Aritane blushed a scarlet unbecoming to her pale complexion. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“As you wish.” Planir rose to bow courteously. “But remember, my door is always open to you.”
Aritane left without a backward glance, pace audibly increasing as she disappeared down the stairs. Planir stood by the door for a moment, combing long fingers through his hair. He heaved a sigh that could have been frustration, irritation, exhaustion or all three together before kicking the door shut.
Hair in unruly spikes, he ignored his untouched glass of wine and walked to the tall window. He gazed out far beyond the stone-slated roofs of Hadrumal. “How soon can I go scrying for you, my darling?” he murmured. A mirror stood on the sill beside him, steel-bright within the dark mahogany frame, a silver candlestick beside it, empty.
Something in the courtyard below caught Planir’s eye. “Splendid timing as always, Hearth Master,” he muttered sardonically.
He moved quickly, smoothing his hair to its customary sleekness and catching up his formal robe from its hook on the back of the door. He shrugged it on as he removed Aritane’s glass from the table, mopping the spill of wine with his sleeve. His hand hesitated over the scrying bowl but with a smile teasing the corner of his mouth, he let that be.
“Enter.”
Kalion knocked and opened the door, barely waiting for the Archmage’s permission before marching in. Planir was sitting in the window seat, glass of wine on the sill beside him, one hand in his breeches pocket while the other held a small book bound in age-worn leather faded to a pale jade. His feet rested on a chair pulled carelessly askew from the table.
“Have you ever read any of Azazir’s journals?” Planir frowned at the crabbed writing still vividly black on the yellowed pages.
Kalion was visibly knocked off his stride. “Azazir?”
“Yes.” Planir drew the word out absently. “A menace and a madman but the man had some undeniably interesting ideas.” He shook his head. “I’d dearly love to know how he summoned that dragon of his but I fear that secret died with Otrick.”
“More’s the pity.” Unfeigned regret creased Kalion’s fat face. “Have you found any hints?” Avid, his gaze fastened on the little book.
“Not as yet.” Planir shut the journal with a snap. “But I think it might make an interesting project. I’ve been considering the role of Archmage, in the light of what you and Troanna had to say. I’m forced to the rather lowering conclusion that my predecessors and I have spent far too little time actually adding to the sum of wizardry. We become so caught up in the trivia of Hadrumal’s daily life that we forget Trydek’s first and foremost requirement for this office.” He looked expectantly at Kalion.
The Hearth Master plucked a stray thread from the front of his velvet gown. “Trydek laid down many precepts when he first brought his school of wizards here. What precisely are you referring to?”
Planir smiled. “That the Archmage lead the exploration of combining the four elements in quintessential magic”
Kalion took a chair by the table without waiting for invitation. “That’s an interesting proposal.”
“It’s a long-neglected duty of my office.” Planir wasn’t smiling any more. “It’s my firm intention to make amends.”
“Is this why you summoned Herion and Rafrid just now? And Sannin.” Kalion’s indignation imperfectly masked his suspicion. “To explore the potential of the nexus as Archmage, you should work with those mages pre-eminent in each element.”
“As Troanna keeps reminding me, we don’t have a nexus of mastery, do we?” Planir turned abruptly brisk. “We’ve had that out more than often enough. I hope something more interesting brings you here on this sunny afternoon?”
Kalion did his best to recover the determination that had propelled him up the stairs. “I understand you’ve had that Aritane woman in here.” He glanced at the scrying bowl with sharp mistrust.
“I see Ely still spends more time at her window than at her books.” The Archmage met Kalion’s gaze with level challenge. “I’d appreciate you moderating your tone. You make it sound as if I were taking my pleasure with her bent over that table. Why should I not consult with the one expert on Artifice we have when the Elietimm threaten us all once more?”
“What has she told you?” demanded Kalion. “What’s going on? We have a right to know, me and Troanna and all the Masters of the Halls.”
