To Light A Candle

his life. Besides, he was notoriously scatterbrained—he’d actually managed to lose his City Talisman on more than one occasion! Viance and Flohan were too timid—while they were more sensible than Gillain, neither of them would be willing to do what it would take to save the City.

He would certainly have despaired had not Master Raellan steered him gently toward a different group of Mageborn.

Jorade Isas was the great-great-grandnephew of the Isas who sat upon the Council.

Geont Pentres was the youngest son of House Pentres, a minor Mageborn House which was distantly allied to the Breulin line, and thus much at odds with the Volpirils at the moment.

Kermis Lalkmair’s family had the rare and odd distinction of never having held a City office or a Council seat. The Lalkmair line produced scholars exclusively, and it was said that Lord Lalkmair would rather Burn the Gift out of one of his sons than see him hold a seat on any of the City Councils.

Tiedor Rolfort was the son of a tradesman. His Gift had appeared early, and he had been fostered with House Arcable. He had repaid the House’s kindness with utter loyalty, and complete devotion to his new class.

Margon Ogregance was the son of High Mage Epalin Ogregance, who oversaw the Merchant’s and Provender’s Council. More than any of the others, he knew exactly what was going on with the City’s food supply, and knew just how bad things were.

“We shall starve by spring,” he said bluntly.

The other five stared at him in shock, unused to such plain speaking.

“Well?” Margon said impatiently. “Isn’t that what you wanted to know? Isn’t that why we’re all here? Jorade—Cilarnen—Tiedor—Kermis—Geont—we didn’t all slip away from our families and hide out in this drafty cellar to take tea.”

“But…” Tiedor began.

“Starve,” Margon repeated flatly. “The Home Farms can’t—or won’t—supply us with what we need at any price. I suspect the answer is that they can’t; without us to control the weather and the pests, they have only enough to feed themselves. The Council has already authorized Father to contract with the Selkens for grain, but that’s not to say it will get here in time. And one can’t depend on foreigners, you know.”

“Besides,” Jorade said slowly, working it out, “to ask them to bring in food— and so much food—that tells them we’re weak, doesn’t it?”

“They’ll attack us, not help us,” Geont said, looking at Cilarnen. “And it’s all your father’s fault.”

“The Peace of the Light be between you,” Kermis said firmly, raising his hand. “If not for Lord Cilarnen, none of us would have the least idea how bad things really were, let alone that there might be something we could do about it.”

“But what?” Tiedor asked.

And that, indeed, was the question.

The six young men looked at each other. Finding one another and daring to meet—and openly criticize the High Mages—had been hard enough, both to imagine and to do. To actually go from words to deeds…

“Master Raellan will know,” Cilarnen said firmly. “We must try to come up with a plan, and I’m sure he will have an idea of how to implement it.”

But though they talked until Second Night Bells rang out, none of them was able to come up with any practical notion of how they might cause the High Council to realize the gravity of the situation, or to avert the danger to Armethalieh that they all saw so clearly. They did manage to agree to meet here again in three days’ time, with Cilarnen to bring Master Raellan if he could.

Chapter Seven

Discord in the City of a Thousand Bells

A GIRLS’ SEWING-CIRCLE would make more efficient conspirators, Anigrel decided, entering the now-deserted cellar a chime later and triggering the spell that would release the stored memory of the boys’ conversation into his consciousness. An evening’s worth of pretty speeches, and not one sensible—or useful, from his point of view— suggestion among them. The young idiots could talk from now until the City walls crumbled around them, and do nothing more treasonous than flout curfew! That would hardly be enough for Anigrel’s purposes.