And There Was Nothing

[Thomas Cosa]

30th of Spring, 516 AV

Elysium Hall hadn't exactly been difficult to find. Dressed in golden marble and skyglass, the mansion was anything but humble. Thomas had expected to find an impressive barrier, something that kept the outside from her, but was suprised to find only a low skyglass wall. There'd been a sigil, a sunburst, that'd he laughed at; a bit pretentious to take a god's sign as their own, but that was Alses for you. She, or more probably, somebody else had decorated her grounds and gardens beautifly, roses an obvious favorite.

He hadn't wanted to come, not here, not to her especially, but circumstance mandated that he did. Reality had taken to splitting around him, black holes of nothing ripping into the silence at night. Thomas had panicked at first, but Laria had been quick to calm him; she'd reminded him that he'd survived Sahova, and that they'd find a book, something, anything that would help him control his new abilities. Obviously, she'd fled after, not that Thomas blamed her. Laria was as Sahovan as he was, desperate to survive. A mage with uncontrolled magic was a risk to anyone around, and they both knew that. At least she had calmed him somewhat before she left, and it was charity enough that she hadn't come back to slice his throat open while he slept.

He wouldn't have wanted to risk her. Alses, though? As much as he hated the idea of coming to her for help, the thought of her accidently tumbling into a vast nothingness did soothe his ego.

knock.

knock.

knock.

Thomas sighed, wondering if he should have brought Stranger with him. He'd taken to wearing the golem less and less, not wanting to accidently send them both into oblivion. He only just thought that Alses might try bargaining with him again, and he had nothing to offer.

All he could do now was wait, and hope. Gods, he hoped she could help him.

[Alses]

Just as the last echo of Thomas’ final knock died away inside the belly of the Hall, the gleaming doors opened softly and smoothly on well-oiled hinges, the slickness of their motion belying their weight. Bulking in the entryway, all immaculate suit and pristine waistcoat, trousers pressed and ironed to a razor-line and wearing impeccable gleaming white gloves, was Maximilian Silver, solidly immovable and the polished epitome of his profession.

His grey eyes were kind, but sharp, set in a face that had weathered the decades well, and they swept a single professional glance – used to a certain standard - over Thomas as he stood on the covered portico.

He was a young man – unusual for a visitor to Alses, but not entirely unknown – thin and gangly and looking oddly over-stretched. All legs and arms and knees and elbows, dressed with utilitarian, shabby respectability by Lhavitian standards. Pale skin, dark clothes – and a black leather glove over his left hand. Affectation, or something more?

A spiderwork of thin, fine scars boiled around the exposed hand; was he hiding worse damage beneath the supple leather? No obvious weaponry – not that that necessarily meant very much

Silver internally wondered what had brought the boy to the doorstep of Elysium Hall. Was he selling something, perhaps – in which case it would be something of an oddity (or a very novice salesboy) to come to the front door rather than the servants’ entrance, was he a messenger of some stripe – although he was unfamiliar to Silver, who was quite cognizant with the usual couriers employed by the great Houses - or was he a supplicant of some kind?

Yes, that latter was more likely, the butler decided after some consideration, noticing the lack of any form of envelope, box or gift as well as the subtle signs of nervousness flickering across the boy’s face – though it was hard to spot; he was good at keeping command of his own body, just the occasional nervy flicking of the eyes and a rare worriting of the mouth.

The next question, then, was what sort of supplicant he might be; whilst Alses might no longer have been officially a political player in Lhavit, she still had connections and influence, as well as being an accomplished sorceress in her own right.

Ah, but it wasn’t really his concern, trying to figure out what Thomas wanted; he was the guardian of the gate, the keeper of his mistress’ time, and it was therefore the boy’s duty to satisfy him as to the urgency and necessity of his errand, not the other way around. He would have to do a little better than ‘I want to see Alses’ or something similar; her time was precious, after all, and not to be wasted fruitlessly.

All this and more poured into Silver’s brain in that split-tick moment of regard. A small smile of welcome curved his lips delicately upwards as he intoned with practiced ease, his voice deep and velvety and rolling: “Good morning, sir. My name is Silver. May I be of some assistance?”

[Thomas Cosa]

"Obviously, she would have help," Thomas realized, catching his sudden bitterness only just before it made itself obvious on his face. He cursed himself, silently, for assuming she'd be so base to open the door herself. Hadn't she mention she dabbled in the local politics? He wondered just how powerful she managed before ending her career, or having it ended for her; the man before him wasn't exactly small. Despite his apparent age, he still seemed able and intimidating, far out matching Thomas physically.

