Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis) (51 page)

She followed Planir down the stairs. Even so early in the day, people were coming out of their lodgings to stand in the courtyard. Wizards with no warrant to join in the Council’s deliberations huddled in twos and threes in their doorways.

Every low-voiced conversation stopped as the Archmage emerged from the door at the base of Trydek’s Tower. Jilseth noted that few of the onlookers paid any heed to her, every gaze following Planir’s long strides across the quadrangle.

The Archmage’s pace quickened. Jilseth had to hurry not to be left behind as he went out through the hall’s main gate and took the flagstoned path around to the open square with the circular Council Chamber at its centre. Later, taller edifices overshadowed the ancient, modest building on all sides.

Not for the first time, Jilseth wondered what Hadrumal had been like when Trydek and his first followers had sought refuge on this island. When the single hall and this council chamber had satisfied all the first Archmage’s needs as he instructed his pupils and debated the future of wizardry with his chosen companions.

The Council Chamber’s door already stood open with mages heading up the short flight of stairs to the vaulted room within. Some wizards looked as though they had rolled straight out of their beds to rush here. Others had taken the time to wash the sleep from their eyes, their garments neatly ordered. Some wore colours denoting their affinity; others had long been heedless of such traditional practise.

The only sound was the slap and shuffle of footsteps on the cobbles and flagstones. Jilseth wondered at the absence of fervid speculation. In the usual course of affairs, for every Council member caught unawares by such a summons, there would be one or more already sounded out by whoever was using the privileged enchantments of their office to sound the ropeless, warded bell.

Jilseth found the eerie silence unnerving, all the more so when she saw Kalion appear with Canfor at his elbow. Both mages wore clothes sufficiently crumpled to convince her that they had been scrying all night as well. Would their conclusions tally with Troanna’s or with Planir’s?

She looked around for Rafrid and for Herion, for Sannin, for any of the Archmage’s other allies. As she did so, she noted that none of the Council’s current wizards had sent anyone else in their stead, not as far as she could see. However early the hour, every one of Hadrumal’s most honoured mages wished to hear what might be said for themselves and doubtless to have their own say.

The last toll of the bell warned all the approaching mages to quicken their step before the chamber was sealed against the uninvited. Jilseth made haste up the stairs, ignoring the finely mage-carved stonework that normally so delighted her earthborn affinity.

Council members were taking their seats without the typical greetings or inconsequentialities between those mages whose paths rarely crossed in the normal pattern of Hadrumal’s days.

Jilseth seized her chance to claim one of the six seats for guests and witnesses, set against the uncarved stonework flanking the wide door. She saw Troanna already sitting in the niche which accommodated the chair of her office.

The Archmage’s chair stood opposite the entrance; flanked like the rest by pilasters reaching upwards to spread fingers of stone to interlace in the domed vault of the ceiling. Planir had already skirted the room’s central circular platform to take his seat. He didn’t even pause to greet Sannin whom Jilseth now saw smoothing her scarlet skirts before sitting down.

The elegant fire mage might have come straight from her seamstress and surely some maid’s deft hand had just finished dressing her hair and applying her cosmetics. The gold and rubies of her rings and bracelets were burnished by the cool white light of the ball of magefire that hung in the highest point of the roof to illuminate the windowless chamber.

‘Are we all assembled?’ Planir barely waited for nods of assent to swirl around the gathering before he gestured at the heavy double doors. As the iron-banded oak swung together untouched by any hand, every mage in the room turned their attention to the entrance.

Magelight glistened along the edges of the hinges, studs and bindings, in every crevice of the wood. The iron shivered and spread across the oak like spilled quicksilver. As the solid sheet of metal closed off all those within from anyone outside, everyone knew that not even quintessential scrying could penetrate this Council’s deliberations.

Planir stood and turned to Troanna. ‘Flood Mistress?’

He sat down with as little ceremony.

‘Archmage.’ Troanna rose to her feet but did not cross the flagstoned floor to address the gathering in customary fashion. Instead she extended her hands, calloused palms uppermost. A shimmering enchantment rose above the dais in the centre of the room.

From where Jilseth sat, it seemed as though a window hovered in the air. The reflection was even edged with the pale green of light bent and trapped within a sheet of glass. It appeared to be angled to face her directly but Jilseth would have wagered good gold that every wizard in this room saw the same flat pane before them.

Troanna’s face hardened and images appeared on the magewrought window. The most reticent of wizards couldn’t restrain muffled gasps as Troanna’s magic showed them shocking glimpses of the previous night’s events on that distant isle.

Jilseth wondered how much of that reaction was astonishment at the raw magecraft let loose in Nahik waters and how much was envious surprise that Troanna commanded the art of reflecting an earlier scrying in such impressive fashion.

Jilseth knew little of the detail, having scant interest in the blended magics of air and water, but she knew enough from her apprentice days spent reading endless annals in Hadrumal’s libraries that few mages, even the most notable Element Masters or Mistresses, had ever succeeded in sustaining such a spell.

Troanna curled her fingers into fists and let her hands fall to her sides. The visions vanished. Jilseth blinked as the shimmering radiance seemed to linger before her eyes.

