The terrifically good story of its founding, that of the templar Daclamitus and the sorceress Averil, ends on page 93 of Veiled Alliance.
Hrr, where’s the rest? The part where they found the Alliance, teach secrecy and requital until Kalak dispels the alignment-changing magic affecting Daclamitus, and the Alliance and his lover have to follow-through with requital on him.
This is driving me nuts.
Google my friend, google! 
Here is the ORIGINAL story from Dragon Mag. It’s been an little altered thereafter for the supplement Veiled Alliance.
Water and Ashes
by Allen Varney
THE INITIATE: These pages merit strictest secrecy. Any beyond the Veil who read or capture them must suffer requital at once.
The manuscript appears quite recent. Most students among the Alliances
of Athas date it no earlier than the Year of Priest’s Fury.
Nonetheless , its melodramatic summary of the society’s origin has
already spread to all chapters throughout the region. The document
has become the standard first instruction given to all who join the
Veiled Alliance.
The document’s florid style considerably embellishes historical
events. It transforms history into myth by writing the founders’
actions ever larger. Outlandish? Perhaps. But from this account
even a cynical initiate can sense our society’s compelling importance.
This copy consists of eleven birchbark sheets from the trees of the
Crescent Forest , tied in strips of inix leather and probably inscribed
at the learned scriptoria in the Shrine of the Winds in Raam. Need¬
less to say , we know neither the author nor the original recipient.
Now , student , learn the secrets of the Veiled Alliance!
Noble Sir,
At your initiation you asked about the founding of our
society. "What great wizard brought all this about? What
traitor betrayed its existence to the sorcerer-kings?" you
asked, and you wondered why we smiled. We had no time
to expound upon the question—the guards attacked then,
as you no doubt recall— and so my reply has had to wait.
The tale begins with Daclamitus, a man of sinister na¬
ture and dark look, of pursed lips and measuring gaze,
cloying to superiors and cruel to underlings. The black
robes of the templar bespoke his black heart. But I move
ahead of my story.
Out of Darkness, Light
Many kings’ ages past, Daclamitus rose high among
the templars of Tyr. Even by that evil calling’s standards,
his cruelty and ambition were proverbial. His underlings
knew Daclamitus as a cunning man, as evasive as a jarbo,
hard to grasp as a handful of air. His endless devotion to
self-advancement earned him the name "the Sleepless
One." His zeal in tracking traitors soon brought the re¬
spect of the sorcerer-king, Kalak, who granted him nearly
unlimited power as his senior adjutant.
Daclamitus’s office let him indulge certain private am¬
bitions, including an interest in ruins and objects of mag¬
ic. Perhaps he hoped to obtain some device from ancient
days that would let him rise farther — even to the black
throne of Tyr.
It happened that a group of adventurous antiquarians,
having studied ancient texts, set forth across the desert by
unknown paths to search for the lost city of Kor. After
many months, when they did not return to Tyr, Daclami¬
tus claimed their homes and goods in the name of Kalak.
But on a day blackened by the blowing sand, they re¬
turned from the wasteland bearing a strange helm.
Daclamitus ordered the weary travelers seized and im¬
prisoned. But torture could not make them reveal the
helm’s powers, and they died professing their ignorance.
For a time the helm lay upon Daclamitus’s desk. He
sensed its magic but could not decipher its purpose. How
could he unlock its secrets?
At last desire for power overcame cowardice. Alone in
his chambers, he put on the helm. As though a curtain
had parted, he saw the evil of his life. A spellbinding vi¬
sion showed how all his actions had made his heart small
and petty, how he had stamped out people’s impulses to¬
ward freedom, truth, and beauty. The ancient magic
wrought upon him changed him so powerfully and pain¬
fully that he fell into a swoon lasting days.
When he woke, he felt reborn. He asked his servants to
bring him the helm, but discovered that out of fear they
had torn it from his head and melted it in a blacksmith’s
forge. He forgave them and resolved to begin a new life,
redoubling his zeal in a high and worthy cause. But what?
Evils battered Athas like surging waves of dust on the Sea
of Silt.
