“Morag?”
“Preceptor? I overstepped, surely, but I can’t help being awed. I might suspect that there is no other library as extensive as yours. Already I’ve noted three books my teachers assured me were lost forever.”
“You suspect wrong, Morag. As you often do, to no great disadvantage to yourself yet. There are much grander collections, all even more direly protected.” Ildefonse was in a bleak mood. “Return to the solarium. Do not roam unescorted. Even I don’t remember all the traps set to take an interloper.”
Alfaro did not doubt that. Neither did he doubt Alfaro Morag’s ability to cope with petty snares.
He followed Ildefonse to the salon, where the older magicians formed ever-changing groups of three or four. Knowing smirks came his way, from faces capable of smirking.
A servant in livery boasting several shades of orange on dark violet blue entered. “Should Your Lordships be interested, an historic solar event appears to be developing. It can be best viewed from the upper veranda.”
The magicians topped up their drinks and climbed to the veranda, impelled by the servant’s intensity.
The fat old sun had completed a third of its descent toward the western horizon. It revealed a portentous case of acne, a dozen blotches that swirled and scurried around its broad face. Some collided and formed larger blemishes, while new blackheads developed elsewhere. Soon a quarter of the red face was hidden behind a shape- shifting dark mask.
“Is this it?” someone asked. “Has the end finally come?”
The sun flickered, grew by perhaps a tenth, then shuddered and shook it all off. It returned to its usual size. The blotches dispersed. The smallest sank into the dark red fire.
Hours fled while the magicians remained transfixed by the drama.
Ildefonse began to issue orders. His staff unfroze. He announced, “The lower limb of the sun will reach the horizon within the hour. I have ordered my largest whirlaway readied. Let us go. Young Morag will guide us to the point where he spotted his untimely marvel.”
Apparently at random, Gilgad remarked, “The sun has developed a green topknot. And tail.” An eventuation apparent only to his unique eye. He dropped the matter quickly.
4
Ildefonse’s largest whirlaway was a palace in itself. Alfaro was hard pressed to conceal his envy.
As yet, he had no clear idea why the magicians were interested in Moadel. They ignored his questions. They were not pleased, that was plain. They were nervous. Some might even be frightened. More than a few sent dark looks Alfaro’s way, sure that he was a taunting liar working a confidence scheme.
Only Ildefonse spoke to him, and that with obvious distaste. “The sun will be behind Amuldar shortly. Where do I situate us?”
“Amuldar? I thought it was Moadel.”
“Amuldar is the place. Moadel was the artist.”
“Oh.” Alfaro had spent some energy seeking an alternative to admitting that he had been near Boumergarth. He had come up with nothing. Nor was it likely that any disclaimer would be accepted. Ildefonse had dropped hints enough.
Morag delivered the true ranges and bearings.
He would build an image of honest cooperation. That might prove useful should flexibility be called for later. “It’s difficult to judge from so grand a standpoint but I would move a hundred yards back from the Scaum and rise half a dozen.”
The palatial conveyance adjusted its position, possibly in response to the Preceptor’s thoughts.
“Here. This is almost exactly…”
“Excellent.” With an undertone suggesting that Alfaro Morag had won a stay.
Alfaro had spent little time with the elder magicians since his advent in Ascolais. Now he suspected that they were deeper than they pretended. And were very clever at making outsiders feel small.
5
The tips of the spires and bulbous towers of Amuldar rose stark black against the sun, seeming to climb it. Beforehand, the magicians had been indifferent. Now they were interested. Some dramatically so.
Ildefonse and Rhialto lined the rail of the promenade. Alfaro leaned against that rail between them. Rhialto mused, “We may have misjudged our new associate.”
“Possibly.” Ildefonse seemed to doubt that.
“I, for one, am pleased. This could be a splendid opportunity. Alfaro, tell us more.”
“There’s nothing to tell that hasn’t been told.”
“Indeed? So. Why go home and contact Ildefonse rather than investigate?”
“I am neither a fast thinker nor particularly courageous in the face of something that should not be.”
Ildefonse said, “Any of these starry old bull erbs would have swarmed straight in, hoping to strike it rich.”
Alfaro noted that Zahoulik-Khuntze and Herark the Harbinger, both, had developed a furtive manner. Nor were his immediate companions demonstrating their customary flash and bravura.
Panderleou presented himself. “Ildefonse, I have recalled a critical experiment I left active in my laboratory. Return to Boumergarth. I must get home quickly.”
“And thence, whither?” Rhialto inquired.
“This is no time for your superior airs and snide mockeries, Rhialto. Preceptor! I insist.”
“Dearest Panderleou, companion of my youth, you are entirely free to come and go as you will.”
“A concept exceedingly appealing but one you have rendered impracticable.”
The sun declined behind Hazur. The after light revealed no sign of Amuldar. Nothing could be seen but a brace of pelgrane circling.
With little expectation of a useful answer, Alfaro asked, “Will someone tell me something, now? Anything?”
Ildefonse said, “We will honor Panderleou’s request. I set course for Boumergarth. After a suitable evening repast, we will repair to the library, research, and consider what actions we should take or should not take tomorrow.”
The grand whirlaway soared, leaned, swept away across the dying light. The hundred colorful banners dressing its extremities cracked in the passing air.
6
A scramble commenced as the whirlaway docked. Most of the magicians rushed the buffet, determined to further deplete the Preceptor’s larder. A few fled to the lawn and their conveyances. Those returned in a squawking gaggle, righteously outraged.
Ildefonse said, “After protracted soul-searching, I suffered a change of heart. Prudence demands that we remain together and face the future with a uniform plan and resolute purpose.”
Mune the Mage, mouth filled with lark’s liver croquets, observed, “The most salubrious course would be to continue the exact policy pursued since the incident of Fritjof’s Drive. Ignore Amuldar.”
A strong minority were swift to agree.
Herark the Harbinger declared, “I put that into the form of a motion. Though it would seem that Amuldar inexplicably survives, it has offered no provocation since the age of Grand Motholam. Let sleeping erbs lie.” The Harbinger had not yet recovered his color. Alfaro feared the man might have caught some dread scent drifting in