“Across the ocean?” Planir shrugged. “You know how dangerous it would be to scry or bespeak any of the mages out there—”
“Have you any notion what Shiv or Usara might be up to?” Frustration soured Kalion’s expression. “You know they hired a ship full of ruffians culled from dockyards the length of the ocean coast?”
Planir nodded, unperturbed.
“They could be working all manner of magic to the incalculable detriment of wizardry.” Kalion glared at him. “A great many people disapprove of you letting them take themselves off unsanctioned by the Council to involve themselves in D’Alsennin’s affairs.”
“I’d be interested to learn who feels entitled to criticise me in such a high-handed fashion.” Planir looked at Kalion expectantly but the red-faced mage sat obstinately silent. The Archmage shrugged and continued, puzzled. “I don’t understand your objection. You’ve spent years arguing that Hadrumal’s isolation must end, that we must involve ourselves in the concerns of the wider world. You’ve argued most convincingly that this threat from the Elietimm gives us our opportunity to show what we can do to help and defend the non-mageborn.”
“Under the guidance of the Council,” snapped Kalion. “Always.”
“That’s so often been the sticking point though.” Planir shook his head regretfully. “Everyone from princes down to pigmen mistrusts mages with their first loyalty to this mysterious Council and all its hidden loyalties and purposes.” The Archmage’s expression was guileless. “Of course, with Artifice to call on, they need not risk that. I rather fear that Artifice may be our undoing without any need for the Elietimm to attack.”
“What do you mean?” Kalion was suspicious.
“I have heard,” Planir raised a hand before tucking it smoothly back in his pocket, “but bear in mind this is only rumour, that Tadriol has been making overtures to the mentors of Vanam.”
“What kind of overtures?” demanded Kalion instantly.
“I believe he’s offering them an Imperial charter to found a new university in a city of their choice,” Planir said thoughtfully. “Where scholars can cull whatever lore remains among the litany of Tormalin temples, from archive sources like that song book the girl Livak found, and whatever else may be hidden in the records of the great Houses.” Planir sighed. “Add whatever aetheric knowledge Demoiselle Tor Priminale cares to share and I imagine Tadriol will have his own coterie of enchanters soon enough—and those all bound to him with ties both of gratitude and more material debt.”
Kalion chewed on the unpalatable prospect for a moment before returning to the attack. “That’s all the more reason to rein in Shiv and Usara before they discredit wizardry in the Emperor’s eyes.”
Planir smiled. “You need not concern yourself. I do have some news from Suthyfer—”
“You said you dared not scry,” objected Kalion furiously.
“You didn’t let me finish that sentence either.” Planir’s voice was cool. “Thanks to the good offices of the Sheltya maiden Aritane, I can assure you that Shiv and Usara have been working considerable magic that can only resound to Hadrumal’s credit.”
Kalion struggled but had to ask the question. “What have they been doing?”
“All in good time.” Planir waved the hand bearing the ring of his office. “I’m glad you came to see me because I’m more than a little concerned about Aritane. She doesn’t complain but I hear from several sources that Ely continues to be vocal in her contempt for Artifice in general and for Aritane in particular.”
“Who’s been saying such things?” a
sked Kalion with a fair approximation of casual enquiry.
“It’s enough that I’ve been told; I don’t care to fan the flames of any feuds Ely may be carrying on.” A hint of contempt coloured the Archmage’s tone. “You might warn your protégée such behaviour does her no credit with wizardry at large and risks my disapproval in particular. I would tell her myself but she’d probably consider me biased against her, after the way she has delighted in spreading unkind gossip about Larissa.” Planir smiled thinly. “She’d be right at that but we’ll save that for another day”
Kalion cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I will speak to the girl.”
“I’d appreciate it. If Aritane becomes too unhappy here, there’s every possibility she’ll retreat to Vanam or whatever new seat of learning Tadriol founds for the study of Artifice. After all, visiting scholars are often the only people being halfway civil to her.” Planir looked thoughtful. “Sheltya learning would be a considerable addition to whatever aetheric lore Tadriol might amass.”