In the moment this image rose to his mind, Daclamitus
saw the root of these troubles: the devastation that had
blighted the world itself. The templar knew that the blight
continued to this day, and he resolved to fight it. He would
rid Athas of the wizards who had almost destroyed it!
But his political acuity had not left him. Daclamitus
knew that doing this good work required craft and subtle¬
ty. If Kalak ever suspected his new nature, the Sleepless
One would fall into a permanent sleep. Fortunately, his
great abilities in the arts of the mind concealed his
thoughts, and his skill in duplicity hid his actions. Yet his
newfound emotions betrayed him.
The washerwomen and the stableboys spoke of the tem¬
plar’s new kindness, and the tale found its way to a skulk¬
ing, obsequious young man, an ambitious junior templar
named Antrifos. This shows that no matter to whom we
speak, the templars hear. Antrifos began watching Da¬
clamitus from secrecy.
In the following weeks Daclamitus persecuted wizards
in a spirit of righteous vengeance. The mention of his
name could make a mage turn pale with fear. Many of our
calling fell to his wrath, but they did not die in vain. For
as he took endless tortured confessions, the templar slowly
began to suspect what no templar knew: that magic takes
many forms and perhaps-just perhaps — could serve not
death but life.
Finally Daclamitus heard of a beautiful mage-woman
who dwelt “beyond shimmering water,” a wizard of power
and purity. He longed to capture her. The templar felt
certain that her confession would teach him, at last, the
truths of magic. But for months he heard no more about
her, neither her name nor the meaning of this "shimmer¬
ing water." So his persecution continued.
One night at his palatial home his guards brought him a
drunken merchant, a caravan driver. The traveler told a
story of a waterfall gleaming at night upon a distant peak,
Rogal Tor. The merchant had spotted it for only an in¬
stant, when the two moons took a certain position and this
wonder emerged flashing like a sheet of silver in the night.
Of course, the desert traders know seven dozen absurd
legends like this. But something in the man’s manner,
perhaps his attitude of fear and suspicion, provoked the
high templar’s curiosity. Daclamitus called astronomers
and geographers to his home, so that he could find this
mystery by square and compass. His eagerness drew the
attention of Antrifos, who made discreet inquiries of a
servant. The young man’s informant told him, "The high
templar seeks a waterfall in the desert. The sages place
this miracle at Rogal Tor, which I know has no more wa¬
ter than a bone."
Antrifos thought, "My leader has learned of great
power, or he has gone mad. Either way, I shall exploit his
lunacy."
Meanwhile, Daclamitus arranged and set out with an
expedition. They met great hardship in the wastes, but at
last in the cold desert night they came to Rogal Tor. Sharp
and clean as a nightmare beast’s fang, it stood pale gray
against the sky, outlined in stars.
Daclamitus scaled the peak alone, lest his troops’ pres¬
ence alert the wizard. High on the mountain, he saw the
twin moons hanging low in the sky, like eyes glowing
through dark fabric. Above him, a waterfall descended
from the jagged summit to a crack in the dark volcanic
rock. Moonlight made the water a beaded curtain, shim¬
mering with light.
The templar paused, awed by its beauty. He had never
seen so clear a night. Then in a lethal silence he climbed
up to the crevasse. He whispered Kalak’s name to silence
spells that might sound an alarm. Then he stepped
through.
As the curtain of cool water drenched and refreshed
him, he entered a garden of green delight. Ferns flour¬
ished in each corner, grasses and sedge grew like a carpet,
and spidery air plants limned every crag of the cavern
wall. The pungent air closed in like a damp cloak. Light
diffused through the long cave from no clear source.
The templar silently walked deeper into the cave. He
had never seen so much green outside Kalak’s gardens.
There the plants grew in orderly array. This feverish
growth, though attractive, struck him as —undisciplined.
He stopped in surprise. On a bed of green moss, sur¬
rounded by a livery of pink orchids, lay a thin black¬
haired woman, asleep. Mesmerized, Daclamitus stared at
her tawny skin and finely drawn features. Could this
beauty command the defiling magic that blighted the
world? How could she maintain this sanctuary? Suddenly
angry at his own doubt, he fell upon the sleeping woman
and gagged her, then bound her hands with leather
thongs.
