"It is… irregular," Lorins said. "People will say he is Anigrel come again."
"That is a valid consideration," Volpiril said. "And so, to avoid it, I suggest that he be appointed by not this Council alone, but by all Mages of Magister rank within the City. There is precedent, my lords. It was done once before. Thus did Camorin Andralan become Arch-Mage over Armethalieh, by the proclamation of all his peers."
"And if they fail to acclaim him?" Ganaret asked suspiciously.
"Then you may return to your wrangling as the City falls to dust around you," Volpiril said. "If you are so foolish and so blind as to wish that for Armethalieh, then I do not think she deserves to survive."
For long moments the five Council members conferred among themselves, behind a spell-barrier that made their words inaudible to Lord Volpiril. At last Ganaret leaned forward again.
"Very well, Lord Volpiril. Your petition is granted. The High Mages of the City will be summoned together to vote as to whether to accept Cilarnen Volpiril as the new Arch-Mage of Armethalieh if you, yourself, agree never to seek a seat upon this Council again."
Lord Volpiril smiled sadly, bowing his head in submission. "My lords, you are all as aware of my ambition as you are of your own. But Cilarnen tells me there is a price and a cost for all things of worth, my Lord Mages. If that is to be mine, then I hold it a light one."
* * * * *
THE conclave took place at the Great Temple of the Light at the center of the City. Every place was filled.
Cilarnen stood before the Altar of the Light, flanked by Lord Volpiril and the Chief Priest of the Light.
When his father had come to him a few hours before, after leaving the Council House, and told him that the Mages of Armethalieh were to vote on whether or not to appoint him Arch-Mage, he'd thought his father was joking except for the fact that Volpiril never joked.
"You wanted to save them from themselves," Volpiril said. "This is the only way."
"But… Arch-Mage?" Cilarnen said. "I know nothing of being Arch-Mage."
"Nor is your election certain. And if you are elected, I promise you a life of frustration and heartache, dealing with fools and greedy imbeciles and those are only the ones I know. You will have seven new self-seeking idiots to block your every act, once the Council returns to full strength. You will have to lie, flatter, bribe, and threaten them to get them to do what you want, and if it goes on for long enough, you may not remember what, in fact, you originally wanted of them."
"Oh, I shall remember," Cilarnen said. He thought of what he had seen at Nerendale; the Demons slaughtering the farmers, the Militia, Thekinalo and Juvalira. Those days must never come again. "I will always remember. And perhaps good people can be found for the Council posts. That is always a possibility, my Lord Father."
"First, you must achieve the appointment. Now come. We must be at the Temple of the Light at noon."
"Noon? Today? But… we will hardly have time to speak to everyone. How will they… ?"
"Armethalieh is still the City of Mages. There is a spell."
* * * * *
AND so here Cilarnen stood before the High Altar, awaiting the spell that would be cast over him, allowing everyone in the room to see, not his mind, but his heart.
If such a spell had been cast over Anigrel, he wondered, would things have worked out differently? Or would Anigrel's Darkmagery have allowed him to twist the spell, and allow him to show them only what he wanted them to see?
His father spoke first, briefly, telling the assembled Mages what most of them already knew: that Lord Lycaelon had resigned, that the Council could come to no agreement upon who should be the next Arch-Mage from among their numbers. He reminded them all that an Arch-Mage could be chosen from any of sufficient rank by the vote of all the Masters in the City, as it had been done in Camorin Andralan's time a precedent that was still Law, though it had never since been invoked. He told those who did not know it that Cilarnen, having cast the spell to restore the Wards around the City, was indeed of Master rank, having cast, not only a Master Spell, but the most complex Master Spell of all.
A simple spell of Knowing placed all of Volpiril's complex arguments in favor of Cilarnen's candidacy into all of their minds at once, and Cilarnen blinked, stunned at the depth and breadth of his father's trust in him. He only prayed he could do half the things Lord Volpiril hoped he could not only for the good of the City, but for the good of everyone in the Land.
