Mercedes Lackey - To Light A Candle

She knew that Breulin and Isas had been forced to resign.

She knew that Anigrel was Cilarnen’s Master Raellan.

There is no conspiracy. There never was. Anigrel started it all —

With dreamlike swiftness, the hours and days of Anigrel’s life unfolded to her: the formation of the Magewardens and the Commons Wardens—the network of spies to inform upon the people of Armethalieh and sow terror among them. Every thread of unholy Darkness woven through the golden fabric of the City was spun from Anigrel’s hands.

She watched as he murdered Lord Vilmos.

And she saw… she saw…

—«♦»—

DEEP in the darkness of the World Without Sun, Savilla came out of her entrancement with a strangled cry of rage, though it was long before the proper time for her Rising.

Someone was tampering with her slave.

She felt it, through the soul-deep link she shared with her Mage-man.

The festering sickness of the Light approached him.

They will not!

—«♦»—

WITH the fresh horrors of not one, but two murders to convince them—and not merely murders of Mageborn, but of members of the Mage Council itself—High Mage Anigrel’s proposals for special, dedicated, highly secure groups of Mages to handle the routine magick of the City had passed by unanimous Council vote.

No one had suggested filling the empty Council seats. No one had dared. They were beginning to learn—slowly, but they were learning—that to disagree with any of Anigrel’s proposals could well be seen as a sign of sympathy with the burgeoning Wildmage Menace.

And certainly there was no one better than the Chief Magewarden to see to the security of the City-Wards themselves.

Tonight his plans would bear their first fruits. Tonight he and highly loyal acolytes would begin to change the Wards surrounding the City. And soon…

Soon the City-wards would keep out only what Anigrel wanted kept out.

The Circle was assembled. The hour was correct. The braziers were lit, and the air was thick with the proper incense—a compound Anigrel had crafted personally . The nine Mages of the Points of the Light began to draw the elaborate sigils, chanting out the spell as they did so, while Anigrel and the remaining three sang the complex antiphon. The Great Sword warmed in his hands; soon it would be time to draw the first of the Seals…

—«♦»—

IDALIA watched in sick horror. It was worse than she had imagined—worse than anyone had feared. Anigrel was the Demons’ creature—had been for years. And now he’d managed to reach a position where he could strip away Armethalieh’s defenses—and let the Demons in.

He was going to give them the City.

And all she could do was watch.

—«♦»—

SAVILLA stood naked in her ivory chamber. The walls were spattered with blood, and the remains of half-a-dozen dismembered slaves lay scattered about, for she’d had no time to be neat or elegant. The obsidian bowl was filled to overflowing with hot fresh blood, and more pooled on the ebony table and ran down its legs to the floor.

Her Mage-man was doing his City-magic—that made everything much easier. She could touch what Overlooked him.

Wildmages.

Savilla’s fury grew until it nearly choked her. How dare they meddle in her plans?

She bared her fangs in savage glee as she tested the power of their spell and followed it to its source. They’d worked so hard and so diligently to penetrate the human city’s defenses.

But a breech for you is a breech for me, my darlings , Savilla purred to herself in sudden delight. In their desperation, they had made themselves vulnerable.

She struck with all her might.

—«♦»—

KELLEN Saw all that Idalia Saw—they all did—but without the Knowing, it meant little to him. He let the images go, concentrating on feeling the currents of power that flowed through them all—through the ring of Wildmages into Idalia; from the army into the ring of Wildmages—searching constantly for anything out of place.

The spark that was Cilarnen was like a bright ember; different, apart, but not wrong.

Jermayan… another sort of difference. Not wrong.

Kellen ignored them both.

Then:

“No!”

Shouted—whispered—thought—he did not know which of these he did. But disaster—he sensed it—coming—already here—he didn’t know which.

He reached out to Idalia. She had to end the spell.

He was too late.

Time seemed to slow. The surface of the mirror faded to darkness, and bowed outward as if its surface were not crystal, but oil. It reached for Idalia.

If it touched her, they would all die.

—«♦»—

HE was sure they all felt they were doing something—even Kardus was staring into the mirror as if he could see something other than the reflections of Idalia and Kellen and everyone else here standing around in a circle. All Cilarnen knew was that the ice-pavilion was filled with smoke—very little of it was escaping through the smoke-hole in the roof—and it made him want to cough.

And that he’d never been so uncomfortable in his life.

It was like when he’d handled Wirance’s Books—but worse.

It was like being terrified—only his mind wasn’t terrified at all. His mind could see no reason for fear standing in a smoke-filled house made of ice.

But his heart was beating so hard that his entire body shook, and inside his gloves, his palms were slick with sweat.

And then he heard Kellen cry out.

—«♦»—

CILARNEN flung Mageshield over Idalia at the exact moment Jermayan Cast his own shield. Kellen felt Cilarnen reach the end of his own power in seconds—

And felt Ancaladar bolster Cilarnen’s power with his own.

“ Freely given,” Kellen heard. “ Freely given. ”

Cilarnen’s shield strengthened.

Held.

The two shields—one of High Magick, one of Elven Magery—sparked and boiled over each other, the emerald and purple refusing to blend.

They have to hold! Kellen felt as if the whole force of both forms of magic— neither his—was pouring through him, tearing him apart.

But the power of the Circle was his as well.

He drew upon it, forcing the two Shields together. His pain was a distant thing; he forced it still farther from his consciousness, focusing all his intent upon holding the two shields together. Now he could see them clasped in a faint blue tracery: his Will. The will of a Knight-Mage, which could not be turned aside from its purpose, save by death.

A bolt of pure Darkness struck their combined shield.

He heard Cilarnen scream; felt Jermayan’s agony. Ancaladar bellowed in pain and outrage.

The shield held. And he held; though he felt as if every atom of his body was being torn asunder, he held, and held, and held, by will alone, and then as his will eroded, and he felt even that failing—He was filled again with power, with a pure white power that held every color of magic there ever was within itself. And what little remained of his ability to think put a name to that power.

Shalkan.

This was why Shalkan held back from the other Workings, even when it was to heal one of his own kind. This was what Shalkan had been saving himself for, without knowing exactly what would be needed, only that it would . He fed the very essence of unicorn through the bond that tied him to Kellen, and into Kellen’s Will, into Cilarnen, because Cilarnen was as virgin as Kellen, into the shield, so that all powers fused into one color that held all—

With a lightless flash and an earsplitting shriek of backlash, the Darkbolt recoiled upon itself.

The mirror… dissolved.