Ringwall's Doom. Wolf Awert

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СКАЧАТЬ the other – well, one of the dangerous kind. I enjoy dangerous people. They are the only ones who truly move things in life. You just have to discover who they’re dangerous for in time.

      The boy before him was evidently the innocent side of his former charge. That was the side that interested him least. He had sensed a change. A change in Nill, in Ringwall, and in the magical patterns of Pentamuria. He had to find out what was behind it.

      When Nill saw Ambrosimas, the smile that had lit up his features vanished like game from a clearing that had heard a twig crack. A cautious, almost wary expression replaced it.

      “A greeting like that will be welcome at any court in the land, but I’d advise keeping it for truly important ladies. For a queen or queen mother, perhaps even for a first-born princess,” Ambrosimas joked as he stretched on his mountain of fluffy pillows.

      “Or for the woman he wants to take home when he has had enough of magic,” Morlane added with a glance towards Ambrosimas before turning back to Nill. “You should pay no heed to his japes, your Excellency. I am glad you could come,” she said, pausing for a beat after addressing him as such. It gave it a very special meaning.

      “Now that not just one but two archmages have come to visit my home, I feel a little superfluous at the moment. I will leave you alone for a while and make sure you suffer no disturbance. But do not leave! I will be back soon, and I hope to find both of you still here.” And with a smile she slipped through the door – it barely seemed to have opened. Nill made a gesture of helplessness towards her, as if he meant to hold her and keep her there, but she had already gone.

      “And now it’s just us two, Nill. And even though I’m not your host, I’d like to suggest you sit down. It is so much more comfortable to have a chat while sitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

      The magic Ambrosimas put into these words was a spell of insignificance. He had spent some time considering how best to begin the conversation; he knew that the first sentence is always the most dangerous, especially if when it comes after a long period of silence. Nill the archmage is no longer Nill the boy, he mused. Or is he? We shall see. Ambrosimas also knew that Nill still longed to find his missing father, so he put some amount of fatherly affection into it.

      Ambrosimas eyed the slender figure before him appraisingly. Nill had visibly changed over the past few winters. He had grown taller, and looked even thinner for it. His hair had been ruffled by the cowl; it was the only thing that made his face still look youthful.

      “What would you ask of me, brother in spirit?” Nill enquired politely.

      “Brother in spirit, pah! Nill! My boy, are we in the High Council? I was simply in the area and looked in on Morlane – as you know, a very special friend of mine. That is all. She asked about you and I was not even able to tell her how you’re doing. It was shameful.”

      Ambrosimas increased the geniality in his voice to disguise his indignation; he awoke wistful memories at the mention of Morlane, and crowned his artwork with just a touch of reproach – enough to stimulate a slight regret, but keeping some distance from the dangerous game of guilt. That was his gift as the Archmage of Thoughts: to arouse emotions to always get what he wanted. Well, nearly always, he admitted to himself. It did not work on the council. They had known him for too long, and influencing an archmage required something completely different than a bit of wordplay. Alas, Nill had always been a difficult target too, and would be no less difficult today. Ambrosimas could see how cautious Nill was; Nill’s focus was not just on him, but also on keeping his own feelings at bay.

      “Thank you, I’m very well,” Nill replied slowly. He had not missed Ambrosimas’ unusual warmth. He slowly sat down on a small stool, his feet close together, his back straight. It was no more comfortable than standing, but kept a safe distance between them nonetheless.

      “I must admit I have difficulty believing you arranged our meeting to ask me how I feel,” he added.

      “Oh, you do me so wrong, dear boy. The question of how you feel is the one that surrounds me day and night. Ever since you were – how should I put this? – so brave, stupid or mad to challenge three archmages at once in your test.”

      Nill smiled in spite of himself. “I think it was somewhere between stupid and mad, yes. Brave isn’t the word I would have used. To be honest, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand.”

      Ambrosimas’ wide face cracked into an amused grin, his eyes twinkling with pleasure. “When I assumed your patronage, an outcry went through Ringwall, I’ll tell you that. Imagine: an archmage, getting involved with the education of a student! We made history that day, Nill. We shook at the very foundations of Ringwall, you and I.” Ambrosimas chuckled and gave his thigh a light slap.

      “You never said why you did, though,” Nill said cautiously. Perhaps this would finally be the moment; he would finally get some answers.

      “I didn’t?” Ambrosimas seemed surprised. “I thought it would have been obvious to all.” He adopted a bored, indifferent tone, as if none of it mattered any more. “Without my patronage, you would be dead. A little neophyte managed to scratch the Archmage of Metal’s shiny veneer of honor. And you know how much value Bar Helis places on dignity and honor – especially when it’s his own. And Mah Bu – the way he played with your life force was almost a direct attack. Only nobody in the council saw it that way, me included, I must admit. He would not have lifted so much as a finger if you had not managed to save yourself. Up until his last moments he believed you were the Changer, but you already know that. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

      “You disagree? You think I’m not the one mentioned in the prophecy?”

      “Boy!” Ambrosimas cried in mock exasperation. “I am the Archmage of Thoughts. I sniff out the truth and separate it from the lies; I wade through the tales of fishwives to find the tiniest kernel of it. No, the person from the mists, the Changer, the great spirit who comes to tear down the foundations of Pentamuria – this you are not.”

      Ambrosimas laughed, his multiple chins bouncing up and down. The very air in the room seemed infected by it, swirling and dancing in merriment. Nill could not tell whether this laughter was real or staged; the archmage was too good at his game. He felt relieved, though a hint of doubt remained. “Never trust an archmage,” he heard Brolok whisper in his ear. He remembered Dakh-Ozz-Han’s words: “The opposite of a truth is not a lie, but another truth.” Yet the voices seemed distant and faded; they had lost all strength.

      “But if I’m not the Changer, who am I?”

      Ambrosimas was visibly enjoying answering Nill’s questions. Every one told him a little of what worried Nill, what he knew, and what absorbed him. He phrased his answers so that every answer would demand another question; once he had Nill asking, he would keep asking.

      “That, my dear boy, is the question all of Ringwall would like an answer to. You’re not the only one concerned with it; I myself would give much to know the answer.” His laughter had stopped quite suddenly, his eyes bored into Nill’s. Then he abruptly began to laugh again, throwing his hands up in the air as he liked to do when he was playing at helplessness. “If I knew who you are, I’d know how you are too. Or, perhaps, if I knew how you are, I’d know who you are.”

      Nill had long since foregone any attempt at understanding the archmages’ word games. “As I said, I feel fine.”

      “Yes, you feel fine.” Ambrosimas added some moroseness to his performance as he stuffed a few more cushions behind his СКАЧАТЬ