was more noticeable than most, with a lilting rhythm that hinted at vast expanses of desert sands beneath golden sunsets. “To examine the prince’s fate in a general sense, to seek knowledge of his past associations… if this woman is significant to him she could surely be found there. It would not be a dangerous undertaking so long as one did not seek to trace the consort’s bond directly.”
Lazaroth looked pointedly at their host. “Ramirus, this is your affair, I assume you would be willing to attempt this?”
The challenge hung thickly in the room’s still air for a moment. Colivar resisted the urge to either bait Ramirus or come to his rescue. The first would have been excessive at this point and the second simply out of character. Instead he waited, which was a kind of challenge all by itself.
Finally the white-haired mage said quietly, “I will attempt it.” His voice was low and even but the look he shot Lazaroth was murderous. Colivar repressed a smile of amusement. Yes, there were ways to seek out such information without running the risk of getting sucked into a consort’s bond, but Ramirus had never been the innovative type and it was doubtful he would come up with anything truly creative. Perhaps when enough nights had passed that the Magister Royal be-came embarrassed over his lack of progress, Colivar might suggest a few. For a price, of course.
My, the game just gets better and better.
“Then it is decided.” Lazaroth pushed his chair back, scraping its wooden legs noisily against the stone floor. “With no offense to this company, I see no reason to continue with this discussion until our host has completed his investigation. When he has done so, hopefully we will have some real facts to deal with, not just sorcer-ous fairy tales about hypothetical creatures.” He looked around at the other Magisters, his lips quirking slightly in what could only be distaste. “Frankly, the company here… wears thin.”
He bowed slightly to Ramirus as he left, a formal gesture not one inch deeper or more sincere than strict protocol required, and left the room. After a moment, with similar leavetaking, Fadir followed. Then Thelas. Then Kellam.
At last there were only Colivar and Ramirus in the room. Colivar was still comfortably ensconced in his chair, and remained in that position as the Magister Royal’s cold, steely gaze fixed upon him.
“If I ever find out you were part of this,” Ramirus warned, “or that this Witch-Queen of yours was behind it somehow and you knew about it—or even suspected it—so help me gods, Law or no Law, I will have your head. Do you understand me, Colivar?”
“I am as much in the dark as you are,” the black-haired Magister responded. “And equally anxious to find out the answers. This matter threatens us all, does it not?”
For a long moment Ramirus just stared at him. Perhaps he was secretly binding power to read Colivar’s intentions. If so, Colivar was confident in his own defenses. No man walked into a meeting of Magisters without first making sure that his own mental armor could not be pierced.
He wondered how many of those present had been probing for each others’ secrets even while they spoke of other things. What a tapestry of power must have been woven this night, connecting all the Magisters like the sticky strands of some vast spider’s web! He almost regretted he had not joined in the game himself, for the sheer entertainment of it. But he much preferred reading men by subtler means—some might say by morati means—and he had never cared for working superfluous sorcery in the company of his own kind. Yes, in theory the Magisters were all here under a flag of truce, but he did not wish to wager his life on how well that truce would hold should one of them fall into that defenseless state which accompanied Transition. A thousand spells might be woven about a man in the instant it took him to claim a new consort, and Colivar had no intention
Lazaroth looked pointedly at their host. “Ramirus, this is your affair, I assume you would be willing to attempt this?”
The challenge hung thickly in the room’s still air for a moment. Colivar resisted the urge to either bait Ramirus or come to his rescue. The first would have been excessive at this point and the second simply out of character. Instead he waited, which was a kind of challenge all by itself.
Finally the white-haired mage said quietly, “I will attempt it.” His voice was low and even but the look he shot Lazaroth was murderous. Colivar repressed a smile of amusement. Yes, there were ways to seek out such information without running the risk of getting sucked into a consort’s bond, but Ramirus had never been the innovative type and it was doubtful he would come up with anything truly creative. Perhaps when enough nights had passed that the Magister Royal be-came embarrassed over his lack of progress, Colivar might suggest a few. For a price, of course.
My, the game just gets better and better.
“Then it is decided.” Lazaroth pushed his chair back, scraping its wooden legs noisily against the stone floor. “With no offense to this company, I see no reason to continue with this discussion until our host has completed his investigation. When he has done so, hopefully we will have some real facts to deal with, not just sorcer-ous fairy tales about hypothetical creatures.” He looked around at the other Magisters, his lips quirking slightly in what could only be distaste. “Frankly, the company here… wears thin.”
He bowed slightly to Ramirus as he left, a formal gesture not one inch deeper or more sincere than strict protocol required, and left the room. After a moment, with similar leavetaking, Fadir followed. Then Thelas. Then Kellam.
At last there were only Colivar and Ramirus in the room. Colivar was still comfortably ensconced in his chair, and remained in that position as the Magister Royal’s cold, steely gaze fixed upon him.
“If I ever find out you were part of this,” Ramirus warned, “or that this Witch-Queen of yours was behind it somehow and you knew about it—or even suspected it—so help me gods, Law or no Law, I will have your head. Do you understand me, Colivar?”
“I am as much in the dark as you are,” the black-haired Magister responded. “And equally anxious to find out the answers. This matter threatens us all, does it not?”
For a long moment Ramirus just stared at him. Perhaps he was secretly binding power to read Colivar’s intentions. If so, Colivar was confident in his own defenses. No man walked into a meeting of Magisters without first making sure that his own mental armor could not be pierced.
He wondered how many of those present had been probing for each others’ secrets even while they spoke of other things. What a tapestry of power must have been woven this night, connecting all the Magisters like the sticky strands of some vast spider’s web! He almost regretted he had not joined in the game himself, for the sheer entertainment of it. But he much preferred reading men by subtler means—some might say by morati means—and he had never cared for working superfluous sorcery in the company of his own kind. Yes, in theory the Magisters were all here under a flag of truce, but he did not wish to wager his life on how well that truce would hold should one of them fall into that defenseless state which accompanied Transition. A thousand spells might be woven about a man in the instant it took him to claim a new consort, and Colivar had no intention
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