[b]Walter
Chapter 8: The Congress of Magic
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	”You're being preposterous.” Choffed Arel the Vast. Titled for both his vast knowledge of the world. As well as the vast width of his being, though this was never shared to him publically of course. 
	”Preposterous how?!” Rem Lornstone shouted back, he paced the circular room, adressing all of the twelve mages rather than just Arel. ”They will be expecting us, this is known. Why not use what we possess? We have our advantage. Cease it!” A murmur spread across the room as men leaned over to whisper either praise or folly into eachother's ears. No one whispered to Walter, they had understood by now how attempting to invite him into the conversation was futile. 
	”You'd have us throw everything into an uncertain plan. What proof have you, Rem? Hmm?” Replied Arel, shifting in his too small of a chair, a table stood beside him and platters of food were upon it, as if the man had nothing better to do than emphazise his own stereotype.
	”I have faith in our God. I have faith in our limitless power. You and your lackeys would limit us due to cowardice?! That, Arel. Is not how wars are won.” Rem glared up at the man and smiled smugly as the murmur that followed seemed more approving than before. Walter had seen unbound magic before. It had resulted in fire that could melt stone. In wind that could shatter wood. All from one mage, whose ambition was rivaled only by his malice. Walter leaned forward in his seat to look at Rem. His intention was different than what Molaire's had been that day in Monarch's rise, but the result of his magic would no doubt be the same. Destruction. Arel spoke up again and Walter looked up and expected his response.
	”There is no telling what effect such a spell would have. The ocean is a fickle mistress and last time such magic was utilized, It was by Death's Hand, to create the host of undead our fore-fathers struggled so to vanquish.” He paused to look around the room and all the elder men gathered nodded in solemn agreement. ”- The risk is not worth it.” He concluded and leaned back in his chair, he grabbed himself a biscuit and took a generous bite from it.
	”Midway stories and nothing more!” Complained Rem.
	”What say you, Andalus?” Simoron asked to everyone's surprise, it was the first time she had spoken during the lengthy debate and Walter had completely forgotten the witch was here to begin with. ”You lived among them. Do they expect us or not?” Walter looked from the witch who had spoken so brazenly to change the topic and instead he watched the men who had all grown silent. They respected the witch's opinion. Maybe because she had earned her place here not from blood-ties like them, but for rigorous training and raw magical talent, perhaps because she was the only woman in the room. Now they all looked to Walter, expecting the response. He nodded faintly, clearing his throat before speaking.
	”No doubt. The Northeners do not forgive transgressions, and we have killed both their people and their king. They may even come at us directly for revenge.” Walter then shrugged and reclined in his seat. Wishing not to speak more than required, he scratched loosely across the bandage which covered his arm. A murmur followed between the men. Rem stared up at Walter from the center of the room. Walter watched Simoron however, the woman wore her hair in a practical bun and unlike most of the men in the circle she wore no robes. But rather preferred a lengthy leather coat. Rem spoke up and gained everyone's eyes again.
	”Do you see, brothers? The Northeners will not be forgiving. They have seethed long already against us. Their army outmatches ours. We have but this one choice! Call upon the ocean and we shall drown their land in the flood of Valentia!” Some voices rouse up to match that. Agreeing upon Rem's decision. Walter scanned across the circle of mages. Arel shook his head in disagreement, Rovell and Pamarus, the twin sorcerers had gotten up from their chairs to support Rem. Simoron wore no expression, watching the men from her chair in idle boredom. Walter set his eyes on the fourteenth and final chair in the circle, which stood empty. The Sorcerer-King was as expected, not in attendance and their debate would lead around in circles as it had for two weeks now until the king did arrive and chose for them. Walter tore his gaze off the large chair and looked as Tamarus of Lazarus got up from his chair, the young man was essentially the ruler of the island. But his authority meant little now in times of war.
	”If this spell risks the lives of our people, then it is not worth it! We shall continue with the invasion plan as already decided!” The mage may even have been older than Walter by a few years, but he looked a decade younger, trying and failing to gain the attention of the bickering sages. The boy eventually sat back down, the congress had elected to bicker and bicker they would. Walter watched the debates with melancholy, he sighed and shared a glance with Simoron who seemed to share his point of view. At least her eyes spoke of the same emotion. She looked at Walter and then faintly nodded past him, to his left. Walter followed the gesture and looked upon another silent character, they sat in their chair, covered beneath an azure cowl which hung over their face. Walter scrunched his face in thought, what had Simoron wanted to point out with this? The man under the cowl, Walter knew to be Larnicus, the only Spirit-Walker among the council. As expected he had said nothing, even when the debates touched upon his spectrum of the magical realm and people had been glad for his silence. Behind Larnicus a younger man stood, also dressed in an azure robe and carrying two finely carved staves, Walter did not know this one, Walkers were a mystery, most would argue, others would say they held no magical ability at all, that they were only stories people told, who would contrast other legends. Walter looked back to Simoron and she gave him her first smile, it stretched to the side of her face with sly intention. Walter blinked confusedly, Simoron flashed her smile and winked one eye toward him. What she implied, Walter could hardly guess but he doubted it bode well.