“He talked a lot about Meiriel… and then he grew more and more quiet, and when he did speak, his mind seemed to wander more and more.” Anvar was frowning with the effort of remembering. “Then he started to complain of being tired, and when he lay down, I couldn’t make him get up again… Aurian, I’ve seen this before.” His voice was muffled with grief. “It happened to my grandpa, the winter that you came to the Academy. It was as though he just gave up. But it took weeks then, not hours.”
Aurian felt a draft at her back as the door swung open and Chiamh came limping in, still covered with dust and sporting bruises. She had left him asleep in his own chambers, his Healing sketchy and incomplete, to race to Elewin’s side.
“Why did you not send for me?” the Windeye demanded, glaring at her as he joined the Mages by the bed. “I care about the old one, too, you know.” His eyes followed Aurian’s gaze into the shadowy corner, and she knew that he also saw what lurked there. He shuddered, and fell silent.
“Take good care of your mistress, Anvar.” The watchers swung round, startled by the sound of Elewin’s voice. “You’ve turned out better than anyone expected—except me,” he went on. “You’ve well repaid my trust in you, lad—I’m proud of you.” He turned away from them again, his gray eyes dark with pain. “Prouder than I am of myself,” he murmured. “Meiriel was ill. She couldn’t help herself! Finbarr’s death had turned her mind. I was supposed to be watching over her and taking care of her. It was the least I could do after betraying Miathan…” Tears were running down the steward’s face. “But I failed her,” he whispered. “I failed them all. Too old, too feeble. I’m sorry…” With a sigh, his last breath left him.
“You old fool!” Anvar cried savagely, his voice cracking with grief. He pounded the bedclothes with his fist. “They weren’t worth it!”
Aurian captured his flailing hand. “Duty was Elewin’s life,” she said softly. “He had no family save the folk at the Academy. Duty and loyalty were everything to him—and I suspect that’s what kept him going through these last hard months. Once he became convinced that he had failed on both counts…” She shook her head sadly. “Poor man.”
Chiamh buried his face in his hands. At the foot of the bed, Sangra was sobbing in Parric’s arms. Holding one another, the Mages grieved together. Aurian looked over Anvar’s shoulder into the shadows where Death had stood, but the corner was empty of the Specter’s presence now. This time, he had not been cheated—but, then, his presence had been welcomed by the one he sought. After long years of loyal service, Elewin had found his well-earned rest at last.
10
Within the Crystal
In a prominent place on the wall of the Academy kitchen was a carved wooden rack housing eight globes of shimmering crystal, each of which had once glowed softly with a different-colored radiance. Identical racks were housed in the servants’ quarters and in the gatehouses at the top and bottom of the steep path that went down from the top of the promontory to the river. Now, however, five of the crystals in each set were dark and lifeless—their Mageborn owners would issue orders and impose their will through them no more. Only three, the red, the silver-white, and the green, still shed their light. The crystals caught the eye of Janok, head cook of the Academy, as he swept his gaze around the kitchen to make sure that the menials were all hard at work. He stood rubbing his fingers over his bristly chin, looking at the flobes and wondering. Only two days ago, the fifth, the blue-violet crystal, had been snuffed.
The Lady Meiriel had perished, too. Not many of them left now, Janok thought. His masters were dying out at last.
Janok, unlike many Nexians, bore no particular hatred of the Magefolk. Why should he, when they had furnished him with such a comfortable existence? So long as their meals were plentiful, appetizing, and available on demand, they let the head cook run his little domain in any way he chose—and since he enjoyed the favor of his powerful masters, none of the other menials dared oppose him. But how much longer would this satisfactory situation last? As the Magefolk numbers gradually decreased, Janok had begun to feel the first proddings of alarm.
Two matters gave him cause for concern: if a similar fate should befall Miathan and Eliseth, would he be able to hold on to his position of authority and prevent the other servants turning on him, and would the time spells they had placed on their supplies last beyond their deaths? If Janok could only get his hands on those provisions, so much badly needed food could obtain him anything he wanted, down in Nexis.
Of course, these preoccupations were greatly dependent on his third, and chiefest, concern. The head cook looked at the green crystal and scowled. The spark of light in its core was small and dim, indicating that its owner was still very far away—which was fine, as far as Janok was concerned. The farther away she stayed, the better he liked it. The Lady Aurian—in his mind he turned her title into an epithet—had been responsible for robbing him of the drudge Anvar, and elevating the lad to a position of merit and trust. Even after all this time, he still flinched from the memory of the punishment that interfering redheaded bitch had earned him for allowing the escape of the young servant that Miathan hated.
Recently, however, it had come to Janok’s notice that, little by little, the green glow of Aurian’s crystal was growing brighter. Wherever she had been all this time, she was apparently on her way back—and what would happen then? Janok knew to his cost that whenever she entered the game of power, the rules had a way of suddenly changing—and that made him very uneasy indeed.
Even as Janok pondered, one of the other globes flared to a bright silver-white, and began to pulse in a regular pattern. The head cook muttered a curse, and reached out hesitantly to pick up the crystal. The Lady Eliseth had never had the best of tempers, but lately she had been growing positively baleful—to the point where the big man had found himself dreading her summons. What did she want now? One thing was for sure: it would only make matters worse if he kept her waiting. Janok shrugged and tightened his fingers around the crystal to activate its power, then replaced it in the rack. A patch of silvery luminescence, half as wide as Janok’s outstretched arms, shimmered into place above the fist-sized globe, and an image of Eliseth’s face materialized in the center of the light.
Janok assumed an ingratiating pose. “How may I serve you, Lady?” he asked.
“With more alacrity,” the Weather-Mage snarled. “How dare you keep me waiting, Mortal?”
“I beg your pardon, Lady,” Janok replied with a bow. He had already learned to his cost that, in this waspish mood, she would only be further angered by excuses. “How may I make amends for my neglect?”
Eliseth’s eyes narrowed as though she was searching for something in the content or the tone of his statement at which to take further offense; then, to his relief, she dismissed the matter with a shrug. “I need Inella,” she snapped. “Is the little wretch down there with you?”
“Alas, Lady, I have not seen her all morning. I thought she was in your chambers.” Janok fought to hide his triumph at the Magewoman’s scowl of annoyance. I knew the brat would slip up sooner or later, he thought smugly.
“Well, don’t just stand there smirking, you idiot! Find her and send her up to me—and don’t be all day about it!”
Before Janok had time to reply, Eliseth’s image vanished and shadows swarmed back into the corner of the kitchen. Sensing his temper, the scurrying kitchen menials, who had all paused to eavesdrop on his conversation with the Mage, suddenly became very noisily busy, and his thoughts were drowned by the sounds of scrubbing, slicing, scraping, and stirring.