The problem with the second method was, of course, that the mages in question would not survive the operation. Which was why the bodies of three of Falconsbane's former servants were littering the floor of his study. If he had more time, he probably would have done it the hard way, through himself. It was difficult finding even ordinary servants; mages were doubly hard to acquire.
He had thought long and hard on the best way to go about claiming the power-locus. He had not been aided by all the distractions taking place in and around his lands. The black riders were everywhere, and although they seldom did anything, they rattled his guards and made even his fortress servants nervous. Strange birds had been seen in the forest around his stronghold; and now the woods were reputedly haunted as well, by amorphous, ghostlike shapes and faint, dancing lights.
He had decided at last to set up a power-pole as exactly like the waiting Stone as possible, and anchor that within an enormous crystal-cluster he had brought from one of his storage rooms and set up in his study.
When he drew the power-locus in near enough, it would snap into the power-pole as it had been intended to do at the Bird-Fools' new Heartstone.
Devising the plan had taken much delving into his oldest memories, and he had been a little disturbed at how much he had forgotten.
Too many times for comfort, he'd been forced to return to his library and search through his oldest books. In the end, he'd taken scraps of memory, scraps of old knowledge, and a great deal of guessing.
The difference between what he intended to do and what the Tayledras would have done was that when it snapped into the waiting vessel here, he would be standing between and would be linked to the crystal.
When the power-locus and the power-pole merged into one, he would be part of them as well.
It was as inventive in its way as anything that Tayledras Adept had tried; he was quite certain of that. He was thoroughly pleased with his own cleverness. Oh, it was dangerous, surely; the mages who had been sacrificed to give the plan life had advised against it even before they knew they were going to be sucked dry of life and power to fuel it.
'You'll be incinerated by that much power,' Atus had protested.
'If you aren't incinerated, You'll go mad. No one can be part of a Heartstone!' Renthan had told him.
Preadeth had only shaken his head wordlessly, and cast significant looks at the others.
They thought he was insane even to try it-and at that moment, when he caught them exchanging glances and possibly thoughts, he had known who his sacrificial calves were going to be.
They had doubtless been considering revolt-or at least, escape. Escape would mean they might even consider going to the Tayledras with what they knew.
It was just as well he had another use for them. It would have been a pity to kill them outright and waste all that potential.
Using his subordinates to supply the power instead of himself was the last element he had needed to make the plan reasonable as well as possible.
It meant that at the end of the Working, he was still standing and still capable of acting, instead of unconscious and needing days of rest.
Even at that, he was exhausted when he was done.
He sank down on his couch and considered calling in a fourth man and draining him as well, but discarded the idea. It would cause enough trouble that he had killed three of his underlings. There were those who might read it as a desperation measure. It was, on the whole, a bad idea to kill anyone other than a slave or one of the lower servants. It made everyone else unhappy-and inclined to think about defection. Unhappy servants were inefficient servants. They should know the taste of the whip-but also know that it was only there in extreme circumstances, and that they could bring that whip onto their own backs by their own actions.
He lay back on the soft black velvet of the couch, and considered his next few moves. First-find a reason for the deaths of his underlings that would disturb the others the least. The mages in particular were a touchy lot; they tended to think of themselves as allies rather than underlings.
They were given to occasional minor revolt. It would not do to give them a reason for one of those revolts- not now, when he could ill-afford the energy to subdue them.
Should he claim they had died aiding him in some great work? That was a little too close to the truth, and the next time he called for help in magic-working, he might trigger one of those mass defections. He did not, as a rule, lose even one of his assistants, much less three of them.
The mages weren't stupid; they might well guess that 'aiding' in a great work meant becoming a sacrifice to it.
The deep red light flooding in from the window was very soothing to his eyes, and eased the pain at his temples, pain caused by nothing more than overstressing himself. Both temples throbbed, there was a place at the base of his skull that felt as if someone was pressing a dull dagger into it, and sharp stabbing pains over each eye whenever he moved his head too quickly. Hard to think, when one was in pain...But he must think of a way to explain those bodies. He wished he could simply burn them to ash and pretend that he did not know where they had gone. But that might only make the others think their colleagues had run off, and if those three had done so, there might be a good reason for the others to follow their example.
Complications, complications. Everything he did was so complicated.
Not like the old days, when he didn't have to justify himself to anyone.
When he only had to issue orders and know he would be obeyed.
The cowards. If they hadn't been quite so quick to think of conspiring against him he might not have- Ah.
That was the answer. He would have the bodies dragged from his study and hung from the exterior walls in cages, as traitors were. That would be enough. The rest of his underlings should assume that the three had attempted to overcome him and had fallen in the attempt. A good explanation for why he was so weary.
