Free Feast of Souls by C. S. Friedman Page A

inherent in such a position, that one is there to do a king’s will, and short of defying the Magisters’ Law, one is expected to comply with all his requests.
    “The Law sets its own limits upon us, of course. Morati can never discover the source of our power, for if they did they would war against us with all their strength, and the earth would soon be drenched in their blood. Therefore we strive never to use our power in ways that would draw attention to our secret, and the death of too many consorts in one night would do just that. So we set our own limits on how we will use the power, and we give kings false reasons for those limits. Ironic, is it not? For if it were not for the Law we could obtain all that we desired with a wave of the hand, and not need kings at all.”
    He shakes his head slowly, remembering that night.
    “I could have said no. I did not.
    “I told him to gather all the supplies he would need were he to put on such a show himself. That angered him, for it seemed to him that I was refusing to honor his command, but of course I wished everything done by natural means that might be, to lessen the cost. And so he gathered fireworks made by the masters of the art, the best that a king’s gold could buy, muttering complaints about the cost all the while.
    “I could not say to him. Gold is cheap, lives are not . I could not give him any reason he would accept, save that it was the way of Magisters, our custom not to do for kings what they could do for themselves.
    “Those were tense days, filled with anger on his part, dissembling on mine. I remember wondering if I had made the right choice in coming to this position. Wondering if any convenience that a king might offer us was worth the price.
    “Then the day came. It was the celebration of a military victory, and the streets of the capital city were thronged with people. Any roof that seemed strong enough to bear the weight of men was holding more than its capacity in spectators, and I admit that I strengthened more than one, when I feared they were about to give way. Several Magisters had come from the outlying lands and were offering entertainment to the nobles while I prepared myself, and I remember watching them like a hawk from the corner of my eye, knowing that any one of them would unseat me if he could, perhaps because he truly coveted my position, perhaps just for sport.”
    “For sport?” she asks.
    It is rare she interrupts him thus. But he can sense the hunger that is behind the question, her need to understand this alien creature called “Magister Society.” As if the very phrase itself is not a contradiction in terms he thinks; words that attempt to conjure unity in the ranks of those who are too suspicious of each other to ever share anything, save what is necessary to guard their great Secret.
    Soon , he thinks, soon she will leave me .
    “We have no adversaries worthy of note outside our own ranks,” he tells her. “The morati are creatures of death by their very nature and so they cannot be a challenge to us, merely… an inconvenience. A Magister need do nothing to combat a morati adversary, save wait. Choose another project, sit out a century, and Death provides certain victory. Where is the challenge in that? What is the point in indulging in such conflict, when the resolution is known from the start?
    “And so the centuries pass us by, and we know that but for our terrible Secret we could have anything we want, without limit, and our consorts die in steady pageantry, paying the price for our power and we become cold, inhuman things, because Magisters who are too human perish of their own compassion. And in the end nothing really matters except those who share the same Secret, master the same power, and suffer the same dark restlessness.
    “So I saw them all there, my brothers, my rivals, and I knew that any one of them would bring me down if he could, merely because it would be a challenge to try it. They knew what I