Abaddon Summer

Chapter One

Arcdon stared at Selifer for a long moment. Finally, he made a sound at the back of his throat and leaned forward.

"The Seven have placed the blame of the girl's existence onto Mander Salord, yes," Arcdon muttered. "But recall, Mander is a damned fool. Tried to raise a hum from the dead for his test. Hardly worth the title of necromancer. Yet assign him the task of curtailing his own children, and he brings to us the first female mage?"

"If anything, Mander is a Hell mage," Selifer said. "He deals exclusively in Hell magic. He didn't hum anyone. He reached into Hell, gave his grandfather a pat on the back, stroked his own ego, let one out," Selfier hesitated for the barest second to make a vulgar motion, "then presented himself to you with his father standing at your side and unable to to tell him he was a twat. No necromancy, just Hell. A distinction I believe you first coined."

"And thus?" Arcdon asked.

Selifer thought for a moment.

"If Hell magic is present in the world, it would still require its balancing source," he said finally. "True magic is all arch magic. It has to have balance. War couldn't fully exist without healers. The general mage population has been in decline since the deaths of the last arch mages because balance is required. Light and dark, give and take, the gift of life that women carry and the gift of death that mages carry. There is always a balance. But... Naena is not this balance."

"What would balance Hell?"

"Heaven," Selifer answered easily. Then a question occurred to him. "Is Trathor dead yet?"

"No, but eight, perhaps nine years from now, he will be," Arcdon said. "I will live to see it. We shall dance together. He's agreed to renew the spell once more. It should be happening in a few more weeks, unfortunate for you."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Selifer said. "I can stay in the library this time. Theon, then, he's dead?"

"No."

Selifer frowned at Arcdon.

"But..."

"They both still live."

"I was sure," Selifer muttered. "Are you sure one isn't wearing the meat suit of the other?"

Arcdon laughed at that comment, which made Selifer smile. A strawman spell couldn't animate a dead body, but there were several spells in that set, including one that could. The set of spells belonged to Arcdon, held in his private library until at least his death, possibly even later. What the others had already done with the strawman spell by reverse engineering Arcdon's work had been brilliant yet flawed at the same time.

"Oh, my boy, no," Arcdon said. "It has been a busy year for Theon as well. He's sober. Teaching classes. Residing in the university. The conclave will, come fall, recognize him as War Mage of Amos."

"Whima," Selifer hummed out. "Hasn't been one in centuries. But he can't sit the coven, he'd fight with Trathor, and the spells wouldn't work. The Seven can't allow it."

"Good," Arcdon said. "A very old friend of mine once suggested that the father should be replaced by the son. I have come to see sense in this. Once Trathor is executed—I can see no other way of him leaving the school—his spell work will be completely undone. A firm hand, capable of delivering quick death, will be required to hold us together as everything else plays out. Dear boy, I think it may be time to introduce you to Theon."

"He seems like he has a lot on his plate," Selifer said. "But there's new blood... New Mikent blood. If Mikent blood exists, it exists because Theon created it. That'll need seeing to, too. He'll be far too busy to take an introduction from me."