Highmage (Highmage's Plight Book 4)

by D. H. Aire

  Me'oh came up behind her. "Sister, you shouldn't do this to yourself."

  "I want to be doing something. I feel so useless."

  "Trust in Cle'or and Se'and to do all that needs doing right now. And useless you aren't, your lord husband is home for two days. I expect you can find suitable distractions."

  "That's what worries me most. With all the mages at the Conclave, how long will it be before next Je'orj returns?"

  Me'oh wished she could answer that. Instead, she led Fri'il away, thinking the girl's first pregnancy was growing tedious. Wait until she was having her third. It got easier, didn't it? Me'oh reminded herself ruefully.

  In the Dwarven Quarter, Ruke, as senior member of the Pack present, should have been in charge. But he was still recovering, so Clawd found himself the one everyone was turning to.

  He did the best he could. Most of the membership was accounted for, though, those who were listed as missing included Colvin. Of the nearly one hundred waifs who had run with the Pack, more than eighty were reported in good hands.

  The dwarven bard, Spiro, assured him that Ruke's and Colvin's members were all being brought to the Quarter, where his people pledged their safety. Andre's Pack Rats were said to be in hiding together in a sanctuary that no one would breach. Andre herself was reported to be at the Healer's Hall.

  The urchins had been brought through the Quarter through the tunnels the dwarves used that honeycombed the Sixth and Seventh Tiers. There was a banging at the tunnel chamber entry. Spiro and his compatriots raised weapons, then let in their unexpected guests.

  The appearance of the man in black drew gasps from the dwarves. He raised his hand, "No harm, friends. Lord Terhun most graciously mapped my route, which I provide to you now. It's not as if you have used the ways to deal with my people, now is it?"

  Spiro frowned until urchins hesitantly walked or hobbled forth from the tunnel. "Ebb!"

  Clawd exclaimed as twelve of his friends were reunited.

  Gabriol met Ebb's gaze before he bowed to Spiro and re-entered the tunnels.

  "Gracious Empress! The Lyai of Lyai seeks egress to pay his respects," announced the herald.

  Lord Hayden frowned. That the lad was still alive after so many recent attempts on his life spoke better of the Lyai than was his wont. The fact that his own assassin had failed months before had only served to bring the lad unwanted notice; the kind of notice that cost Hayden not a gold. His continued existence was irritating, though while all watched the fourth provincial monarch enter the Court, the Empress found herself surprised to see the lithe beautiful blonde elf enter at the Lyai's side, apparently her cousin’s consort and a step behind them a woman dressed in black livery.

  Her eyes widened as she recognized the human mage's Cathartan wife, Se'and. She granted the Lyai and his wife, Esperanza, the only private audience that day. Hayden glared angrily and enviously at the young elflord. Tane and Llewlyn merely chose to entertain themselves mixing with the Empress's courtesans, something that did not particularly endear them to their monarch. Yet, at that moment, the Empress had other matters of interest.

  "Sit, Cousins... Lady Se'and, I must say I am surprised to find you in such august company.”

  Se'and bowed. "One's friends visit so rarely.”

  The young lord of Lyai laughed seeing the Empress's expression. "She truly has become a dear friend, Cousin... In fact, I owe both her and Lord Je'orj my life. They were in my province months ago and foiled an assassin for which I shall be forever grateful."

  "They were the ones then… My agents reported they had left the Empire.” The Lyai smiled. "You really must consider improving the leadership of your network, Your Majesty.”

  Her eyes glinted angrily. That was the sorest point. With trusted Senason dead, her herald the traitor that murdered him, how could she trust anything or anyone? Yet Se'and smile of encouragement warmed her. "Uh, don't tell me you have a suggestion.”

  "Why, I know the most audacious man, who has solid knowledge of the Empire, even, I understand, a working knowledge of your very Capital," the Lyai said, ever so earnestly.

  Se'and nodded, "I do believe, I know just the man of whom you speak."

  Terhun had finally managed to edge the exhausted urchins sharing every inch of his bed aside. He had just closed his eyes, when the tavern exploded with noise.

