Free A Flame in Hali by Marion Zimmer Bradley

barriers, lest any tinge of Saravio’s frenzy seep through. Deliberately, he strode to the door and opened it. Only a portion of the sky showed between the dark outlines of the buildings, yet that strip flickered with lightning. Thunder roared again, light and sound so intermixed that the storm must be directly overhead. The air shimmered with power.
    He tasted ozone . . . and raw laran power. In his Tower work, he’d manipulated clouds and air currents to either bring rain to a parched region or lessen a torrent. He felt certain that some artifice fueled the storm, but the traces were too deep and subtle to identify. Only a few generations ago, Aldaran sorcerers commanded weather patterns beyond the power of ordinary Towers; some said they were even able to tap into the magnetic fields of the planet. He had never believed it possible, and he did not believe it now, yet some quality of the turbulence overhead, the tension between sky and ground, made him think of armies massing for attack, of weapons being readied.
    At Hestral Tower, Eduin had designed and constructed an artificial matrix to focus and direct the natural weather-sensing talent of a young laranzu . Whatever happened to the boy, Eduin never learned, for shortly thereafter, Rakhal’s army had attacked and all had fallen into chaos. Now he stretched out his mind to the storm, searching, and came away more puzzled than before. It had none of the personal stamp of the young Tower worker, or of any other individual, for that matter.
    Eduin drew away from the door, suddenly weary. In the last few tendays, he had used his laran more than he had in the last ten years. His muscles quivered, and he knew he should eat, despite his absence of appetite. So should Saravio, who rarely gave thought to such matters. Laran work consumed huge amounts of energy, which must be replaced. Eduin’s thoughts wandered to his early days at Arilinn, where Lunilla, who acted as foster mother to all the novices, would pester him until he’d eaten enough to satisfy her. She always had a kind word for him, and never guessed the secrets behind his smiles. What would she think if she could see him now?
    Useless musings, he told himself. Wherever she was, if indeed she still lived, they would never meet again.
    On the floor, Saravio had fallen forward, his face hidden under the fall of his hair. He rocked forward and back, crooning to himself. Fine tremors ran through the muscles of his shoulders and legs. Even through his shirt, Eduin saw the outlines of Saravio’s ribs.
    You need food and rest, my friend, he thought with an unexpected tinge of compassion. He placed one hand on the other man’s back—
    Once again, the image of the woman with the face of ice, dressed in a gown of moonless black, rose up behind his eyes, a sending from Saravio’s mind.
    Naotalba . . . Naotalba . . . Saravio’s thoughts battered him like the relentless rhythm of a drum.
    This time, however, the vision did not catch Eduin by surprise. His confidence in his own mental abilities had returned along with the rush of memories—of who he had been at Arilinn, at Hali, and especially at Hestral, when he had thrown back Rakhal’s army.
    Why not use Saravio’s own visions to ensure his cooperation? Saravio so clearly needed a cause to which to devote himself. Why not let Naotalba herself supply one?
    He would have to proceed with caution, weaving his own intentions into the other man’s hallucinations. Closing his eyes, he dropped to the floor and drew out his starstone.
    As carefully as he could, Eduin began shaping the visual images. Saravio was so caught up in the frenzy of his belief that he accepted the changes without question. Eduin imagined the woman—Naotalba—lifting her arms in summons. He showed her at the head of an army of men and women, all gazing at her with rapt, worshipful eyes, all ready to die—or to kill—at her command. She pointed to Saravio and from her mouth came the words Eduin