Free High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series by Terry Mancour

kindreds had magical waypoints that allowed instantaneous travel between positions, sometimes over hundreds of miles.  But they were difficult to operate, and a secret, besides.  The Alka Alon were picky about who knew their songspells.  By transporting me through the waypoints they would save me a lot of trouble. 
    That settled, I went on to my other questions.  “Why is the council meeting now?” I asked, curiously.
    “Because it was the first convenient time in which to do so,” she replied without considering.  “Most thought it would take several years to arrange such a meeting, but . . . recent events have compelled our folk to move with more alacrity.”
    “So you’re still losing refuges to the goblins in the Wilderlands,” Dara observed with the voice of a child who has just backed into an adult matter.  I tried to hide my wince.  Dara specializes in boldness.
    “That is among the matters we wish to discuss, yes,” Fallawen agreed, sadly.  “The council usually meets every decade or so, a mere formality most of the time.  The lords themselves oversee the affairs of their individual territories, and rarely does the council take action.  Yet there are many stirrings at hand which need to be discovered, studied, and considered, it is felt.  And then, of course, decisions need to be made.”
    “And just what is supposed to be decided by this council?” I asked, casually filling my pipe from a pouch.   “My lifespan, perhaps?”
    There had been hints in the past about how poorly some Alka Alon apparently felt about so much irionite being in humani hands.  I had a feeling that some might wish to deal with the problem by dealing with the Spellmonger.  And with snowstone now implicitly at stake, it wasn’t an unfair question to ask. 
    “Magelord, only the council can give you a satisfactory answer to that,” Lady Fallawen answered demurely.  “But if you will, I will collect you and your party tomorrow evening at Lesgaethael ,” she said, using the Alkan name for the spire growing on the summit of Matten’s Helm. “Prepare for a journey of three or four days.  You will have no need of food or drink,” she added, “all such things will be provided.”
    “Wait!  I haven’t told you if I’m going or not!” I protested.
    She stopped and looked at me, startled.  “You refuse the request?” she asked, surprised.
    “Well, no, I’d give my left stone to go, and I’m just as happy that’s not required.  But . . . well, I did mention my schedule.  It’s possible I’d have something more pressing.”
    “Then if the Magelord doesn’t find himself besieged or attacked by bandits or conquered by a peasant revolt . . . may we count on his attendance?”
    “Ah, yes,” I answered, after a little squirming.  “Of course, I’ll come.  And I’ll have my apprentice and a few other advisors on hand, as well, if you don’t mind.”
    “Oh!” Dara squealed.  “Is Lady Pentandra coming?”
    “She’s at her estate at the capital,” I reminded her.  “Not exactly convenient to Lesgaethael.”
    “Nonsense, Magelord,” Fallawen objected, kindly.  “We can easily include the lady Pentandra in the council, if you wish.  It is a simple enough matter to escort her through a transfer point.  There is one nearby her estate.  It would be our pleasure.”
    “She would be helpful,” I decided.  “I value her counsel.  If it’s not too much trouble.  She can meet us there?”
    “I shall send Ithalia for her,” agreed Fallawen.  “Be ready to depart at the morrow’s twilight.”
    She turned to go, her slender form bewitching the eye of every man in the room.  As much as she likes humanity as a concept, Fallawen was the least content of the three ambassadors to spend time rubbing elbows with us humani.  I think perhaps that we smelled, to her delicate enchanted nostrils.
    “What a magnificent woman,” Sir Ryff said, shaking his head as he returned to his chair.  “A