“I woke up, sweating like a frightened horse, but there was nothing in my room that hadn’t been there when I went to sleep. I thought at first that it had simply been a dream. But I’d forgotten what Geoffrey was.”
“A dreamwalker,” said Nevyn softly.
Kisrah nodded. “Exactly.” He looked at Gerem. “Do you know what dreamwalking is?”
“Yes,” replied Gerem. “Nevyn does it.”
Nevyn is a dreamwalker? thought Aralorn.
“Right,” agreed Kisrah. “There are a number of mages who can dreamwalk at the most basic level—fardreaming, it’s called. While fardreaming, a mage can send his spirit outside his body, usually no farther than a mile or two. Dreamwalking, though, is much more powerful and unusual. Nevyn and Geoffrey are the only living mages I’ve heard of who can send their spirits anywhere they want to. Generally speaking, a dreamwalker cannot affect the physical world—like moving chairs or tables. I say ‘generally’ because one or two of the better dreamwalkers were said to have tossed a chair or two.”
“Or a knife,” added Wolf dryly.
Kisrah nodded. “I stand corrected. A dreamwalker also cannot work magic in his spirit form. What he can do is look and listen without people suspecting they are being watched. And, though he can’t talk in a normal manner, he can communicate in a fashion called dreamspeaking.”
“Like a mindspeaker?” asked Gerem.
Kisrah nodded, “Only better. It takes one mindspeaker to hear another. A dreamspeaker can make himself heard by anyone he wants.”
Aralorn thought about the conversation she’d overheard and wondered if the dreamwalker who’d been Geoffrey had known that she was there listening.
“Anyone?” asked Gerem. “I thought that when a wizard becomes an apprentice, his dreams are protected by the Master Spells.”
“That’s right,” said Kisrah, though his mouth tightened just a little. “Smart lad. Yes, the Master Spells protect young wizards to a certain extent. There are other ways to ward yourself, too. It is possible for a dreamwalker to manipulate an unprotected person through dreams. Unethical, but there you are. But dreamspeaking isn’t any more manipulative than normal speech.”
Yes, thought Aralorn, watching Gerem as relief touched his face. No need to feel so guilty. You were not protected from the dreamwalker’s manipulations. Kisrah and Nevyn had known what they were doing.
Aloud, she asked, “Is magic necessary for dreamwalking, or are there dreamwalkers who are not mages?”
“Dreamwalking is a magic talent, like transporting things or illusions. Geoffrey said”—Kisrah hesitated—“if a dreamwalker’s body is killed while he is walking, his spirit can remain behind. Like a ghost, but with the full consciousness of the living person. He told me that the second time he came. And then he told me how he died.” Kisrah looked at Wolf, who looked back without any expression at all.
“He told me that you came back because you’d heard that he was looking for you, and you were tired of it. He said that you argued about your use of black magic. He finally tried to use the Master Spells to limit your ability to work magic.” Without dropping his gaze from Wolf’s, Kisrah said, “That’s one of the ways that an ae’Magi can control rogue wizards, Gerem—as a last resort.”
He seemed to be waiting for a response from Wolf, but after a fruitless pause, Kisrah continued. “In any case, he said he underestimated your power and the strength that black magic had given you; the spell was reversed. There came a point when you could have stopped it. He said you held the power for long enough to say something ironic—I’ve forgotten exactly what—and then you killed him.”
He believes it, thought Aralorn, at least at this moment.
“As a point of fact,” said Aralorn mildly, “it didn’t happen like that. I was there. Wolf did not kill Geoffrey; nor did I.” She started to tell them more about the last ae’Magi but caught the subtle shake of Wolf’s head in the corner of her eye. He was right. She had to be careful not to trigger whatever was left of the charisma spells. “He was killed by the Uriah.”
Kisrah stared at her, but she didn’t drop her gaze.
“Only the ae’Magi, Wolf, and I were there the night he died,” she continued mildly. “If your visitor was Geoffrey, then he put my father in danger—without Wolf’s cooperation, you three would not be able to remove the ensorcellment from my father. You have the word of a goddess that if it is not removed soon, the Lyon will die. Your dreamwalker asked you to work black magic upon an innocent man—is this something a good man would do? If it was not Geoffrey, then he doesn’t know what happened any more than you do.”
Kisrah rubbed his eyes. “At any rate, Geoffrey’s story is the one I believed when he asked me to work some magic for him. It was supposed to be for you, Cain. It would not kill you, just hold you for the wizard’s council’s justice. I agreed. He told me that he needed me to find a secret room in his bedroom. So I found the room and the sword he’d hidden there. With his directions fresh in my mind, I inscribed on the sword the rune he told me. Runes are not my strong point, and the one he used was unfamiliar and complex. It required all of my concentration to get it right. Just as I finished the last line, something grabbed my shoulder.”
He took a deep breath. “There was a Uriah standing just behind me, reflex took over, and I beheaded it with the sword—only then did magic pour into the rune I’d just finished.” Kisrah closed his eyes. “I didn’t know it needed blood magic. I don’t think I did. At the time, I told myself it was an accident that turned the spell black. I wanted to destroy the sword, offered to spell something else for him—anything else.”
The Archmage sighed. “He said that the sword was the only sure bait, that perhaps the black magic would work in our favor. Even the Master Spells had failed to hold Cain; maybe it would take black magic to counter black magic. Geoffrey was always good at getting his own way by fair means or foul.” He paused, as if surprised by what he’d said. “By the time I realized that he’d intended to use black magic all along, I was already resigned to it. Maybe I’d have done it for him anyway.”
“Did Geoffrey tell you to send the sword here, or did you suggest it?” asked Aralorn. When the Archmage had died, he knew that she and Wolf were together—but she was certain that he hadn’t made the connection between her and Lambshold. She took great care that most people didn’t know.
“Geoffrey,” he said. “The night after I brought the sword back with me, he told me he wanted me to send it to Nevyn. He told me that Nevyn’s sister by marriage was Cain’s lover. I sent the sword. Only afterward did I begin to question what I had done.”
The hen clucked in its crate, reminding everyone in the room (except perhaps for Gerem and Nevyn, who Aralorn was not certain knew what they’d been planning) that black magic was needed to release the Lyon. Aralorn looked at the bird thoughtfully for a moment.
“Perhaps a more noble motive might have allowed me to shut my eyes longer to what I had done.” Kisrah smiled grimly at Wolf. “I didn’t work the spell to capture Cain and save the world from dark magic—I worked it for revenge. I hated you for taking my friend from me. I knew that the end result of Geoffrey’s plan was your death.”
“I would have expected no less,” agreed Wolf softly. “I know what he was to you. What was the rune he had you draw?”
From an inner pocket, Kisrah produced a sheet of paper with two neat drawings he gave to Wolf. Since drawing the rune itself would activate it, rune patterns were split into two drawings that, when laid one over the other, formed the rune. Aralorn had never been able to put the patterns together in her head without getting a headache, but Wolf nodded, as if it made sense to him.
“What did he have you add to it?” he asked Nevyn.
Nevyn had taken a seat on the floor where he could lean against the wall, as far from where Wolf stood as he could get. He had listened to Kisrah’s story with his eyes closed; dark shadows and lines of weariness touched his face. At Wolf’s question, he dug into the pouch attached to his belt and mutely handed him two sheets of paper.