“That’s completely different!”

“How, exactly?” Planir’s calm words were in increasing contrast to Usara’s heated tone.

“We are facing a decisive encounter with a rival magic!” snapped the younger mage.

“Only if we so choose,” Planir waved that away. “All right, I’ll grant you it’s a dangerous situation. Suppose we draw our line in the sand and challenge these enchanters to a pissing contest. How do you propose to explain it to the good people of Ensaimin and anywhere else dragged in? Just what principle is so important that we have the right to bring their world crashing down around their ears?”

“Mages are not answerable to the mundane populace!” retorted Usara.

“No,” agreed the Archmage. “We are not answerable to anyone. We can fight these sorcerers with all the power over air, earth, fire and water that we can summon, and no one can gainsay us.” He paused. “How will that affect our current negotiations with the princes of Tormalin? Don’t you think they might decide that facing the Elietimm on their own, with whatever aid Guinalle and her Adepts can offer, is preferable to allying with mages who take heed of no authority?”

“But that would be simple foolishness,” Usara replied angrily.

The gleaming surface of the mirror pulsed faintly with ripples of magic sliding across its surface. The candle burned fiercely, unnatural flame devouring the wax, hot drips sliding down the silver stick to threaten the polish of the table.

“If I say we should just ignore the princes of Tormalin and everyone else, you’re going to tell me I’m sounding like Kalion, aren’t you?” said Usara at length, with the shadow of a rueful smile.

“I would never be so impolite.” Planir’s grin gave the lie to his words as he leaned forward. “But I could spend all day finding arguments why the Council of Hadrumal cannot be seen to involve itself in what is, to all appearances, a fight for land and its attendant wealth. Here’s another one for you. We support the Forest Folk in this one conflict, but we deny our aid to anyone else who comes seeking it as a matter of principle—”

“You’re mocking me now,” Usara protested.

“Oh yes, ’Sar,” said Planir earnestly. “Where was I? These men of Wrede or the Duke of Draximal’s representatives, they go away empty-handed. There are a great many wizards out in the wider world, ’Sar. Who’s to say one might not be tempted, could not be bought, to use his powers in what could be argued was a good cause?”

“Every mage knows they are answerable to Hadrumal.” Usara wasn’t smiling.

“True enough, but how well could I impose the authority of this office if it came to it?” Planir lifted the heavy gold ring of the Archmage, its massive central diamond set between sapphire, amber, ruby and emerald. “When I have my Council split between defending the Forest in the west, fighting Elietimm in the east and beyond the ocean, while I spend what little remains of my time trying to convince everyone else we do not aim to recreate the Old Empire with me at its head?”

“There’s no reason to suppose anything like this will come to pass,” said Usara crossly.

“No reason to say it won’t,” countered Planir. “Sorry, I’m wrong. I can say with fair certainty that none of this will happen if I don’t allow the Council of Hadrumal and the Office of Archmage to be dragged into your fight in the first place. I grew up in the mining country of Gidesta and one of the first things every child is taught is never disturb a scree. Taking one stone from the wrong place can bring down half a hillside on your head.”

“And that’s your final word?” Defeat faded Usara’s voice.

“That is my final word,” Planir replied with deliberate emphasis. “You on the other hand are a free agent. You are at liberty to use any and every means at your disposal. You will have to answer to Council, but I can assure you of my absolute trust in your judgment and complete support.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” said Usara dryly. “But I don’t see quite what I can hope to achieve on my own. Other than Gilmarten, there isn’t another mage within leagues of here.”

“Why are you so sure of that?” Planir snuffed out the candle between two fingers, the image dissolving around Usara’s puzzled expression.

Candle smoke rose in a fragile blue spiral twisting and braiding itself in the shafts of the evening sun slanting in through the windows. Planir rose from his seat and moved to look out over the long roofs of Hadrumal. The gray stone of the halls was warming to gold in the last light, the courts and alleyways thronged with people as wizards and scholars turned their minds to food, drink, conversation and relaxation. The Archmage gazed down, following individuals here and there until the little figures disappeared through gate or doorway.

He wheeled around, eyes keen and dangerous. Hanging wisps of smoke shook and dissipated as Planir swept past to stand in front of the empty fireplace. “So what was it you wished to discuss with me, Shiv?”

Shiv had been sitting on the far side of the room, deep in the shadows of a winged chair. “I have had news of Kalion, Archmage,” he said diffidently.

“Should I be concerned?” Planir sounded surprised.

“Given what you’ve just been saying about Toremal worrying over mages with unbridled ambition, I should say so!” Shiv’s initial hesitation was rapidly evaporating.

“Tell me what you’ve heard,” invited Planir.

“That Kalion spent his time in Relshaz meeting all the most powerful men in that most influential of cities. Supposedly he was promising all manner of profit and advantage when ‘wizardry takes its proper place in the upper levels of decisionmaking.’ ” Shiv’s mockery was bitter. “At the turn of Aft-Winter he moved on to Toremal. He was invited to all the best parties, from what I hear, met all the well-connected nobles. Now I believe he is traveling between the Dukes of Marlier and Parnilesse in Lescar, offering his services as an honest broker in their negotiations.”

“What makes you think I’m unaware of the way Kalion has been amusing himself?” the Archmage inquired politely.

“You’ve been very busy lately, Archmage.” Shiv struggled for words. “But if you say—I am satisfied…” He got hastily to his feet.

“I don’t think you are,” Planir crossed the room to light a branch of candles with a snap of his fingers, incidentally blocking Shiv’s path to the door. “And I don’t think I am. Do sit down.”

Shiv’s knees buckled beneath him, color rising under his sallow skin.

Planir took a chair on the far side of the fireplace. He studied Shiv for a moment. “You say I have been busy? Yes, granted, my duties keep my days full, but of late no more than usual.”

Shiv coughed awkwardly. “You’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Indeed?” Planir leaned back and crossed one elegantly booted foot over his knee. “By what?”

Shiv stood up again. “Obviously I was mistaken. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

“Or did you think that I had myself tangled in a pretty girl’s garters?” asked Planir genially.

Shiv’s jaw dropped. “I wouldn’t say—” His mouth snapped shut as the Archmage began to chuckle. “Since you put it like that, most revered Archmage, yes. Chimney-corner gossips all over Hadrumal say you’ve been head down and tail up after a wet scent since Larissa first flirted her petticoats at you!”

Planir’s laugh at this was a full-throated guffaw that startled a roosting pigeon from the window ledge. “Oh, sit down, Shiv, and let’s have a drink.” He went to the sideboard, collecting a wine bottle and clinking two glasses negligently together. “I seem to be doing this earlier and earlier each day at present,” he remarked, glancing at the timepiece on the mantel. “Now that would be something you really would have to concern yourself with. You weren’t here when Gelake was Flood-Master, were you? That man drunk was an absolute menace.”