There were voices coming from Elmias’s room, and Tragius paused outside his door, hesitant about disturbing him if he had visitors. There was also some kind of musical instrument playing, and after a moment he realised that one of the voices was that of a woman. A scowl passed across the old wizard’s face. Of all the times for the cranky old Director of Extra-Planar Studies to try to recapture his lost youth...

     He raised a hand to knock on the door, but paused as a new voice came from the room, the voice of an angry man speaking some strange foreign language. Tragius didn’t like eavesdropping, but time was pressing. There was important business to be getting on with. Also, there was something about that man’s voice that he didn’t like, so he spoke the words of a translation spell and pressed his ear to the door.

     “What’s that you’re playing?” the voice demanded.

     “Oh, just a little something of my own,” another man’s voice replied, and Tragius realised that it was the man playing the musical instrument.

     “Well don’t! You know what I want to hear.”

     “No I don’t.”

     “You played it for her, you can play it for me."

     “Well, I don’t think I can remember…”

     “If she can stand it, I can. Play it.”

     Elmias is in trouble! thought the wizard in alarm. Summoning all that remained of his youthful strength, he kicked the door open and dashed in, pulling a wand from his belt as he did so. Elmias jumped out of his comfy chair, spilling a cup of hot, Lydian tea all over himself, and fell sideways onto the floor, raising his hands to ward off his attacker. He’d brought the words of a defensive spell to his mind and had almost began to cast it when he saw to his relief that it was only Tragius, spinning in confusion in the centre of the room as he searched for the owners of the voices.

     “Invisible!” he cursed. “Well, we’ll soon see about that.” He began to cast a spell to reveal the location of an invisible person.

     The magic words choked in his throat, however, when he saw the box in the corner of the room. The box with a glass window on the front on which the black and white images of a man and a woman were moving. “I wish I didn’t love you so much,” the woman was saying, and Tragius turned to face Elmias, his face colouring with anger, embarrassment and, he was surprised to find, humour. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself bursting into laughter.

     “Tragius?” said Elmias as he climbed unsteadily back to his feet, dripping tea onto the expensive Fu Nangian carpet. “What in the name of the Pit do you think you’re doing?”

     “I thought those were all destroyed,” said Tragius, pointing a bony, arthritic finger at the picture box.

     “I had another one. It seems to be immune to planar incompatibility so long as I use it only for recreational purposes.”

     “How do impersonal laws of nature distinguish between military and recreational uses?” wondered Tragius, but he put the question out of his mind as irrelevant. Now that his amusement at surprising Elmias was fading, the seriousness of the situation came back to him and the characteristically grim expression returned to his face. “Enough of this tomfoolery,” he said. “Are you ready for the Grand Assembly?”

     “Oh! Is it today?” said Elmias guiltily. “I forgot all about it.”

     “Forgot all about it!” stormed the other wizard. “I’m about to put my career, perhaps my very life, on the line. I ask you for your support and you forget all about it!”

     “Your life?” said Elmias in surprise. “Just what exactly are you going to do? I thought this was just another council of war or something.”

     “Or something,” replied Tragius. “You don’t call Extraordinary Grand Assemblies just for councils of war, as you know very well. The fact that it’s the first one for over twenty years should have told you that much.”

     “I don’t pay that much attention to University politics,” admitted Elmias as he hurriedly changed into a clean set of robes and cancelled the modified lightning spells powering the picture box. “They leave me alone and I leave them alone. It’s a policy that’s served me well for the past thirty three years. All right, so why are you calling a Grand Assembly?”

     “All in good time,” replied Tragius, wondering what had possessed him to come to this bumbling old fool of a wizard in the first place. His power, of course. Elmias might be a bumbling old fool, but he was a powerful bumbling old fool. You wouldn’t have guessed it to look at him, but Elmias Pastin was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, and Tragius knew that he might need that power in what was to come. He was probably going to need all the allies he could lay his hands on.

     The Chamber of Discourse, and the few small rooms and corridors around it, occupied a building all to itself among the other buildings of the research area of the University. It was a large circular room thirty yards across with a domed roof, and seats were arranged in a circular pattern around an open area in the centre in which the speaker would pace up and down while addressing the audience. There were seats for over a thousand wizards, the chamber having been built over a thousand years before during the golden age of the University, but since the Mage Wars and the subsequent Massacre of the Mages three quarters of the seats had remained empty and all the wizards in the University were able to sit on the innermost two rows.