The Hearth Master’s scowl boded ill for the hapless Ely. “I’ll see to it.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Planir picked up his book again but set it down as if a sudden thought had struck him. “There’s something else you can do for me. Well, for Velindre, really.”
“What might that be?” Kalion was puzzled.
“You’ve encouraged her ambitions to be Cloud Mistress.” Planir smiled ruefully. “It would be a kindness if you could warn her ahead of time that I shan’t be nominating her to the Council.”
“Why not?” Kalion’s indignation got the better of him once more.
“Because I’ll be nominating Rafrid,” replied Planir simply. “You cannot deny he’s self-evidently the best qualified candidate, both in his elemental proficiencies and with his experience as Master of Hiwan’s Hall. He’s much more of an age to command respect than Velindre and, even after her recent travels, Rafrid has a far wider circle of friends and acquaintances, here in Hadrumal and beyond. He tells me he’s compared notes with alchemists from half the cities between Tormalin and Col.” The Archmage chuckled.
“He cannot hope to continue as Master of the Hall,” Kalion spluttered.
“No indeed.” Planir smiled. “You and Troanna convinced me of that, rest assured. He’s stepping down in favour of Herion.”
“That nonentity?” Kalion’s jaw was slack with surprise. “Whose idea was that?”
“I believe the suggestion came from Shannet.” Planir laughed good-humouredly. “The old hedge-bird can still surprise us, can’t she?”
“She doesn’t stir from her own fireside.” Kalion was too taken aback to conceal his chagrin. “She can barely manage her stairs.”
“That doesn’t stop people visiting her,” Planir pointed out. “She may be old but she still has all her wits and a great many friends besides.”
“I’ll tell Troanna,” said Kalion curtly. He rose to leave.
“You can also tell her I’ve been thinking about her concerns over my own situation.” Planir swung his feet down and leaned forward earnestly. “She’s right, of course. Every Archmage needs a full nexus of Element Masters to back him. I will be nominating a new Stone Master to the Council.”
“Galen?” challenged Kalion.
“No,” The Archmage replied firmly. “My concerns over his fitness haven’t changed and even his closest friends couldn’t claim much success from his attempts to ingratiate himself with a wider circle of acquaintances over this last season or so. I’ll be nominating Usara.”
“What of my concerns over his fitness? Troanna will most certainly object,” warned Kalion heatedly. He looked sternly at the seated Archmage.
“You know, I really don’t think she will,” Planir assured him. “Not when ’Sar tells the Council about his quite spectacular use of magic in the defence of Kellarin’s interests this summer.”
“Just what has he been doing?” asked Kalion through gritted teeth.
Planir hesitated. “I really should leave that for him to explain, to the Council in full session. We should observe the proprieties.”
“You’ve seldom bothered about such things before,” retorted Kalion.
“That’s a fair criticism.” Planir nodded. “I do take heed, and of Troanna’s rebukes.”
Kalion heaved a heavy sigh. “So Shiv and Usara are sinking these pirates? These Elietimm enchanters are put to flight?” He sat heavily in the chair he’d just abandoned and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.
“I believe that’s the general idea,” Planir assured him. “Usara’s working closely with the Demoiselle Tor Priminale—which is another pennyweight tipping the scales in his favour, of course. With him as Stone Master, that friendship with Guinalle could be invaluable for Hadrumal. As and when Tadriol or whoever looks to unite the study of Artifice, Guinalle will be at the centre of their dealings.”
Kalion nodded grudging agreement. “When are we to expect more news?”
“Aritane tells me we should be able to scry safely in a few days’ time,” replied Planir.
“I look forward to that.” There was an unmistakable edge to Kalion’s tone.
“I look forward to the whole business being resolved,” Planir said grimly. “I want this Elietimm threat removed once and for all.”
“So we can apply ourselves to the proper business of wizardry,” Kalion said with relish. “Establishing our influence on the mainland.”
