Peril’s Gate: Third Book of The Alliance of Light. Janny Wurts

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СКАЧАТЬ ones, yes.’ Wise in her way, the adept said no more, but let Asandir enter the chamber by mage-sight. Ever so gently, she closed the oak panel to grant him full measure of privacy.

      Left in darkness, his guidance the smoke-haze of spirit light, Asandir made his unerring way to the bedside. Sethvir rested amid the combed billows of his beard, the gnarled, clean hands abandoned on the coverlet too far removed from splashed inkpots and mischievous life. Ath’s adepts had surpassed expectations in their meticulous care for him. The torn fissures in Sethvir’s aura were reknit, the spindled gold halo without any shadow of seam. If the glow was too scant, its radiance dwindled, the cause would be Sethvir’s willed choice. Minute to minute, he still poured out his vital forces for causes of perilous necessity.

      Asandir paused. Upset by the pressures that demanded intrusion, he still groped for right words when a thready whisper arose from amid the piled pillows.

      ‘Asandir? Is that you?’

      The Sorcerer dropped to one knee. Through mangling emotion, he managed a reply. ‘I am here. Say which grimward needs attending.’

      The answer came back like a stab to the heart. ‘There are five, but of those, Alqwerik’s by Athir’s most pressing.’

      ‘I’ll leave on the dawn lane tide,’ Asandir promised, then drew a quick breath. ‘No, please. Don’t speak. The adepts kept their promise. I saw the unpleasant news left for me in the glass.’ He need not belabor the obvious conflict, that of the multiple crises revealed, none could take precedence over the threat of even one distressed grimward. If the worst happened, and the flawed wards at Rockfell escaped Luhaine’s vigilant guardianship, or if the wraiths questing from Marak slipped past Kharadmon’s mazed defenses, there would be no way left on Ath’s earth to recall him. No contact from Althain could cross through a drake-dream, even one spun by the ghost of a creature whose bones lay three Ages dead.

      Hedged by the perils that closed on all sides, Asandir said in dire humor, ‘If I meet disaster upon my return, at least I’ll stand warned beforetime. You should rest.’

      The stirred movement fanning through loose wisps of beard evinced Sethvir’s harrowed sigh. ‘No rest. Did you see? Davien’s shade has left the refuge he built in the caverns beneath Kewar Tunnel.’

      ‘Why should that surprise me? All else in creation seems ripe to breed chaos.’ Just as troubled by thought of Davien’s obscure motives, Asandir changed the subject. ‘I saw that you fear for Prince Kevor’s safety.’

      ‘Worse,’ Sethvir breathed in soft sorrow.

      ‘Cerebeld wants him dead, that was glaringly plain.’ Asandir leaned in close, elbow braced on the mattress. The other hand flexed to a fist on his knee, with his frown graven deep as worn leather. ‘Beset as we are, who could stand by to help?’

      ‘Ath’s hostel at Northstrait lies along the first lane,’ Sethvir pointed out, too enervated to be less abstruse.

      Asandir weighed the statement, well aware that the Warden’s checkered thoughts masked disarmingly shrewd ingenuity. ‘Do you imply what I think?’ Sharply fast to grasp strategy, the field Sorcerer clarified, ‘You believe we could give Lysaer’s heir a spelled talisman?’

      Sethvir’s eyes opened, heavy-lidded. To mage-sight, in darkness, their color shone an eerie, serene aqua that reflected a sense of vast distance. Asandir, watching, felt a bolt of black fear strike straight through him. Never before this had he seen breathing life so closely mirror the infinite. ‘Tell me in words. You need grounding. I can hope speech will help.’

      ‘The rock, chastising air?’ The ghost of a smile turned Sethvir’s lips as he struggled to meet the demand. ‘I’d hoped the same plan might be used to spare Arithon, but the adepts refused me the use of a talisman as a bridge. They perceive very well that his Grace of Rathain’s become too fated a cipher.’

      ‘No hostels remain active in Daon Ramon, anyway. Who else could have handled the problem?’ Asandir hooked a footstool, dragged it close to the cot, and assumed the unlikely perch. His lean length of limb and innate balance lent him the hunch of a wing-folded heron. ‘If Prince Arithon was refused, what grounds would grant an appeal for a boy not brought up to honor the old ways? Why should Ath’s Brotherhood offer their sanctuary to safeguard Kevor s’Ilessid?’

      ‘I can’t promise they would.’ Sethvir’s brow furrowed. ‘But suppose we created a talisman stone, imprinted with spells based in parallel with the powers that rule the scrying glass in the king’s chamber. Say it was delivered by a messenger who would not be heard, unless the young prince showed the honesty of his blood heritage.’

      ‘You mean, test him?’ Asandir leaned forward, braced on crossed forearms. The idea had merit. Heirship was sanctioned along similar guidelines. ‘If Kevor has the bare-bones humility to hear truth, and honors his heart ahead of the mores of his upbringing, I catch your drift.’

      Sethvir’s eyes closed, his flesh like worn parchment beaten by storm to its craggy template of bone. ‘We could at least be sure the adepts at the hostel were made aware of his fate. Their compassion would mark his innocence, even if for a moment.’

      ‘But a moment might suffice.’ Lifted beyond pity by a glimmer of hope, Asandir traced the complex thread of logic himself. In extremity and need, the young prince might raise enough emotion and desire to engage the innate talent of his ancestry.

      Given the birthright of s’Ahelas descent, in theory, Kevor could tap that stream of raw power himself.

      ‘Assuming that boy’s gift is strong enough.’ In desperation, or extreme pain, he might unwittingly waken his own talent and tear through the veil into mystery. If so, conscious forces pooled within the sanctuary might answer and draw him to safety. A desperate long shot. Asandir shook his head. ‘Even if all those unlikely conditions were met, you know, in the hands of Ath’s Brotherhood, we must lose him.’

      Althain’s Warden dredged up his reply, whisper faint. ‘We’ve already lost him, entangled as he is in town politics and the thorns of Avenor’s false doctrine. At best, through a talisman, Lysaer’s son might be given a slim chance to claim his redemption. Would you lay the conjury into the stone as a boon, done for me?’

      ‘You’ve already culled a volunteer messenger? Since I won’t have to ride the west trade road in winter, I’ll have the work done before daybreak.’ Asandir gathered the limp hands which rested in disarray on the blanket, then gave back his firm reassurance. ‘One of the river pebbles you’ve cached in the library will surely be willing to give us the necessary service.’

      He arose on the promise he would bid farewell ahead of his departure at dawn.

      Yet before he could go, the outer door cracked. A female adept he had not seen earlier asked her permission to enter. ‘A message has come from our hostel in the Skyshiels.’

      Asandir straightened, half-braced. ‘More bad news from the east?’

      The adept shook her head. ‘Rest easy, no. The Warden’s desire was met. One of our Brotherhood went to Elaira. Her spell quartz has been sent to her peeress, uncleared.’ Which meant the order was not yet the wiser for the fact the imprinted longevity bindings on the enchantress’s life had been supplanted by Fellowship crafting.

      Asandir stood, eyes shut through a moment of welling gratitude. Then he regarded СКАЧАТЬ