     The chamber was used mostly as a lecture theatre, and a few scattered pages of notes dropped carelessly on the floor the night before were gathered up and disposed of by invisible servant spells as the wizards entered and took their places. The superb acoustics of the chamber meant that every smallest whisper was audible all over the room, and the speculation as to the reason for the assembly filled the whole chamber with a roaring hubbub as everyone milled around looking for their favourite seats. Since it had been called by Tragius, and since he’d also been away from the University for a while recently, attending a meeting on Pargonn if the rumours were to be believed, it wasn’t hard to figure out that the two events were connected and that some of the matters discussed at that meeting were about to be revealed. Attendance at the assembly wasn’t compulsory, but there was scarcely a wizard in the whole valley who wasn’t queuing up to enter the room.

     As demanded by tradition, the Director of the University, Justarian Westin, was the last to enter, having waited none too patiently for the other wizards to settle down. A hush settled over the chamber as he entered, dressed in his splendid ceremonial robes. He strode regally across the centre of the room and sat in the Director’s chair, situated between the Head Proctor, who was in overall charge of the University's police force, and the Master of Ceremonies, whose duty it was to see that all the various rituals and ceremonies that had accumulated over the centuries like barnacles on a ship's hull were properly carried out.

     Those three chairs, as ornate and magnificent as thrones, were set apart from all the other seats, as befitted the status of their occupants, but they were on the same level as the lowest circle of seats, to remind them that, despite their authority and awesome magical powers, they were still only human, just like everyone else.

     During the days of the Agglemonian Empire, when the University had been located in the Endless Plains, the opening ceremony of a Grand Assembly had taken up to two hours, with all kinds of extensive rituals and set pieces in which various people would knock on the door demanding entry, be turned away, cast magical spells to force the doors open and so on, but fortunately most of this had fallen out of use down through the centuries and those few rituals that were left were mostly optional. Tragius, being anxious to get down to business as quickly as possible, had upset the Master of Ceremonies terribly by requesting that the ceremony be reduced to its most basic components, and since it was he who had called the Assembly protocol dictated that his request be granted.

     Even the basic ceremony took a full ten minutes, though, as Tragius presented himself before the three seats and begged leave to address the chamber. He did so in heavily formal language, his voice droning on and on through all the thees and thous and therefores, and the Director was required to turn down his request twice before acquiescing on the third appeal.

     Why do we put up with all this? he wondered, almost quivering with frustration, but of course he knew the answer. Wizards could wield enormous power, and the temptation to wield that power impulsively could sometimes be almost overwhelming. The interminable ceremonies gave them a chance to think about what they were doing, give them a chance to cool off. Tragius might change his mind at any point during the opening ceremony, his nerve failing as the magnitude of the occasion was impressed upon him, and although the other wizards might grumble at the waste of their valuable time, there would be nothing they could do about it. Tragius did not change his mind, though, and as soon as the Director gave in to his demands and granted his permission to begin, he stood and spoke to the assembled wizards.

     “This Extraordinary Grand Assembly of the wizards of Lexandria University is now in session. Tragius Demonbinder, it was you who called for this Assembly, as is your right as head of a school of magic. I call upon you now to give your reasons for this action, and offer you the floor of the Chamber of Discourse.”

     He sat again, and the Master of Ceremonies gave a sigh of relief So far, so good.

     Tragius bowed to him, then turned and strode to the centre of the room. He glanced once at Elmias, sitting in the second row behind a group of Necromancers, tried to swallow with a throat suddenly gone dry, and began to speak. “I called this Grand Assembly in order to propose a change to the University rules.”

     A murmur of confusion rippled among the assembled wizards, and the Head Proctor banged the end of his staff on the floor for silence, the noise amplified magically into claps of thunder. “The Annual Assembly of Heads is the proper venue for a request of that nature,” said the Director with a frown. He had the uneasy feeling that he wasn’t going to like this.

     “This cannot wait until the next Annual Assembly,” replied Tragius, “and it concerns many wizards who are not head of a school.”

     “Very well,” said Justarian. “What is the nature of the changes you wish to discuss?”

     “Before I reveal that,” replied Tragius, “I require everyone here to take the Oath of Lexandros.”

