Just how many shocks could one man take in the period of two days? Solomon was starting to wonder. He said nothing after Deuce's last statement, simply because he had, at that point, nothing to say. He was rattled, he had to admit, and even though most of the other mages wouldn't be able to tell, his immediate and dry reaction would have said that to the people who knew him.
Never, in any scenario, had he imagined this. The irony was that if it had happened while he was still was Necromancer, he probably would have leapt on it--or been ordered to. Solomon did deal in politics. He frequently didn't like the idiots he had to work with, but he could do it, and had done it, and more than either Ravel or Deuce.
He wasn't affiliated with them. Not much more than today, at least. People knew he was a man after his own agenda. There could be no call for favouritism in the election. The problem was that it put him squarely in the line of fire.
Except, Solomon realised with a jolt, it didn't. If anything, it saved him from it. No matter what Gabe had said or done, Tenebrae would have found ways to have Solomon killed. As an Elder, he would be too much in the public focus. If he died, there would be questions, many of them, and the Temple would be the first place people would look. It was a risk Tenebrae wouldn't be able to take.
Solomon exhaled slowly as the argument swirled around him, trying to ignore the sudden currents of startled and angry souls interacting. At least, he tried, right up until the boil of Craven's anthill caught his attention; Solomon tracked the movement, dimly registering Ravel's almost immediate defence of him. He followed the movement right back to its source and the soul of hard obsidian beside it. Without thinking, his hand pressed against the shape of the bear in his pocket.
He surprised himself by laughing. He probably surprised everyone else as well; it certainly cut through the brewing argument as easily as anything could.
"I suspect this may be a inconceivable concept for you, Auron," he said, looking at the High Priest with the sightless eyes he'd had returned and a smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth, "but you only had authority over me because I gave it to you. That means I can take it back, and I do. And, frankly, if this breaks the impressionability of young Necromancers believing you're infallible, I can only consider that a very good thing." His smile broadened, became mocking. "As for your threats--unlike Ravel, apparently, I'm already considered an enemy of the Temple. What are you going to do if I accept? Blind me again?"
Not kill him. Oh, Tenebrae would want to, to be sure, but if this went through Solomon would be beyond the Temple's reach. There was always the risk that he might consider the scrutiny of the other Sanctuaries on Ireland to be worthwhile, but Solomon doubted the man would take things that far. The Temples considered themselves autonomous; that didn't mean they were. Tenebrae knew that. And he would not want to give up his authority to share it with the Temple of another nation if Ireland was put under pressure.
For his own sake, Solomon should accept. He was startled to find part of him almost wanted to. It hadn't been until just now that he realised he didn't have a clue where to go from here, once he had properly recovered. Why not this?
Why not indeed?
Solomon bowed slightly toward Corrival, almost grinning. "This council willing, I accept your offer, Grand Mage."
"That sounds awful," Corrival grumbled. "Can I be called something else? Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire, maybe?"
no subject
Never, in any scenario, had he imagined this. The irony was that if it had happened while he was still was Necromancer, he probably would have leapt on it--or been ordered to. Solomon did deal in politics. He frequently didn't like the idiots he had to work with, but he could do it, and had done it, and more than either Ravel or Deuce.
He wasn't affiliated with them. Not much more than today, at least. People knew he was a man after his own agenda. There could be no call for favouritism in the election. The problem was that it put him squarely in the line of fire.
Except, Solomon realised with a jolt, it didn't. If anything, it saved him from it. No matter what Gabe had said or done, Tenebrae would have found ways to have Solomon killed. As an Elder, he would be too much in the public focus. If he died, there would be questions, many of them, and the Temple would be the first place people would look. It was a risk Tenebrae wouldn't be able to take.
Solomon exhaled slowly as the argument swirled around him, trying to ignore the sudden currents of startled and angry souls interacting. At least, he tried, right up until the boil of Craven's anthill caught his attention; Solomon tracked the movement, dimly registering Ravel's almost immediate defence of him. He followed the movement right back to its source and the soul of hard obsidian beside it. Without thinking, his hand pressed against the shape of the bear in his pocket.
He surprised himself by laughing. He probably surprised everyone else as well; it certainly cut through the brewing argument as easily as anything could.
"I suspect this may be a inconceivable concept for you, Auron," he said, looking at the High Priest with the sightless eyes he'd had returned and a smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth, "but you only had authority over me because I gave it to you. That means I can take it back, and I do. And, frankly, if this breaks the impressionability of young Necromancers believing you're infallible, I can only consider that a very good thing." His smile broadened, became mocking. "As for your threats--unlike Ravel, apparently, I'm already considered an enemy of the Temple. What are you going to do if I accept? Blind me again?"
Not kill him. Oh, Tenebrae would want to, to be sure, but if this went through Solomon would be beyond the Temple's reach. There was always the risk that he might consider the scrutiny of the other Sanctuaries on Ireland to be worthwhile, but Solomon doubted the man would take things that far. The Temples considered themselves autonomous; that didn't mean they were. Tenebrae knew that. And he would not want to give up his authority to share it with the Temple of another nation if Ireland was put under pressure.
For his own sake, Solomon should accept. He was startled to find part of him almost wanted to. It hadn't been until just now that he realised he didn't have a clue where to go from here, once he had properly recovered. Why not this?
Why not indeed?
Solomon bowed slightly toward Corrival, almost grinning. "This council willing, I accept your offer, Grand Mage."
"That sounds awful," Corrival grumbled. "Can I be called something else? Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire, maybe?"