replied. “Such things are not to be meddled with, even for mages.”
“We are above such superstition!” Quintrel shot back, hisface coloring with anger. “It’s a tool, nothing more.” He held the orb in his left hand, and his right hand smoothed over it, as if he were petting a cat. Quintrel did not seem aware of the motion.
“How did you bind it to Rostivan?” Carensa asked, doing her best to look like the attentive student she had been when she had first won his favor. Quintrel quieted, and managed a thin smile.
“A very good question. We had to experiment, and with the magic as it is, the price was dear,” Quintrel replied. No one was willing to face his wrath by asking, but Carensa was certain they were all thinking the same question:
How dear?
“Although the glass seems solid, it can melt when the hand wills it,” Quintrel said. “With the proper incantation, offering, and ritual, it will accept a token of the intended target. In this case, I had managed to gather a lock of Rostivan’s hair. That hair is now clasped in the hand, and until it is released, Rostivan will be under my influence.” Quintrel was quite pleased with himself, but there was a cruel glint in his eyes that Carensa found disturbing, and new.
“When the
hand
wills it?” Guran echoed. “Vigus, that’s not a bound
divi
, is it?”
Carensa’s eyes widened. She had heard of
divis
, old spirits that were neither god nor mortal, stronger than wraiths, far more powerful than ghosts. Spirits that had existed since before the world was formed. Long ago, mages had hoped to bind
divis
to their call, hoping to amplify their own magic through the power of the captive spirit. Legends abounded of the horrible fates that such mages met.
Divis
, as Carensa recalled from her studies, tended to extract a price for their services, higher than anyone wanted to pay, and the
divis
thrived on chaos and destruction.
“There’s nothing to fear,” Quintrel said. There was a mocking undertone in his voice. Carensa looked closely at him, and saw that he wore a small orb on a strap around his neck. The orb glowed with a faint yellow light, and Carensa was willing to bet it was also part of the
divi
.
“The
divi
—or whatever animates the magic of the artifact—is quite assuredly subordinate to my will,” Quintrel assured them. “As is Rostivan.”
Something Quintrel said earlier finally made an impression on Carensa. She smoothed a hand over her short red hair, pushing a strand behind one ear. “Vigus,” she said, intentionally keeping her tone nonthreatening, “what did you mean about mages being your eyes and ears around Rostivan?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’ve arranged for six of you to accompany Rostivan back to his stronghold in Torsford, and to be his mage-advisers as he wages war,” Quintrel replied in a tone that suggested his announcement was no more controversial than speculation about the weather.
Guran and Jarle both spoke out at once. “We are not battle mages!” Guran argued.
“Vigus, such things ought to have been discussed before committing us,” Jarle chided.
Quintrel’s eyes darkened with anger. “My first concern—my only concern—is the welfare of this community of mages. We were tools of warfare under King Merrill, and the Cataclysm was the result of placing mages under the control of non-mages. That is why in Rostivan’s new order, we are equal to the generals. And that is why I—not Rostivan—am in control.”
“You want to use Rostivan and his army to gain political power,” Carensa said quietly. Once, she had been one of Quintrel’s most promising pupils.
Perhaps
, she thought,
she hadlearned her lessons too well
. “Instead of a warrior king having puppet mages, you intend to have a puppet warrior.”
Quintrel’s smile was more of a snarl. “Very good, Carensa. You were always quick with your lessons.”
“How are we to be your eyes and ears if we’re in Torsford?” Jarle asked. It
“We are above such superstition!” Quintrel shot back, hisface coloring with anger. “It’s a tool, nothing more.” He held the orb in his left hand, and his right hand smoothed over it, as if he were petting a cat. Quintrel did not seem aware of the motion.
“How did you bind it to Rostivan?” Carensa asked, doing her best to look like the attentive student she had been when she had first won his favor. Quintrel quieted, and managed a thin smile.
“A very good question. We had to experiment, and with the magic as it is, the price was dear,” Quintrel replied. No one was willing to face his wrath by asking, but Carensa was certain they were all thinking the same question:
How dear?
“Although the glass seems solid, it can melt when the hand wills it,” Quintrel said. “With the proper incantation, offering, and ritual, it will accept a token of the intended target. In this case, I had managed to gather a lock of Rostivan’s hair. That hair is now clasped in the hand, and until it is released, Rostivan will be under my influence.” Quintrel was quite pleased with himself, but there was a cruel glint in his eyes that Carensa found disturbing, and new.
“When the
hand
wills it?” Guran echoed. “Vigus, that’s not a bound
divi
, is it?”
Carensa’s eyes widened. She had heard of
divis
, old spirits that were neither god nor mortal, stronger than wraiths, far more powerful than ghosts. Spirits that had existed since before the world was formed. Long ago, mages had hoped to bind
divis
to their call, hoping to amplify their own magic through the power of the captive spirit. Legends abounded of the horrible fates that such mages met.
Divis
, as Carensa recalled from her studies, tended to extract a price for their services, higher than anyone wanted to pay, and the
divis
thrived on chaos and destruction.
“There’s nothing to fear,” Quintrel said. There was a mocking undertone in his voice. Carensa looked closely at him, and saw that he wore a small orb on a strap around his neck. The orb glowed with a faint yellow light, and Carensa was willing to bet it was also part of the
divi
.
“The
divi
—or whatever animates the magic of the artifact—is quite assuredly subordinate to my will,” Quintrel assured them. “As is Rostivan.”
Something Quintrel said earlier finally made an impression on Carensa. She smoothed a hand over her short red hair, pushing a strand behind one ear. “Vigus,” she said, intentionally keeping her tone nonthreatening, “what did you mean about mages being your eyes and ears around Rostivan?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’ve arranged for six of you to accompany Rostivan back to his stronghold in Torsford, and to be his mage-advisers as he wages war,” Quintrel replied in a tone that suggested his announcement was no more controversial than speculation about the weather.
Guran and Jarle both spoke out at once. “We are not battle mages!” Guran argued.
“Vigus, such things ought to have been discussed before committing us,” Jarle chided.
Quintrel’s eyes darkened with anger. “My first concern—my only concern—is the welfare of this community of mages. We were tools of warfare under King Merrill, and the Cataclysm was the result of placing mages under the control of non-mages. That is why in Rostivan’s new order, we are equal to the generals. And that is why I—not Rostivan—am in control.”
“You want to use Rostivan and his army to gain political power,” Carensa said quietly. Once, she had been one of Quintrel’s most promising pupils.
Perhaps
, she thought,
she hadlearned her lessons too well
. “Instead of a warrior king having puppet mages, you intend to have a puppet warrior.”
Quintrel’s smile was more of a snarl. “Very good, Carensa. You were always quick with your lessons.”
“How are we to be your eyes and ears if we’re in Torsford?” Jarle asked. It
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