There was a brilliant flash, a wave of magical energy that flowed through everything in the chamber and beyond. A wave that twisted reality at a fundamental level . . . and then twisted it back again.
Onranion fell flat on his back, clutching the sphere of irionite, as the flash overtook him. Master Ulin was thrown over his lectern into a heap. Master Azhguri was sent sprawling onto his face. I felt like I’d taken a hard hit in a tournament, and crumbled like a poorly-considered excuse. Lilastien took refuge behind the couch she observed from, and still was tumbled. Only Taren, who had his baculus out, managed to keep his feet.
It took a few panicked seconds for the Snowflake to settle down. But the wave collapsed, the energy field declined in intensity, and in moments the think went back to its old, constantly-changing self.
Except for the six-inch hole that was in its center, now.
If the removal of the centerpoint was traumatic, its absence seemed to have no ill effect on the Snowflake. The gap where it had been continued to change as if it was still there, but it never sought to fill the space.
“Ishi’s giant jiggly juggs!” Master Ulin exclaimed, with uncharacteristic joy. “It worked!”
“Did it kill Onranion?” Lilastien asked, peeking out from behind the couch.
“No, you morbid crone, I survived,” the old reprobate groaned, his back on the floor.
I struggled to my feet, my ears ringing and my head spinning. “Is everyone all right?”
“I’ve been better,” Master Azhguri croaked as he pulled himself to his hands and knees. “Then again, I’ve been worse. That actually worked?” he asked, in disbelief.
“You bet your beard it did!” Master Ulin beamed, as he pointed to the sphere in Onranion’s hands. It was the same bright green shade of all irionite, but the center shown with a pale glow that pulsated and churned.
“I think he’s right,” Onranion agreed, still not getting up. He just stared at the pretty ball. “It’s in there, within the thaumaturgical medium. It’s transforming, in cycle with the big one. They are entrained,” he said, satisfied. “Just like we predicted!”
“That . . . was impressive!” Taren said, in a rare display of awe. Usually the wizard was so analytical about the wonders of the universe that he seemed unaffected by anything. But removing the centerpoint had shaken him at his core.
I walked over to Onranion and took the sphere in my hands. There was a jolt as my bruised mind contacted the irionite. It was like the first time, back in Boval Vale, only orders of magnitude more powerful.
But there was more than just pure arcane energy, there. There was even more than the songspells I could perceive layering the exterior of the hollow globe. Within the chamber, swimming inside the neutral thaumaturgical medium, I could feel the potency and complexity of the churning crystal disc, inside.
It was the Snowflake, but held between my hands. It wasn’t just power. It was . . . indescribable.
I turned and carried it three steps and gently placed it on the trestle worktable behind me, before I helped Onranion to his feet. As he dusted himself off, the rest of us crowded around the sphere.
It was beautiful. Not just physically, but thaumaturgically.
“My friends,” I finally breathed, “I think we finally have what we need.”
After going so long without the Witchsphere, having it back – with more irionite and a portable molopor inside – left me near giddy with power. Azhguri had prepared a special harness of mage-hardened gold in the shape of snowflakes around the perimeter to hold the disc of knot coral under the sphere and protect it from another fall. There were settings for other stones already in place around the spars of the harness, as Master Ulin proposed continuing to experiment with the device.
I didn’t object. It was like having the best toy in the world that followed me around like a puppy. If he wanted to add jewels to the collar, that was fine by me. For the first time since the Sashtalian war, I felt arcanely complete. You just can’t use that kind of power for that long and not get used to it.
I was hesitant to explore the centerpoint of the sphere; I could tell it was still “settling in” and I didn’t want to disturb it too much. But it was a unique type of magic, and one I would not molest without great need.
I’d used the projected power of the Snowflake at Greenflower, but this was different. The centerpoint resonated differently, or something. It was a part of the greater magic, yet it was somehow more particularly intense in scope that the entirety of the Snowflake. I had a suspicion that it didn’t yet understand that it was no longer part of the greater whole.
When I walked out of the mountain the next morning, after spending the night exploring the sphere and learning its secrets, I was physically exhausted but spiritually elated. Everything looked different to me, now. More vibrant, the way it did when I first started using the stones, but now I seemed to understand how that vibrancy worked when I studied it.
I now had the weapon that could counter Sheruel. I now had the tool that could restore Alya.
I went back to my tower and slept until late afternoon. When I awoke, I was refreshed and confident. Part of me that I didn’t even know was anxious had relaxed. The last major piece was placed on the bored.
I strode into the Great Hall, the Magolith (we’d finally settled on the name shortly before dawn) hovering obediently behind my right shoulder and over my head. The entire hall watched as I took my seat for dinner. I was famished.
I spent dinner practicing my control with the thing, filling the hall with dozens of magelights, among other essays in the craft. I suppose I seemed jovial, because I saw a lot of the staff watching me carefully, and smiling at each other nervously. I suppose they were relieved at the change in my mood – I’d been pretty surly since before Greenflower. I guess I could have addressed it, at the risk of looking like a kid with a new toy.
