I shall have to do some research of my own, I'm afraid, she reflected. A dangerous secret was exactly what she was looking for, after all; there were a few old half-remembered stories of things that had been abandoned right after the Crossing, and techniques that had been forgotten in the haste to find and build a secure haven.
For her part, at the moment, she would be happy to find some way to communicate with her nephew other than by teleson or messenger.
She had just been informed this morning of a very disturbing rumor—as yet unconfirmed, but she had been hoping to hear something either to confirm or deny it at today's meeting. One of her servants took periodic and very risky ventures into the lands still held by the Old Lords, coming back just after dawn with the situation as viewed from the Enemy's vantage—and he had told her that there was a report that Kyrtian had taken command of the Old Lords' army.
If that was true—
If that is true, then the other side has made a desperate gamble, and all unknowing has hit upon the one thing that will probably give them victory. And the thing is, these young fools will be dead certain that putting Kyrtian in command of the Enemy is going to be the one thing that will ensure the Old Lords' defeat. Young idiots.
If only she could speak to him, and persuade him that she was one of the rebels, surely he would think twice about his current allegiance!
I don't dare use a teleson—those are too easily monitored. And none of my humans have the human type of magic that lets them talk mind-to-mind with each other. And I won't send one of my people where he might be captured or conscripted into the army. It is a terrible position to be in.
She was going to have to start studying these old tomes herself.
After all, it was a far better idea than sitting with her hands folded, waiting for disaster to overtake all of them.
Besides, she decided firmly, shoving another ancient volume into the saddlebag for her guard to take with him. I will never sit by with folded hands while things fall to pieces.
—not even if someone ties me into the chair and binds my hands together!
14
In the heart of the Citadel, the home of the halfblooded Wizards, Lorryn ignored the drone of voices around the table and took just a moment to marvel at his surroundings. It seems so strange, even now, to finally be myself. No illusions, no carefully hiding what I am— In spite of everything, all the hardships, all the danger, even the silly aggravations, Lorryn was not sorry to be here, among Halfbloods like himself, at last.
This most spacious of caverns in their new home that the Wizards used as a meeting-hall was a pleasant place in which to find oneself—so long as no one was meeting in it. A peculiarity of the caverns allowed a wonderful flow of fresh air through here, so long as certain openings that served as doors and windows were left open to catch the summer breezes. Last winter things had gotten a little stale in this room, and with such a high ceiling it tended to be dank and chill.
Unfortunately for his sheer pleasure, there was a meeting going on, and Lorryn was glad that he had ample experience in keeping a pleasant expression plastered on his face while he himself was not feeling in the least pleasant. He had a headache like a tight band around his head, and he had inserted his tongue a trifle between his teeth to keep from grinding them and making the headache worse.
How is it that Caellach Gwain has managed to find the precise nasal whine best calculated to set my nerves on edge ? he asked himself, as he nodded affably at the elder Wizard. He actually couldn't make out more than half of what the man said, thanks to the weird acoustics in the place, but then he didn't have to listen to Caellach to know what he was going to say. The man is like a teleson stuck on endless repetition of the last thing it sent.
This was supposed to be a meeting about the progress made in setting up the sheep and cattle farm below the Citadel, but Caellach had taken it over as usual. He was intent only on recreating as much of the old comfort of the first Citadel in their new home as he could manage, and he had taken the opportunity of a brief allusion to the old Citadel to air his usual grievance.
Which is, of course, that the Wizards are not treated like El-venlords of the High Council. Old fool. Hasn't he figured out yet that when one group lords it over another, the underlings are going to want to strike back?
The old man's litany of complaints was as familiar to Lorryn as the texture of the wooden table he stared at as he controlled his temper and his expression. The beginning, middle, and end of Caellach's troubles were seated in his own greed. He wanted all the effort of the younger Wizards and the humans to go into making him as cossetted as he had been before the second Half-blood War. He didn't care that they had to be self-sufficient now, and couldn't steal magically from the Elvenlords anymore. He didn't trouble himself to think that it was far more important to see to the raising of sheep, goats and cattle, the cultivation of fields, than to scrub an old wizard's floor on a daily basis.
And he absolutely hated that the majority of the Halfbloods, voting down Caellach and his cronies, had made treaties of alliance with the Iron People and with the Trader clans, giving them the status of full equals and honored partners. These were fullblooded humans who had the status of full equals and honored partners. Though he did not dare come out and say so directly, this attitude incensed Caellach and his ilk, for to their minds, the halfblooded Wizards were clearly superior in every way to mere humans, and thus, should be treated as such.
And we should all be running and fetching for them, tending to their comfort, giving them of ourselves and the first fruits of our labors, so as to reward them for the fatiguing effort of their magics on our behalf. Lorryn, who was not only halfblooded himself, but had been brought up as an Elvenlord with all of the attendant privileges, found Caellach's attitude just as insulting and absurd as any of the highly independent Iron People or Trader clan folk did. There was nothing inherently superior about a wizard. Yes, they had magics, but so did the humans. And since they had been settled here in the new Citadel, the older wizards had not exerted themselves once for the common good—except, rarely, to teach some of the children how to use their powers.
Rather than listening to Caellach's words, Lorryn listened to the tone behind the words. He'd discovered he possessed an interesting knack for ferreting out the emotions and motives behind what people said, provided that they weren't as skilled at covering themselves as he was. He heard injured self-esteem and affront—that was expected—but he also heard fear, and that was interesting. He had not anticipated that.
I should have, though, he thought, raising his eyes and studying Caellach's expression as the man shifted his eyes away from Lorryn's direct gaze. Caellach was looking a bit unkempt, now that there was no one to wait on him. His clothing, the usual long robe affected by most of the older Wizards, was a bit stained and frayed about the hem. His grey hair was brushed, but no longer hung about his shoulders in a kind of thick mantle—instead, it was held back untidily in a tail, and it seemed to Lorryn that it had gotten a bit thin at the temples. People do tend to react to new things either with interest or fear, and really, I think Caellach Gwain is too hidebound to react with interest to anything new.