She took his arm and walked with him over to the space before Kindolhinadetil’s mirror. Her stave leaned against it. There was now an iron brazier set before it—one of the largest the Elves possessed—filled with pieces of namanar wood. On a square of cloth beside it lay a small herb bundle that would also be needed.
“You’ve grown up, little brother. I’m glad,” Idalia said.
“You always knew I would,” Kellen pointed out. “And I’ve had good teachers, and better examples.” Did she think he’d grown up because he’d argued with her? he wondered. Or because he hadn’t?
“The best, I hope. Now. I’ll stand here. You’ll stand behind me. You’ll see what I See—everyone will, I think, just like a regular scrying spell, but if this spell goes the way I think, I’m the only one who will Know whatever there is to know. But you should be able to sense how the spell is running, and… interfere, if it becomes necessary.”
And hope the Wild Magic shows me what I need to do, Kellen thought soberly.
—«♦»—
SOON all the Wildmages had moved into the pavilion, and the army had moved into position outside.
Redhelwar stepped through the opening, and bowed to Idalia.
Idalia returned the salute gravely.
“Today we will attempt to see beyond the wards of the City of a Thousand Bells, called Armethalieh, and know what takes place within her walls,” Idalia announced formally. “Who will share with me the price of the Working?”
“The army and its allies will share in the price of the Working, Wildmage Idalia,” Redhelwar said. “In token, I bring this.”
He held out his hand. Resting upon the palm was a tiny circlet: a band made of three strands of Redhelwar’s hair, intricately braided into an endless ring.
“I accept your oath and your gift,” Idalia said, taking the ring. “May the Gods of the Wild Magic favor us this day.”
“Leaf and Star will that it be so,” Redhelwar answered, bowing and retreating from the tent.
Idalia returned to the center and lit the brazier. As the ghostwood began to kindle, she took her staff and began to walk around the outer edge of the group of Wildmages, drawing a line in the beaten snow.
—«♦»—
SHE refused to let herself think beyond each moment. There was one last reason why she was the only possible person to be the caster of this spell: all her prices were now paid, save for one. For any other, the Mageprice for a spell such as this would surely be heavy.
She returned to her place in the center of the circle, between Kellen and the brazier. He stood as calmly as if he were already in deep trance, as alertly as if he might be called upon to fight at any moment.
Waiting.
She’d said he’d grown up, and he had. Whatever past trouble there had been between him and Cilarnen, it was over now. He no longer needed her—he might still value her opinion, but he would never again depend on it instead of his own. The work of bringing him to adulthood—and vital work it had been—was done.
If disaster struck, those she loved—and who loved her—would survive.
Idalia knelt and took up the bundle of dried herbs and the ring of hair. She slipped her dagger from her belt and scored a long line down her palm, then clutched the herbs and hair in that hand tightly, moistening both with her blood.
Then she cast them onto the brazier of burning wood.
The smoke coiling upward changed color abruptly, and she felt the shimmer as the dome of protection rose around them all, expanding outward to enfold the army as well.
The Link formed, the Power of the assembled Wildmages joining together, becoming one, becoming hers. She felt the spell uncoil within her as she inhaled the smoke.
She reached out toward the mirror.
Show me what I need to See: Tell me what I need to Know.
It glowed bright as the moon, growing larger and larger until it was all there was.
—«♦»—
SHE was in the City.
Not now—but then. What she saw was in the past. For a moment she was puzzled, then realized she must need to See this as well.
The Temple of the Light. An Adoption ceremony. The spell let her Know the meaning of everything she Saw, and so she knew that what she saw was Anigrel being adopted into House Tavadon, and that later this same day he would be appointed to the Mage Council and take Volpiril’s seat.
She knew that Breulin and Isas had been forced to resign.
She knew that Anigrel was Cilarnen’s Master Raellan.
There is no conspiracy. There never was. Anigrel started it all—
With dreamlike swiftness, the hours and days of Anigrel’s life unfolded to her: the formation of the Magewardens and the Commons Wardens—the network of spies to inform upon the people of Armethalieh and sow terror among them. Every thread of unholy Darkness woven through the golden fabric of the City was spun from Anigrel’s hands.
She watched as he murdered Lord Vilmos.
And she saw… she saw…
—«♦»—
DEEP in the darkness of the World Without Sun, Savilla came out of her entrancement with a strangled cry of rage, though it was long before the proper time for her Rising.
Someone was tampering with her slave.
She felt it, through the soul-deep link she shared with her Mage-man.
The festering sickness of the Light approached him.
They will not!
—«♦»—
WITH the fresh horrors of not one, but two murders to convince them—and not merely murders of Mageborn, but of members of the Mage Council itself—High Mage Anigrel’s proposals for special, dedicated, highly secure groups of Mages to handle the routine magick of the City had passed by unanimous Council vote.
No one had suggested filling the empty Council seats. No one had dared. They were beginning to learn—slowly, but they were learning—that to disagree with any of Anigrel’s proposals could well be seen as a sign of sympathy with the burgeoning Wildmage Menace.
And certainly there was no one better than the Chief Magewarden to see to the security of the City-Wards themselves.
Tonight his plans would bear their first fruits. Tonight he and highly loyal acolytes would begin to change the Wards surrounding the City. And soon…