Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  Serafina paused in thought. Ilene was looking up at her, anxiously twisting her hands together, but Serafina seemed, or at least pretended, not to notice. “Lasfe’s magi would be acceptable,” she said finally.

  Lasfe sighed. “Since there are no Essenan neighborhoods?”

  Tabitha expected Natayl, or one of the southern sorcerers, to start arguing their side again, since Lasfe was obviously the key now. But everyone remained silent as Serafina nodded in answer.

  Lasfe’s plump cheeks had a noticeable sag. He looked to his right, at Rossin, who did not look back, and then he blew out his breath in another sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t agree with you. Any of you.”

  “I’ve withdrawn my request,” Serafina reminded him. “There are only two choices now.”

  “Neither will work. Neither will stop them.”

  “You think letting them go will stop them?” Natayl demanded. “That’s naïve, even for you.”

  “They want to escape,” Lasfe said.

  “To regroup,” Contare said. “To make a better plan.”

  “Here’s a better plan. Let them leave, but don’t let them come back.” Lasfe looked around the Table. “Restrict entry for magi. Only those pledged to us may pass.”

  “That assumes they would all leave if we were to open the gates,” Contare said, and his voice had resumed its flat calm from earlier. “It’s more likely that some would stay behind to coordinate and recruit.”

  “But Lasfe does have one good idea in there.” Malaya steepled her fingers and tapped the tips together. “Only those pledged to us may pass. May stay.”

  “But only a few of the Academy students have pledged,” Josselin protested.

  “That’s always been a mistake,” Hamid said, “and we should correct it now. They should pledge to us before they accept our teaching, not after they’re through.”

  “Most of them go back home and spend their lives healing people,” Josselin said. “We can’t insist on their loyalty before they even start.”

  “We must,” Hamid returned, “or we open the door to rogues, as we clearly have. In fact, we should take the time during the lockdown to delve our pledged magi. It’s possible that someone we trust is involved in this.”

  Several voices protested, but Josselin’s rose above the others. “Trust goes both ways, and they trust that we won’t invade their privacy without specific cause.”

  “Assassination is specific,” Natayl growled before Hamid could answer. “They can be delved whenever we see fit. They agreed to that when they pledged.”

  “How many more will choose to pledge after this?” Josselin asked. “All the magi have the choice to re-pledge to the Ninth. If we put them through this—”

  “Isn’t it more important to root out murderers now?”

  “Take the long view for once,” Josselin said between her teeth.

  “I won’t agree to a lockdown if delving my magi is required,” Oran announced.

  “I’m not requiring it,” Hamid told him. “I’m only suggesting it.”

  “Focusing on magi won’t solve this,” Contare raised his voice to insist. “We know that non-magi were involved in the Hippodrome attack. They were probably involved in this one, and we can’t delve them.”

  “You can delve some of them,” Natayl said.

  Tabitha was not sure whom he was addressing until Pascin reluctantly answered, “A few.”

  “Might be enough.”

  “Is that true?” Tabitha asked Graegor as several of the elders spoke at once. Magus Uchsin and Maga Rollana had both told her that direct telepathy with non-magi was impossible, even for sorcerers.

  “Apparently,” was all Graegor sent back.

  “This is a ghost hunt,” Lasfe said loudly, and in the pause that followed, he took a calming breath. “You expect to uncover a huge conspiracy, but the reason you couldn’t find the rogues last night is that their numbers are small. Small because they want to keep their plans and actions isolated, and small because we caught many of them after the Hippodrome attack. It would not surprise me at all to learn that the four men wielding the weapons and the maga who told your heretics what to do are all there are. You couldn’t find them because no one else in the city knows who they are or what they’re doing!”

  Tabitha had never heard Lasfe shout before. Rossin’s eyes were wide as plates, and even Daxod, on Lasfe’s other side, looked a little alarmed.

  “Yes, the threat is real,” Lasfe said, much more quietly. “Yes, they will try again. But they won’t succeed. No one ever has! A sorcerer does not even need to be trained to withstand an attack because our instincts are more than enough. Have faith in that.”

