“You have my oath,” Volpiril said, his voice a groan. “I shall work no treason— against the High Council, against the City… or against the Arch-Mage.”
As he spoke the words, Lycaelon lifted his wand from his desk and sketched a glyph in the air, keying the prepared spells. Each one drifted outward from the walls and settled over Volpiril’s body, binding him more firmly and eternally than golden chains.
“Very good, Lord Volpiril,” Lycaelon said, a note of patronizing approval in his voice. “Now go home.”
Anigrel opened the door for Lord Volpiril, and closed it quietly behind him. He wondered, in a disinterested fashion, if the man would still be alive by morning, or would contrive to end his life in some spectacular fashion. Certainly he no longer had anything to live for.
“Come, sit,” Lycaelon said to Anigrel, indicating the chair beside him. “Now we have made a place for you on the Council, but I am not finished yet. Breulin and Isas must go—they are implicated as well, are they not?”
“Jorade Isas is the great-great-grandnephew of Lord Isas; his heir, I believe, as Lord Isas has never married. Geont Pentres is the youngest son of House Pentres, which is allied to House Breulin. I believe a case can be made for both lords’ involvement,” Anigrel said smoothly.
“You’re certain Cilarnen was the ringleader—at Lord Volpiril’s instigation?” Lycaelon demanded eagerly.
“Absolutely. His magickal abilities were rated by his teachers at the Mage College as exceptional. I would not be at all surprised to learn that there were spells of compulsion involved on at least some of the others.”
Lycaelon smiled. “Very good. A little judicious mind-healing, and Pentres and young Isas won’t remember their parts in this terrible matter. I will offer that to Lord Breulin and Lord Isas as an inducement to see reason. If they will not, of course, there is no reason to believe that their dependents have the proper character to wield the High Magick, now is there, Anigrel?”
“Certainly not, Lord Lycaelon,” Anigrel said gravely.
“And the other three?” Lycaelon asked, moving on.
“One is Tradeborn. With your permission, we can burn the Gift out of him tomorrow and Banish him tomorrow evening or the day after, once the boundaries have been extended over the Central Valley once again. He is being fostered by House Arcable. Fines and restrictions there, I’d suggest.”
“Very good. I’ll see a proposed schedule for that on my desk by the end of the sennight. Ah, I must remember to stop giving you such orders, Anigrel. You must instruct my new secretary to be as efficient as you have been.”
“I will see to it, Lord Lycaelon,” Anigrel said with a smile.
“The last two conspirators present unique difficulties, each in his own way. One is Kermis Lalkmair—you will recall the family?”
Lycaelon sighed. “An eternal thorn in my side!”
Anigrel permitted himself another smile. Dyren Lalkmair was an eccentric scholar devoted to study and research. The family shunned politics utterly. “It is said that Lord Lalkmair would rather Burn the Gift out of one of his sons than see him hold a seat on a City council. He would view treason even more harshly. You will be seen as both merciful and just if you simply hand Kermis Lalkmair over to his family for judgment… and I do not think he will ever be a problem to us again.”
“An excellent notion, Anigrel,” Lycaelon said warmly. “You will be a formidable asset to the High Council. And the last? You said there were two problems.”
“Margon Ogregance. He is the son of the High Mage Epalin Ogregance, who oversees the Merchants and Provender’s Council.”
Lycaelon sighed. “And Lord Ogregance has been telling me since before the rains came that Volpiril’s decree would be the ruin of us all—as if I didn’t know it!” He frowned.
Anigrel regarded the Arch-Mage with faint curiosity. He’d never thought that either charity or disinterested kindness were a part of Lycaelon’s emotional makeup. Such hesitancy over young Margon’s fate was most unlike him.
Or perhaps this was the considered rumination of a consummate political game-player, weighing all the possibilities before coming to a decision. The High Mage Ogregance was an important figure in the City—especially now—and to alienate him at this delicate juncture could be disastrous. It was Ogregance who dealt most directly with the Home Farms, and kept the skittish and quarrelsome merchants in line.
“It is, of course, a transgression worth Banishment,” Lycaelon said at last. “Or at the very least, the removal of young Margon’s Magegift. But—as I will make plain to Lord Ogregance—House Volpiril has been at the root of all