  A bleary-eyed Baxter burst through the din, and ducked to the right. Terhun's blade thudded into the wall behind him. "Lord Sianhiel and Imperial Guards, sir! The Empress's Writ in hand requiring your presence!"

  "I take it the noise was your not waiting to see the Writ before coming to get me?" The urchins tiredly looked at him, with flight or fight in their eyes. "It's all right. The Lyai must be in town... Only he could have gall to get the Empress's Writ just to get me to report!"

  And so it was that Terhun found himself promoted to Spymaster to the Empress of the Aqwaine Empire – and in no end of trouble just in time for the Great Conclave. He never did catch up on his sleep.

  Conclave

  Chapter

  10

  It was the middle of the night. Gallen awoke in darkness, Revit and Terus creeping up on her bed, thinking to play a particularly nasty prank. She imaged spiders crawling up their legs.

  The boys let out a cry that brought Aaprin awake in an instant and shouting at the pair of them in the next. Revit and Terus stared at her, dumbfounded, and with new respect. Less than an hour later they tried again. Exasperating as that might be, Gallen finally began to feel right at home, only thoughts of Aaprin disturbed her, disturbed her deeply. Blast that kiss anyway.

  "M'lord, are they truly all right?"

  Balfour lay in bed. He turned to Cle'or, who as usual had set their room with an eye to defense that was hard to find credible. The doors and windows were not merely barred for the night. They were rigged to alert them instantly should anyone be fool enough to try to disturb them.

  Me'oh was quite asleep beside him. Cle'or sat, for the moment, in the far corner. She tended to shift position, and from long habit, now watched him as much as she guarded him from possible harm. As was her duty. Cathart must be quite a dangerous place, Balfour had realized long ago, if it could so carefully nurture such obstinate obsession.

  "I thought you were asleep."

  "No, Milord husband, the boys are afoot."

  "And you cannot stop thinking about the urchins."

  "My fault, I know... But there is nothing I can really do."

  Balfour sat up. "Not your fault we have enemies. You've done more for those kids than they likely have received from anyone in years, Cle. You saw to it that they knew how to handle themselves... And don't tell me that they learned to read by themselves, I've seen the ones at the Hall."

  "Gallen, not I. The lad has done more than me. He's been mother and father to them. I only selfishly added them to our cause. I should have just left them alone."

  "And that would have made things better? I've lived in this city before. I know how few of those children ever reach adulthood, far be it, old age. They have lived huddled and half-starved in the Seventh most of their lives... You saw something needing doing and found your own way to do it."

  "Boys... Never seen so many before. In Catha there were maybe six boys within a few years of Lord Vyss' age, never seen outside their Sire's Houses, not unless Convocation was called. Saw those six once there, just after rising to Champion's Apprentice... They just stared at each other. Didn't talk or play. Their Sisters kept so close. I thought it incredible that there were so many.

  "Then I saw Clawd and the others in the streets. They wore filthy rags, but they were playful and happy to be around each other. I still can't believe that they have just been left to fend for themselves."

  Balfour rose and crossed the room. Cle'or let him gently pull her up and into his arms. She cried on his shoulder, knowing he understood.

  Healers easily understood such pain.

  George felt, more than heard, the noise his appr
entices were making, yet he found that cradling Fri'il in his arms was much more important to him at the moment. That bothered him fundamentally; he had only agreed to become Highmage so he would have the ability to use the Gate to return to Earth. And his goal had been just that.

  This world seemed to conspire against him; its needs demanding his attention. How much did the world of his birth need his skills as an archeologist? The University had not even believed his assertions that he had found an ancient site that had never been inhabited by human beings. Well, he had proved them wrong. Closing his eyes tightly, he almost wished that he had been wrong. Falling across the Universe through an Elvin Gate had not proved to be the safest thing he had ever done, nor were any of the consequences which followed.

  He could sense the presence of those consequences all around him.

  Se'and was curled up on the floor. Her knives and sword at hand should anyone try to disturb their peace. Staff sensed the woman was just as awake and worried as nearly everyone. Fri'il smiled in her sleep and snuggled closer in the arms of her lord husband.

