Shiv bit his lip and laced his hands together in his lap, knuckles white.

“That many do see you as quite some hero already is one of the reasons I have kept you here,” continued the Archmage in a conversational tone, picking up his wine glass. “You have fought the Elietimm twice now, once on their own ground and once in Kel Ar’Ayen. Your defense of the colonists was a tale vivid in the telling around the winter salons of Tormalin. Didn’t you hear? If you travel, there will be plenty of eyes and ears turned your way. ’Sar on the other hand,” he shrugged, “he’s a nonentity, Planir’s cloak carrier, always two steps behind his master. It’s a wonder to see him let out on his own.”

Shiv laughed reluctantly. “That’s hardly fair.”

“It suits us all that people see him so, doesn’t it?” Planir shook his head with a grin.

“Have we any idea whether or not Livak is following a true scent?” persisted Shiv after a moment’s silence, broken only by purposeful steps in the courtyard below.

“Nothing definitive either way so far,” Planir shrugged. “All the more reason to use our resources in more conventional researches. This quest is Livak’s gamble; if it fails, the loss is hers. If she wins, we collect without risking any of our own credit. She will fail or she will succeed and unless you have some means of foretelling you are not telling me about, we have no way to know if our involvement would help or hinder. I’m going to let the runes fall as they may and play the spread as it lies.” The Archmage’s expression brightened with mischief. “Besides, had I sent you off on some new commission, I’d have had Pered to reckon with and I confess I didn’t relish the notion of a row with your beloved in the middle of the quadrangle.”

Shiv colored vividly. “He wouldn’t have—”

“No?” Planir queried. “I rather think he would have, you know.”

Shiv coughed and took a drink of water, looking around the room in all directions save the Archmage’s. The timepiece on the mantelshelf chimed softly as the pointed indicator clicked a notch along its scale. A knock came instantly, a quick double tap on the oak. The door opened immediately, no summons expected. A strong-faced young woman entered, hazel eyes only for the Archmage as she brushed a wisp of nut-brown hair from her forehead and settled her cerise shawl decorously over her elbows.

“Larissa.” Pleasure colored Planir’s voice and softened the planes of his lean face, a smile deepening the fine lines around his keen eyes. He ran a hand over his close-cropped black hair. “Wine?”

Larissa nodded. “That would be very welcome, thank you.”

Planir rose and poured her a measure of the deep ruby wine in a goblet. He refilled his own glass, raising it in a salute to the girl before returning to his seat.

Larissa took a chair next to Shiv. She smiled at both mages, smoothing her sky blue skirts as she sat and sweeping her long glossy plait back over one shoulder in a negligent gesture. “Good day to you, Shivvalan,” she said.

He nodded an acknowledgment, avoiding her eye but unable to help noticing the little blue flowers embroidered on the sides of her stockings, the Ensaimin fashion for shorter hems exposing her shapely ankles and the swell of her calf. He cleared his throat. “Archmage, are you bespeaking ’Sar or do we wait for him to contact us?” he asked.

“ ’Sar is bespeaking us.” Planir looked thoughtful as he sipped his wine. He joined them at the table. “It should be any time now. Are you both ready to make a nexus?”

Shiv flexed his hands thoughtfully. “I think I would like a glass of wine, Planir.”

“Help yourself,” the Archmage nodded. “Larissa?”

“I’m still drinking this one,” she answered a little awkwardly. “I’m ready, though.”

Planir caught her gaze and held it until she smiled at him, a faint blush highlighting her broad cheekbones.

Shiv was lifting his goblet to his lips when a glow appeared, hovering in the air above the center of the table. It grew and spread, spinning outward from its center, impossibly thin and edged with amber brilliance.

“Planir?” A voice came thinly from the center of the shining disc.

“Usara, good to hear you.” Planir snapped his fingers and the candle sprang into life with a spit of scarlet magic, the flame turning yellow in an instant, rising up tall and steady despite the open window. “Link hands, Shiv,” commanded the Archmage curtly. “Larissa’s too new at this to do it without.”

The girl jumped a little as the two men gripped her hands and a desperate frown of concentration furrowed her brow. The metal of the mirror began to glow with an inner light of its own, scarlet, azure, amber and aquamarine rising and fading, coiling around each other, finally merging into a diamond radiance that reached out to draw the glowing disc into itself, a golden brilliance burning for an instant before fading into the mirror. A nimbus of coppery magic now fringed the metal and Planir turned it so that the three could all see the image within it. “Good,” he said with satisfaction, dropping Larissa’s hand, the last remnants of magelight fading unheeded from his fingers.

“Have you anything to tell me about these Sheltya?” demanded Usara without ceremony, his voice sounding unnaturally high and tinny. The mirror showed him sitting on a plainly made bed in a small plastered room. The whole image was overlaid with an amber tint that subtly changed hue as circles of power spread from the center of the magic.

“Nothing of any real use or substance, I’m afraid,” Planir spoke frankly to the mirror. “Casuel has been able to find nothing in the Tormalin archives and all that the scholars of Vanam or Col can offer are half-remembered snatches of Mountain sagas.”

“Most of the references give no clue as to their role.” Larissa was rubbing at her fingers, deeply scored by the bite of the Archmage’s ring. “A few seem to suggest they are arbiters or lawgivers.” She looked at Planir for confirmation.

Shiv leaned back in his chair, mouth thinning as he sat in silence.

“What have these Mountain Men you’re traveling with been able to tell you?” asked Planir.

“That it’s best to let the Sheltya explain themselves.” Exasperation was giving Usara’s words an increasingly sharp edge.

Curiosity knotted Shiv’s brows. “And Livak’s accepting that?”

“For the present,” said Usara tightly, “because pressing the point would mean she’d have to back me against her friends.”

“But you said the sagas do suggest they have aetheric lore, now you’ve had them translated.” Larissa won a smile from the Archmage for that encouragement.

“Their so-called wonders could still all turn out to be mere accident of nature and timing.” The little image in the mirror grimaced.

“Whereabouts are you now, ’Sar?” Planir interrupted.

“The lower reaches of what they call the Pasfall Valley,” the mage replied. “Where the river runs through the hills, rather than out on the plain.”

“There will be men and women of part Mountain blood in the villages, won’t there?” Shiv looked thoughtful.

“Those whose parents married out, like in Gidesta? Could you ask them the significance of these Sheltya?”

“I’ve already tried,” answered Usara with a shake of his head. “Either they genuinely don’t know or they’re just not telling.”

Planir, Shiv and Larissa shared a look made up in equal measure of dashed expectation and impatience. A silence fell as all four mages looked down at their hands, faces united in disappointment for all the countless leagues separating them.

“Perhaps the Solurans might know more.” Shiv rubbed his upper arm. “We know their healers are very effective, and by every indication their cures are wrought by Artifice. I’d be a hand short of tying my own laces if they hadn’t worked for me.”

“Don’t let this business sidetrack you from your other errands, ’Sar.” Planir looked faintly concerned. “Keep track of the season.”