Kellen could not have been more stunned if Cilarnen had announced he suddenly wanted to become a Wildmage.
“In the Circle? Inside the Shields? With us?”
Cilarnen nodded.
“Why?” Kellen asked bluntly.
“Kellen, you said I was the smartest student at the Mage-College. I don’t know if you were right or not, but I’ve been thinking, ever since, well, I finally saw you again. These Things—they’re smart, too, aren’t they?”
“As smart as we are,” Kellen said grimly. “Maybe smarter.”
“But the one in Stonehearth mistook me for you. And we look nothing alike, you know,” Cilarnen said seriously. “So they’re either stupid—or there’s some reason for them to confuse the two of us. If you think like Them. Or see like Them.”
Kellen waited. Cilarnen’s reasoning made sense so far, though he didn’t like where it was going.
“So—a reason. But I can’t figure out what it is. I can’t think like a… That. I can’t even think like one of you. But Vestakia and Kardus both say I’m not Tainted with Dark Magery—Vestakia said she’d know, and that if she didn’t, Shalkan would.”
“That’s true,” Kellen said. “Whatever else we have to worry about, we don’t have to worry about that.”
Cilarnen smiled, though it clearly took an effort to do so.
“I think I’d rather die than be anything like the thing I saw at Stonehearth. It killed and it killed, and it… laughed. But you see, Kellen… maybe I’m supposed to be there tomorrow. Because you’ll be there tomorrow. Maybe It saw something nobody else has seen—but not something bad. Maybe something it was afraid of. Something that could help.”
It was possible, Kellen decided. All they really knew about Demons was that they were evil, terribly powerful, immortal, could assume any shape, and fueled their magic through the blood and pain of others. It was not impossible—in fact, it was highly likely—that they could sense things non-Demons couldn’t. And he couldn’t think like a Demon any more than Cilarnen could.
Oh, he could guess at their tactics. Imagine their strategy—some of the time. But truly think like one? No creature of the Light could manage that.
“Maybe you’re right,” Kellen said slowly. “Maybe your being there could help. Or maybe it will kill you.”
Cilarnen looked directly at him, startled. This was obviously not what he’d expected to hear.
“Yes, I mean to scare you,” Kellen said. “I want you to know exactly what you’re asking for. This will be the most powerful spell any of us has ever attempted. A spell of the Wild Magic. You’ll be right in the middle of it. We don’t control the Wild Magic, not entirely; it works through us in its own way, though always for the Good. We’re its tools, not the other way around. You might find yourself linked to several dozen Wildmages. If just being around us makes you uncomfortable, think what that would do. Think hard.”
Kellen watched as Cilarnen pictured in his mind what Kellen had suggested. He could tell the boy was imagining something intolerably painful.
“I still want—I need—to be there. I’ve brought the message. My work—
Kardus’s Task—they’re done. The Elves will take Tinsin back to Stonehearth. And Anganil will find another rider… if the Light forsakes me,” Cilarnen said slowly. And if smiling had cost him an effort, there was no doubt in Kellen’s mind that those words cost him every bit of courage and will that he had.
“Leaf and Star send that it doesn’t,” Kellen said. “Now go to bed. Here. It’s too late and too cold for you to walk all the way back to the Centaur camp now—you’d probably fall asleep in the first snowdrift you found. Take the pallet. I’ve slept rougher than this before.”
He opened his clothes chest and began pulling out his extra blankets and spare cloak. They’d make an adequate bed for the night, and his coldwarg-fur-lined cloak was warm enough to serve as a sleeping pallet in its own right.
“But—” Cilarnen began.
“No arguments. I’m saving all of mine for Idalia tomorrow,” Kellen said.
Cilarnen was quickly asleep. Kellen lay awake a few moments longer, wondering if he were doing the right thing, then decided there was no point in worrying about it.
He slept.
—«♦»—
THE funerals for the High Mages Perizel and Arance eclipsed in splendor even that of High Mage Vilmos two moonturns earlier, though they were held much more privately, in the Chapel of the Light at the Mage-College. At least Vilmos had died with dignity and honor—giving his all for the good of the City in a Great Working.