  Their unborn child stirred restlessly, perhaps, sensing the worry being broadcast by all those around her.

  His daughter. No accident, either. The beautiful young Cathartan bodyguard in his arms considered the obligation of protecting him, as she and Se'and had been told by their Lord Sire, marriage. Without ceremony, without any choice on his part – two women considered him their wives. It had been a daily frustration. Yet they had faced their duty with a forthrightness and courage that astonished him. Se'and and Fri'il risked their lives to save his with a passion that had little to do with merely being tasked to by Sire Ryff as a gift of gratitude.

  They loved him. That frightened him more than the whole business with the Conclave. It was so ironic really. Everyone treated him as if he could do magic, had all the answers, never believing him when he professed that his knowledge and skills were just different. Not greater or better, just different.

  No one seemed to care, certainly not his closest friends. He sighed. Se'and was a better friend than he deserved. He envied Balfour his adaptability. Me'oh, even Cle'or, appeared to be far happier with his elfblooded companion than he had ever made the two women in this room.

  Tomorrow he faced his day of reckoning. The Conclave would decide whether he would be granted the ability to wield the Gate that brought him here. Should Grendel become Highmage, it boded ill for the Empire. The mage hated mankind with a passion, saw human beings as little better than animals. And worst of all, he was a pawn of the Demonlord, whether he knew it or not.

  Thoughts of that one made George Bradley shiver. The Demonlord intended to eradicate humanity from the face of this world and wanted him, in particular, dead. He had been hunted likely to forestall his affecting that outcome adversely.

  Yet, he had never intended to remain here. He had to get home. This should not be his problem. Fri'il shifted in his arms and faintly kissed

  him. He almost groaned aloud.

  Placed in the center of the room, Staff glowed ever so faintly, following George's thought processes, fascinated by this man who shared its thoughts and dreams. The machine remained silent, feeling the resolution of this conflict should prove most interesting.

  Upon leaving the house, George and his escort of apprentices found Balfour waiting for them before the coach. A mounted troop of Imperial Guards waited in escort, clearly in a hurry to be about their duty.

  "Don't think I'm not going with you today."

  "Do healers vote in Conclave?" George asked, barring his friend's ascent to the coach.

  "Only Uncle Ofran, as Head of the Hall and Guild, votes."

  "Then, my friend, here you stay. I'll not have you miss the birth of your child."

  "Surely the time dilation won't be that bad."

  "Neither Abernathy or Regis have been able to assure me otherwise. They claim they have never had this many mages represented and in one place."

  :The Imperials Wards are overflowing with their energy, Balfour,: said Staff with the merest twinkling glow. :That should not only be enough to make even the Demonlord hesitate in any overarching plans against the Empire, but likely effect the Hall's Enchantment proportionately.:

  "Je'orj, you need me."

  "Do you think I even want to do this? What choice has been left me?!" Exasperated, George turned to his apprentices looked up at the pale bird with a black crest resting atop the coach. Raven flapped her wings, then settled. "She's all the help I'll need, my friend. I think, though, that she takes the duty more seriously than Cle'or or Se'and ever intend."

  Se'and stood in the doorway. "Behave yourselves," she ordered the children, yet, the glance at her lord made a more pointed indication that she talking directly to him. "Keep an eye out for anything stranger than usual for the Guild Hall. Grendel and his cronies will do anything to win the Seat."

  Gallen raised an eyebrow. "Stranger than usual."

  George shook his head, "Aaprin, you explain it to him. Now board." Before George had a chance to ascend, Se'and and Fri'il rushed from the house and hugged him. "Don't be gone long," Fri'il whispered and kissed his cheek.

  "I'll do my best," he replied with mixed feelings.

  However, it was Se'and who, to his surprise, actually began to cry as she fiercely clung to him and muttered harshly, "You come back to me." Then she kissed him with a passion that shocked him.

