by Beth Alvarez
Councilor Parthanus stroked his white beard with three fingers, gazing thoughtfully at nothing. “She expressed interest in preserving our alliance. Why would she rescind that offer only a day later?”
The king grunted in displeasure. “I cannot afford to lose that alliance.”
“You cannot afford to ignore her actions, either,” Rune said. Whatever warmth Firal had seen in him the night before was gone. The man’s moods always had changed like quicksilver. His tongue was sharp today. “The temple, Ilmenhith, the college, how long until she’s after the Royal City as well?”
“The Royal City is protected by the barrier,” Vicamros protested. “The moment she’s in the city, she’ll be helpless.”
“She wasn’t helpless against Medreal,” Firal murmured.
Vicamros and Councilor Parthanus both looked at her.
She winced and bowed her head.
“Ilmenhith’s stewardess was Alda’anan.” Rune lowered his voice. “When magic won’t suffice, a dagger certainly will.”
“The Alda’anan are pacifists,” Councilor Parthanus put in. “They always have been. We can’t be surprised to find another one killed. If the question is whether or not this Envesi could threaten King Vicamros, I find it unlikely. Guards aside, he’s an accomplished swordsman on his own. You of all people should know that.” His bushy white brows rose.
Scowling, Rune turned away.
“Even if she did come close enough to challenge me, my death would only result in the council taking control of the Royal City until my son comes of age,” Vicamros said. “The three provinces of the Triad have always been self-governing. They would not feel my loss, and she couldn’t possibly kill the whole council.”
Firal cleared her throat. “This barrier you mentioned. It prevents use of magic?” She’d had no reason to use her Gift since her arrival. That she might be unable to had never crossed her mind.
“It was why I had to run up the palace to find you,” Kytenia said. “The throne room was the only part of the palace I remembered well enough to Gate into, and once I was there I couldn’t grasp power to try again.”
“Some mages are given access stones that allow them to bypass the barrier.” Vicamros scratched his beard and resumed pacing. “We’d have the upper hand against anyone who tried to stand against us.”
Rune snorted softly. “Assuming she can’t figure out how to get an access stone.”
“How common are they?” Firal asked.
Alira shrugged. “Not common. Only the Alda’anan were capable of making them, and each stone has to be tuned to its wearer. We can tune them ourselves, but I doubt she’d know how to do it, even if she found one to take.”
Kytenia frowned and stared at the table. “What’s stopping her from making her own? If free mages can do it, why not her?”
That brought the room to silence.
Firal squirmed in her seat, clasped her hands in her lap and worried her lower lip.
Every moment only seemed to put them one step farther back. For a single night, she’d thought the Grand College might offer a key to reclaiming her throne and rescuing her family. How foolish she’d been to think it would be so easy.
“The clash will happen here, Vicamros,” Rune said. His words fell like a weight. “We both know it.”
The king squeezed his eyes closed and stood still beneath the three colored banners that represented his empire. “I must consider my people. You keep pushing me to act and I know I can’t sit and do nothing, but how can I strike against a force of mages when it puts my people at risk?”
“If the fight happens here, they’ll be at risk anyway, Cam.” Rune’s voice softened, the nickname colored with years of companionship. “What choice do you really have?”
Vicamros swallowed thickly. His shoulders sagged.
Firal’s skin rose in gooseflesh, prickling with the sensation of magic. Sizzling heat filled her senses and every mage in the room looked up. Though invisible from this side, there was no mistaking the location of the Gate.
Vicamros lifted his head and did not look surprised when a dark-skinned woman stepped from thin air, her white robes swirling around her ankles.
“How dare you meet without waiting for me!” Fury burned in the woman’s mage-blue eyes. Dozens of tiny, snow-white braids tumbled when she shook her head.
Two men followed; Garam, and an unfamiliar man who was likewise dressed in white Master’s robes, his skin so dark it reminded Firal of a starless night.