     A babble of excitement broke out, and the Head Proctor had to bang his staff several times before things quieted down. The Director leaned over towards the Master of Ceremonies, and they whispered together for a few moments before he spoke again. “Tragius is within his rights,” he said. “Everyone who is not prepared to take the oath must leave immediately.”

     There was more excited whispering, but no-one moved to leave. “Very well,” said Justarian. “I will speak the oath.”

     The Master of Ceremonies handed him a sheet of paper from which he read, his eyes squinting as he tried to make out the tight, crabby handwriting. “We, the wizards assembled here, do solemnly swear in the names of all the Gods, known and unknown, that nothing said or done between now and the time we leave this place shall be made known by any means whatsoever to any other person, living, dead or undead. Upon anyone who breaks this most solemn vow shall fall the entire wrath of the University, so that he or she shall be utterly destroyed for all eternity. Raise your hands, all of you who agree to abide by this oath.”

     The Proctors then walked around the room, making sure that everyone had their hands raised, before returning to their positions by the doors.

     The Director then placed a hand on the sphere of polished black marble that stood on the pedestal beside his throne and spoke a word of command, activating the magical anti-scrying field surrounding the room that ensured that no-one could eavesdrop on them by magical means, “The oath has been taken,” he then said. “Are you satisfied?”

     “I am,” replied Tragius.

     “Then tell us which of the University’s rules you wish to see changed.”

     Tragius took a deep breath. He knew exactly how his next statement would be received. “The rules I would like to see changed are those concerning rak transformation.”

     This time there was an uproar, and not all the banging of the Head Proctor’s staff would restore order. Wizards leapt to their feet and shouted incredulously, and several strode furiously onto the floor to confront Tragius. Somewhere a spell was cast, and the Director hurriedly activated the anti-magic spells also stored in the sphere of black marble. Every wizard in the chamber immediately felt all their magical wards and charms nullified, leaving them helpless and vulnerable, and Justarian hefted the Staff of Lexandros meaningfully. As the only magical weapon in the world capable of operating in an anti-magic field, it was the ultimate symbol of wizardly authority and order was rapidly restored.

     “That’s better,” said the Director. “I will not have the Chamber of Discourse turned into a common brawling house.” He turned his attention back to Tragius. “Now then, I expect you have a good reason for this extraordinary request?”

     “I do,” replied Tragius. “Believe me, I would not make such a request if the fate of the world did not depend upon it.”

     “You are referring to the Fourth Shadowwar?”

     “That is correct.” He turned to address the assembled wizards. “Some of you are aware that I recently sent a spy into the Shadowlands to spy on the enemy.”

     “A wraith, yes,” replied Justarian. Then realisation suddenly hit him, and he stared at his fellow wizard in horror. Cries of outrage and a babble of excited whispering broke out among the other wizards as they too realised the truth, and the Head Proctor once again banged his staff for silence. “It wasn’t a wraith, was it?” said the Director. “It was a rak.”

     Tragius nodded. “It was Malefactos. Malefactos of the Five Cities of the Tannaric Plains.”

     The Director stared at him as if he thought me must be dreaming. “Explain,” he managed to croak out through a dry, constricted throat.

     “I knew a long time beforehand that Malefactos was planning to become a rak,” said Tragius calmly and clearly. “I allowed him to do so because I knew we’d need a spy, and only a rak would do. A wraith wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in there. When his transformation was complete I approached him and asked him to spy for us, but he refused, so I stole his ark and forced him into it. The gamble paid off handsomely, and we gained more information than I’d dared hope for, information that may well enable us to defeat them.”

     “So now there’s a University rak running loose in the world,” gasped Justarian in total disbelief.

     “You’ll be impeached for this!” shouted a wizard from the benches. “You’ll be put to death!” A proctor hurried over to shut him up, but other wizards were rising to their feet and shouting abuse at him.

     “I have Assembly Privilege!” called back Tragius in alarm. The reaction against him was greater than he’d counted on. “I may not be harmed or threatened while the Assembly is in progress!”

     “He’s right,” agreed Justarian, remembering the Master of Ceremonies’s briefings. “There’ll be time enough for an impeachment after the Assembly is over, and I promise you that justice will be done! Right now, however, Tragius has Assembly Privilege and we must listen to what he has to say.”