I didn’t care. One of the benefits of being the boss is doing what you like and not worrying about what people think. I not only had hope, now, I had a plan. And the means to execute it. That was worth a little levity.
I devoured a mighty meal, while I puttered around with the sphere. Spinach and mushroom tarts, an entire roasted capon, a bowl of savory rice porridge, and a half-dozen biscuits vanished from the table as fast as they could be brought. I drank three large jacks of cool cider, before finishing the meal with a glass of stout red wine and a pipe.
I felt good, at last. A belly full of food, a soul full of hope, a head full of schemes. A pipe in front of the fire in your own hall. What more could a wizard ask for?
“Master?” Ruderal asked, curiously, as he finished his meal and gave his trencher and bowl to one of the Tal Alon drudges. “Is that your new witchstone?”
“Magolith,” I corrected. “A fancy term for ‘magic rock’.”
“It’s pretty,” he nodded, appreciatively. “Powerful, too. Does this mean you’re . . . you’re going somewhere?”
I looked at him searchingly. “You’re looking at my enneagram again, aren’t you?” I asked, a mild accusation. The lad shrugged. His shoulders were starting to grow wider.
“It’s just what I do. You’ve made a decision, it involves travel, and you’re really looking forward to it. That’s all I was able to read.”
“That’s enough, apparently. Yes, between you and me – and I’m invoking your discretion, here – I’m planning an expedition to the west, sometime soon. A very important one.”
“One that involves your secret mission over Yule?”
“That was the beginning of it,” I agreed. “But things are progressing, and I have a plan. And now I have this pretty arcane jewel,” I said, nodding to the sphere. “Don’t worry, I won’t be alone.”
“The Tera Alon,” Ruderal nodded, sagely. “And Rondal and Tyndal, I’m guessing,” he added.
“Among others,” I agreed. “A bold band of adventurers, going into the darkness at great risk, for the potential of a great prize. Real legendary wizard stu
ff,” I assured him.
“Should I go ahead and line up a jongleur to compose a ballad, Master?” he asked, with just a hint of sarcasm.
“Let’s see how it turns out, first. A dirge might be required instead. But it must be done, and I’ve gone to great lengths to organize it.”
“Korbal,” he said, instantly. “You’re going against Korbal!”
“That was an astute guess,” I said, quietly. “Pray keep it to yourself. Yes, I go to challenge Korbal. Not directly – this is an expedition, not an invasion. I go to gather intelligence and foil his plots.”
“I want to go!” Ruderal said, his voice cracking. “I owe him, for what they made me do!”
“Don’t let your anger and guilt over what happened in the Scarred Lands sway you, Ruderal,” I counselled. “While it is true that the Enshadowed used you, they used many tools. Without you they would have found Korbal, eventually. They were determined. Indeed, I’m starting to think that was the crux of their plan.”
“So, can I go?” he asked, his lip quivering the slightest.
“I don’t know yet,” I sighed. I didn’t want to disappoint the boy, but the last thing I wanted to do was take a first-year apprentice into the lair of an evil dark lord. It wasn’t professional. “I will keep your service in mind, though. We’re still in the planning stages of the mission, and I don’t know exactly what will be required. If you are needed, I will consider you a volunteer.” I couldn’t think of any reason we’d need the boy’s special abilities, but then again, I didn’t know exactly what we’d need, yet.
“Thank you, Master,” he said, gratefully. “Apart from getting my mother to safety, I’ve never wanted anything more badly than to see Korbal put back in a hole in the ground.” From the expression on his face, he meant it.
“Sometimes a wizard must exercise patience, as important as discipline and insight,” I advised. “Just keep to your lessons and your duties, and at the proper time the gods will provide the right opportunity.”
“Thank you, Master, I will. Master Loiko tutored me all evening in the fifth and six forms, both he and his Noutha, both. I think I prefer Master Dranus,” he said, hesitantly.
I chuckled. “Give him time, Ruderal. He’s a warmage trying to be a court wizard. But he – and his daughter – have a lot to teach you. Don’t be afraid to learn. He just has a different style of instruction, is all.”
“He’s very thorough,” Ruderal nodded. “He and Noutha bicker constantly about how to do the different runes. But I do learn,” he admitted.
“Good,” I nodded. “That’s important. Master Loiko may have some difficulties adjusting to his new life, the same as you did when you first arrived. I’d appreciate it if you would extend him as much patience as possible. Particularly as he tries to deal with his daughter.”
“She’s a piece of work!” Ruderal agreed, venturing an opinion. “She’s about as confused a body as I’ve ever seen. And angry. All the time.”
“As long as she abides by her parole, she is to be extended every courtesy you would another High Mage,” I cautioned. “Her winning of the Spellmonger’s Trial was unexpected, but fairly done. Try not to get on her bad side. Believe me, I’ve faced her in battle,” I reminded him.
“Oh, she’s not mad at me, she thinks I’m cute and smart,” he dismissed with a shrug. “She’s mad at him. And everyone else. In general. How does a body get to be so mad, master?”
“All sorts of things can lead to that,” I explained. “Believe me, passions run high with the magi. And that rarely turns out well.”
“Good advice, Master. Especially from a man whose passions are driving him into darkness.”
