Right then Wynn had no wish to face anyone.

Thirteen sages passed through the keep's main doors.

And still Wynn waited. Giving them time to clear the entryway, she then raced quickly across the courtyard to the main building. Upon finding no one inside the doors, instead of turning left past the common hall, she went right down a long stone corridor. Passing the hospice, lower seminar chambers, and other rooms, she hooked left at the passage's end, intent upon reaching the spiral stairwell at the base of the east tower. Before she reached the antechamber's door, a smooth voice with a Suman accent floated from out of a seminar room across the passage

Wynn paused, stepping back to peek through the room's open door.

"The third element for practical consideration is Air," Domin il'Sänke said.

The domin sat upon a stool before a half circle of small benches filled by a dozen or more young figures in robes. Not all the students were metaologers. Several wore the pale blue of sentiology, and a few others the teal of conomology or the brown of naturology. There were even three initiates, though it wasn't common practice for such to attend seminars on special topics. Wynn knew she shouldn't linger, but she stood fascinated, watching as il'Sänke raised both hands, palms up, and the sleeves of his dark blue robes slipped, exposing his slender wrists.

She'd forgotten that he'd offered to teach during his stay, though she hadn't known he would include seminars for students from any order. Normally metaology seminars were held on the second floor, but it seemed he'd obtained a more commonly used room.

"Many novice practitioners discount Air as a lesser element," il'Sänke continued, "believing it less useful than Fire or Water… or even Earth." He slowly spread his palms, as if moving them consciously through the air.

Some domins and masters could prattle on until their students drooped, half-conscious, but all those here fixed their eyes on the dark-skinned domin. And Wynn noted a particular tall young man in midnight blue sitting far off to the left.

"Dâgmund?" she whispered.

She hadn't seen him in years, and knew him only in passing. He'd made journeyor and left on assignment before she'd even headed to the Farlands with Domin Tilswith. But now he was back? Perhaps he was finished, and returned for a new assignment.

Or was he here to petition for master's status already? It couldn't have been more than three years. And he certainly wouldn't be attending such a general introduction to metaphysical elements.

"Yet Water and Fire, even the dust of Earth, can be carried within Air," il'Sänke continued. "And thus Air could be viewed as most essential among the five elements, via either conjury or thaumaturgy. It can hold a special place as facilitator when dealing in works of higher complexity."

Wynn sighed. How nice it would be to simply join in, to listen to il'Sänke's teachings. But she didn't have time for such diversions.

Then Dâgmund turned his head, peering toward the door, and Wynn held her place a moment longer.

Stout cheekbones were his most prominent feature beneath pale blue eyes. At first he seemed troubled by the sight of her—or perhaps just confused. Then his high forehead smoothed. With the barest smile he nodded to her, but it took a moment before she nodded back.

She'd grown so accustomed to disdain, suspicion, and wariness cast her way that even a brief friendly acknowledgment was unsettling. Perhaps he hadn't been back long enough to hear about her. She'd barely known him, considering their differing paths, and hadn't seen him since her earliest days as an apprentic Cs ahere.

But she remembered one time in a room like this one.

Some apprentices of cathology wanted to hear a lecture by Premin Hawes on mantic practices of thaumaturgy. It wasn't really of interest to her, but Wynn tagged along anyhow. By the time it was over her curiosity had grown, and Dâgmund had been there among a great number of apprentices from metaology. She'd asked him a few questions in passing, wanting to read more on the theories and practices of information gathering via the arcane arts. He gave her the title of an obscure text hidden in the archives that covered the basics of rituals in thaumaturgical manticism. Little did she know then how much trouble that would cause her later.

"But what about sorcery?" a small voice peeped up. "That's got none of the Elements in it."

The entire room went quiet. Dâgmund turned sharp eyes of concern on one of the tan-robed initiates sitting in the front row. That word—sorcery—was rarely even spoken.

Domin il'Sänke was still and somber, folding his hands in his lap. How would he answer without squelching simple curiosity?

"Well, it does and it does not," he finally replied. "The Elements are not in any magical practice. They metaphorically represent the makeup of the universe's greater existence. The fields of magic are not a matter of practice as much as differing ideological approaches… as related to the Three Aspects of Existence—spirit, mind, and body."

Wynn was dubious, but at least he'd done better than Premin Hawes, or especially High-Tower, in dealing with a naïve initiate.

"Each of the five Elements have three forms, according to the Aspects," he added. "For example, take my own order. Metaology is associated with Spirit among the elements, but it has three references or representations according to the Aspects: Spirit is, well, the spiritual side, while its intellectual reference is Essence, and its physical symbol is the Tree. Similarly we have Air, Gas, and Wind, and then Fire, Flame or Light, and Energy… and so on."

Wynn was familiar with all this, and it seemed the domin was politely diverting from the original question. That same young initiate raised his hand, waving it in the air.

Il'Sänke let out a low chuckle.

"Yes, I know… the term Spirit is used for both an Aspect and an Element. But let's leave that puzzle for another day. It is the Aspects, not the Elements, in which we find the grounding for the ideologies of magic. Thaumaturgy is the body, the physical ideology, while conjury is the spiritual or essence-based approach…"

The domin took a deep breath. Perhaps he thought that would be the end of it, but Wynn saw that it wasn't. That persistent little initiate leaned forward expectantly.

"As to sorcery," il'Sänke finally said, "it is little known… and no one known to us practices it, even among metaologers. It is… severely frowned upon."

Wynn choked—it was more than frowned upon.

Mages and lesser practitioners weren't common, even among the guild. Thaumaturgy was the most accepted, and conjury of limited sorts was tolerated. But sorcery, by whatever term in varied cultures, was feared—hated—and rightly so. The power and skill to apply one's will against the world and other beings had been a death knell as far back as any bits of history uncovered.

And she did know of one such person—Vordana. Fortunately Leesil had sent that one to his final end.

Wynn forced herself to leave the domin's lecture.

Juggling her burdens, she heaved open the antechamber's heavy door. Across that small space she reached one of two doors to be found in either the north tower or the east tower. They were always left unlocked whenever any of the archivists were in the catacombs, and so she pushed this one open.

The cold lamp's crystal illuminated stone steps spiraling downward into the dark. A slight smell of stale dust filled her nose, and she could taste it on her tongue. No candles, torches, or flames of any kind were allowed below. All those entering the catacombs had to acquire a cold lamp from the archivists or bring one of their own. And only those with their own—journeyor status or above—were allowed below without supervision.