  :He will be back, I shall see to that,: Staff promised vehemently, startling both young women who rarely heard his presence in their minds. Fri'il hesitantly smiled as George tore himself away from the somber hands of Se'and and boarded the coach, Revit and Terus staring wide-eyed. Thankfully, Aaprin had presence enough to herd them back to their seats.

  The coachman urged the horses through the gates, the Imperial Guards escort right behind them. All too quickly George was on his way to the Guild Hall.

  "Hear all present!" shouted Archmage Regis. "The mages of the Empire stand this day in Conclave... The period of mourning our late brother and Highmage has now come officially to an end."

  The Guild Chamber seemed even larger to George than last he remembered it. :Mass to volume has indeed increased, George.: A precise figure flashed through his mind. :I am storing data on this phenomenon. Each raises a number of questions about the nature of magic.:

  Gallen stared at the staff in the man's hand. She understood not a word of the endless banter between it and the human mage, yet found it somehow reassuring in its matter-of-factness. She glanced right and left and had never been so surprised in her life.

  There were more mages here than she had ever imagined. She recognized Faeryn trained and Academy trained. Elves of purest heritage seated in the lowest, most prestigious tiers. The Empire's Archmages sat in judgment beside an elvin woman dressed in a brilliant white satiny robe.

  "Who is that?" she whispered to Aaprin.

  He grinned, "That's the Empress."

  "Oh. She's so beautiful."

  "I call this Conclave to order!" Silence filled the room. "As tradition now dictates," the archmage then continued, "the Empress will now address this august assemblage."

  The aged elf bowed as the Empress rose and faced the tiers filled with the mages who defended the realm from the ravages the Demonlord sought to wreak upon their world. She paused to glance at Lord Grendel, who smiled at her ingratiatingly. Grendel offered tradition, stability.

  More slowly she glanced at the human face of Je'orj Bradlei, the first man to ever contend for the right to be Highmage. A human wielder of magery, although, he professed his skills bore no relations to the magicks elves often used without a thought. He was a harbinger of radical change. He was an affront to all the beliefs her people had held dear for millennia.

  He was the most difficult choice ever presented a ruler of this land. And he was Alrex's hope.

  "Mages, Brethren, I welcome you to the Great Conclave. The moment when a Highmage is elected and change comes, once again, to the Empire and,
one prays, salvation against the Dark One's evil plans.

  "As you are well aware, the Northlands have fallen to the Dark... The Dark One's hand can be seen today throughout the Crescent Lands to the East. Our Empire, as foretold, will ever be all that truly stands against him. And their lies your true choice today, not in election of an elf or man, but in a defender that can restore the Great Balance.

  "Highmage Alrex felt our failing the Task... He gave his life to change that future and we are here to determine whether he was right or wrong." There was a uniform look of consternation among the elves the Empress noted closest to her. "I pray each of us makes the right choice."

  Raven spread her wings threateningly as the crowd roared to their feet and applauded the Empress. "Be at ease," her foster father urged, stroking her down. Events could turn deadly serious at any moment, so Raven settled, but watched most carefully.

  :Well, it is not as if the Empress could give you an endorsement.:

  George tried to smile reassuringly, yet his apprentices looked at him most oddly as he muttered to himself, "I really hate this."

  :That is understandable,: Staff quipped as seeming pandemonium reigned throughout the Hall as the Empress returned to her seat. George felt her gaze and glanced back at her. There was challenge in his look she gave him, daring him to live up to Alrex's expectations or deal with her.

  In a sarcastic mutter George breathed, "Oh, this is going to be fun."

  "SILENCE!" Regis demanded as flame burst from his fingertips and flicked across the very tiers, shocking the assemblage sufficiently. "This Hall shall come to order! And remain at order!"

  Abernathy grinned and leaned close to the Empress, "That certainly showed them."

  Eyes wide, she replied, "It certainly did me."

  Regis sighed, glaring back at the mages through the Hall before he proclaimed, "Lord mage Grendel of the City of Aqwaine, son of Aramimidel of the House of Otummond, Twenty-Sixth House of the Forty, Candidate for Mages of Mages for all the Empire of Aqwaine, you are summoned before your peers!"