mages bow to the wisdom of the Oracle of Erchane. Since before time began the Oracle has served the Allimir."
"Nice, but a bit vague," Glory said. "But what is it? Have you ever been there? What do you see?"
"Indeed I have been there. Every child of the Allimir visits the Oracle before his tenth birthday, to see what path his life should take. By the Oracle's grace, I became a mage, bound to the study of the Prophecies, and so served many years within the Temple as well."
"Um." Glory thought that over. "But what if you hadn't wanted to become a mage?"
Englor stared at her, with the blank expression she was coming to know too well. "But why would the Oracle tell me to do something I didn't want to do?" he finally said.
Right. 
"Tell me about being a mage," she asked, trying again. "I guess you've got to be a pretty bright lad to manage that, hey?"
"There can be only three," Englor said proudly. "It takes years of study to master the Prophecies and understand all the signs and portents, so that all we do is in accordance with Erchane's will. Until Fadril died, I was Belegir's apprentice, because of course we all thought he would die first. Aldien was Helevrin's apprentice, but he . . ." There was a long pause. "He was in Drathil the night She came," Englor whispered.
Glory reached out and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Every time she started thinking of these people as the inhabitants of some kind of weird sitcom, something like this happened. No matter how peculiar they were, they felt pain. They grieved.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Englor bowed his head, then looked up, smiling through his tears. "But now we have hope once more. You have come. You will hunt Her and save us all—just as you saved Queen Elizabeth from the werewolf!"
"I didn't—"
"I know," Englor said, smiling gently and holding up his hand. "They are only stories. But every story contains a grain of truth. Ay reckon this one does too," he added, in a fair approximation of her nasal Melbourne accent.
"I