He warmed his face with a smile that met Silver's, his magic casting out and catching him in a woven net desperate to pull Thomas into the advantage. "Mr. Silver," he bowed, more at ease now he saw the man completely bare of magical means. He entertained the idea that the slave or servant, whatever Silver was, might be as powerful as Alses had been, just as able of hiding his abilities and emotions as she'd been, only to dismiss it just as quickly. The Etheafal hadn't seem the type to chance anything, and having somebody under her that was just as capable as she to hide their feelings seemed a bit off. Not that Thomas really knew her, he was assuming, he was gambling, but it was his intuition. "I have something pressing, and rather sensitive to discuss with, uh, Alses," he tried, stumbling through only to then realize he hadn't caught her last name. Did Etheafal even keep family names? How would that even work?

His magic pulsed with information, the man's aura almost completely reflective. Thomas was staring more at the mirror of the man, then Silver himself, something he only bothered to correct when he realized what he was doing. Auras were a hobby of his, the magic something he developed out of a desire to survive and maneuver the political trappings of Sahova, but out here, he usually had all the time in the world to dance in their splendor. They told so many things, usually, and were always of powerfully beautiful. Silver's was no different, stoic and sturdy like him, Thomas wondered if his aura's appearance meant he was as observant as it suggested. Which, could be a agonizingly irritating obstacle to overcome.

Lying might be an issue here.

"I'm blessed by Avalis, you understand," he started, stripping his left hand of it's leather glove, a stunning opalescent lily coloring the back of his hand in shimmering onyx and smoked lavenders. Lying might be an issue, but expanding on the truth? That might be something he could play with - telling the manservant that he was a victim of uncontrolled magic seemed hardly the correct way of getting past his obnoxiously large body. "I had a vision, prophecy is Her realm, and I think I should probably discuss it with Alses," he smiled, this at least he could say in complete honesty. Thomas had dived into the Etheafal's Chavi desperate to see something, but had only come up with visions of her magicking her food with Auristics. She didn't seem to eat, but she loved cake the same as any mortal.

"Should she be available that is," he added, knowing full well he had no intention of waiting. Silver could deny him, but he would meet with Alses, and today, may Avalis light his way. He only hoped his pretend urgency of prophecy meshed with with the very real urgency of finding out what in the worlds he knew was happening to him.

[Alses]

Silver was surprised, revising his mental estimates and remembering wryly that there should always be room to be proved wrong and caught out, although he was too much of a professional to ever outwardly display such. If anything, his smile widened slightly and he glided back slightly from the door, moving from a looming guardian to a smoothly sophisticated usher, gesturing Thomas across the threshold with a gentle sweep of his arm.

“Just Silver will suffice, sir. Please, come inside-” he gestured Thomas to one of the comfortable chairs arranged around the baroque entrance hall, all cream damask and scrollworked gilt “-and I shall ascertain if her grace will receive you.” So saying, he shimmered off, doors clicking shut behind him.

He was not gone long, in the event, gliding back into the room almost noiselessly after a short interval, his glittering black shoes soundless even on the marble. “If you will come this way, sir?”

Silver led Thomas through the corridors of Elysium Hall to the library that was the heart of the house. The vast room was flooded with light, pouring down from the skyglass dome overhead, glittering off gilt book bindings and shimmering in the polished wood of the carved tables and bookshelves and blazing in the crystals of the decorative chandelier high overhead.

The air was warm and dry, filled with the scent of libraries everywhere; paper and ink and, just at the very edge, the tiniest soupçon of rot, mingling with the distinctive smell of attar of roses that Alses herself tended to favour as a perfume.

Silver’s footsteps were swift and sure, and he led Thomas to one of the tables that occupied the occasional broader expanse of open space, fringed with heavy, ornate chairs and richly upholstered. The table itself was laid for tea, silver and gilt-edged china gleaming, fine whorls of steam rising from the teapot and a small array of cakes carefully arranged on a plate.

Alses was already seated, but she rose gracefully in a waterfall of silks as Silver and Thomas made their way towards her. The distance was enough to give her warning of exactly who approached, even had she not had the advantage of her auristics; by the time Silver had announced the man in tow and then discreetly shimmered off – correctly surmising that this was to be a private discussion – she had prepared, all numinous solar ephemera with nary a touch of substance breathing from the pores of her skin, much as when they’d last met – and clashed, albeit with words and ideals rather than swords and sorcery. A practised, bright, and utterly meaningless smile curved her lips up and lit her face with every semblance of surprised enjoyment as Alses beheld Thomas.

