cold wind had cut through the heat of the room. He turned to see a woman standing, staring at him. She shook slightly, and her voice was strained. The longer he looked, the more familiar she became. It was the eyes. She had Kaelynara’s eyes.
“So what if my daughter made a mistake or two? She was young. She needed guidance.” Her voice was on the verge of cracking. “Do you feel remorse?”
His breath caught and his hands shook as the dam he’d built within himself began to leak. The look of fear on Kaelynara’s face as all her containment spells failed on the golem. Her frantic pleading when he dismissed her. The sight of her corpse dumped back at their camp by Elandra. And the moment when he knew he’d need to compartmentalise it, just as he had with everything else. While he couldn’t be blamed for what she chose to do, he still swore that much, he could have done more to stop her.
He tried to meet her eyes when he answered, but couldn’t quite manage. “Of course I do. She was reckless, but no one deserves to meet such an end.”
A loud crack from the front of the room commanded all attention. Rommath’s knuckles rapped against the wooden desk before him with enough force to sound like a gavel.
“If we are quite finished and there are no further interruptions,” he said, narrowed eyes fixed on Kaelynara’s mother. “I would ask Lady Liadrin to continue with her closing statements.”
“Thank you, grand magister, but I have little more to say.” She had turned pale, as if the disturbance had startled her. And she wasn’t alone. The air in the chamber had grown tense and heavy by the time she concluded her statement. “I was merely going to finish by saying that seems to me a tragic accident resulting from an overeager but inexperienced apprentice and a personality clash with a socially inept magister. Nothing more nefarious than that.” She gave a curt nod toward Rommath, then took her seat.
Astalor’s ears perked up as murmurs and mumbles started again behind him, but he failed to pick out any individual words. He fought against the temptation to turn to see the faces in the gallery. Instead he kept his attention firmly fixed before him with his fists clenched. He didn’t want to give in to pessimism, but optimism wasn’t something he could yet allow himself; not with the interruption and especially not with Rommath questioning him next. If the grand magister was harsh with his enemies, he was even harsher with his friends. That was what worried Astalor.
The gallery fell silent as Rommath took his position. In his manner was neither Quithas’ nervous fidget, nor any of Liadrin’s orchestrated pomp. There was something almost dismissive about his movements, as if he was so assured of his place at the head of the room that he did not need to prove it to anyone.
“At this point, I feel it would be redundant to restate the facts of the case. We are all, by now, painfully familiar with the details of Kaelynara Sunchaser’s tragic death. So instead I will conclude this session by asking some final, further questions,” Rommath said. His gaze sharpened when it settled on Astalor. “You have a tendency to take on morally questionable work. Would you say that is correct?”
“Yes.” Astalor saw no reason to lie. His part in M’uru’s confinement was no secret, and there had never been any attempt to hide that the golems relied partly on blood magic.
“And would you say your work requires a level of mental fortitude?”
Astalor frowned. “Any spellwork requires a level of mental fortitude.”
“I meant more so than most.”
“Oh.” Again, it was something Astalor had never really considered. He’d grown so used to research that earned him anything from a raised eyebrow to barely disguised disgust. The average mage must have a far easier time of it, perfecting a fireball or summoning bread rather than studying the history of mogu flesh shaping or…his fingers drummed on the desk as the memory of M’uru’s screams filled his head. Most never had to deal with that, either. His voice was quieter than he’d intended when he finally answered. “Yes, perhaps.”
“There is no offence intended by this next question, though you may take some. Do you feel as though your work has affected you?”
Drumming fingers became a clenched fist. “Affected how?”
“Liadrin read a letter she received from you, and we have all seen the way in which you spoke to Kaelynara. Is it fair to characterise your communication as perhaps somewhat acerbic?”
The question seemed slightly hypocritical coming from Rommath. If anyone could be described in such a way, it would be the grand magister himself. Still, Astalor was curious where this line of questioning would lead.
“I suppose it wouldn’t be inaccurate.”
Rommath nodded, but the gesture seemed to be intended more for himself than any onlookers. “I remember when you were a far more junior mage in service to Prince Kael’thas. I wouldn’t have said the same of you then. In fact, I might have almost called you soft-spoken. One might wonder what causes such an abrupt change in a person.”
It wasn’t a question, but it seemed to demand an answer. Astalor was glad to have his back to the gallery as the angry heat of a red flush took hold on his cheeks. Time had hardened him; he couldn’t deny that, but he wasn’t sure how this was relevant to…well, to anything.
“Are you suggesting my work has made me foul-tempered?”
“I’m suggesting your work has put more strain on you than the average magister.”
Astalor bit back his instinct to quip that if a difficult role causes a poor personality, then that would explain a lot about Rommath. The comment might have been appreciated in private, but not here. Instead, he clenched his jaw and grunted an answer.
“I suppose it has.”
“So I must ask,” Rommath said. “Would you want to be your apprentice?”
Astalor flinched. He had expected a verbal berating and maybe light humiliation at Rommath’s hands. He didn’t think he’d be asking him to be quite so open. Especially not before a gathering of their colleagues.
He turned the question over in his mind. Would he? A heavy churning deep in his gut told him the answer.
“No, grand magister. No, I wouldn’t.”
“I have one final question. Could you recount for me what you said before you left for Talador? It doesn’t need to be exact, just the gist of what we discussed.”