Perizel and Arance had been murdered.
It was impossible that the Commons should learn of it, of course—but every Mageborn in the Mage Quarter knew almost before the Magewardens had arrived at the houses of the deceased.
—«♦»—
“THEY were poisoned, Lord Arch-Mage,” Anigrel said, entering Lycaelon’s office as Dawn Bells sounded its single lonely carillon. “We know how, but not by whom. My agents are questioning the servants—and the families.”
“It seems that you were right, my son,” Lycaelon said heavily, motioning for Anigrel to seat himself. “This monstrous conspiracy of Wildmages strikes at our very marrow. But how could they be poisoned?”
It seemed as if the Arch-Mage had aged a year for every sennight that had passed since the Banishings of early winter. In one sense, this was the time of his greatest triumph, since as far as Lycaelon Tavadon knew, the reins of power settled more firmly into his hands each day.
But apparently its emptiness ate at him like a wasting disease that owed nothing to any spell of Anigrel’s. At the moment, Anigrel had no interest in hurrying his new father to reunion with the Light. He found the Arch-Mage too useful where he was: an enthusiastic partisan of Anigrel’s policies, one whose purity of motive and loyalty to the City were unquestionable—and unquestioned.
“Lord Perizel is accustomed to take a cup of kaffeyah before he retires,” Anigrel said, taking care to sound as if presenting the news pained him. “Lord Arance is fond of Ividion red—his servants say he generally takes wine in his library while looking over his collection of rare books. We did not find poison in either the glass or the cup. Nor would we… because we found traces of umbra-stone. It would make any poison undetectable… Father.”
“Light deliver us,” Lycaelon groaned. He looked at Anigrel beseechingly.
“I will discover our enemies. I swear it. But until I do, I must ask you… do not fill those vacancies. We know that Arance and Perizel were good and loyal men. It is possible that we will not be able to say the same of any who put themselves forward to take their place.”
“Yes.” Lycaelon’s eyes narrowed. “At a time like this, I must have no one about me whom I cannot trust. You are right, Anigrel. But… with only eight upon the Council, and you and I called so often to other duties, I fear the Great Workings will suffer. The City expects so much of us…”
“I have a plan that I hope will lift some of that burden from your shoulders,” Anigrel said, lowering his eyes modestly.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. He was so very close now! For many years, against the possibility this day might come, he had been working upon an elaborate configuration of spells; tiny modifications of the City Wards. His changes would be undetectable to a casual inspection—but they would allow his Dark Lady and her kindred to send their magics through the City-Wards unhindered—and undetected.
And where spells could go, bodies could soon follow…
“Ah, my son, you are always thinking of the good of the City, even as you work yourself to exhaustion. You must share your thoughts with me,” Lycaelon said eagerly.
Quickly Anigrel outlined his plan. All Mages of sufficient rank had always assisted in the Great Workings—why not dedicate specific groups of High Mages to specific tasks—weather spells, water purification spells, bell-setting, the City-Wards—freeing the more powerful and experienced Council Mages to lend their expertise to those unique and delicate problems that were sure to appear?
“Some of us could work with them at first, of course—to be sure everything runs properly. But other Mages often work in the Great Circles. It is in my mind to recruit from among their numbers. Those whom my Magewardens deem suitable, of course.”
“It is an excellent plan,” Lycaelon said. “The Council will approve it. It must. And, Anigrel… I hesitate to ask this of you, but you must lead the Circle that charges the City-Wards. I can trust no one but you with a task so vital to our welfare. You must choose the Mages for this Circle as well—and let as many of them be Magewardens as possible.”
“It is a heavy burden you lay upon me, Father,” Anigrel said gravely. “But I will try to bear it well—for the good of the City.”
—«♦»—
THE day of the Working dawned pale and overcast—and far too cold to snow. Kellen noted that fact almost automatically—and turned over and went back to sleep.