“Goodness me, this is a surprise,” she remarked cheerfully, with just a touch of guarded schadenfreude. Guarded, because whilst Thomas might dislike – intensely – the idea of consulting with her, and despite the fact that his resentment wafted in stinking waves from him, there was always the possibility that he had come calling to bring news of an even greater catastrophe for her, and thus to gloat. “Thomas Cosa in the flesh, darkening my doors! Although I suppose prophecy leaves little room for personal tastes. We don’t remember much from our time with the gift,” she added, offhand.

“Now – what is it that was so important you felt the compulsion – or were compelled, of course - to overcome your usual reticence in dealing with us?” she asked bluntly. Alses was well aware of Thomas’ character; she found it difficult to equate the spiky, selfish Sahovan sorcerer with any form of charitable act or public service. He’d not been in Lhavit long enough for the place to work its subtle magic and get its hooks firmly into his heart and mind, after all.

[Thomas Cosa]

As Thomas eased himself into a richly upholstered chair, deliciously red and velvet soft, he thought. He considered a million and one options, each seemingly valid, at least in that moment, each a potential conversation that would lead to answers he needed. The wizard wouldn't admit it, not openly, but Alses was the most capable practicioner he'd met since arriving to Lhavit, Ald'gare Twilight aside, and she was his best shot at finding the best resources to sort out his new magic.

His fingers thrumbed on the arm rests with a quiet anxiousness. Thomas wasn't surprised by his instinct to cast his magic out, to weave it as best he could into Alses' aura, even knowing how ultimately useless the effort would be, but he was shocked by how difficult it was to control the impulse. His magic was becoming increasingly unstable as of late, which would only be slightly worrying had it only been Auristics. The sudden portals, the vicious rips into reality, the empty portals; these were things he couldn't ignore, for his own safety.

"A surprise to us both, I would have you know," he sighed, carefully picking up the obvious expensive teapot, a silk napkin, thankfully heavy, the only thing between his skin and the hot kettle. Thomas tried with obvious effort to pour two cups, not used to such things. "You mention something about not actually eating, and I don't think I'll be drinking or eating anything either," he started, settling a cup on a dish closest to Alses before arranging his own, "But my mother always said it was bad luck to tea cup empty when there was someone to drink it," he shrugged, considering a different piece of advice his mother had often told him: the one who controls the table, controls the conversation. He'd always thought it a silly idea, but he was coming to Alses for help in a all together too personal matter. Thomas promised himself he would at least try to maintain some illusion of control.

"I suppose, that I should first admit that I haven't come to voice some prophecy," he rolled his eyes, the idea he would even bother to consult with Alses on the divine was an idea so ridiculous to him he barely stifled a laugh, "I seem to have come into a problem as of late, and despite myself, you seem to be one of the people most capable in this city; at least, the one I most easily contacted," he glanced at one of the caked, a puffed up ball of white icing. Whether he was hungry or not, he wouldn't eat if she wouldn't. "But even with your qualifications, this is something highly personal. I would like to know what I tell you in confidence, remains so," Thomas finished, refusing to look away from her eyes.

He didn't deserve her promises, but despite himself, he needed her. He expected to fight for this, threaten even, if that was possible. Thomas had come prepared, and wouldn't leave without answers, should Alses prove capable of answering them.

[Alses]

Alses carefully watched her guest, tawny eyes missing nothing as he shifted on the plush chair, and his fingers drummed an absent-minded toccata on the armrest. Perhaps he was unused to luxury? This did not improve her already-dim impression of Sahova; yes, the place might be a superb repository of magic from the times when Alahea was at its full might, but, evidently, it was also a ghastly austere place full of the dead and with little in the way of creature comforts.

And the less said about the place’s apparent morals and attitudes, the better.

She didn’t offer to help with the teapot, mildly amused as he – rather sloppily – poured out two cups, filling the air with the smell of bergamot and the indefinable scent of tea itself. The way his eyes slid to the cakes even as he professed a desire to avoid eating and drinking gave lie to his pronouncement, and her smile stretched that little bit wider. “You may as well,” she murmured, gesturing at the fragrant cakes and pushing the laden plate a little closer to Thomas. “They’ll only go to waste otherwise.”