  “We do,” Contare said tightly. “But a man died in a trap meant for us.” He paused, and Tabitha glanced at Malaya, but Malaya gave no sign that she would dispute this. “For his sake, the attackers need to be found and punished.”

  “You won’t find them,” Lasfe insisted. “Studying disturbances in crowds will lead only to accusations, which will lead to more accusations, without anything substantial behind them. Circle Law might uncover the attackers, but not without enormous damage to the trust our people place in us.”

  “That trust is about safety,” Natayl rumbled, “and that safety comes at a price. We can shut the city down to find a single murderer. We can delve every magus and maga to find a single traitor. They all know that. They all chose that.”

  “Have you listened,” Lasfe said, closing his eyes as if in pain, “to a word I’ve said?”

  “Yes,” Hamid said gently. “But we don’t agree.” The Aedseli sorcerer sounded almost sad. Tabitha saw Arundel staring as Lasfe, as if to tell him that he agreed.

  Lasfe looked up at the ceiling. “So one way or the other, you are all set upon this purge.”

  “Purge?” Natayl snorted. “This is no purge. The lynx hunt. Now there was a purge.”

  Tabitha had never heard of the lynx hunt, and from what she felt from Graegor, he had no idea what it was either. But Lasfe’s eyes came back down to blaze at Natayl, and for the first time, he looked truly angry. “That’s what you want?”

  Contare and Josselin both said “No!” at the same time, as if Lasfe was being ridiculous. But Natayl laughed, like the rasp of a stone against a knife. “It’ll work,” he said. “At least as far as all of us are concerned.”

  “One big nasty bloodbath, and we can all die in peace?” Lasfe all but whispered.

  “Bloodbath?” Tabitha sent to Graegor, but he could only share her alarm without easing it.

  Many of the other sorcerers were protesting now, but Natayl made a gesture to encompass the apprentices and raised his voice over all the others. “Let them build faith with the people! Let them take the time to explore what motivates magi treason. Our job, right here and right now, is to protect them against a very real threat!”

  Protect them? Tabitha almost burst out laughing at the sick joke that made. Natayl did not protect her. He had not been there when she had been lying on the floor with a bloody arm while rogues slammed swords and axes against her shield. He had not helped her control her pain and her fear. He had made it worse, so much worse.

  Many people were shouting now, and in the middle of it, Tabitha heard Natayl’s harsh laugh again. “For the record?” he repeated what someone had tried to say. “This is all off the record.”

  “The vote isn’t,” Hamid raised his voice to remind them, and they all fell silent.

  Natayl waited a moment, and then Tabitha sensed him making another broad gesture with both arms. “Then let’s have it,” he invited. “Let’s see where we stand. For the record.”

  Hamid looked around at the others. No one spoke. He leaned forward, picked up the presider’s baton, and tapped it once on the Table. “We will now cast the first vote.”

  A show of hands for each request was all that was required. Josselin, Pascin, and Serafina sided with Contare. Malaya, Hamid, and Oran sided with Natayl. Lasfe kept his
hand down, and shook his head when everyone looked at him. “I can’t,” he said simply.

  “Lasfe,” Hamid said, “you must realize that as long as the Circle doesn’t make a formal decision, the gates will stay closed without a lockdown. If you don’t vote for one of the two options now on the Table, you are, in essence, voting for Contare’s request. If that’s what you want, you should make it official.”

  “What I want?” Lasfe smiled, and this time Tabitha was certain there was no humor in it.

  “The lesser of two evils,” Serafina said to him, and although her low voice was firm, it was also compassionate. “We would not force you or your magi to participate.” She glanced toward Contare, who did not contradict her.

  “Neither would we,” Hamid promised.

  “Not the point,” Lasfe murmured.

  “Then what is?” Natayl asked. “We can’t leave until we decide. We can’t decide until you decide. You’re holding us hostage to your principles, which have already been defeated.”

  Tabitha wondered if Natayl even knew what diplomacy was, or if he had always simply stomped over anyone in his path. Graegor had said that Malaya hated everyone, but clearly Natayl hated everyone too.

