Free Wings of Wrath by C.S. Friedman Page B

that is what I saw happening. I believe that in her moment of need, Gwynofar Aurelius tapped into some ancient formula whose name we do not even know, and used it to call Rhys to her. Clearly there is some kind of metaphysical connection between them. It may be a connection she shares only with him, or with her family, or even with all of her bloodline. There is no way to tell at this point. Rhys apparently no longer remembers his vision, and Gwynofar was never aware of sending it. Whatever power the gods once hid deep within their blood, it has returned to hiding once more. Not all my sorcery could pry it out afterward.”
    Colivar’s expression was grim. “If it is as you say, it is an ominous sign.”
    Ramirus nodded. “Yes. It is that.”
    â€œIf the Souleaters are returning—”
    â€œThe northern gods seem to think they are, if ancient legends are to be believed. If not, then some new sort of power has come into the world. Either way things will be . . . interesting.”
    Colivar’s mouth twitched. “That is a bit of an understatement.”
    Ramirus shrugged. “What are we but spectators? The centuries pass slowly. Mysteries have value. The world changed slowly once, and now it quickens its pace. Only the morati need fear such things.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Colivar said quietly. “But do not forget what the Souleaters once did to this world. There are parts of that tale which even a Magister should fear.”
    Ramirus leaned forward; his voice, now a whisper, was strangely fierce. “And do you remember those times, Colivar? Not as other men do, who learn of such things from minstrel tales and dusty tomes, but perhaps from knowledge of a more . . . personal nature?”
    Colivar drew in a sharp breath. “No Magister existed during the First Age of Kings. You know that as well as I do, Ramirus. The last Souleaters disappeared long before the first of our kind entered the world.”
    â€œIndeed. Yet some say you know more than any man alive about the creatures. More than a living man should be able to know. Why is that?”
    He shrugged. “Perhaps I am simply old enough to have lived in a time when men remembered more.”
    â€œAnd perhaps I am sharp-witted enough to know that for—what was that charming phrase you once used?— camel dung .”
    â€œSo what, then?” Colivar’s eyes narrowed. “Am I not really a Magister, but something that existed prior to the Great War? Is that what you are implying?” Dramatically he spread his arms wide, as if in invitation. “Test me, then. Taste the sorcery that binds me to my consort. Know for yourself the truth of what I am.”
    Mad though the offer was, for a brief moment Colivar thought Ramirus might just take him up on it. Certainly there was a fire that sparked in the white-haired Magister’s eyes at the suggestion. If Colivar was truly opening himself up for inspection, might there not be some way to take advantage of that, without getting sucked into a consort’s bond and devoured in the process? It was a tempting prospect, and Colivar felt a rare thrill as he braced himself for possible assault. It was rare that two Magisters of their age and power tested themselves against each other directly, and anything rare was an experience to be savored . . . even if it was not without its dangers.
    But then the moment passed. “I know what you are from the taste of your sorcery,” Ramirus assured him. “Or did you think all those obstacles outside were just for my amusement? Your power is as cold as a demon’s prick.”
    Colivar chuckled. “Now you flatter me.”
    â€œHardly.” Ramirus leaned back in his chair once more. “The day is coming when we may well need to cooperate with one another. All of us, Colivar. Else the world may fall to these creatures once more.”
    â€œThen the world is doomed,” he responded.