them.
And if ever there had been a moment in the history of the City when the actions of the Council had virtually handed anyone who had even thought of rebellion the signal to do so without fear of reprisal, this was it. Why should anyone outside the City bother to pay his just tithes and taxes now?
'It will undoubtedly come as a great surprise to the villages of the Central Valley to discover they are no longer to be taxed or claimed by the City, but undoubtedly the visionary Lord Volpiril has some way to replace those lost revenues as well!' Lycaelon muttered, just loud enough for his fellow Mages to hear.
He waited, but no one rose to speak in opposition to Volpiril's plan. And he would not demean himself. If they could not see the disaster they were brewing for themselves, he would do nothing more to save them from it. Let them reap the consequences of their folly. Let them see what ignorant, foolish children they really were. Let the dark days come, let all see them for what they were, and when things were darkest, let all turn to him, Arch-Mage Lycaelon Tavadon, let them beg him to save them from the consequences of their thoughtless arrogance and pride—!
'I call the vote,' Lycaelon said. He extended his hand, palm down. Disapproval.
It went as he thought it would go from the moment Volpiril rose to speak. With ten in favor and two abstentions, his dissenting vote was overruled.
The Council would abandon its new territories, pulling back its boundaries to the City walls themselves.,
But this was not the end, Lycaelon vowed silently. He would accept neither this defeat nor the City's loss. Someday—someday soon—in the name of the City, the Council would reclaim all the lands Lycaelon had been forced to forfeit in its name today.
And more.
Much more.
ANIGREL had received advance warning of the disastrous failure of the Scouring Hunt—more than Lycaelon had, for his information had come a fortnight ago, when he had filled his iron bowl with dove's blood and herbs to make his regular moonturn's report.
He had learned then with a mixture of dread and glee of the Hunt's utter failure, and the defeat of the proud Armethaliehan army that rode in its wake. Glee—because the City had drained every reserve and overextended itself severely to mount the attack, leaving itself exhausted and vulnerable, easy prey. Dread—because failure on such a vast scale required scapegoats, and Anigrel knew perfectly well that his own position in Lycaelon Tavadon's household was less secure than it had been before The Outlaw's Banishment.
After all, private secretaries could be had for the asking, and he certainly wasn't needed as a tutor anymore.
Today's emergency Council session could only mean that the Council was meeting to review the reports from the field, admit what each of them had known a sennight ago, and fix the blame.
'There are no failures, only opportunities.' He only hoped it was possible to grasp the opportunity in this.
'Anigrel!'
Arch-Mage Lycaelon strode into his private office, his aura crackling with barely leashed rage. Anigrel rose from behind his desk and appeared in the connecting doorway.
'Lord Arch-Mage.' He schooled his face to a meek expression of bland deference. 'The meeting did not go well?'
For a moment Anigrel thought Lycaelon would explode—literally burst into a thousand pieces, like a Founding Day firework. But somehow the Arch-Mage kept his composure in the face of Anigrel's goading. Such seemingly innocent remarks were one of Anigrel's few pleasures, and a necessary part of his masquerade, Anigrel told himself, because they were just the sort of thing someone with no inside knowledge of events would say.
'The meeting did not go well, Light blast Volpiril into cold Darkness and the rest of the Council with him for their foolishness,' Lycaelon snarled. 'Volpiril says, in his 'wisdom,' that if the Western Campaign has been such a failure, the only thing we can do is abandon all our lands, including the Home Farms!'
It was just as well that Lycaelon was so angry he paid no attention to Anigrel at all, for the momentary surge of shock and elation must surely have set its mark, however briefly, on Anigrel's features.
'You should have seen Breulin's face when the Council agreed to that; he will think twice about supporting that viper next time.'
Lycaelon sounded savage in his satisfaction at that—well, Breulin owned several of the Home Farms, and now he would have to go without the protection of the City if anything untoward happened out there. More to the point, if his servants and laborers elected to defect and keep everything the farms produced for themselves, there was nothing Mage Breulin would be able to do to enforce his will.