  You are my death.

  Lasfe did not answer Natayl for a while. Finally he looked up and surveyed all the faces turned in his direction. “I’ve heard you,” he said curtly. “Give me some time.” He sank back into his massive chair, bowing his bald head and folding his arms over his chest.

  Small movements around the Table meant that the other elder sorcerers were settling more comfortably into their own chairs. Hamid gave no indication of calling a recess, and Tabitha realized that they were all just going to sit, or stand, here until Lasfe finished wrestling with the two choices. Her sympathy for the Essenan sorcerer began to evaporate.

  She grew bored very quickly. She tried to send to Graegor, but his attention was clearly claimed by Contare, and she felt it would be childish to insist. If the sun had been out and Nuru’s Diamond had been casting rainbows on the walls, Tabitha would have tried to lose herself in contemplating them, but the sky would not cooperate. Instead she continually flicked her eyes around the Table, watching for any expression on anyone’s face other than telepathic distraction, but she was never rewarded.

  She could not even amuse herself by criticizing their clothing. Everyone wore grey robes with their races’ badges at their right shoulders. Of the younger sorcerers, only Borjhul and Daxod had their short collars unfastened. Among the elders, though, only Malaya’s robe was buttoned all the way up, and Pascin’s was not buttoned at all, revealing a dark blue shirt and black trousers, rather rumpled. This had been a common sight during the autumn sessions of the Circle, but he had never slumped like he was doing now.

  She noted that Daxod still maintained his immobile pose as well as she maintained hers. Where had he learned to do it? She doubted he had stood through as many interminable religious services and noble rituals as she had. Did he use his magic somehow to keep himself from moving?

  That was an interesting idea. She would ask Magus Uchsin. Maybe it was the opposite of telekinesis. If it was possible, maybe Tabitha would tell Ilene about it, as a subtle hint about her lack of composure.

  No one noticed her studying them. Everyone was talking to someone else in the room. Everyone but her.

  A long while passed. Tabitha had no idea how long. Her feet and back were both aching when Lasfe finally spoke aloud. “I’ve decided.”

  All eyes turned toward him. His plump cheeks seemed to make his whole face sag. “I’ve decided to vote for the lockdown.”

  Tabitha was very surprised, and she was not the only one. Graegor’s shock was clear in their bond, and most of the younger sorcerers did not bother to mask theirs. Arundel seemed particularly dismayed, and Ilene looked pleadingly up at Serafina. The older woman leaned forward as if to speak, and Josselin did the same, but Lasfe held up his hand.

  “We will search every building. We will account for each magus and maga in the city who has not pledged to us. Pascin estimates this will take five days. Since it might take longer, I will agree to seven days, with today being the first. The city watch will open the gates on the morning of the eighth day, no matter what.”

  No one spoke for a moment. Hamid glanced at Natayl, over to Oran and Malaya, and then turned back to Lasfe. “I can agree to these conditions. If we can’t find the rogue magi within seven days, then I doubt we’ll be able to find them at all.”

  Tabitha saw Malaya smirk. Lasfe looked at Pascin and said, “You can’t promise the same. Earlier you said the gates would remain closed until we found the rogues.”

  “Seven days is how long I believe it will take.”

  “But it could be longer.”

  Pascin sighed. “Yes.”

  “With the people growing increasingly restless and upset.”

  “Which will lead to patterns we can follow.”

  Lasfe shook his head. “Which could lead to riots. Under Circle Law conditions, the city watch and our magi will never encounter more belligerents than they can handle peacefully.”

  “Do you honestly think the pot is already boiling under the lid?” Josselin asked Lasfe, as if struggling to understand. “You talked about the trust our people place in us. What about the trust we should place in them? We should trust that they are content with our rule, and would not live here if they weren’t. Do you really think that it will only take a few days of closed gates for enough people in enough parts of the city to get so upset that we can’t step in and pacify them?”

  “Pascin said it could be longer than a few days.”