The woman marched forward with a distinct waddle. Striking as though she was, with her high, wide cheekbones and perfectly full lips, Firal found her eyes drawn instead to the slim-fingered hand that rested on her protuberant stomach. “And after you sent my brother all that way to fetch me.”
Garam appeared embarrassed. Alira merely looked amused.
Worst of all, Rune’s eyes brightened, and the warmest smile Firal had seen since their reunion wreathed itself upon his face. Ice stabbed at her belly and her heart wrenched at the sweet sound of his voice as the woman’s name passed his lips.
“Sera.”
5
The Mages of Umdal
Sera’s palm cracked against Rune’s cheek like a thunderclap. The sheer force rattled his teeth in his skull. A moment passed before he felt the sting.
“How dare you speak to me, you filthy lizard!” Her eyes flashed, creating pools of cold fire amid the warm colors and soft contours of her face. She spun to look at Firal and Kytenia, the only people in the room who hadn’t yet heard her story. Quite possibly, they were the only people in the Royal City who hadn’t heard it by now.
She gestured toward him with an open hand. “I invited him to my son’s naming day, and what arrives at my doorstep instead? A knife. A knife! For a newborn baby boy!”
Rune stepped back, rubbing his cheek. “I would have thought you’d be over that by now.”
“I would have thought so too,” the darker-skinned man behind her said with a chuckle. His teeth flashed pearl-white in his broad grin, brought out by the stark white of his robes and close-shorn hair. “Twenty years seems like it should have been long enough.”
The men locked eyes and Rune nodded, a greeting Stal returned. They’d never been friends, but they were grown men. They could be cordial, if nothing else.
“We’ll have to hope he doesn’t repeat it for this one,” Vicamros said. His pale eyes flicked toward Sera’s stomach. “How many is this, now?”
She drew herself up with pride and her hands skimmed her abdomen. “Seven. Another boy, I think, though Stal insists it is a girl.”
“Five girls is more than enough to restore House Kaith to glory.” Garam chanced a smile as he joined them, though the expression was fleeting. “We have news.”
“As do we.” Rune glanced at the sparse handful of people clustered around the table. Firal met his eye and lifted her chin. Her face was smooth, but it was that forced serenity she always put on when she was angry.
He raised a brow. In response, her shoulders hitched higher and she twisted away with a scowl. A surge of irritation made him grit his teeth. What had he done to make her mad this time?
“You first, then.” Sera waddled to the table and murmured a sweet thank-you when Stal pulled back a chair for her.
Vicamros, too, finally sat, though he rested an elbow on the arm of his throne and planted his cheek against his fist.
Rune considered sitting too, but by the time Stal and Garam took their seats, there were no gaps where he could comfortably isolate himself. He kept Alira at arm’s length as often as possible. If Firal was angry at him over something—Brant knew what it could be now—he wasn’t going to chance sitting next to her, either. Instead he crossed his arms and made himself more comfortable with his back against the wall.
When no one spoke, Alira took it upon herself to break the silence. “Archmage Arrick Ortath is dead.”
Both Stal and Sera’s heads jerked up. She clapped one hand onto the tabletop.
“I knew it. I knew that woman meant no good.”
Rune wasn’t the only one who twitched.
“What do you mean?” Vicamros leaned closer and shifted his elbow from the throne to the table. He seemed like he needed the support, wearied and worn after the worries laid before him.
Stal rested a hand atop his wife’s and frowned. “We entertained a visitor last night. It would have been the small hours of the morning here. A woman who...” He paused and his ice-blue eyes drifted to Rune. “Her power was evident. We shall say that.”
A muscle twitched involuntarily in Rune’s jaw. He lifted one scaly hand to rub it.
“She insisted on speaking with me, wanting to discuss revolutions and changes to magic as we know it,” Stal continued. “She wanted Umdal to declare themselves allies and join her cause.”
“Stal had the presence of mind to send me away before the discussion began.” Sera smiled coyly at the man. “Wise as ever. The woman was a zealot. I don’t think I could have held my tongue.”