His admission of falsehoods in regards to his method of gaining access to her made her eyes narrow, however, regretting her hospitality, and she set down her full teacup with a very deliberate motion, the china-on-china ring of it hitting its saucer loud in the silence. “It is not generally considered good form to lie to your host,” Alses said, voice level and expressing her displeasure in its very flatness. His compliment as to her skills – such as it was – slid off her unimpressed form. “And it does not incline us to be sympathetic to you, either. Not that we are, particularly, in any case; you aren’t my friend. Barely an acquaintance, really.”

Her eyebrows rose as the mage laid out his – well, better to think of it as a request. Behind the bravado, she could hear the tremolo shiver of worry, and it perhaps made her more willing to push than she otherwise would be. That, and she simply didn’t like what she’d seen of Thomas so far. “Not a chance,” she replied cheerfully, her smile bright and her eyes alight.

“It’s intriguing that you think I can help you with whatever this little problem you’re having is, and we know you’re not entirely stupid – your lying to our butler notwithstanding - but we’re not about to promise you our categorical silence over it, however ‘personal’ you feel it is.”

Alses leaned back in her chair for a few moments and contemplated the mage opposite her, perched like an ungainly black scarecrow on one of her chairs, a splotch of darkness amidst the rich, cheery colours that predominated in her library. Nervous and afraid, although his excellent composure hid most of it, only that flicking glance around every so often giving him away, as though he were fixing the library in his mind – as if the solidly permanent building and all its contents might vanish at any moment.

“Still, you must be desperate to come to us.” She cradled her head on her hands for a moment, scrutinizing him. He met her gaze directly, which fitted with the arrogance he wore like a cloak, although she guessed that to hold her gaze was costing him. A small part of her admired it, the guts to stare defiance at a sorely-needed benefactor, for the spiky and selfish Sahovan sorcerer to admit weakness and dare her to capitalize on it.

Which was a thought; Thomas Cosa wasn’t exactly a rank amateur in magic, and he specialised in disciplines that she had little knowledge of – auristics aside. And if he was coming to her with a problem, then there was leverage there. What was it that ancient philosopher had said? Something about stable positions and levers and being able to move the world.

“We suggest a compromise,” she announced suddenly, the drumming of her own fingers on the tabletop matching Thomas' thrumming toccata. “You’ll have your confidentiality – provided your little problem isn’t something that will endanger the city as a whole.” If he knew anything about her – and she was fairly sure Thomas would have done at least a little bit of research before coming to see her; he didn’t seem the type to go rushing in where angels feared to tread – then that would have come as no surprise.

“So. Assuming you agree - what is this problem you’re having? Quickly, now.”

[Thomas Cosa]

"I didn't though, did I? I lied to your slave, or servant, whatever you call him," he shrugged, the man's title irrelevant, "Unless you consider yourself and the help to be one and the same," Thomas paused, a slight smile playing on his lips as his eyes glanced obviously to her fingers. It was a scandalous idea, he thought, but one delicious enough to lift him from his worry, if only for a tick or two. Alses was terribly eglitarian after all, the paring would, at the very least, suit her ideals. "Anyway, I can at least pretend to be civilized. I was raised in Syliras, cradle of civilization and all," he sighed, considering her offer of cake before declining with a slight shake of his head.

Thomas listened as she countered, pretended as best he could that he wasn't completely aware of her casting his soul bare for her to read like a book (or, at that he wasn't at least assuming that's what she was doing). He could feel magic happening around him, or that it had been cast recently, or even that this whole place reeked of it; it was like being back on Sahova, if he was being honest, which he didn't want to be - it was obvious the whole of her house stood witness to her magic, and steeping happily in the radiance of it. The wizard wondered what it would look like under Auristics, once again tempted, all though he'd never not been, to cast his senses around him.

Perhaps one day, but not know. He couldn't risk it.

"Obviously, I accept," Thomas said, a frown staining his face. She already knew he was desperate, and his complete agreement with her counter would only stand in testimony of that. He'd come in thinking of threats, things he could offer or promise, and it was only in that instant he realized it was all for naught. She was accomplished here, well-known, a polictian even. He'd seen how quickly the locals threw themselves at their precious Ethaefals, the pretty little Ukalas discards, like they were gods themselves. Who would believe any slander he could stir up? Who would believe Alses was anything less than perfect, even if he could prove it?

