upon magical defenders of their own.
Armethalieh would regret its greediness. Perhaps not this year. Perhaps not in ten years. But if it pursued its present policies, the City was in for the fight of its life. Perhaps even a war… and that meant the Mages would be using their High Magick on the war instead of at home on the City. Magick that had once gone to provide the most comfortable possible life for the citizens of the Golden City, the City of a Thousand Bells, would be squandered—to the Armethaliehans' way of thinking—invisibly and unnoticeably, far from home and hearth. And what would Armethalieh's citizens say when their comforts were abruptly withdrawn, to no purpose they could see?
There would be trouble. Trouble within, trouble without.
Change.
And it's your own fault, Lycaelon Tavadon. You could have left us in peace, left the Western Hills and the High Reaches in peace, lived out your life as Arch-Mage of the High Council and had everything you ever wanted within those eight walls. But you let greed and pride and anger blind you, and now you're going to destroy yourself.
Along with a great many innocent bystanders.
Idalia sighed. Her shoulders drooped tiredly. She could see it so clearly, not with magic, but as a thing of logic and the mind, the way an Elven xmjiue-master could see the outcome of the game once the first piece was shifted on the board.
But things might yet come out differently. All the pieces might not yet be on the board. She could only hope that was true, because the one thing she did know was that terrible as the picture her imaginings painted was, there was nothing for her to do to avert the future she saw. The only thing she could do was what she was doing: remove herself and Kellen beyond the City's reach, into the land of the Elves.
That it was the one place in all the world she'd sworn she'd never return to was irrelevant. It was the only choice on a short list of possible destinations.
And this should teach her not to swear by 'never' and 'forever.'
THE Mayor's speech, when he finally made it, was short—concentrating entirely on what a wonderful person Idalia was and how sorry they all were to see her go, without one word about the City—and followed by several others by other Guildmasters and village leaders in the same vein. Kellen's suspicions had been completely lulled by the time he was seized and lifted up onto the platform.
He stared down at the sea of waiting faces with dawning shock and horror.
'They're waiting to hear a few words from you, boy,' the Mayor said, nudging him gently. 'You're her brother, after all.'
'Uh… hi. I'm Kellen,' Kellen said. 'I guess you know that.'
Appreciative laughter and cheers, with calls of 'Good start!' and 'Go on!' and 'Tell us something we don't know!'
What could he say? Kellen stared out at all of them. He had to say something! 'I—' He stopped. Silence spread out from the speaker's platform like ripples from a flung stone. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. He stared around wildly, willing Idalia to come rescue him, but his sister was nowhere in sight. He took a deep breath. He'd faced an Outlaw Hunt, and it hadn't been harder than this.
'I haven't been here long,' he said at last. 'I wish it could have been longer. I haven't been very many places, but this is the best place I've ever been. Thank you—all of you—for being so kind. For being our friends. For welcoming me and—and giving me a place to belong, even if I didn't get to enjoy it for long.' Suddenly inspired, he bowed—a full, courtly, City-style bow.
Everyone cheered. Before they could quiet down and ask him to say anything else, Kellen turned and quickly jumped down off the platform.
It was almost dark by now, and Kellen took advantage of that to make his way to the edges of the party. He thought about it, and then kept going. There was something sort of unsettling in the air. He wasn't completely sure of what it was, but for the first time in many sennights, he was reminded again of the vow he'd sworn to Shalkan. Chastity and celibacy. He wasn't sure how or why, but he didn't think either promise would be really easy to keep back at the party, between the music and the dancing and the kegs of beer, wine, mead, and hard cider being tapped in such abundance. Like his own speech, the gaiety had a sharp air of desperation under it, the music more than a hint of melancholy; combine that with a little too much to drink and—
And things might get out of hand. Quickly. Maybe he'd just go and keep Coalwind and Prettyfoot company until things quieted down a little bit.
Honey-cakes. I promised Shalkan some honey-cakes. And those little maple candies.
Kellen stopped a few yards up the forest path, fretting. The sweets would all be gone if he didn't go back for them now. He sighed, looking back at the lights in the clearing. It was quiet out here, and he could hear the music drifting enticingly through the trees behind him. It was a little chilly, and back there were fires and warmth. The air smelled of damp earth, and back there were the scents of cooking meat, mulled ale, and woodsmoke. He knew it
