It was why he was taking the key position in the ritual, bearing the Great Sword of the City. With the Elemental Energy at his command he hoped the Casting would go faster. The wards would be stronger than before.
They needed to be.
"How is that possible?" Lord Kerwin asked. He did not seem angry, only puzzled.
And more than a little terrified by the sounds coming from outside.
Cilarnen only wished he could be there as well as here. He was needed in the battle. His spells could make a difference. But there were many battles to fight. This was another. Perhaps, when the City Wards were up again, he could go out and join them.
"Once, long ago, the High Mages drew their power, not from the people, but from an alliance with those whom you now call Illusory Creatures: the Great Elementals. I have made this pact again one that I look forward to ending. But not yet. Come. We have much to do."
* * * * *
IT had been hard enough to persuade them to work in daylight. Harder still to convince them that the spell could be done outside of the proper ritual Hour. But Cilarnen's studies had convinced him that it could. It was easier to do it at the proper time, of course. And of course the most subtle and delicate spells were impossible to do outside of the proper ritual Hours. But the spell for the City Wards had been cast and overlaid so many times over the centuries that it must be burned into the stones of the City by now. It would be harder to do during the day, in the middle of a battle, at the wrong Hour, but it could be done.
All it would require was more Power. He could provide that. If it doesn't kill me.
When he had been Student-Apprentice, in his first years at the College, Cilarnen and the other boys had terrorized themselves deliciously with tales of spells that required a life to feed the casting. Such things were unknown in the High Magick, of course, though occasionally, as he had found out later, accidents did occur in ritual, when a spell went awry.
It was a different thing than the Wild Magic, when a Wildmage might be asked to offer up his or her life as the Price of the spell.
But the two forms of magic had, so Cilarnen now believed, once been one.
And if that Old Magic now asked for his life in exchange for the restoration of the true and proper wards to Armethalieh's walls, well, he was willing to give it. It didn't matter if the people were ungrateful, or had no idea what he was doing. You didn't do the right thing because people thanked you for it. You did it because it was right.
He stepped to his place in the Great Circle. Kerwin handed him the Sword of the City.
The other twelve High Mages took their places on the working keys.
"We will need Mage-Shield cast around the Council Chamber before we begin, because the Wards are down," he said. "Lords Henius, Vacion, if you would?"
A violet shimmer wrapped itself around the walls and ceiling, dimming the light.
Chadure and Segnant placed the first measures of incense upon the braziers, working their way sunwise around the room, until all eight braziers were wreathed in smoke. They stepped back to the walls.
Cilarnen raised his sword and drew the first Sign upon the air.
The twelve Mages surrounding him mirrored his actions with their wands.
It was begun.
* * * * *
KELLEN thinks I cannot handle a sword.
The thought came to him briefly, randomly, as he paused for a moment, panting for breath.
The room was so filled with smoke he could barely see.
The Sword of the City… glowed.
His robe was plastered to his body with sweat. The room was like a furnace. There was nothing to be done about it. The High Magick was an art of self-control and privation. Mages were trained to endure hardships that would destroy lesser men.
He moved quickly to the next figure.
Astrelus had collapsed. Chadure had taken his place.
They had been working for he estimated a Bell. The full ritual took three Bells as the High Mages worked it. Time for the Power to rise and settle. But with the Elemental Energy at his command, Cilarnen did not need to wait, nor would he. The army outside their gates did not have Bells or hours, as the Elves reckoned time. The Wards must be restored as quickly as possible.
And somehow, the Wards themselves were helping.
The High Magick was an inert machine, a thing. He had always been taught that. It had no life beyond what a High Mage gave to it certainly no consciousness, no will. Yet when Cilarnen had begun the ritual, drawn the first Glyph, he had sensed… something… rousing itself to meet his own intent. Something of the Light.
No High Mage would have accepted that touch. But Cilarnen had learned much in his travels outside the City. He had bonded with Elementals, wild and tame. And so he had reached out eagerly to that slumbering life he sensed, trying to draw it toward consciousness, feeding it not only the scripted power of the spell, but the raw Elemental force that he carried within his own body.
Slowly, it began to wake.
The Wards of the City were complex, formed of layers of intention. To protect, to guard, to make of the walls and the very air above Armethalieh a defense against anything that was not, ultimately, of the Light. To do this they must be filled with an ultimate understanding of the Light, its nature and its purpose, laid down from the very beginning of the City. An ability to see into the very souls of any creature who might presume to pass through the Gates, to breech the City's walls by any means.
To know…
To see…
To understand…
The air was thick, as if he moved so fast it could not part before him. The sword flashed each time he moved it, so brightly that he could not see the shapes of the glyphs he drew in the air. When he had begun, it had been heavy. Now it seemed to move of itself, drawing him with it.
His heart pounded in his chest.
His hair was plastered to his scalp. Sweat rolled down his face, into his eyes, blinding him. But he no longer needed to see. Five glyphs left. The most important ones.
The Seals of the Four Quarters. And the Binding Seal.
First, to the north. He stumbled as the sword seemed to haul him in that direction, but righted himself in time. He could not fail now. No one else could take his part.
Down. The tip of the sword rang from the floor. Up. Around. The complicated tracery of the North Gate, glowing in every shade of blue that there was. Finished. Sealed. He swept the blade sideways. East. The blade rang against marble.
The Seal glowed in every shade of gold, from deep amber to palest yellow. Sealed.
South. Down. Up. Heartsblood scarlet, violet, palest pink, ruby. The sword shook in his hands. He clutched the hilt tighter.
All my will, all my strength, everything I am, I give to this Working…
Done. Finished. Sealed.
West. A green so dark it was nearly black, the pale green of new leaves, the dusty green of the ocean, the bright green of new grass. All the shades of green that the Demons would take from the world if They won.