"The city, as a whole, isn't at risk. Although, I'm flatter that you'd think me capable of such a feat," he was uncannily still, determinedly so, his chin held up high even when he was begging for help. Thomas refused to be see as lesser by anyone, his pride the only thing that bested Sahova's tortures, and he would cling to it until he died. "Whatever is happening to me, though, has made me incapable of casting personal magic without threatening myself and those around me. Despite my time spent among the great legends of old Alahea," he paused, happily pointing out again that he thought his own magical education superior to Alses' even if he was the one coming to her for help, "I have no explanation, or even the slightest clue as to how I've been...," Thomas sighed, openly frustrated. His face, much like when they first met, showcased his emotions as vibrantly as his aura, and it was obvious he was uncertain with how to proceed.

"I wonder, have you heard about the rumors of a fountain?" He asked, his eyes suddenly fierce with a cold intensity.

[Alses]

“Pedantry,” Alses dismissed Thomas’ defensive, wriggling statement. “Yes, you lied to Silver, who relayed that lie to me. So lying by proxy, Thomas, it all counts the same. And – for future reference - he is a member of my staff; there are no slaves in Lhavit any more.”

She laughed lightly at his suggestion, relaxed back in her chair and watching him as though he were some mildly entertaining diversion. “Of course I’m not the same as the staff,” she chuckled. “Although it’s an amusing conceit you seem to think I have. Now, by all means, pretend the civility you learned in the western cradle to your utmost; if you act the politesse often enough you might find it becomes reality and habit. Which would be no bad thing, naturally.”

Alses watched him as he declined the cake and worked through the – fairly equitable – terms, watching the muscles tense and bunch and move as Thomas’ mind considered it, all the myriad miniscule expressions that were there for but an instant and then gone, a mixing melange of subconscious reflections.

He didn’t like acquiescing, that much was obvious – she could have guessed that from nothing more than talking to him for all of five chimes; Thomas Cosa was not a man who liked to be weaker party in any negotiation. His past had made him grasping and avaricious, only what he hoarded was arcane puissance more than gold mizas, and so it sat uneasily on him to have to come to her.

Which made it all the sweeter that he had. For all that the common perception of the Ethaefal was of divine perfection, Alses was keenly aware of her own failings in that regard; she took a certain unholy joy in power and prestige, and – as now – in the dismay of those she disliked. She ignored the implicit jab at her own arcane education; that was more than likely a sop to his own ego, and as he was coming to her for help, she didn't have to pander to it.

His frown could have won prizes as he gave his assent, and she allowed herself a small little smile at that. “Even the most mediocre of mages can do an awful lot of damage, with the right disciplines,” Alses said placidly. “Even if in the process of so doing they burn themselves up into the bargain. We merely wished you to be aware that – however regrettable it might be - the city takes priority over you.” She wouldn’t have it said she was dishonest in her dealings – not when she didn’t derive any benefit from it.

When – at last – Thomas began to describe what had happened, in a faltering and roundabout fashion that was quite unlike him and therefore spoke volumes to the attentive Alses of how much this was affecting him, she listened intently, all traces of humour and mockery gone from her face. This, now, was the serious and academic sorceress, listening intently to a conundrum to which she could apply her skills, and never mind who the bearer of the problem was.

She did, however, flinch momentarily at the mention of the fountain, gloved hands reflexively touching one another as she subconsciously reassured herself that, yes, her body was still her own and nominally under her control. “We are more than aware of that wretched fountain, yes,” Alses answered sourly, eyes narrowed. “So, given that you are here, of all places, and taking what you have told me so far and integrating it with the involvement of the fountain…it is a logical surmise that you have been afflicted by some phenomenon as a result of contact with said fountain, yes?”

Alses watched him for his reaction, and then continued, her voice calm and authoritative. “Explain, please, exactly what you’ve noticed and what has been occurring. I-” she rummaged, for a moment, and then produced a sheaf of papers with a flourish, setting them down on the table and quickly inking a quill that was always close to hand “-will be making notes. Refresh yourself when you have need of it; we may be here a while.”

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas had never been the most observant, but he did catch Alses reaction to the fountain. She flinched and he only just noticed that her hands were gloved; nothing of any major consequence, but it was something to remember. She was quick to acknowledge the rumors, and the wizard could only wondered if she'd been affected in the same way.

Thomas allowed himself what comfort his assumption could bring him, that another was damned by a momentary curiosity. Surely, he wasn't the sole idiot to drink from the fountain. He wouldn't ask her, because she wasn't the problem -- he was. Alses was only, hopefully, a way to correct whatever was happening to his magic.