Now every Council member could see what the renegade Mandarkin and his coerced mageborn were capable of; Planir’s allies, his rivals and those indifferent to such machinations as well as those wholly uninterested in what might be happening beyond Hadrumal’s shores. Now they would debate what was to be done about this threat.

Jilseth wouldn’t have wagered a copper cutpiece on the outcome. She had no idea what course of action this Council might decide on.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
E
IGHT

Trydek’s Hall, Hadrumal

31st of For-Autumn

‘T
HERE YOU HAVE
it,’ Troanna said curtly. ‘Untamed magic loose in the Archipelago. An intolerable threat to us all. Archmage?’

Rafrid was already on his feet. ‘This renegade may have taught his captives some of his own destructive magic but we all saw that they had to combine their efforts to use it. Doing so has left them all nigh on exhausted. I doubt that individually they have any magecraft worth the name.’

‘That is worth noting of itself.’ A balding mage combed his sparse beard with thoughtful fingers. An emerald shone on a tarnished silver ring as dirty as his fingernails. ‘Mages working together to bolster each other’s affinity in such a fashion surely warrants further study in our halls.’

Herion raised a hand ‘These unfortunates may not even have sufficient affinity that would see them considered for training in Hadrumal.’

He rose to his feet at Rafrid’s nod. ‘It is the case, is it not, Archmage, that this renegade from Mandarkin has given them all some ensorcelled artefact? We know full well that such things can bolster an individual’s magic, for a short while. Just as we know the price they will pay for such a boon.’ The mild-faced mage shook his head, clearly troubled.

Nolyen surprised Jilseth by speaking up from a seat across from her, beyond the sealed door. ‘If any had sufficient affinity for their magic to have manifested before now, surely that would have been the death of them anywhere in the Archipelago.’

A shiver ran around the room at the thought of the bloody Aldabreshin hatred of wizardry.

Kalion stood up, frowning more in thought than in rebuke. ‘I don’t think we can necessarily assume that, Nolyen. We have all seen evidence in recent years of how thoroughly the
sheltya
’s disapproval of elemental magic can stifle any expression of magebirth among the Mountain Men and Forest Folk.’

‘Such instinctive suppression of wizardry will surely be doubled and redoubled among the Aldabreshi,’ Canfor said in quick agreement.

‘Quite so.’ Rafrid nodded. ‘Surely that makes it all the more unlikely that these unfortunates will be able to use their magic to any effect if they are left to their own devices.’

‘If they are deprived of these artefacts perhaps.’ A stubbled wizard, his scarlet doublet unbuttoned over yesterday’s shirt contemplated the empty air above the dais. His face was nakedly acquisitive. ‘And surely the best place for those trinkets is Hadrumal, so that we might learn their secrets.’

‘Or we might use them to strengthen our own lesser mageborn’s talents,’ a young wizard in a plain grey doublet instantly suggested. ‘Rather than dismissing such islanders as beneath our notice.’

Urlan. That was his name. Jilseth had heard something about him encouraging those Hadrumal-born with an affinity judged too weak for training in the wizard city to try their luck in Suthyfer. Though she hadn’t heard of any successes among those fleeing such humiliation.

‘Can any of us think of the least talented mageborn who has chosen to forgo even their paltry magic?’ Troanna demanded from her intricately carved chair. ‘No matter if they must work together or rely on looted trinkets to stir their aptitudes, this Mandarkin renegade’s pupils have now all had a taste of elemental magic’s true power.

‘Can any of us doubt that they will do all they can to learn how to strengthen and sustain their magecraft?’ she demanded, ‘especially when that’s all that saves them from an Archipelagan warlord’s skinning knife?’

‘True.’ Sannin’s crisp agreement merely reflected the consensus which Jilseth saw all around the chamber.

‘And for myself,’ the elegant red-gowned magewoman continued, clearly troubled, ‘I have no doubt that this Mandarkin knows full well how an excess of fear, emotion or pain can provoke an outburst of magic from the most disciplined wizard, or in this case, from the most reluctant prentice mageborn.’

Kalion nodded sombrely. ‘We should not doubt this swine will be happy to inflict such pain and fear on his captive pupils.’

‘We saw no such untrained wizardry loosed,’ Nolyen insisted doggedly, ‘when some mercenaries originally among this contingent of mageborn attacked the women trapped on that island.’

‘I have considered that, in the light of my recent researches into ensorcelled artefacts.’ Though Troanna’s reply was composed the look she gave Nolyen boded ill for the younger mage’s prospects in the Seaward Hall. ‘It seems that such instinctive, unguided magecraft can be immediately drawn into some ensorcelled ring or bracelet, some weapon that has already had spells instilled within it.’

‘That is quite likely,’ Rafrid allowed.

‘Does that unguarded magic have to be of the same affinity?’ the stubbled mage with the lust for such artefacts demanded, ‘as the magecrafting bound within the thing?’

‘Vedral, can we please address the matter at hand?’ snapped Kalion. ‘Archmage, we must act!’