As she stared in panic, he told her, "Never let your
guard down while a templar lives." He meant to sound
smug, yet as he watched her struggle with her bonds, he
felt only shame, and his voice revealed it. She fell still and
looked at him with curiosity. He said, "I seek — " and
then, after a pause, he finished, “learning.” The word
surprised them both.
When he took her from the cave, she put up no resist¬
ance. Then he perceived a dark shape against the darker
sky. A low growl, an odor of sweat —now, in the light
from the cavern mouth, a speckling of black on yellow
fur —he knew the beast. A leopard, from the Forest
Ridge, moving to attack!
Daclamitus made ready to call for help, but he stopped
in amazement as the woman said, "Naurax, back! Don’t
hurt him." She had worked her gag free — could she have
done that at any time? The creature halted and growled in
frustration. Then, to the templar’s astonishment, the leop¬
ard turned and silently vanished into the darkness.
Templar and wizard looked at each other. "You mean to
take me to Tyr, I assume," she said in a cool contralto
voice.
He nodded, forgetting to scowl as befits a captor.
On the long march back to Tyr, Daclamitus interro¬
gated the woman, who gave the name Averil. He asked,
“Why did you save me from the leopard?”
“I value my sanctuary,” she said. "I swore a vow that
no living thing would come to harm there, if I could help
it. There I gather everything I love."
On that long trip he asked more questions, and she an¬
swered frankly. His questions grew less hostile and more far-
ranging. He drank deeply of her knowledge, first learning of
preserver magic and then, before the trip ended, resolving
that the way of the preservers should not perish.
When they reached Tyr, Daclamitus artfully deceived
his underlings and brought Averil undetected from the
torture chambers. He forged the evidence of her death.
Then he hid her in a secret grotto he knew, in a line of
low hills far outside the city walls. With her went the
guardian leopard, Naurax. In the templar’s heart love
grew for Averil, his daring partner against the evil of the
world.
But Antrifos, the ambitious watcher, did not believe the
record of Averil’s death. Why had the Sleepless One se¬
cured so little information? “No,” he thought, "he carries
out his scheme." So Antrifos continued to observe.
And here is the remaining part of the story you are looking for; from Dragon Mag 185 (September 1992):
From the Two, Many
Daclamitus conceived a bold plan. He petitioned Kalak
for greater resources to hunt wizards, pointing out that
Kalak’s iron mines sorely needed slaves. (This happened
in ages past, before Kalak began his mad ziggurat.) Kalak
heeded his favorite’s wishes, and Daclamitus became per¬
haps the most powerful templar in Tyr’s bloodstained
history.
His troops scoured the city and beyond. Many house¬
holds heard a knock in the night, and the Sleepless One
snared dozens of wizards. He interrogated each in private,
separating the foul defilers from the preservers. The defil¬
ers perished in the arena games, but the preservers went
to Kalak’s iron mines.
They toiled little in that tortured earth, however, for the
other part of Daclamitus’s plan saved them. The pre¬
servers encountered bad gasses, falling rock, or other
“fatal” accidents. In reality they escaped, via templar
magic and the arts of the mind, to Averil’s grotto. There
she instructed them in the magical arts, and Daclamitus,
visiting in disguise, taught them the equally subtle art of
subterfuge. When twelve men and women had gathered in
the grotto, Daclamitus christened them the first Council of
the Veiled Alliance.
Averil and Daclamitus saw each new preserver added to
their ranks as a son or daughter, and taught them to ad¬
dress one another as “brother” or “sister.” Here you see
the basis of one sign of the Veiled Alliance, "My father is a
templar," and its countersign, “My mother is a gardener.”
They taught the Council to seek others and establish the
Alliance’s protections wherever they could; to honor the
way of the preserver, and aid their brothers and sisters;
and to learn as little about one another as possible. This
way, if one fell into enemy hands, not all would perish.
The templar and the mage taught them the Alliance’s
aims, just as you learned them when I recruited you,
noble sir. And Daclamitus, over Averil’s objections, pro¬
pounded the doctrine of requital, which you learned at
your initiation: that those who leave the Alliance must die.