My eyebrows shot up as I regarded my insightful young apprentice. “You know, it’s rarely a pleasure to hear a master’s words come from the mouth of his apprentice,” I pointed out.
“My apologies for my impudence, Master,” he said with a straight face as he got up and headed toward bed. “Experience should have taught me by now that you have everything perfectly under control.”
It occurred to me that sarcasm was just as bad to hear from your apprentice as irony. I should do something about that, I reflected through a smoke ring, before that got out of hand.
PART II
Plots, Plans, and Politics
Chapter Twenty-One
The Decision To Act
Good news, Minalan, Dranus told me, mind-to-mind. My bid to replace my brother was well-received at council. He has made himself disliked in some quarters, and when I called him to account for his failures in front of the council, I found allies in some unexpected quarters. Of course, my brother tried to defend himself, but he just made things worse. Unfortunately, he has his own champions among the electors. They kept a vote from being taken at once, but the challenge to my brother’s right to the title has been made, he reported, triumphantly.
Has he threatened war? I asked, interested in how the politics would play out.
Threatened? He has all but demanded it. When the challenges came, he blustered about the mighty fortresses and valiant men he commanded and welcomed any and all to contest his ability to defend the county. I responded by commanding my men to conquer one of his smaller estates, in the south of the county, while we were still in council. Word reached us this morning that he’d lost the estate, and my men are even now launching an attack on one of his most lucrative domains. When the council learns that he cannot protect even his own lands, that should prove informative.
Has there been much objection to your suit, on the basis of your being a mage?
Surprisingly little. Oh, there are some rude comments from some of the older lords, but Remere has always been more tolerant of magi than Castal, he reminded me. Moros was at its peak, during the magelords’ tenure. That’s been far less of an issue than my sudden appearance with so many foreign mercenaries.
What is your plan, now?
I will continue to press my brother in council, while eroding his estates and position. He can either choose to go and lead his men against mine, or he can continue to try to persuade the electors he is a worthy heir to my father’s legacy, while I conquer that legacy out from under him. It shall be interesting to see which course he takes.
So it will. Keep me informed of developments, I requested. I’d like to be in a position to intervene, if someone tries to bring the royal court into the equation.
I think you will find that unlikely, Dranus chuckled. Feelings toward the crown tend to be negative, in Moros. There is a lot of resentment here for having a Castali overlord. The prevailing attitude is that Remerans can manage Remeran affairs. Besides, I have cultivated friends and allies in the Remeran Ducal court. If it came to a crisis, the council would appeal there long before they would consider bringing the matter to Rard.
The early-morning update from Dranus reminded me of how many things I had going on, right now. In a way, that was a good thing: to any outside observer who understood half of what I did it would seem I was too involved to contemplate any extraneous projects.
On the other hand, since no one but me understood all of what I was doing, I alone knew how badly I could screw up everything if I neglected anything.
It was like a jongleur who juggled chamberpots in the market: sure, you only had to worry about the ones in your hands at any given moment, but even a momentary failure of attention could invite disaster.
I was counting on Dranus’ eventual election as Count of Moros to act as a political distraction in the east, while I skulked off quietly to the west. If he did it right, it would take months for the full scope of the scandal to unfurl across the Kingdom. By the time it rose to the level of official royal consideration, I would either be back from Olum Seheri, victorious, or I wouldn’t be coming back from Olum Seheri. In which case the first magelord Count since the Magocracy would not be my problem to contend with.
There were other advantages to his victory, too: for one, it put a powerful magelord in the peerage of a relatively
weak duchy. With Wenshar near its frontier, having the Count of Moros be a mage would help protect the resurgent magical community that was emerging there, around Alar Academy and the Arcane Orders’ chapterhouse, established in the former Citadel of the Censorate.
Wenshar had been the land of exile for many outlawed magi, during the late Magocracy. Their descendants were enjoying a renewed respect for their abilities . . . particularly with the High Magi I’d sprinkled in their midst. Having a friendly state on their frontier would make them feel more secure.
Of course, Dranus’ victory would inevitably result in the rise of an anti-mage party, I knew. That was just human nature. But better to understand, accept, and prepare for that than to pretend it wouldn’t happen. After Dunselen and Greenflower there were already enough outraged lords in the kingdom muttering about the “godsdamned sparks”. It wouldn’t take much to galvanize that feeling into a political alliance. Dranus becoming Count of Moros would be more than enough.
But all of that could wait my attention until after I returned to Olum Seheri. Or didn’t.
Later that day I contacted Pentandra in a similar fashion, the power of my Magolith making the spell as simple as a thought. Her mental voice came through bright and clear, much more so than when I’d been using a simple witchstone. And she had news to report.
The damn Umbra is still growing, according to Terleman, although not nearly as quickly as it did a few days ago. Whatever they’re doing, they keep doing it, she complained. We’ve got to do something, quick. Or Vorone will be under shadow before the new castle is finished. That would irritate Carmella.
I’m working on it, I promised. Taren and I have a theory. He’s been interrogating the recently deceased for intelligence on what’s happening within the Umbra. I sketched out our array of theories, each of which made her more and more depressed.
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 31