“Ryshad?” I hated to hear the uncertainty in Livak’s tone.

“Yes.” I managed to open my eyes and squint at her, attempting a reassuring smile and evidently failing miserably.

“Saedrin save us, I hate this!” she burst out, the fury in her voice a dim echo on my own wrath. I clung to that bright anger in a vain attempt to ward off the dark surges of despair that threatened me on all sides.

The door opened. “Is he all right?”

“Come in, Shiv,” I said wearily. “I’m upright and conscious, which is about as good as it’s going to get for the moment.”

Whatever Shiv saw in my face evidently shook him, which perversely cheered me up a little. He looked guiltily at Livak, who glared at him, expression fierce.

“I came to see if you wanted to come home with me, if you feel ready,” Shiv glanced at Tonin, “but if you need to stay here—”

“I’ll come.” I got unsteadily to my feet and Livak tucked herself under my arm to give me what support she could.

“It might be better if you waited a while…” protested Tonin weakly as we made our way toward the door.

“No, thank you.” I drew a deep breath and gripped the door handle as much for support as to open it. “Just find a way to throw Temar D’Alsennin out of my head once and for all.”

Outside I was startled to realize the noonday sun was riding high in the cloud-strewn sky. Hadn’t we started this nonsense just after breakfast? I’d sent Shiv with a message, telling Planir to be ready at the second chime of the day and duly I arrived to sit and concentrate obediently on Tonin’s incomprehensible, archaic chants. I had certainly been expecting an unpleasant experience, but never to lose myself so completely as I evidently had. If young D’Alsennin had had the run of my head for that amount of time, no wonder I was feeling so peculiar.

“Come on.” Shiv took my other arm. Leaning heavily on the pair of them, I stumbled along toward the dubious sanctuary of Shiv’s little house. Given the dramatic events still echoing around in my memory, it was rather incongruous to see women with their market baskets, men delivering faggots of firewood, children skipping through a rope tied to a horse-rail, normal life going on all around me. We certainly attracted some curious glances; people must have thought I was a drunk making an early start, but that was the least of my concerns as I struggled with Temar’s increasingly intrusive recollections. I kept seeing Avila trying to hold up Guinalle when she fainted on the boat, Den Fellaemion leaning on Guinalle at a meeting in the settlement, Vahil supporting a wounded man in the frantic flight from the Elietimm invasion. The summer sun was warm on my back but the chill of that distant and long forgotten cavern seemed to have bitten deep into my bones, gnawing at me despite the heat of Hadrumal. By the time Pered opened the door to us, I was shaking again, and not just from fatigue.

Pered took one look at me and shot an accusing glance at Shiv. “I hope Planir’s good and satisfied now,” he said curtly. “Bring him into the kitchen.”

Half lying, half sitting on a settle padded with blankets, I began to feel a little better, a process speedily aided by a large measure of white brandy. As the warmth of the liquor spread through me I wondered for a moment whether this was entirely wise, but I honestly couldn’t see how it could make anything worse by this stage. Forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths, I reminded myself how tedious convalescence from any fever or wound can be. It was all a matter of finding the right attitude, wasn’t it? This was simply a different kind of injury, and I would deal with it. Losing my temper was pointless when there was no gain to be had from it; hadn’t I learned that long ago? Enough; I had sworn to myself that I would be taking the tiller to control the direction of my life from now on, and this was as good a place to start as any. Brave words, as long as there was only me to hear them. I shut my eyes and set my jaw against any hint of memory.

Shiv vanished upstairs for a while, reappearing in a formal robe of green broadcloth over close-tailored breeches and clean linen. Pered straightened the collar for him with brisk hands, but his eyes were still unforgiving, even as they shared a brief embrace.

“So what happens now, Shiv?” demanded Livak, her eyes like a stormy sea.

“Planir is calling a full session of the Council for this afternoon,” replied Shiv, which effectively silenced us all. “He wants you there, Ryshad.”

“He’s in no condition to speak,” Pered objected heatedly.

“Not to speak, just to listen, to comment if he wants to,” said Shiv placatingly. “To learn what Planir intends. It’s just that you’re so deeply involved in all of this, Rysh, that Planir feels it’s only right you should have the chance to participate in any decision-making.”

“What do you think?” I looked at Livak.

“I hate it,” she said simply. “I don’t trust wizards, I’m sorry, Shiv, but I never have.”

“I have to see this through,” I reminded her, “if I’m to be able to hand back my oath with any measure of honor left to me.”

Livak gritted her teeth audibly. “I know, but it still makes my skin crawl.”

“Believe me, I understand.” I closed my eyes wearily.

“Does anyone want something to eat?” asked Pered, more for something to say than anything else.

We ate a desultory meal, largely in silence, Shiv awkward in his finery. I picked at some bread, but found I was still somewhat nauseous, shoving it away with relief when a great bell tolled out over the city and Shiv jumped to his feet.

“That’s the Council summons,” he said tensely. “Come on.”

Livak and I exchanged a glance and followed Shiv to the door.

“I’ll see you soon.” Pered waved after us, his expression one of concern warring with irritation as he looked after his partner, already a way down the street ahead of us.

I was immeasurably relieved to find the strength returning to my legs; I wasn’t about to appear before this Council leaning on Livak, however badly Planir might want me there. We walked slowly down to the hall, finding Shiv hovering anxiously in the archway.

“It’s this way,” he said unnecessarily, leading the way to a forbidding door banded with enough iron to stop a fully manned battering ram. This gave on to a short flight of stairs, topped by another grim portal, deep sigils carved into the wood, iron bolts tying in the metal reinforcements. I did not allow myself to be too overawed; I’ve stood before the Emperor’s throne in the Imperial audience chamber of Toremal more than once. My step faltered at that notion as I remembered the destruction I had seen the Elietimm visit upon the place, if only in augury.

The Council chamber itself was impressive, that I have to admit. It took me a moment to realize there were no windows, the illumination inside was so intense. It was not sunlight, but came from a ball of pure radiance hanging in the center of the vaulted ceiling, a visible display of the magic that had its focus here. The room was circular, dark oaken chairs of varying ages and styles arranged all around the walls, each with a niche molded into the soft yellow stonework. In the middle an empty circular dais was positioned directly under the ball of light and I wondered who would be standing there, every eye on him. Not me, that was for certain.

Mages of every age and appearance were filing into the great chamber: aged, youthful, ragged, prosperous, placid, alert, some moving swiftly, faces preoccupied, others more slowly, a couple looking frankly vague—and they were two of the younger ones. Some were dressed in finery fit for the Emperor’s court, some looked as they had just stepped out of a tisane house, with every style of dress between to be seen around the room. Not everyone took a seat at first; here and there knots of men and women stood in close conversation, heads close together, glances darting to either side as they exchanged opinions.