The life of a templar, conditioned by incessant fear of
betrayal, inspires ruthlessness. In his long rise to power,
Daclamitus had learned this lesson so deeply that no magi¬
cal helm could ever remove it.
Though the early mages resented the idea, they assent¬
ed to enforce requital and to bind all those who came after
to the same oath. “I dislike the idea,” said Averil, "but we
shall hope we need not put it to the trial."
Little did they know their first trial already approached.
Out of Happiness, Sorrow
Now happiness filled Daclamitus. His success as a tem¬
plar had brought him power and respect, but never had he
known close friends. In the next year and more, noble
principles worked their alchemy in him. Where he had felt
fear, even he who could kill with a word, he now felt brav¬
ery. Where he had lived in an acidic air of hatred and
suspicion, he felt love. He watched his twelve turn the
hidden grotto into another riot of greenery, and the festive
disorder pleased him.
Although he sought to conceal his growing aspirations
from the suspicious gaze of his subordinates, all could see
a change in him. His lightness of spirit, his new surety of
bearing galled them. Envy consumed Antrifos, but he hid
it even from himself. The young templar hounded his
spies without mercy, threatening them with worse than
death unless they uncovered the high templar’s secrets.
At last Antrifos discovered that Daclamitus often dis¬
guised himself and then journeyed into the desert. "Here
I have him," Antrifos thought. He would catch Daclami¬
tus and compel him to reveal his plots to Kalak. Then
Kalak would surely find a new favorite-in the brave
Antrifos, of course.
In the deep of night, Antrifos gathered a few net-fighters
from the games and waited in a narrow alley between Da-
clamitus’s house and the city gate. Daclamitus stumbled into
their ambush, but he had not neglected his training during
this happy interlude— indeed, he had gained much to train
for. He fought grimly, ironically calling on Kalak’s power to
blast through the nets and fell the gamesmen. Bloodied but
firm of purpose, he leaped at Antrifos.
The younger man had strength and vigor, but Daclami¬
tus knew the determination that comes from fighting for
love. They struggled in silence. If caught fighting in the
streets, the two templars would both suffer Kalak’s cruel
retribution.
When Antrifos lunged and lost balance, Daclamitus
closed and delivered the final blow. But as Antrifos fell, he
sent forth all his long hatred and envy, cursing Daclamitus
in Kalak’s name. The foul doom blighted Daclamitus. He
destroyed his enemy’s body and staggered home, scarcely
able to move under Antrifos’s blight.
Painfully he removed his disguise and tried the healing
arts he knew. Nothing deterred the curse, so in agony he
summoned his underlings. The templars arrived at mid¬
night and performed their offices —or claimed they did —
to no avail. Perhaps hoping their leader’s fate would incur
Kalak’s anger, they carried Daclamitus to the sorcerer-
king’s palace.
Kalak showed no anger. He dismissed the templars and
calmly dispelled the curse. But in doing so, Kalak also
dispelled the virtue wrought by the helm. Daclamitus’s old
nature returned-greed, ambition, hatred, and distrust—
stronger than ever after the helm’s long repression.
For a few moments Daclamitus lay speechless, tears
streaming down his face as he felt the capacity for joy, for
love, slip away. Kalak stood grimly by. Some in our broth¬
erhood believe that the sorcerer-king had entertained only
vague suspicions of Daclamitus’s changed nature. But
others hold that Kalak had known at every moment of his
templar’s plans and ambitions, and now dispelled them
because they worked well with a scheme of his own to
destroy all preservers in Tyr. Who can say? Who knows
the mind of a sorcerer-king?
Daclamitus dried his tears, for he could no longer re¬
member why he shed them. His voice rough with a new¬
found hatred, he laid out a plan to destroy the society he
had founded.
He would go to the grotto the next day. While he dis¬
tracted the preservers with sham lessons, his templars and
guards could approach from without. Then when he said a
certain word, they would assault and destroy the wizards.
Kalak arranged matters at once.
