Avenorâs choleric ambassador harder still. âServed with timely warning, you can field the problem with diplomacy. I remind your Grace: the lady has borne a living son to sâIlessid. Since she wonât realize her status under charter law, she could be advised of the fact sheâs entitled to ask our Fellowship for assistance.â
Before the harsh point was argued, that the Sorcerers might not have a free hand to answer in time to forestall repercussions, Machiel interrupted. âBut Lysaerâs son passed Fateâs Wheel. Got himself scorched to heroic cinders by a Khadrim, so we heard.â Never fully at ease within walls, the forest-bred steward retrieved the cross-bow stock and used his skinning knife to ream out the quarrel slot. âWe were led to understand that breaking news of the tragedy was what caused his motherâs crazed flight in the first place.â
âNot exactly.â The Sorcererâs shade whisked over the patterned carpet, fanning groomed heads and lace and riffling the coals in the grate to a sullen flare of heat. âPrince Kevorâs still alive. An arcane recovery, not yet widely known.â Now poised by the mantel, Luhaineâs presence all but bristled the air into hoar-frost. He required to say more. But today his fond penchant for diatribe was cut short as a hammering gust battered into the latched glass of the casement. The draught that seeped through stalled his windy voice and engendered a freezing silence.
A crowned high king attuned to all four of the elements, Eldir stood up. Braced short by his move, the wiser council-men stilled, while Machiel shivered outright and ceased his idle fuss with the workings of dismantled weaponry.
âSpare us!â Eldir cracked. âIf itâs bad news for Havish, tell us quicklyâ
Across the wrenched pause, Luhaineâs shade stopped cold as the urgent summons dispatched from Althainâs Warden exploded across hisawarenessâ¦
â¦in Erdane, amid crawling shadows in a cluttered attic, a strong man stands naked within a raised warding and lays a flint knife to his wrist. His swift stroke enacts the ritual cut. As the flow of let blood wakes a flash of raw light, his shocked outcry reflects an anguished note of betrayal.
âOh yes, my fine man,â whispers Enithen Tuer. âYou have in fact consecrated that knifeâs arcane properties. A binding act, born out of necessity, since that blade alone will enact your primary line of protection! Now listen well: here are the words you will swear, sealing your oath unto your dying breath, or take warning! You will fall to a hideous fate thatâs far worse, and suffer the eternal consequenceâ¦â
Luhaine recovered himself, jaggedly frantic. The dropped thread of his audience closed with a rush that distressed those who knew his staid character. âIf the bereaved sâIlessid mother should chance to make contact, sheâs best left to believe that her royal son perished.â
âAthâs Grace, Luhaine!â The kingâs shout chimed through the complaint of cleaned steel, as he slammed his closed fists on the table-top. âDonât ask this! I canât! The very ideaâs a straight cruelty!â
The Fellowship spirit whirled in tight agitation, scattering maps and requisition lists, and setting goose-quills to flight like chased leaves. âNot in this case! Had young Kevor died, he could not be any more lost to her!â
Machielâs granite features went pale. âDharkaron avert! A wicked turn, if the boyâs in fact fallen to necromancy!â
âMercy! No! Not in this case,â Luhaine cracked as he spun in pained haste toward the casement. In actuality, that threat confronted the boyâs
father
, a horror too dire to contemplate. Forced away in the face of the High Kingâs stressed adamancy, the Sorcerer flung back on departure, âTrust us, yourGrace! In