“They tore up the land and cut down the forests; the spirits of the trees cried out, crippling those tied too closely with earthmagic. They settled the land, driving the little folk underground and forcing us further and further into the forests of the far north, where green magic ruled the strongest. There was not enough room there for all. The earthmasons retreated below ground. The shapeshifters retreated into themselves. The sylvans hid where no one would think to look: among the humans themselves. Only the dryads remained, the few the rape of the land had left. For them came the slavers, and the dryads disappeared into the East.
“When the human wizards began to vie with one another for power and Nevra Forest became the glass desert, the last of the dragonkind vanished in the winds.”
Tris allowed his voice to darken dramatically. “But sometimes, empath, among the humans is born the legacy of the dryads. Green-eyed or amber-eyed like their distant kin, these can touch the spirits of the trees and the beasts and the deepest souls of mankind.”
Rialla turned and narrowed her clear, green eyes at his gray-green, innocent gaze.
He laughed, unimpressed.
Something that had been nagging at her for a while chose that moment to crystallize.
“Tris?” she asked softly. “In your story you said it was the Wizard’s Wars that destroyed the dragons. Is that true?”
“I don’t know… not having been there myself. The legends say that dragons are creatures of magic rather than just users of it. The wars disturbed the flow of magic and dragons were no more… or so say the legends.”
There was something in his voice that prompted her to ask further, “You don’t seem convinced that the legends are true.”
“Well, you see,” began Tris, starting on her other foot, “I saw a dragon once.”
Later that night, Tris stood alone in the darkness of the forest that stood near Winterseine’s keep. He leaned his forehead against an oak, but could draw no comfort there, for the oak couldn’t change the impulsive action that caused the cold breath of guilt on his conscience.
8
The labyrinth that served as the government building in Sianim was deserted at this hour of the night, but when Ren stepped inside his office, he waited until the door was shut behind him before removing the shade that muted the light from his lantern.
Pushing aside a few books, he cleared space on his desk for the lantern. Before leaving this evening at the usual time, he’d taken the precaution of pulling the heavy curtains across his window so that no one would see the light from the outside. He wasn’t really concerned with secrecy or he never would have chosen his office as tonight’s meeting place, but it was his nature as well as his profession to keep as much information to himself as possible.
A disturbance in the air currents, and a whiff of sweet perfume informed the Spymaster before he turned around that his visitor was here.
Kisrah ae’Magi, once a minor Rethian lord and now the Archmage, made an impression upon everyone he met. Ren had never actually seen the Archmage before, but he had heard enough about him that he wasn’t unduly surprised by the magician’s distinctive appearance.
Kisrah’s hat was a deep purple that contrasted neatly with the light pink of the long fluffy feather that curled from the hat’s brim to his shoulders. The sleeves of his lavender overcoat were heavily embroidered with gold thread, as were his shoes and gloves. A gold-and-amethyst earring pierced his left ear.
He looked young to Ren’s jaded eye, too young to hold the power he wielded, but many of the more powerful wizards were that way. Someone less observant than Ren might have dismissed the Archmage as an overdressed fop, overlooking the keen intelligence that lurked in his dark eyes. Lord Kisrah had made good use of his power in the decade he’d been Archmage.
“Lord Kisrah,” said Ren in a welcoming tone. “It is most kind of you to agree to come here.”
“Spymaster,” replied Lord Kisrah with a touch of humor in his voice. “How could I refuse when your invitation was so unique? I had no idea that my mistress’s gardener was a Sianim spy until he invited me to meet with you here. Not that I am offended by it. I had begun to worry that you did not deem me important enough to spy upon.”
Ren smiled at him, a remarkably open expression on the Spymaster’s face. “I do have other spies in your household; otherwise I would have found another method of getting a message to you. The wizards’ council would not have called you as ae’Magi if you could be so easily disregarded.”
“I am flattered,” returned Kisrah, with an answering smile. “I suspect that you had another reason for asking me here.”
Ren nodded and gestured Kisrah to a chair that he had cleared of debris earlier in the day. The Archmage ignored the dust and sat, crossing his extended legs at the ankles. Ren pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat facing Kisrah.
“Are you familiar with what is happening on the other side of the Great Swamp?” questioned Ren.
Kisrah nodded. “You are not the only one with spies. Unfortunately, I did not become aware of the situation until someone started expending a great deal of magic at the Swamp with the intention of clearing the old road.
“My sources say that there will be an invasionary force through the road by next spring at the latest. There was some thought that the wizards’ council should force a confrontation before the road is cleared, but I vetoed it.” The magician leaned forward. “I reminded them of the Wizard Wars and the destruction that they caused. Whoever is opening the Swamp is very powerful. A direct attack on him before we know what he is capable of could have disastrous results.”
“What do you know of the Eastern magician?” asked Ren.
Lord Kisrah shook his head. “Not much. He claims to be the speaker for one of the old gods and uses religion to ease his conquests.”
“Then I might be of some service,” offered Ren.
Lord Kisrah leaned back in his chair and said, “How much will it cost?”
“Nothing,” answered Ren in slightly affronted tones. “If you can take care of the wizard, you are welcome to all the aid that I can give you.”
The Archmage raised his brows in mock astonishment. “This must be a new policy. We’ll be paying Sianim for cleaning the Uriah out of the ae’Magi’s castle for the next twenty years.”
Ren shrugged. “That was different. The Voice of Altis is a threat to us all.”
“And Uriah aren’t?” muttered the Archmage, but he’d regained his smile. “So, what knowledge do you possess regarding this man?”
“He’s from this side of the Swamp,” said Ren. “My informants in the East have confirmed it. I didn’t contact you then, because I had no idea who it was. Yesterday, though, one of my people returned from a mission in Darran. While he was there, he inadvertently ran across some information indicating that the sorcerer we are looking for might be Lord Winterseine.”
“Isslic?” asked Lord Kisrah incredulously, then he nodded his head more thoughtfully. “He is powerful enough in his own right, and I’ve heard rumors that he dabbled in forbidden magic—the only thing that kept him out of the council was those rumors.”
“I had heard”—Ren coughed discreetly: the wizards’ council was infamous for its obsession with secrecy—“that if you knew who the renegade wizard was, you, as Archmage, could control him.”
“Now, I wonder where you heard that,” commented Kisrah, but with no real offense. “I am sorry that in this instance your information is incorrect. The Master Spells might have allowed me to control him, but they have been lost.”