The next day Daclamitus hastened to the thriving grot¬
to. Averil greeted him with a kiss and presented him with
a nightingale. It had flown into the grotto, and Averil had
charmed it. He did not smile, either at her kiss or the
bird’s sweet song. Naurax the leopard growled low, and
Averil knew sudden suspicion. While the templar looked
elsewhere, Averil used the very system of signs that Da¬
clamitus had taught them, to warn the others to beware.
Daclamitus began his lesson. Five of the students drew
close, asking him questions, apparently absorbed in the
teachings. The others secretly prepared their charms and
countercharms, hoping that they had learned earlier les¬
sons well. Then Daclamitus spoke the name of Kalak, and
the templars rushed in.
The terrible battle threw Averil against Daclamitus. She
held a dagger but did not strike, and as she struggled in his
grip, she thought only, "Where has the man I knew gone,
and why has he left us?" But she could not dare to shed a
tear, though in his eyes she saw only hatred. She saw the
mind that had formed the doctrine of requital. With that
thought, she stabbed. As Daclamitus fell, she said in a dead,
dry voice, “This time I did not let down my guard.”
Kalak arrived at battle’s end. He found many fallen
templars, many guards, and the bloody carcass of the
leopard. Of the preservers he found . . . five. He raged,
for a new enemy had appeared and, worse yet, vanished
in the same moment. He would never relax his guard
again. He ordered the body of Daclamitus burnt without
honor and its ashes scattered to the winds. Never since has
a templar commanded such power. Never since has any¬
one commanded a tyrant’s trust.
Out Into the World
Averil and the seven surviving men and women of the
First Council retreated to another mountain sanctuary
within sight of Rogal Tor. The king’s spies watched the
Tor for months in hopes the wizards would return, but
finally Kalak lost patience and recalled them. When the
spies vanished, the wizards did indeed return to restore
the cave’s verdant life.
After months of healing herbs and regimens, the wiz¬
ards regained their strength. After years of introspection
and discussion, they regained their determination. While
Averil lived, none mentioned the fate of Daclamitus. She
had come to love him and share in his dream. In that
spirit, she prepared the seven not only in the magical arts,
but in philosophy as well, that they might learn to seek
and recognize the good.
After some years, she called the seven together and
said, "The time has come to cast you into the world. I
have trained you in all I know of magic. Now you must
conceal these arts and live using the trades you have
learned. But the Veiled Alliance must survive. Duty com¬
pels us not just to preserve our lives, but more, to pre¬
serve our bond.
"Do not forget me, your mother, nor Daclamitus, your
father. He made us. Let his fate teach you constant vigi¬
lance. I give you my blessing."
Then she sent them away across the land. A year later
one of the seven returned to the sanctuary. He found that
the beautiful green plants had died, and there was no sign
of Averil. Instead, in the center of the cave lay a pile of
ash gathered by the wind.
Now this man had a gift for sensing the shreds of past time
that cling to any object like a tracery. He rubbed the ash
between his fingers, assensing its history. Later he spoke to
his fellows with wonder and tears. “Not her,” he said. "I
don’t know what became of her. Not her, no. He returned."
The story of our founding carries the irony that still
marks our existence. A templar founded this society of
wizards; our founder became the agent of our betrayal
and exposure to the enemy. The society, devoted to pre¬
serving the life of our world, still espouses a doctrine of
requital that better befits the ruthless templars. Later you
may discover other ironies. Do not let them blind you to
the truth we support.
At times Tyr’s Alliance has grown large, and at 'times it
has withered almost to vanishing. But just as ashes nour¬
ish the roots of plants, a new Alliance always reforms.
Likewise we always face hardship, so long as ignorance
remains. Visiting wizards from other cities tell of the same
problems, and I understand that when they return home,
they sometimes begin their own Alliances. These do not
follow ours, but they will shelter you as you travel, as you
must shelter them.
So keep our cause forever in mind, and remember to
help your brothers and sisters where you can. Service and
silence above all, noble sir. In drinking this water of
knowledge, you have truly become one of us. To you, my
new brother, I say welcome!
Allen Varney wrote the AD&D® DARK SUN™ campaign accessory DSR3 , Veiled Alliance.
Here : Dragon Magazine 185
Merci Seb!
God, it would have taken months before I read those magazine stories and discovered one was what I was looking for.