Limits of Power by Elizabeth Moon Page B

asleep.
    Only to wake in the dark with his finger once more glowing like a coal in the night. Lighting a candle had turned it off last time—would it this time? He tried it. The candle flared, but his finger did not go dark. Now what?
    He stared at his finger, willing it to darken. Instead, it brightened. Well, then … he willed it to brighten, and it flared even brighter. He sat on the edge of his bed, arm propped on his knees, and wondered what he should do now. Clearly he had mage powers from … from somewhere. Clearly that was against the law and imperiled his brother. He needed to not be a mage or … not be.
    The thought of that made him cold again, but his finger did not dim with his fear. It glowed on, steadier than any candle. His thoughts stumbled on. If he did not exist, Mikeli would not be in danger because of him.
Should
he die to protect Mikeli? Could he … the thought lay a cold black shadow over his mind … could he kill himself? He’d heard the story now of the old sergeant who had killed himself to save Beclan, but he, Camwyn, didn’t want to die. Not even for Mikeli, not this way.
    Yet … how else could he save Mikeli from the stain of this magery? He could … well, he could run away. But how? And where? Where in the whole world would his magery not condemn him? And where would he not be found and dragged back to be imprisoned or executed?
    These thoughts tangled in his mind, chasing one another around and around. He must not have magery—but he did. He must not be Mikeli’s downfall—yet he was, if discovered. So he must not be discovered—but without the ability to control the magery, someone would eventually see his hand glow, and then … it would be too late. He should leave now, at once, this night.
    But
how
? Again, the impossibility of that—where could he go, how would he live?—stopped him even as he stood and moved toward his clothespress. He thought of the dragon first: could Aris have been right? Would the dragon come to his rescue if he called? But no: he could not believe the dragon would even hear him. That was a child’s wish. Into his mind came the thought of Duke Verrakai—she hadn’t killed Beclan and would not, he was sure, kill him. But Mikeli might kill her if he thought she had known and not told him. He didn’t want that. She fascinated him—a magelord, a soldier, and a woman, unlike anyone else at court—and he didn’t want to cause her trouble. Where else? Not Fintha, of course, and not Lyonya … but he might go south, to Aarenis. Could he get there before Mikeli tracked him down? He wasn’t sure.
    He blew out the candle, stared at his finger again, and then lit the candle again. This time his finger dimmed a bit. So … the magic could be used up? Again he blew out the candle and again lit it. Now his finger seemed normal, just a finger. And he was awake enough to blow out the candle a last time before he fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Lyonya, between Chaya and the Tsaian border
    A s Dorrin and Beclan rode west along the forest track, Beclan’s mood shifted; Dorrin could see it in his posture as well as his expression. Those days in Chaya had been fun. Pretty girls had flattered him; he had been able to talk to his father and brother. But now he was going back to Tsaia, where he had been stripped of his own name and rank and lived under a cloud of suspicion.
    She understood that better than he could realize. And the best thing for him would be work. While still riding through Lyonya’s forest, he might as well start working on his magery.
    â€œBeclan, do you feel the trees?”
    He turned to her. “My lord? You mean … the way the elves do?”
    â€œYes,” Dorrin said. “Apparently, those of us with magery can feel the taig. Queen Arian taught me—it would be helpful, she said, in healing the damage done to the trees in Verrakai lands. And I