“I have to, Isinwen,” Idalia said gently. “There are things he needs to know, and they cannot wait any longer.”
“Then let me make tea first,” Isinwen said resignedly, lighting the tea brazier.
When the tea was ready, Isinwen left.
No one can make you feel quite as guilty as a loyal servant, Idalia thought with an inward sigh. And Isinwen certainly seemed to have appointed himself to that position. She went over and knelt beside her sleeping brother.
—«♦»—
IDALIA was calling him. But he was so tired… With an effort, Kellen forced himself to consciousness.
The mirror. The spell. The attack.
Idalia knows.
“Cilarnen—” he said, his voice a croak. “Shalkan.”
“Alive,” Idalia said. “They’re all alive. I think he—they—will all be okay. They’re still asleep. But I need you now.”
Kellen tried to sit up. His body wouldn’t obey, and that alarmed him enough to give him the strength to pull himself into a sitting position. Idalia steadied him and put a mug of tea into his hand.
Kellen took a deep breath, clearing his head, and gulped at the tea. It was hot, strong, and horribly sweet—just what he needed.
Exhaustion still dragged at him. But his mind was clearing quickly.
“They attacked us. Here.”
“Yes,” Idalia said. She shook her head in self-disgust. “Something I should have thought of, I suppose. We made a link to Their servant in the City. We expected an attack from the Mages, but…”
“But an opening is an opening, and They could use it just as well,” Kellen finished. “But Their attack didn’t work. Just like at Stonehearth—a Wildmage and a High Mage working together can hurt Them. Kill Them. I think… Idalia, I think that’s what the High Magick was originally for.”
“To help kill Them! It would be nice to think so. But I don’t think knowing that is going to do us a lot of good now.”
Kellen had finished his tea. Idalia refilled his mug, adding several more honey-disks.
“Idalia… I saw what you Saw. But I didn’t understand it. Anigrel… he’s on the Council now?”
“He’s the one Cilarnen was told about in Stonehearth. Lycaelon has adopted him, made him a High Mage, and put him on the Council. He’s the traitor—he has been for years. There’s more—much more—but the main thing is this: he’s changing the Wards of the City so that Their spells can pass through them.”
His body might be exhausted, but Kellen’s mind was fully alert. It was the missing piece of the puzzle he’d searched for for so long.
“Once they can bespell the City, they can take the Wards down entirely and enter it in the flesh. But not… not just for prey. They could have stripped the Lost Land bare any time They liked if that was all they wanted. They want something more. Allies? But They are the ancient enemy of the Mageborn, too. Lycaelon would never…”
“He’ll do what Anigrel tells him to,” Idalia said grimly. “And Anigrel is telling him that Wildmages are the ones out to destroy his precious City—and have been for generations.”
“Xaqiue,” Kellen said. “We’re the Wildmages, so we’re the enemy—us, the Elves, the Allies. Idalia, it all makes sense now. They don’t want to face us in the field. They never did. And if They destroy us… even Armethalieh might notice—and fight. But if They can get Armethalieh to do their fighting for Them…”
“Then Light destroys Light… and They destroy what’s left,” Idalia said despairingly.
“Now we know what They want,” Kellen said. “And we know what we have to stop.” And he felt a strange elation, as strong as Idalia’s despair. “Knowledge is power, Idalia. And—I think—we’ve only begun to understand ours.”
Epilogue
THE FIRST WORKING had been accomplished successfully. There had been a moment—just as he was about to inscribe the first of the seven Seals—when for a moment the Council chamber had vanished from Anigrel’s sight, dissolved first in intolerable brightness and cold, and then in darkness and the scent of freshly-spilled blood.
But it had only been a moment. The web of the Working had held. Of course Anigrel wondered about the cause. But none of the other Mages had sensed any disruption in the spell, and his own subsequent investigations had revealed nothing. Perhaps someone in the Mage Council had been attempting to Overlook the Working. Next time he would make doubly sure that any uninvited spectators received a more lasting greeting than they could imagine.
Each day, now, it would be safer to openly use those powers that were his true heritage.
He had waited impatiently for his Dark Lady to use her new freedom to contact him, and as the days passed and she did not, he grew close to despair. He knew his spells had not failed. How, then, had he displeased her?
At last the time came for him to make his own attempt. Even now, he dared not deviate from his schedule, lest his presumption displease her further. Besides, moondark was the time of greatest power for those spells he had learned under her tutelage.
At last the fortnight passed. He retreated to his rooms, filled the iron bowl with blood, and waited.
“You please me—and disappoint me,” came the voice in his mind. Her touch was stronger than ever; he could almost feel her soft hands upon his flesh.
Anigrel dropped to his knees in confusion.
“I—I have done all you asked of me. I will do more!”
“Yes. You must do more—and quickly. Did you not notice, upon that night you worked to loosen the chains that bind your city against me, that the Wildmages struck at your life? It was only through my intervention that you still live. If I am to protect you further, those fetters must be loosed entirely. And you must convince the Arch-Mage to ally himself with us at once”
“But—” He’d known it was their ultimate goal. But it would not be an easy one to achieve. Another year—perhaps two—to soften Lycaelon’s mind further—
“At once! I have indulged you for long enough—do this now, or face the ruin of all our hopes!”
Her fury was like a lash; Anigrel cringed from her displeasure even as he longed for the pain of her touch.
“Yes, Mistress—I swear to you I shall do this for you. Armethalieh shall be yours before the first flowers bloom.”
“Much sooner, I hope…for your sake. My sweet Anigrel, do you not know how deeply I yearn to make you mine entirely? Do not make me wait much longer …”
“I swear to you, Mistress. The City shall be yours to do with as you will.”
And I—I shall be yours as well.
—«»—«»—«»—
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