In 11 different rooms, in 11 different places across the world, a meeting was in session. Each room was as different as the people who occupied them, but each had this in common – they were windowless and were protected by wards of such strength that even an Immortal would have to break a sweat to penetrate them. And certainly could not do so undetected.

In a small but comfortable study in a modest house in the coastal town of Devok, in Arushal, Kiril Vetaris addressed the ten faces that watched him from within the frames of ten oil paintings hung about the room. The expressions ranged from the serene to the annoyed…

“And that, my fellow councilors, is how matters currently stand with the Hand of Fortune. Are there any questions?”

A brabble of voices burst forth, as several of the images in the frames spoke at the same time. One was louder than the rest, a man of steel-gray hair and fleshy jowls, and eyes like obsidian, and he overrode the others.

“By the Void, man, this pet herd of yours grows ever more troublesome! And you wish to let them go on roaming the lands, releasing only-the-All-knows-what further horrors on us?!”

“It seems unfair for me to lay sole claim to this ‘herd’ as you call them,” Vetaris said dryly. “It was not I who first foresaw their importance to the coming struggle… I just happened to be the one in the best position to guide them.”

“Indeed,” said the raven-haired man with silver-blue eyes, dressed in black and silver, in another frame. “And I stand by my visions, ser… visions we have all shared by now, in one form or another, including you.”

“Yes, and I say the interpretation of these visions is not as clear as you would have us believe,” the obsidian-eyed man snorted, glaring at the face that shimmered in one of the ten tarot cards floating in an array around his desk. “I still misdoubt that they will be more problem than solution, in the end!”

“You must admit, Kiril, this most recent incident is… worrisome, to say the least,” put in an auburn-haired woman of middle years, with sea-green eyes, who viewed the others through ten crystal plates.  “They did release one of the Demon Lords, after all…”

“Exactly!” interrupted the obsidian-eyed man. “What’s next, Naventhül itself?”

“You exaggerate, my friend,” the man in black and silver replied calmly, raising a sardonic eyebrow at the image of the obsidian-eyed man in one of the ten large crystal balls set on pedestals in an arc before him. “We knew that there was a chance, indeed a likelihood, that at least one, perhaps more, of the Greater Demons would be freed, before this is over.”

“And we can hardly lay all the blame on our agents,” added an ebony skinned woman with silver streaks in her elaborately coiffed hair. “If the agent of the Vortex had not managed to release the Corruptor, the wards around Haranol would never have weakened, allowing it to cloud their minds.

“And I doubt anyone on this council could have pierced those illusions, unprepared and unwarned, save perhaps your Majesty,” she added, nodding to the image of the grave-faced Telnori in one of the pools of water around where she knelt in a cave of shimmering crystal.

“Perhaps, or perhaps not,” the Telnori sighed. “Even We may fall before the twisted mind of Chaos personified. But I hesitate to second-guess our agents in the field, and by all accounts they did well, both in re-imprisoning the Corruptor and in resisting Haranol… in that last they failed only by a hair.”

“Failure is failure, by a mile or a hair,” said the amber-skinned man in silk robes, his long black hair tied in an elegant braid down his back. “If they, and we, fail by a hair at the last, will that be any consolation as the world descends screaming into madness and oblivion?”

“Of course not,” replied the man in black and silver. “That is why we must not fail. The future is never fully set, and with the powers of Chaos involved it becomes even more uncertain, less open to reliable prediction. But while I acknowledge that the fate of this world hangs in the balance, I yet feel strongly that the Hand of Fortune ultimately tips the scales in our favor. Have faith, my friends.”

“Faith!” the obsidian-eyed man barked a laugh. “One of them is barking mad, for pity’s sake, and the Demon Lord of Air now wears his body, while he possesses the form of another! One is perhaps the subject of the Fire Prophecy, a dangerous card to play, while the woman grows increasingly prideful and arrogant. One has abandoned the group, and –”

“Draik has not abandoned his friends,” Vetaris interrupted firmly. “He will stand with the other eight when the critical time comes. And I have examined Erol closely – while he is not strictly sane, perhaps, his madness is a functional one. It allows him to go on, and I suspect he will… reintegrate, over time.

“As for Devrik, it is unclear if it is he or his son who the subject of the Fire Prophecy… or either. A dangerous card indeed, but better one we have in our hand than in our enemies’ I think. As for Mariala, she treads a perilous path, to be sure, but I have faith in her.

“Remember, these are mortal men and women, and young. They need time to fully become who we, who the world, needs them to be… but I am certain they will do so, in the end. And they have more time, as do we, thanks to their actions so far – if not for them, we would not have known of the Vortex as the agents behind our current troubles. Not before they were fully prepared, which would have been… bad.

“We have years now, I think we all agree, rather than mere months. So let us not try to change horses mid-stream, and trust instead that our loyal mounts will carry us through to victory. If they have occasionally stumbled, they have nonetheless thrown a serious stick into the Vortex’s spokes – and tipped the scales of the events yet to come slightly towards our favor!”

After another hour of back and forth, eventually consensus was reached, and one by one the images faded from Kiril Vetaris’ pictures, which resumed their normal appearance of landscapes and still lives. Finally, only the obsidian-eyed man remained, and he spoke now more conversationally.

“I will continue to play demon’s advocate,” he said, with a slight smile. “I think you place too much faith in these imperfect tools, but it does seem they are the best we have just now.

“But Kiril, all the prophecies, the visions, the readings – they all make it clear there will be nine of them at the crux, and that it will take all nine to succeed in… whatever the final crisis turns out to be… I wish we knew more about that. But even counting Draik Bartyne, there are only seven of them…”

“Have no fear, my friend,” Vetaris smiled more broadly himself. “There’s time yet before the final act, and I assure you, there are two others waiting in the wings…”