“Archmage.” The newcomer bowed. He was a tall, long-boned man with straight black hair cut off at jaw length, a sallow complexion and circumspect eyes. He cleared his throat. “So we are expecting to hear from ’Sar this morning?”
“Shiv, take a seat.” The Archmage did not lift his eyes from his document. “Larissa will be here in a moment or so.”
Shiv sat at a satiny table where a steel mirror stood on a mahogany pedestal. A silver candlestick stood in front of it, the creamy beeswax with its snowy tuft of wick as yet unmarred by flame. He opened his mouth to speak but cleared his throat instead.
“Take some water if you have a cough.” Planir looked up briefly, gray eyes stern.
Shiv looked at his hands for a moment then poured himself a glassful. He set the carafe carefully on a nearby sideboard whose rich brown frontage was inlaid with garlands of flowers and sprays of leaves in all the shades that wood could offer the joiner.
“Is this really something Larissa should be privy to?” he said abruptly. “She’s barely out of her apprenticeship and while I know you favor her, as a pupil I mean—”
“She has a double affinity, Shivvalan,” interrupted Planir in a quelling tone. “That automatically makes her the Archmage’s pupil. As my pupil, I deem it fit to involve her in my concerns. To do otherwise would seriously hamper me at present, since Usara has gone and Otrick is still insensible. Her affinities also mean that we can use her talents to weave a full nexus, rather than have to draw two other people into the circle. I am surprised you see fit to question my judgment on this.”
Shiv set his jaw and gazed out of the window. “Is ’Sar having much trouble getting Livak to do as he wants? When I was traveling with her, well, she could certainly be very headstrong. Perhaps I should have gone with them. Better yet, you could be using ’Sar’s talents here instead of mine.” He fell silent as the Archmage folded his letter precisely, securing the creases with deft hands and using a touch of magic to soften the wax and reseal it.
“Usara is not having any trouble directing Livak’s actions because he is under explicit instructions to let her do just as she wishes and, moreover, to keep his own presence as inconspicuous as possible,” Planir stated firmly.
Shiv reluctantly turned his face to the Archmage. The senior wizard looked Shiv straight in the eye. Shiv dropped his gaze and frowned at the carpet. “Isn’t this all a little too important to let Livak run loose after her own game? I’d have thought—”
“Would you, Shiv?” interrupted Planir. “Would you have thought, or would you have simply gone headlong after the first scent, let the consequences go hang?”
The glass of water slopped as Shiv’s hand tightened around it. “Elietimm magic has left the Cloud-Master of Hadrumal comatose and unrousable, a double handful besides him in the same situation. I personally feel that finding a means to remedy the situation warrants rather more effort than letting Livak go off on some random search for any debased knowledge the ancient races might still possess.”
“I’m used to that kind of pomposity from Kalion, Shiv, but that’s only to be expected from our revered Hearth-Master, after all,” observed Planir, a cutting edge to his voice. “It really doesn’t become you, nor will it further the aspirations Troanna tells me you currently have to claiming a seat on the Council.”
Shiv’s lips narrowed but he made no reply. Planir laid his letter aside and crossed to a table where a row of decanters stood behind a rank of crystal goblets. “Wine?” he invited in a more friendly tone.
“No, thank you,” said Shiv stiffly.
Planir smiled to himself and resumed his seat, a full goblet of rich plum-colored wine in one hand, the glass ornamented with precisely incised diamonds. “I confess I hadn’t expected to have to lay it all out for you, like some first-season apprentice unsure of conjuring a candle flame, but I am happy to do so.” He waved aside Shiv’s inarticulate protest as he sipped from his drink. “Why did Trydek the first Archmage bring wizardry to the sanctuary of an island?” the Archmage asked, his air mock didactic.
Shiv looked irritated. “What—”
“Why?” demanded Planir with a sharp glare from beneath his fine black brows.
“Because of the fear and superstition the powers of the mageborn provoked among the mundane populace.” Shiv rattled off his reply in a sarcastic singsong.
“What makes you think that so much has changed? How many apprentices do we get here who have been sent away from home so fast they’ve barely had time to pack a change of linen? How many ships that call send their sailors ashore for leave or recreation?” Planir leaned forward in his chair. “Enough of the former that no one even remarks on it and so few of the latter that one dockside tavern barely sustains itself on their custom. Don’t be a fool, man; you know it as well as I. Why else have generations of Archmages hidden Hadrumal in mists of enchantment and legend?”