Planir laughed. “Actually, I was more looking forward to having Larissa back again. Did you know she was helping ’Sar and Shiv? I imagine she’ll have all manner of insights into the effective use of a double affinity.” He picked up his book again. “Azazir has some curious theories I’m keen to discuss with her. And, who knows, she may finally agree to marry me.”
“Marry you?” Kalion looked stunned.
“If she’ll have me, and all the encumbrances of my office.” Planir smiled fondly. “I must see if any of the jewellers can supply me with a fitting token of my esteem for her.”
Kalion stood up. “I’ll take my leave of you, Archmage,” he said stiffly. “I expect to be fully informed as soon as you have any news from Kellarin or Suthyfer.”
“Naturally.” Planir merely sketched a wave of farewell as Kalion stomped out of the room, shoulders stiff with annoyance.
The Archmage leaned back in the window seat, looking for his place in the battered journal. He stopped reading after barely a page, marking his place with a feather and looked at the waiting mirror. Shaking his head, he rose and walked rapidly to the door in the panelling.
“So what did we get?” He slid through the door and wrinkled his nose at the smell of smoke and scorched leather.
“You need someone from the library to catalogue these properly.” A mild-faced mage of middle years studied a scroll that crackled as he unrolled it. “We nonentities can’t be expected to know what we’re looking at.” He sounded amused.
“That might be best.” A sturdily built man much of an age with Planir and Herion knelt by the fireplace stacking badly charred tomes inside the fender. He brushed blackened fragments from a blue cuff. “You might like to sort these out, Sannin. No one will wonder why you smell of char.” He grinned at the shapely woman who sat on the silk-hung bedstead.
“Thank you, Rafrid, but I don’t care to have people think I’m losing my touch.” Sannin tucked a lock of lustrous brown hair behind one ear as she leafed through a small book. “Will that little masquerade keep Kalion chasing his own tail until we have more definite news?”
“He’ll have Troanna chasing him,” chuckled Rafrid. “And she’ll be after anyone else who might conceivably know what we’re up to.”
“Quintessential magic’s actually something I’m quite interested in pursuing.” Herion glanced up from his scroll.
“Naturally, once we’ve settled these Elietimm.” Planir leant against the door. “You don’t imagine I was lying to our revered Hearth Master?”
Rafrid set dow
n the seriously burnt book he’d been examining and brushed his hands briskly together. “The first thing Kalion will be telling Troanna is your plan to elevate me above my peers. For which my sincerest gratitude, Archmage.” He looked rather more resigned than elated.
“You can take it up with Shannet, if you don’t want the honour,” Planir offered.
Rafrid pretended to consider this. “No, I’ll take the aggravation of office over her reproaches.”
“She’d never forgive you,” smiled Sannin, still intent on her reading.
“Do you have any ambitions to the honour of Hearth Mistress?” asked Planir idly.
“Me?” Sannin looked up, startled. “No, none at all.”
“You’d tell people exactly that, if such a curious rumour should start circulating?” Planir’s tone was solicitous.
“Just so.” Sannin returned to her book.
“Once word gets round we’ll each have half the Council knocking on our doors.” Herion glanced at Rafrid before looking at Planir. “We’d better have our answers agreed before the rumours start flying round.”
Planir nodded. “Go off and learn your verses. These can wait.”
“I’ll send someone reliable from Hiwan’s library,” Rafrid offered as the two men departed through a second door out on to the staircase.
“Thank you.” Planir went to shut the door but left it ajar, turning to Sannin who was still absorbed in reading. “Are you willing to risk your reputation by being found alone with the Archmage in his bedchamber?” Bitterness underlay his jest.
“My reputation’s safe with anyone whose opinion I value.” Sannin played absently with a button on the nicely rounded bodice of her scarlet dress, not looking up. “Are you really going to ask her to marry you?”
“I told you I wasn’t lying to Kalion.” Planir came to sit beside Sannin on the bed. “Don’t you approve?”
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