  Josselin stared at him, and Tabitha could imagine that she was biting her tongue to keep from shouting. Contare said, “It’s winter, Lasfe. Not as many people want to go out of the city anyway.”

  Lasfe nodded. “Yes. True. But if people who do want to leave know that they will be able to after seven days, they will be less likely to protest.”

  “No,” Natayl said sharply. “We should not announce the duration.”

  “I concur,” Oran said. “The rogue magi have proven to be very good at planning. If they know they only have to escape notice for seven days, they’ll plan for it.”

  “And so will other criminals, hiding other crimes,” Hamid added.

  Lasfe was silent, and everyone watched him while he considered whether he could agree to the new stipulation. Tabitha hoped he would not take so long this time.

  “We should tell our magi about the duration,” Lasfe said finally. “Also, we should not delve them. They aren’t going to like what we’ll be asking them to do during this lockdown, so we should not send them the message that we don’t trust them.”

  Malaya shrugged while Oran and Hamid nodded. Graegor was agitated, the soft warmth of his magic stirring like a waking animal, and Tabitha drew her mind further back from him. She heard Contare shift and lean forward. “What will it take for you to support a closure instead of a lockdown?” he asked Lasfe directly. “There is room for negotiation.”

  Lasfe shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He looked at Natayl. “You frighten me with your talk of the lynx hunt. It came about because the Circle did not define its limits. Because we did not define our limits. Circle Law has strict limits, not just for the people, but also for us. I intend to do everything possible to keep everyone inside those limits over the next seven days.”

  “You believe it’ll happen again if we don’t impose a lockdown?” Serafina asked incredulously. “That we can so easily lose control of the situation?”

  “We did before.”

  “We were young,” Serafina reminded him. “And abysmally stupid.”

  Lasfe gestured around the Table, at the younger sorcerers. “So are they. Let’s show them the proper way to handle this. With strict, exacting, enforced limits.”

  “Circle Law sets unfair limits,” Josselin said, rubbing her forehead, “on innocent people.”

  “The limit
s apply equally to all. What could be more fair?”

  “A gate closure applies equally to all, too.”

  “Pascin’s ‘pattern disruption’ plan won’t.” Lasfe looked to his right, where Pascin was fuming. “I’m sorry.”

  Tabitha could barely hear Pascin’s words. “Just because you don’t understand the principles doesn’t mean they’re not valid.”

  “Too many false positives. Too much ambiguity.” Lasfe shook his head. “No.”

  “Have you considered what this might mean for the Ninth?” Josselin asked. “What does a week of Circle Law say about how they will rule?”

  “Nothing,” Natayl barked. “This is ours. We claim it. The Ninth will speak to such things in their own time.”

  Natayl’s words echoed in the Hall, and in Tabitha’s mind. But they obviously did not resonate with Josselin. “The Ninth will be judged by our actions,” she insisted. “The Circle is changing, but the rule of the sorcerers is not.”

  Oran nodded at this, and so did Serafina, while Malaya scowled and Pascin frowned. Natayl did not bother to answer. After a few silent moments had passed, Hamid picked up the presider’s baton. “We will now cast the second vote.”

  As expected, when Hamid asked for a show of hands for Contare’s request, he received four votes, and when he asked for a show of hands for Natayl’s request, he received five. Tabitha kept her mental distance from Graegor’s unhappiness and just let herself be glad that she would be able to stretch her arms and back soon.

  Hamid announced the vote as official and binding. When he was done with the ritual words, Lasfe spoke again. “If you do find them,” he said, “punish them for the murder they committed, not the one they intended.”

  Still holding the presider’s baton, Hamid said, “The one they intended matters more.”

  Quiet stirs of both agreement and disagreement passed over the Table. At Lasfe’s right, Rossin’s eyes were closed, and his lips were moving as if in prayer. Lasfe sat forward to place his hands on the Table, palms up, in what Tabitha guessed was an Essenan gesture of entreaty. “If we find any ‘rogue’ magi who are not murderers, we should hear them out,” he said. His voice was soft, but it carried clearly. “Like many of the ordinary people who live here, some magi just want more rights.”