“Legends that you have told the Council only foster suspicion and mistrust of wizardry,” retorted Shiv.
“Quite true,” Planir nodded. “And wizards out and about on the mainland seeking out any records of ancient magic would soon be noticed, wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t that foster unease and misgiving, especially at a time when we are doing our best to bring wizardry to a more active role in the world? Alternatively, of course, the notion that mages need to go out and seek knowledge, that we lack something apparently vital, might lead others to think that we are sadly reduced in influence these days, powerless even. In which case we can bid a fond farewell to the courtesies, the respect and, most importantly in this case, the cooperation that mages are still able to command, as long as they don’t appear any kind of threat, that is. In either case, we’re looking at a losing hand of bones, aren’t we?”
“But Kalion—” Shiv began hesitantly.
Planir waved a dismissive hand. “Forget Kalion for the moment.”
“You have mages searching the archives at Col and the histories at Vanam for any hint of ancient enchantments,” insisted Shiv. “How does that differ?”
“Firstly, those I have sent have had the need for discretion most forcibly impressed upon them.” The Archmage smiled. “Secondly, I am relying on the resident scholars at both of those universities finding the single-minded pursuit of arcane knowledge so entirely reasonable as to let it pass unremarked, should any of them lift their heads out of their own studies long enough to notice, of course.”
Shiv could not restrain an answering grin at Planir’s dry tone but his face soon became serious again. “But what about Livak? I know Casuel didn’t think so but this song book sounds like a promising lead. She’s no mage, no scholar. What if she misses something? Come to that, what if she discovers something that ’Sar doesn’t get to hear about? She is working for D’Olbriot’s coin this time. That’s another thing—”
“I think you might show a little more confidence in ’Sar, you know,” chided Planir. “As for Livak, as I understand it, she sees ferreting out knowledge for D’Olbriot as her best hope of a blessing from his strong room or whatever else it might be that she’s seeking. From what I have seen of that girl, I’d say her own self-interest will be a more effective goad than any we might devise.”
“But what if she hands something vital to D’Olbriot and we don’t get to hear of it until later? Otrick—” Shiv’s voice rose in exasperation.
“I am as concerned about Otrick as you are, Shiv,” Planir said sharply, “but I have a great many pieces on this board, and if I fail the result won’t just be a White Raven ending up back in the game box. You were in Toremal over the Solstice with the rest of us; use your wits, man! What have the events of the past year told the princes of the Empire? That their ancient dominion was based on magic and the failure of that magic brought the whole edifice crashing down around their ears! Now they are threatened with magic from beyond the ocean. How many do you think will bother to distinguish between our magic of matter and its disciplines and the Elietimm magic of mind and illusion? Stand in their shoes and it’s all one, a threat.” Planir set his goblet aside, unemptied and unheeded. “D’Olbriot has the wit to realize he needs to fight fire with fire but he’s not about to just set his house alight and make a dash for safety. He needs to feel that he has the upper hand, that we are doing his bidding, if he is to have any dealings with Hadrumal. Equally important, nothing short of his clear control will satisfy the other princes that he has not ran mad and deserves to forfeit his preeminent influence in consequence.”
“But Kalion—” frowned Shiv.
“Forget Kalion. Consider where this play is leading the game,” stated the Archmage crisply, ticking off his points on long fingers. “I have Livak, a girl of no little resource and determination to shame a stag-hound searching out translations for this song book of hers. It came from D’Olbriot’s library, his badge is around her neck, plain to see for anyone who might get wind of her activities, be they Elietimm spy or suspicious local ruler. Whatever she finds out, this new allegiance gets her recompensed by D’Olbriot, not a charge on my purse this time, by Raeponin’s grace! D’Olbriot then has the information and can tell himself and any other Tormalin noble that this buys him our services, in defense of his lands and property. A clearly defined and entirely respectable deal, which is no threat to the Emperor’s sovereignty or any prince’s power.” Planir’s voice roughened with emotion for the first time. “This saves me the humiliation of going on bended knee to the Emperor, offering him all the gold Misaen ever made, imploring him to let me send my mages to counter these bastard Elietimm, since whatever threat they might be to Tormalin, they will be death to Hadrumal, if they find us out before we have a means to counter their enchantments. What price the mystery and might of wizardry then?”
