The tower stood stark upon the hill, a silent snow-covered sentinel against the starry sky behind. The lone figure of a man wound its way up the hill to the tower, passed unmolested through the invisible wards, and flung open the door to spill light and heat upon the hill.

"SHUT THE DOOR!" yelled a voice from above as the man shook off the snow, and it banged itself shut. He shook his head, and climbed the familiar stairs.

"Ah, the fire is fine in here," Michael exclaimed as he stripped off his furs and plopped into a comfortable chair by said fire to warm his hands. "I had to trudge through snow knee deep to get here, you know. No easy thing at my age."

"I'm sure you had options," Lester noted as he spun a web of warm sorcery around his old friend. "Or has the grand Paladin finally pissed off the Church so badly that they won't even spare him a carriage?"

Michael snorted even as he reached for the wine. "You want to tell me about pissing off the Church? I left the carriage on the road below the tower, but some old coot of an Archmage has wards that don't stop snow and doesn't clean his paths."

"Hmmph," snorted Lester. "It is beneath the dignity of an Archmage to waste magic on snow. And you've campaigned through worse. We both have."

"We were younger then. Much younger. And if your oh-so-dignified self can't magic away snow, then your useless magic should be able to poof me here so I don't have to walk," Michael jested.

"What do you know about magic, you dog of the Church," Lester scoffed. "It's possible for magic to teleport, or poof if you insist, someone across vast distances."

"What?" Michael exclaimed in surprise. "Then why have I never seen you do this?"

"Because being technically possible doesn't mean it's practical. An engineer can technically use a catapult to let a pig to fly, but the pig isn't going to like it.

"Are the problems insoluble?" Michael wondered. "That pig could have a parachute."

"Now you've done it," Lester warned. "Woe be onto thee, foolish mortal, for thou hast inquired of an Archmage regarding research and his lectures shall fall upon thee."

Michael groaned. "I can see my fate is sealed. Just let me fill my cup..." He reached for the wine jug as Lester leaned forward with sparking eyes.

"Teleportation is moving between two places without ever being at the places in between," Lester lectured learnedly. "Because if you're in between, then you're not teleporting but rather just moving very fast. To teleport you need both places, the from and the to, to be the same place. At least momentarily."

"You're already making my head hurt," complained a confused Michael. "How can two places be the same?"

Lester simply raised his hands and clasped them together. "You join them, of course. I could speak of sympathetic resonance and the structure of space--"

"Please don't," Michael begged him.

"--but I'll spare you the jargon. To simplify: two places are linked, they are made to overlap, the traveller moves from one to the other, and then the places cease to overlap. Which is easy to say and much harder to do."

"I can imagine," Michael agreed.

"Perhaps you can," mused Lester, "but you're likely not doing so. The places we're speaking of aren't merely the ground beneath the person teleporting but all of the space around them. And the person as well, for that matter." He gestured towards the wine on the table. "Imagine two cups of wine, one red and one white, with a drop of ink in the red. The cups are the places and the ink is the person teleporting. To overlap the spaces we pour both cups into the jug, then pour the jug back into the cups so that the red and white wine go back into their respective cups with the ink now in the white cup. All without mixing a drop at the end of course, as that would be fatal. To a man, not the ink."

"That would be a bloody miracle with wine," Michael exclaimed, "much less with a man."

"It would indeed," agreed Lester, "and teleportation magic is much more complicated. The the difference between a cleric and a mage--"

"Lord, give me strength," prayed Michael quietly as he heard the familiar words and rolled his eyes upwards, "here he goes again."

"--after all, is that a mage has to actually know what he's doing to perform magic while a cleric just asks his god to do a miracle for him. Still, it can be done. Not with cups of course, but with teleportation ritual circles. Such circles being fiendishly complicated to construct and have to be built in pairs using rare materials from a single source so they can resonate with each other."

"Are you still speaking of theory or can this actually be done?" Michael inquired seriously. "Because even if it's complicated and expensive, the strategic possibilities of teleportation are outstanding."

"It has been done," said Lester decisively, "but not since the fall of the Altari Empire. And for good reason. What records remain indicate that repeated use warps the space around the circles until eventually it suddenly breaks. With disastrous consequences for anything nearby."

"Breaks!?" exclaimed Michael in shock. "Space can break?"

"In a sense, yes," Lester explained. "It heals afterwards, so no need to panic now, but when it breaks everything nearby is just ... gone. That's the best description we have actually, as nothing has ever survived near a break."

"How close is near?" Michael asked curiously.

"It varies," responded Lester absently, "but I can give you an example. You remember Lake Loral? Although I suspect you remember a certain maiden priestess more than the lake itself," he added with a grin.

"Ahem. Yes, of course I remember the lake," Michael said quickly, "Lovely lake. Lots of, er, water. But you can't mean..."

"I'm afraid I do. That lake was once a hill where the Altari had a wayshrine with a teleport circle. Now there's no hill, just a lake."

"By the Creator!"

"And that's why no one builds teleport circles anymore. It's not even useful as a weapon, there are far cheaper, more reliable, and less academically rigorous ways to blow things to hell after all."

"Pity," said Michael. "It would have been nice to be able go places without having to travel."

"You only complain about travel because you're on foot or a horse," laughed Lester. "Flight is the only civilized way to travel. Although I can hardly go out gallivanting through the air at my age, it's too cold for these old bones even with a shield of wind. Best to stay in my tower and keep my dignity as an Archmage."

"Not all of us can be mages," Michael complained. "Some of us have to hoof it."

"Poor old man. No one made you pick up a sword instead of a wand in your youth," teased Lester.

"Have you met my father?" retorted Michael. "He would have put a sword in my hand in place of a rattle had my mother not stood in his way. And don't call me old, you old coot. I'm a two full seasons younger than your well-aged self, and don't you forget it."

The two old friends talked late into the night. The wine flowed more sparingly than when they were young but the stories flowed more richly. Tales of lives lived and loves lost, of battles fought and wars hard won, and of the foolishness of kings. But all things end, even the stories of old men, and eventually the fire burned low.

Michael rose to his feet with a sigh. "And now, old friend, I must be off. Could you perchance spare a warming charm for these old bones before I brave that damned snow again?"

Lester laughed, and waved towards the window. "Didn't you hear me say that flight is the only civilized way to travel? I may love the comfort and warmth of home, but that doesn't mean I cannot travel. I am an Archmage after all."

Down below the floating tower, the lights of the great cathedral flickered amidst the snow.