Now the time came when he must, himself, be judged.
Together, Volpiril and the Priest of the Light lifted their wands and began to draw glyphs about him. As each one settled over him, Cilarnen felt a tingling sensation as the spell began to settle, and he began to hear a whispering sound, as if he stood beside the ocean, instead of in the Temple of the Light. The room blurred, becoming brighter.
He wasn't good enough. They'd reject him.
He was vain. He had a terrible temper. He liked to show off. He was… arrogant. Much too proud of being a High Mage he knew it. He'd never understand the Wild Magic, and deep down, he really didn't want to try. Though, actually, it was fascinating, because he knew that it and the High Magick had been one magic once, long ago. Maybe Dyren Lalkmair could teach him more.
He really saw no reason why Lord Lalkmair should not be allowed to conduct his researches as he pleased.
He thought Elven tea tasted terrible. He'd missed the food from home, although he'd tried to be polite. His feelings got hurt much too easily, and when they did, all he thought about was getting back at the person who hurt him. Of course, that passed very quickly, and he was ashamed afterward, but…
He liked fashionable clothes. And being comfortable. He liked jewelry, and scent. He'd missed the rings and jeweled chains he now wore. He didn't like living in a tent in the cold. But he loved Anganil, and riding at a gallop through the snow. And Shalkan… oh, it had been worth everything, even Banishment, to see Shalkan and the other unicorns!
But to be home, home, home again. Armethalieh was where he belonged. He had been homesick every minute he was gone, and when he'd discovered how much danger his beloved City was in, he'd been terrified. When he'd first met Kellen and been afraid that Kellen wouldn't help he'd been so afraid and angry that he would have done anything to force Kellen to help them, because Armethalieh was in danger and the thought that she might be destroyed terrified him more than the thought of his own death.
He thought of Stonehearth. Grandur and Sarlin and all his Centaur friends there. They'd been so kind to him when he had not deserved it.
They'd taught him, he realized now, to be human. To see past surfaces. To see people, no matter how they were shaped.
It was a lesson Armethalieh desperately needed to learn.
Finding out back in Stonehearth that his Gift wasn't gone that he could do something to help, to fight was a moment of both terror and joy. Because he could do so little by himself. And because his Gift was supposed to be gone Anigrel had been supposed to destroy it and that meant that things were even worse in the City than he thought.
But he was here now, home now, and no matter what happened here today there would be something he could do to help Armethalieh.
The spell faded. The chamber darkened, and he could see properly again. Cilarnen swayed a little, blinking in confusion. Lord Volpiril put a hand on his arm, steadying him.
"My lord Mages," Volpiril said. "It is time to vote. Do you accept Cilarnen Volpiril of House Volpiril as Arch-Mage of Armethalieh… or no?"
His father had told him in advance how the votes would be signified. Blue Magelight for "yes." Red for "no." Unlike a vote of the High Council alone, only a simple majority would be needed here.
But when the lights began to rise up in the Temple of the Light, every one of them was blue.
THE ceremony itself the formal investiture would not occur for a sennight, as this time the High Council was determined to do everything in the traditional fashion. Though Cilarnen was technically a member of the Mage Council, he would not join it until then.
He did not mind. Let them have their small victory. He had won the greater war.
At last, released, he had gone outside the walls to find Kellen and seek news of his friends.
And to tell them his.
* * * * *
"ARCH-MAGE?" Kellen's jaw dropped gratifyingly. That gawky farmboy look was back.
Cilarnen found it rather endearing, actually. If after all Kellen had seen and done he could stand there and gawp at Cilarnen like a rustic fresh from the villages, well, perhaps Cilarnen need not worry too much about becoming cold and distant and proud once he was given the ring and staff of the Arch-Mage's office.
"Apparently nobody else wanted the job," Cilarnen said, though that wasn't exactly true. "Do you want to come to my investiture? Kardus will be there."
"Kardus is a Centaur," Kellen said, nearly sputtering.