That particular evening had been a long one, and it took Astalor a moment to sift through the increasingly drunken conversations with Rommath in his memory. It was unlikely that he was referring to Astalor’s complaints about sleeping in a tent for weeks on end. And then one conversation came to mind, when Rommath had asked him about Kaelynara. Oh, the grand magister was sly.
“If I recall, grand magister, I was expressing my second thoughts about taking an apprentice to Draenor, and about taking on an apprentice at all. It was something I’d never wanted, but I was made to feel as though a magister of my rank must.”
“Yes, that’s how I recall it as well.” Though Rommath’s face was mostly obscured beneath his mask, Astalor could tell from the creasing around his eyes that he wore a triumphant smirk that no one else could see. But it was so brief that the impression faded almost immediately.
***
The next hour stretched on endlessly. The council had excused themselves to a separate chamber for deliberations, and Astalor was forced to wait. He had hoped that the gallery would empty as the onlookers grew bored, but instead conversations had grown to a cacophonous level as everyone remained seated. At least it drowned out the relentless tapping of his foot and the thudding in his chest.
At one point he tried to break the monotony by glancing behind, but he was gripped by the twin fears of seeing familiar faces watching him, and of seeing none. Almost as quickly had he had turned, he decided to face forward again. He did briefly catch the eye of Rommath’s secretary. She mouthed something that might have been ‘you’re lynx food’ as she dragged a finger slowly across her neck, causing Astalor to offer her an exaggerated, but not unappreciative roll of his eyes.
When eventually the council re-entered the room, a hush fell. Rommath cleared his throat, unfurled a sheet of parchment and read aloud.
“After our deliberation, we have agreed on the following: while tragic, Kaelynara Sunchaser’s death has been ruled ‘death by misadventure’ and, as such, no further investigation or criminal trial will be required. We will, of course, do all that we can to support her family.”
That much had been expected. It was the usual ruling for any magister whose life had been lost through their own recklessness. Whatever came next, however, would decide Astalor’s fate. He held his breath and clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned bone white.
“For his role in the event, Magister Astalor Bloodsworn is hereby prevented from taking on any new apprentices for at least five years. If he wishes to take any from that date, he is required to shadow a trusted instructor, such as Magister Quithas, to learn how to better handle a troubled apprentice. Additionally, apprentices are forbidden from working with golems indefinitely. If assistance is required, senior magisters with the wherewithal the handle such complex magic will be given training.”
There was a pause. Astalor continued holding his breath as he waited for the delivery of his final punishment, whatever they had decided he deserved. But then nothing. Rommath rolled the parchment back up and handed it off to a magister waiting beside him.
“We believe these measures should prevent what happened in Talador from happening again,” he concluded.
Astalor sat in silence as the onlookers filed out. He remained there long past when the gallery had emptied entirely. It wasn’t a punishment. It was barely even a slap on the wrist. If anything, he’d come away with exactly what he’d wanted: no need to take on an apprentice, and no inexperienced magisters damaging his golems.
Eventually, his curiosity at the leniency of the ruling grew too great. With a crackle of arcane energy, he opened a portal to just outside Rommath’s office.
“He said we’d be expecting you,” Rommath’s secretary said without looking up.
“Did he now?” Astalor asked. “I’m assuming you’re disappointed about the outcome.”
“A little. I was hoping they’d let me write your obituary if you were executed,” she said sweetly. “I’ve been collecting humiliating stories, just in case.”
“What a hardship for you.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
“It could be worse. If you were dead, I’d have no one to argue with while the grand magister is occupied.”
“Speaking of,” Astalor said as he nodded toward the door. “Can I go through?”
She nodded, and Astalor stepped into Rommath’s office.
Rommath raised a glass of wine the moment Astalor entered, and gestured toward a second glass on his elegant coffee table. “I told you it was merely a formality. While no one would blame you directly for what happened, that letter made things a little more complicated.”
“And yet I’ve somehow come out of it with exactly what I wanted all along?” Astalor slumped down into one of the velvet armchairs and stared at the second glass of wine for a moment before swiping it from the table.
“Well, that was careful orchestration on my part. Quithas proved that you’re entirely unfit to take on an apprentice, Liadrin proved both that Kaelynara was at fault and that you’re foul to everyone equally, and I proved that the magic you work with shouldn’t be handed over to just anyone. To most it looks like a punishment. And that’s what matters.”
“Hm. The theatre of politics ever marches on,” Astalor grunted. “But is that entirely fair?”
“Fair how?”
“I should have done more.”
“You’re feeling guilty?”
“Well…” Astalor pondered for a moment. The weight in his stomach hadn’t yet shifted, but it seemed to squirm when he put a name to it. “Yes. Of course I am.”
“Then there you go. Punishment.”
Astalor took a swig of wine as he considered Rommath’s words. This was something he would have to carry with him, and the thought of it was unpleasant. Far more than simply suffering a few years without his title or a hefty monetary fine might have been.
“You know,” he said, looking up from his glass and peering at Rommath’s partially obscured face. “You’re far more philosophical than most give you credit for.”
“I’m not. And if you suggest such a thing again, I will have you fed to the lynxes.”
“Of course, grand magister,” Astalor said with mock contrition. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”