Shiv could not restrain a shudder. “It’s just that I wanted—”
“You wanted to go too,” Planir completed the sentence for him in a softer tone. “You wanted some revenge for the suffering you endured at the hands of the Elietimm. You wanted to find some way of saving Otrick from that deathless sleep he’s trapped in. You wanted to be a hero.”
Shiv bit his lip and laced his hands together in his lap, knuckles white.
“That many do see you as quite some hero already is one of the reasons I have kept you here,” continued the Archmage in a conversational tone, picking up his wine glass. “You have fought the Elietimm twice now, once on their own ground and once in Kel Ar’Ayen. Your defense of the colonists was a tale vivid in the telling around the winter salons of Tormalin. Didn’t you hear? If you travel, there will be plenty of eyes and ears turned your way. ’Sar on the other hand,” he shrugged, “he’s a nonentity, Planir’s cloak carrier, always two steps behind his master. It’s a wonder to see him let out on his own.”
Shiv laughed reluctantly. “That’s hardly fair.”
“It suits us all that people see him so, doesn’t it?” Planir shook his head with a grin.
“Have we any idea whether or not Livak is following a true scent?” persisted Shiv after a moment’s silence, broken only by purposeful steps in the courtyard below.
“Nothing definitive either way so far,” Planir shrugged. “All the more reason to use our resources in more conventional researches. This quest is Livak’s gamble; if it fails, the loss is hers. If she wins, we collect without risking any of our own credit. She will fail or she will succeed and unless you have some means of foretelling you are not telling me about, we have no way to know if our involvement would help or hinder. I’m going to let the runes fall as they may and play the spread as it lies.” The Archmage’s expression brightened with mischief. “Besides, had I sent you off on some new commission, I’d have had Pered to reckon with and I confess I didn’t relish the notion of a row with your beloved in the middle of the quadrangle.”
Shiv colored vividly. “He wouldn’t have—”
“No?” Planir queried. “I rather think he would have, you know.”
Shiv coughed and took a drink of water, looking around the room in all directions save the Archmage’s. The timepiece on the mantelshelf chimed softly as the pointed indicator clicked a notch along its scale. A knock came instantly, a quick double tap on the oak. The door opened immediately, no summons expected. A strong-faced young woman entered, hazel eyes only for the Archmage as she brushed a wisp of nut-brown hair from her forehead and settled her cerise shawl decorously over her elbows.
“Larissa.” Pleasure colored Planir’s voice and softened the planes of his lean face, a smile deepening the fine lines around his keen eyes. He ran a hand over his close-cropped black hair. “Wine?”
Larissa nodded. “That would be very welcome, thank you.”
Planir rose and poured her a measure of the deep ruby wine in a goblet. He refilled his own glass, raising it in a salute to the girl before returning to his seat.
Larissa took a chair next to Shiv. She smiled at both mages, smoothing her sky blue skirts as she sat and sweeping her long glossy plait back over one shoulder in a negligent gesture. “Good day to you, Shivvalan,” she said.
He nodded an acknowledgment, avoiding her eye but unable to help noticing the little blue flowers embroidered on the sides of her stockings, the Ensaimin fashion for shorter hems exposing her shapely ankles and the swell of her calf. He cleared his throat. “Archmage, are you bespeaking ’Sar or do we wait for him to contact us?” he asked.
“ ’Sar is bespeaking us.” Planir looked thoughtful as he sipped his wine. He joined them at the table. “It should be any time now. Are you both ready to make a nexus?”
Shiv flexed his hands thoughtfully. “I think I would like a glass of wine, Planir.”
“Help yourself,” the Archmage nodded. “Larissa?”
“I’m still drinking this one,” she answered a little awkwardly. “I’m ready, though.”
Planir caught her gaze and held it until she smiled at him, a faint blush highlighting her broad cheekbones.
Shiv was lifting his goblet to his lips when a glow appeared, hovering in the air above the center of the table. It grew and spread, spinning outward from its center, impossibly thin and edged with amber brilliance.