The Wizard of Seattle by Kay Hooper Page B

law,” the scientist said, as if stating an incontrovertible and absolute truth in his universe.
    “It’s a bad law,” Merlin snapped, beginning to lose his composure in the face of their inflexible conviction. He had the odd feeling that no one at the table was listening to him, that they wouldn’t—or couldn’t—hear any part of his defense. “We’re hardly rich enough in power to be so eager to squander it,” he added more quietly.
    The senator’s voice was grave. “You’re obviously too close to the subject to be able to see it clearly—”
    “Her. See
her
clearly. The subject is a woman, Senator. And I see her clearly enough.”
    Several of the men began to speak at once, their voices high and agitated, and the judge held up a hand for silence. Gazing unwaveringly at Merlin, he spoke in a steady voice.
    “We’ve lived by our laws for thousands of years, andin all that time no law has ever been renounced by a practicing wizard: You must not be the first. Our ancestors devised the laws because they saw an overwhelming need for us to control our powers, not
be
controlled by them. If we’re to survive as a race, we must all respect and obey the rules we live by.”
    “Except this one,” Merlin retorted. “It’s a
senseless
law. Why should learning be denied to a female born with power? Why do you—all of you—see that as a threat? Why are you afraid of Serena?”
    Very softly the judge said, “Why are you?”
    Merlin stared down the table into a pair of eyes as black as his own. “I’m not afraid of her.” Despite his effort, his voice lacked conviction.
    “No? I think you are. Apprehensive at least. Can you honestly say you haven’t felt yourself drawing away from her? That you haven’t felt wariness, an uneasiness, a sense almost of panic as she has matured in her abilities and as a woman?”
    Of all the Council, only the judge had married—only he had even lived with a woman, for that matter—so he was really the only one who could have imagined what Merlin might feel toward his Apprentice. Unfortunately, though that might have made him an ally, Merlin knew better. The judge had been married to a powerless woman, not an Apprentice wizard, and while that was frowned upon and discouraged, it was not forbidden.
    “Whatever I’ve felt is beside the point,” Merlin said at last.
    “Hardly,” the judge said. “It is the point. That a woman is forbidden to know our craft isn’t simply a moldy old law written in ancient books; it’s written in
us
. Stamped in the deepest part of us. And
we must obey.”
    “You must stop teaching the woman,” the actor said inexorably.
    “It’s the law,” the scientist agreed.
    “Be reasonable,” the financier begged. “Stop this before it’s too late. Don’t force us to do it.”
    Merlin stiffened, his gaze again flying to the head ofthe table. There was a long silence, and then the judge sighed.
    “According to the newspaper article, she’s lived with you for years. How many?”
    “Nine.”
    “Then she’s barely into the training?”
    Merlin hesitated, then shrugged. “I accelerated in several areas because of her innate power.” Again there was that odd ripple through the room, and this time the men sat back in their chairs or moved restlessly.
    “But her control
is
imperfect?” the judge demanded.
    “Yes. But she’s young and she did begin the training later than usual. I have every reason to believe she can one day achieve the level of Master.”
    If Merlin had hoped that his clear vote of confidence in Serena’s potential might persuade the Council, he knew instantly that he’d been wrong. To a man, the faces across the table actually paled, and even the judge, normally impassive, was clearly appalled.
    “It must stop,” the diplomat whispered.
    “There’s no time to be lost,” the actor said nervously.
    Quietly the judge asked, “We’re agreed, then?”
    Without exception, the Council members nodded, looking away from