Kalion could not restrain a bark of laughter at that remark. “That’s all very well, Archmage, but—”

Planir raised a hand. “You cannot deny that such things have happened in the past, Kalion. Remember the stories that are still told about Lauder the Benefactor. Think how much worse they would be if the mages of the day had not managed to conceal his worst excesses.”

Kalion shuddered with unfeigned horror and Planir continued before the stout wizard regained his composure.

“You have spent long hours in the Council, Kalion, making a very persuasive case that the time has come for wizardry to take a role in the wider world. I agree with you; you know that. Therefore, I would hate to see some ill-judged move as we attempt to deal with this puzzle of the Elietimm lead to a renewal of all the old prejudices and fears that drove some of my predecessors to a frankly excessive insularity.”

The Hearth-Master sighed. “There was enough of that when we were apprentices, wasn’t there? When the Cloud-Master of New Hall had to clear up that mess Azazir and his clique made with the weather in Caladhria.”

Planir nodded and got to his feet. “I appreciate your concerns, Kalion, I really do, but you have to understand I have a great many pots in the hearth at once. If one boils over, all the alchemy’s ruined.”

Kalion looked up. “I’ve always said earth mages shouldn’t play with fire,” he commented with a touch of heavy-handed humor.

“Do come and see me if you feel you need to.” Planir left the room without ceremony and strode back through Hadrumal to his own domain, high in an ancient tower overlooking the roofs of the various Halls, old and new, strung out along the long high road as it wound down to the harbor. He did not appear to be hurrying, but he covered the distance more rapidly than most would have done. The Archmage climbed the dark oaken stairs two and three at a time without any excessive effort and slammed the heavy door of his study back without preamble. A young man leaped to his feet, very nearly upsetting the parchment-covered desk he had been working at and only just managing to save a broad silver bowl from flying headlong. An amber gleam faded from the swirling waters within it.

“Where’s D’Olbriot’s man, Usara?” demanded Planir, his eyes gleaming. “More to the point, where’s that cursed sword?”

“I don’t know.” The pale mage’s voice was under control but he couldn’t restrain the tide of color that swept up from his ink-stained collar to shine through his sparse hair.

“If you can’t manage the scrying, get Shannet to do it. It’s her specialism.” Planir’s tone was unforgiving.

“I can’t see how that would help; she doesn’t know the man anymore than I do and we don’t have any of his possessions to give us a focus. At least I met him on the boat coming back from the ocean last year,” said Usara defiantly.

“We need to find him, ’Sar, and fast!” Planir’s warning was unmistakable.

“I know.” The younger man squared his rather thin shoulders. “I bespoke Shiv a while ago and he’s persuaded Mellitha to call in any favor that might give them a lead. It’ll cost her a lot of goodwill but she’s confident she should get a result.”

The Archmage scowled. “Spending her goodwill means costing me coin. At least tell me she’s got the sense not to make it mage business? If people start thinking of her as a wizard instead of a tax-contractor she’s no use to us anymore.”

“Give her some credit. By the way, there’s a letter here for you, came in with one of the ships from Col.” Usara turned to a side-table and held out a thick package with several ornate seals. “That’s the D’Olbriot crest, isn’t it?”

“Yes, thank you, ’Sar, I think it might very well be.” Planir looked at the letter for a long moment and groaned with exasperation, tapping the creamy parchment against one palm. “So what do I tell the good Sieur? How exactly do I explain to him that we’ve lost his heirloom sword and have no idea where it has got to?”

“I think he might be a little more concerned about the loss of his sworn man.” Usara avoided Planir’s eyes but his voice held a mild rebuke.

“That too.” Planir granted him a perfunctory nod. “When does the ship sail? Do you know if they’re expecting a reply?”

“They are,” confirmed Usara. “The courier said he had authority to hold the vessel for as long as you needed.”

“I think I’ll write to Camarl,” Planir said thoughtfully. “He has the Sieur’s ear and can be trusted to be discreet. Tell me—”

His question was lost as the studded door swung open to crash against its hinges. A sharp-faced old man leaned against the door jamb and heaved a rattling sigh.

“Get me a drink, ’Sar, and clear away some of those bloody papers so I can sit down.”

“Good morning, Cloud-Master Otrick. May I say how delighted I am that you honor us with your company.” Planir’s tone was sarcastic but he offered the old man his arm while Usara hastily grabbed a sheaf of documents off a chair.

“Don’t get lippy with me, you jumped-up coal-heaver, or I’ll turn you into a rabbit. Thank you, ’Sar.”

Otrick drained the glass of white brandy and coughed with a penetration that rang a faint echo from Usara’s scrying bowl. The deeply carved lines in his face told of a long life, lived hard but his vivid blue eyes were as alert as either of the men in the room.

“So, what’s the latest?” demanded the old wizard.

“If we don’t come up with some results and fast, I’m going to be spending some long evenings persuading Council members not to back Kalion’s demands for an all-out assault on every library with more than three books to its catalogue,” Planir said grimly.

“For a man who wants to see wizardry raised to a position of influence, he doesn’t seem too clear on the consequences of that, does he?” Otrick shook his head in disgust. “Perhaps we should just send an envoy to the Elietimm: ‘Please don’t attack us just yet; you see, we have no idea how to combat your magic and that really wouldn’t be fair, would it?’ ”

“I can think of a few others who would be interested to learn that the fabled Archmage isn’t omniscient,” commented Usara, glancing through his documents. “Summertime ambitions in Lescar and parts of Ensaimin could get distinctly out of hand.”

“I’d like Kalion to come up with that idea for himself,” Planir mused. “Do you think you could accidentally encounter Allin, that apprentice of the Hearth-Master’s, ’Sar?”

“Do you mean the mouthy piece from Selerima with the unlikely hair or that timid little lass from Lescar with the fire affinity?” Usara looked up for a moment.

“The latter,” confirmed Planir. “She’ll answer any questions Kalion puts to her, I’d imagine.”

“I’m surprised Kalion lets her associate with the likes of you, ’Sar,” Otrick laughed suggestively.

Usara ignored the old wizard. “I’ll discuss a few minor worries with her,” he said to Planir. “By the time she’s carried them back to Kalion and he’s had a chance to think it all through I imagine he’ll see the way the birds are flying well enough.”

Otrick growled something obscene under his breath and held out his glass to Usara.

“So how are your experiments going, ’Sar? What wonders of aetheric mystery have your sad little collection of bookworms managed today?”

Usara refilled the glass, his hand steady despite a faint tint rising on his high cheekbones at Otrick’s words. “I am pleased to report, Cloud-Master, that we now have the incantations perfected to send a message clear across the island.”

Otrick’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “And that must be all of six leagues!”

“I don’t think sarcasm is particularly helpful, old man.” Planir reached for the brandy himself, his tone a little acid. “Unless you have something constructive to follow it, that is?”

Otrick frowned and his face became serious, his angular features forbidding. “We are agreed that we need people with knowledge of aetheric enchantments to combat the Elietimm— when, mark you, when, not if—they decide that the mainland offers more than those wind-scoured islands of theirs. I know you’re working those scholars hard, Usara, and yes, some means for non-mage-born to communicate over distance could be vital, especially if it comes to a full-scale war. The thing is, we know these ancient sorcerers could do so much more; finding a path, confusing pursuit, taking information out of hostile minds—”