Stal made a quiet sound of disapproval. “I told her I would consider it, but needed to speak to the Collective before I could make a decision, as all the houses of Umdal are self-governing. She said she intended to visit all the schools. I assumed the Grand College would be next, but I did not expect it would be so soon, or that she would escalate to violence if a response was not favorable.”
Unable to resist, Rune shot Vicamros a vindicated smirk. “Imagine that.”
The king frowned back at him.
“I asked her to give me a fortnight to gather the conclave and discuss the matter,” Stal said. “It’s unrealistic to think I can contact each member of the Collective in so little time, though I suspected she would object to any longer a wait.”
“What is this Collective you speak of?” Firal asked. “Mages?”
“A conglomeration of them,” Rune replied. She glowered at him. He took it as encouragement to speak. “Stal is Archmage of the Umdal Schools of Magecraft. There are fewer mages in the south than there are here or on Elenhiise. It’s likely the Alda’anan never traveled that far.”
“So being a mage in the southern kingdoms is a great honor.” Sera smiled and straightened with pride. She’d been blessed to have a mage for a father. As her half-brother, Garam hadn’t had that benefit. The two of them made a curious pair now, her white-haired and youthful-faced, and him grayed and grizzled with age. Garam had never been fond of magic. Now Rune wondered if some part of it had been born of jealousy.
“Since there are so few mages and the southern continent is so vast, Umdal splits its mages into small wandering groups that form the Collective,” Rune went on. “They’re more able to find and educate Gifted youths by keeping their Masters on the move. That way they can ensure there are no wild mages out there to cause trouble, even if the Gifted don’t join the Collective.”
Stal nodded. “Each group elects their own headmaster, and they operate by their own subset of rules. The headmasters answer to me. My position means I can make absolute decisions for them, but my respect for the leadership of their individual groups means I will not.”
Kytenia seemed most interested in the explanation and leaned forward as they spoke. “You don’t require your Gifted people to join the school? Why not?”
The question seemed to surprise the Umdal mages.
“Why would we?” Sera asked. “Our purpose is to ensure magic is wielded safely until it meets its end. Nothing more.”
Firal and Kytenia shared worried glances.
“That’s why this woman is such a danger to us.” Stal stroked the short, frizzled hair on his head. “I don’t know how much time I can buy. I had hoped to consult with Archmage Arrick, but if he has already fallen...”
Kytenia shook her head in disbelief and leaned in farther. “I’m not sure I follow. She’s a threat because you don’t force mages to join you?”
Again the Umdal mages appeared surprised. Both hesitated to reply.
“They don’t know about us,” Rune said softly. The statement recaptured Firal’s ire, her upper lip drawn with disgust. He squared his shoulders and rested a foot against the wall. Let her glower. She could speak to him later or she could sit and seethe. “They don’t know about the Children.”
“Why would they?” Vicamros mused. “Elenhiise is a trade ally above all else. They don’t involve themselves in our politics, and I’ve made an effort to stay out of theirs.” A hint of irony colored his words. Whether he liked it or not, the Triad had become ensnared in Elenhiian politics the moment Rune set foot on Roberian’s shores.
Garam reclined in his chair with a sigh. “The Iron Children are responsible for a number of engineering feats in the Triad. From the aqueducts running through the Royal City to the steam engines they’re laying rail for between here and Roberian’s capital.”
“Steam engines?” Kytenia repeated.
“They harness the power of rising steam to propel themselves.” Sera grinned. “They’re quite fast.”
“They outpace a good horse and can keep going for as long as they have water and keep a fire burning.” Rune smirked at the astounded looks on Firal and Kytenia’s faces. “The only problem is figuring out how long that is, so we can set up waypoints for refueling. They keep getting stranded.”
“It’s a young invention,” Alira said dismissively. “I expect they’ll be quite useful once the scholars have had time to experiment with them.”
“Remarkable.” Firal shook her head, frustrated. “But what does this have to do with magic?”