"Everything went to Hai the day I drank from the damned thing," Thomas sighed, remembering the sweet lull of the turquoise waters, a perfect remedy to the muggy weather the city had been suffering. Gods, if he'd only known. "I can't even tell you why I drank from the fountain. I mean, it was hot and muggy, but to drink from something people may have bathed in?," he shivered, disgusted. "Anyway, ever since, reality hasn't seemed as stable as it once was. It just seems to break around me, especially when I cast. I haven't been practicing at all, really, since every spell could chance into a sudden nothingness," he huffed, seeming more annoyed than worried, all the more a child whose had their favorite toy stolen than someone who was at risk to be pulled into the cold, emptiness that stalked him.

"It's calmed down, though, these episodes. I get very cold all of a sudden, and then, for better lack of a word, a portal opens up to...," he paused, not entirely sure how to describe the portal other than empty. "Well, like I said, it's difficult to explain. It's a sudden emptiness, from what I've seen. My Auristics, sometimes I get brave enough to look into it, hasn't shown me anything terribly dangerous about the portals. Only that they are, in fact, nothing," he shrugged, watching as Alses with a vague interest. Thomas wondered if she would be able to tell him anything at all, or if he'd only bared his problems to her for nothing.

[Alses]

Note to GraderThe dragging of Thomas was done by kind permission of the same

Alses’ pen skated elegantly across the page as Thomas spoke, words flowing into her ears and down her arm without any real input from her brain, which was instead occupied with turning the information over and over, looking at it from different angles, considering and contemplating even as she laid down a record for posterity and future pondering.

It took a moment for the import of what he was saying to filter through to consciousness, but when it did Alses all-but exploded into movement, her pen leaving a long trail of black ink as she jumped to her feet and strode round the table to Thomas’ chair in two quick steps.

“Up! Now!” she commanded, in a tone of voice that brooked no dissension. Her hand shot out and locked tight around Thomas’ arm and she pulled, pre-empting more than token resistance with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic “You came to us for help, remember?”

She all-but dragged the mage down the corridors of the Hall, moving quickly through the ornate passageways. “Silver!” she called, strident voice bouncing off the walls, in lieu of using the discreet bellpulls in each room. Drawn by the call, her butler shimmered into view even as she continued her brisk progress towards her Animation laboratory, Thomas Cosa firmly in tow.

“Your grace?” Not even an eyebrow was raised at the unusual sight; Silver was a consummate professional.

“Could you bring the tea things through to the Animation lab, please? Oh, and if you’d be so good as to get the vellum and my red writing case from the library mezzanine?”

“Very good, m’lady.” Silver coughed, delicately. “May I remind you that you have an appointment in a bell and a half?”

Alses didn’t slow. “Oh yes, Altelo. Get a courier to send word to the Tower…unforeseen issue arising, within my area of expertise, unavoidable need, nothing but the greatest of respect for House Twilight…that sort of thing. I’m afraid that Mr. Cosa here is more pressing, at least for the moment. If Lord Twilight wants more details…” Alses tailed off. “Pretend to be helpful. I’m sure you’ll be very good at it.”

Silver bowed, shallowly, and glided away silently, just as they arrived at the Animation lab itself, a broad, high, and most importantly bare room, with little for Thomas’ wayward magic to destroy – certainly nothing irreplaceable. Entirely unlike her library, therefore.

“Go and stand – no, actually, grab a chair and sit – over there,” Alses instructed, letting go and already stalking over to her own desk against one wall, dropping into its plush seat with a sigh. “My library has many irreplaceable objects within it; we couldn’t take the risk of you vanishing bits of it,” she explained. “Things might have reacted…poorly. And as a fringe benefit, here we have plenty of room to work!” Her fingers danced over the desk drawers, pulling out paper and implements.

“Now, you had a sudden moment of madness and drank from the fountain, which seems to have made your magic react badly. It produces portals to an area of nothingness, preceded by intense cold, correct?” She flicked her eyes up to him, momentarily, an unnecessary gesture as her magic told her what she needed to know without the limitations of clumsy mortal senses.

“Now, is the incidence of these portals truly random, or is it only when you attempt to employ your magic? Do you have any idea of the range? And talking of the portals themselves, are we discussing a flat plane, a sphere, or some other shape?”

Alses smiled, scalpel-like, clinically cold and precise. She had a reasonable idea of what Thomas was describing; it was resonating uncomfortably with old memories, but an actual visualisation would help immensely – and not only for verification purposes. “Do you have any control at all over portal generation, or are we going to have to ask you to cast repeatedly until it happens?”