“Why, everything.” Redoram Parthanus chuckled. “Mages are a dying breed. The Iron Children seek to replace them with machinery and research.”
“Replace them?” Kytenia cried. “Mages can’t be replaced!”
“Not completely,” Vicamros agreed, “but there are advancements that will greatly reduce our dependency on them. Nothing will ever be so convenient as a Gate, but steam machines to power rail-carts and ships will increase travel speed beyond what horses could ever hope to achieve.”
Firal snorted and crossed her arms. “Next you’ll tell me you’re working on machines that will fly.”
Sera shrugged. “That isn’t necessary. We have the gryphons for air relay. If needed, we can request their kind carry messages for us.”
This time Sera was the one to receive Firal’s glare. “I suppose you’ll expect me to believe you have dragons and other folktales among you, too?”
Alira covered her mouth to hide her smile.
“No dragons,” Redoram sighed and adjusted his odd velvet cap with both hands. “Alas, they’ve been extinct since the First War in Aldaan.”
“At least on this side of Raeldan,” Rune added with a smirk.
“I’m not sure I believe there is any land in the sea past the Chains of Raeldan,” Garam muttered.
“I didn’t believe there were any mages with powers like mine until I reached the Triad.” Rune pushed himself off the wall and paced behind the throne to claim the empty chair just left of Vicamros. He wasn’t arrogant enough to put himself at the king’s right hand, regardless of whether Vicamros had asked him to take the place before. It put him next to Garam, but that seemed the safest choice.
He stared across the table without seeing Redoram or the Umdal mages on that side. “Either way, we’ve gotten off track. The point is if magic is fading, the best thing we can do is help it fade gracefully. We all know Envesi won’t agree with that sentiment.”
Stal nodded once, and his expression grew steely. “Even if Umdal’s primary goal was preservation of our craft, I could never believe letting free mages run wild would be wise. We’ve seen firsthand what that sort of power can do.”
Though the Umdal Archmage didn’t look his way, Rune knew Stal was speaking to him. He tried not to resent Sera’s marriage to Stal; she was free to marry who she pleased, but that had never been the objection. Out of everyone in the world, why had she chosen him? And while on a mission where Stal had tri
ed to kill him?
“Surely not all of you embrace this philosophy,” Kytenia said.
Most of those gathered shifted in silence.
“Certainly not.” Alira was the only one who spoke. “As a mage of the Grand College, it would be ridiculous for me to join their movement. They are free to prepare all they like. I prefer to err on the side of preservation. Mages will be around for years to come.”
“Unless Archmages causing wars becomes a regular occurrence.” Sera rolled her eyes. Stal rubbed her shoulder with one hand to soothe her.
Perhaps that was what Firal needed. A gentle touch, some quiet reassurance she wasn’t alone. Now that he thought about it, Rune wondered if that was the source of her anger. He had a strong friendship with House Kaith. Garam and Sera were as close to kin as if they’d been his own blood. Outside of Elenhiise, Firal had only Kytenia. And Ordin, though the captain remained stoic and silent by the door, detached from the conversation.
“It’s true we seem to average one altercation every few decades,” Redoram said, tapping his chin.
Sera scoffed. “Altercation is a mild word.”
Rune studied Firal for a time, the argumentative words of the councilors faded to a dull droning in his ears.
She seemed miserable, the fine lines of worry on her brow growing ever deeper. Dark circles shaded the milky skin beneath her eyes. She reminded him of a wilting flower, desperate for relief but unable to find it on her own. He had tried to offer an olive branch—in the form of a handkerchief the night before—but perhaps she wasn’t ready for a proper alliance. Perhaps he wasn’t, either.
“We’d be better served by addressing one thing at a time.” Rune didn’t hear who he interrupted, but the edge in his voice brought everyone to silence. “We know now that Envesi means to control Umdal, in addition to Kirban and the Grand College. We can’t let that happen. I think that’s one thing we can agree on.”
A few heads nodded. Vicamros and Garam just frowned.
