being obvious about it. He turned to face the fellow and offered a smile and a shrug. 'We're both new. Who are you?'
'I'm Kerrick. Did Olmad bring you on?'
Aeron just nodded. 'Care for a hand with that brandy?'
The servant frowned. 'No, I'll get it. What are you supposed to be doing?'
'They wanted a half-bushel of potatoes in the kitchens,' Eriale replied. 'Which way is the root cellar?'
Kerrick shook his head. 'You'd think they'd take some time to show the new hands around. The root cellar you want is the second door, over there.' He stooped and shouldered the cask, heading off for the stairs. 'I'd step it up, if I were you,' he called. 'Nurchen'll have you scrubbing pots until your hands bleed if he thinks you dawdled down here.'
'Thanks, we'll get right to it,' Aeron replied. He watched until Kerrick trudged out of sight and blew out his breath in relief. 'Come on, let's get out of here before we meet anyone else,' he said to Eriale. He trotted down the length of the vaulted undercroft, counting the archways until he found another small door and steps leading up. 'This goes up into the masters' quarters.'
They emerged in the long, light-paneled hallway that ran on the lower floor of the hall. As soon as Aeron stepped out of the door, he found himself standing right in the path of a Master of Necromancy, a cadaverous old man striding along with long, shanky steps. The sorcerer glared at him with cold, dead eyes. Aeron froze in horror- he confronted none other than High Master Eidos, one of Oriseus's old allies. The vulpine eyes narrowed as Eidos scrutinized Aeron.
'What are you gawking at?' he snapped in a harsh voice.
Hurriedly, Aeron sketched a bow. 'Pardon me, my lord.'
He turned and slunk away, while Eriale silently closed the servant's door and followed. He could feel the weight of Master Eidos's stare between his shoulder blades, but with an angry snort the necromancer dismissed them and returned to his business. When Aeron risked a glance over his shoulder, he saw purple robes rippling like oily water in the wizard's wake, until he turned a corner and vanished.
Eriale set her hand on Aeron's arm. 'By Assuran's grace, that was close,' she whispered.
'I don't know how he didn't recognize me.'
'When he last saw you, you were a student, five years younger.' Eriale shrugged. 'You've grown and filled out.'
They reached the end of the corridor. The glyph marking Telemachon's chambers still guarded the door; Aeron suppressed a smile. Lord Telemachon's chambers had been among the more impressive any Master possessed, and he'd thought that out of nothing more than a desire for extra space someone might have commandeered them. Carefully, he worked a minor magic to pass Telemachon's sigil, remembering the time he'd done the same thing on the eve of Oriseus's initiation to the Shadow Stone. The mark seemed to hum as if alive, then faded as Aeron finished his spell. He frowned in puzzlement.
'What's wrong?' Eriale asked, watching him.
'Telemachon's sign. It vanished when I disarmed it.'
'That's not supposed to happen?'
'No, I was only trying to counter it for a moment,' Aeron said.
'It's been five years. Maybe the spell's worn away.'
He shook his head. 'It shouldn't have. But maybe this close to the Shadow Stone, the workings of magic aren't as predictable as they should be.'
He set aside his reservations and pushed the door open, drawing Eriale in behind him. To his surprise, Telemachon's room seemed as if it had been left alone as well. From the thick coat of dust that covered the furniture and shelves, Aeron guessed that he might have been the last person to enter.
'No one straightened up in here, either,' Eriale observed.
Aeron examined the leaning stacks of books and the cluttered mess of the old High Diviner's desk. 'We've been lucky twice in one day. It's too good to be true.'
'Why would the Masters leave this room undisturbed?'
'Who knows? Maybe no one wanted to clean up this mess. Or perhaps Oriseus and his allies feared the defensive spells Telemachon wove.'
Eriale straightened up from a casual search of the shelves. 'You mean this room might be trapped?'
Aeron grimaced. 'I should have warned you to move carefully. Telemachon wouldn't use deadly spells unless he really meant to do someone harm, but there are quite a number of nasty surprises that might remain here.'
'Greetings, Aeron.'
Aeron spun at the sound of the voice. Eriale turned quickly, too, kneeling and stringing her bow in an impossibly fast motion. Behind them, sitting in the chair behind the desk, was Master Telemachon. The wizard looked old and tired, as he always had, with dark bags under his eyes and heavy jowls that quivered as he spoke.
'Telemachon!' gasped Aeron.
The wizard shook his head, holding up his hand. 'No. A mere shadow of Telemachon. A message to you from beyond the grave, if you will.'
Eriale stood slowly, keeping her arrow trained on the wizard's heart. 'Aeron told me you were dead,' she said. 'What are you? An imposter? A restless ghost?' The gleaming steel arrowpoint never wavered. 'Or is this all a deception of some kind?'
Telemachon dismissed her with a weary gesture. 'Shoot me if it will make you feel better. But please take care not to damage this fine chair. You see, I am somewhat insubstantial.' To illustrate the point, he reached out and passed one hand through a stack of books resting on the corner of his desk.
'You're an illusion,' Aeron realized. 'A programmed spell, designed to appear under the right conditions. But how are you able to converse with us? I always thought that such phantasms could only be crafted at the time of the casting.'
The spectral mage offered a weak smile. 'I developed a certain refinement to that spell, young Aeron. Great mages are fond of doing such things, you know. But you are essentially correct. I was to appear when you entered this room in the company of someone named Eriale.'
'Five years ago, you saw that this moment would come to pass?' Aeron asked in disbelief.
'Unless I made a very lucky guess, that would seem to be the case,' the phantasm replied. 'Remember, I was an archmage and an accomplished diviner.'
Now that he'd had a chance to study it, Aeron could see that it was indeed a spectral image, shimmering with a faint light and somewhat translucent. No sounds accompanied its movements or gestures, just the tired voice of Telemachon responding to his statements and questions.
'You knew that Oriseus was going to kill you,' Aeron said slowly.
The specter nodded. 'That, too, I saw.'
In the corner of his eye, he saw Eriale relax her stance and lower her bow. 'Then why didn't you flee or decline to face him?' she asked. 'How could you walk into your own death with your eyes open?'
'I had to,' the image replied. 'You see, if I hadn't confronted Oriseus when I did and in just the fashion I chose, Aeron would have been lost.'
'Lost? What do you mean?' Aeron asked.
'You would have touched the Shadow Stone only to be consumed by it, as were the others,' the specter stated bluntly. 'And there would be no one today who might have a chance to undo the evil that Oriseus has wrought.'
'So why didn't you warn me yourself, before your death? And then avoid the confrontation with Oriseus?' Aeron glanced at Eriale, but she only returned a blank look.
The illusionary wizard shrugged. 'It was necessary to keep you in ignorance in order for you to continue your studies under Oriseus's tutelage. As events developed, you were cautious, suspicious of Oriseus's intentions. But you were not too cautious. It was necessary for you to stand before the Shadow Stone, and that you would never have done if you feared Oriseus too much.' The specter seemed to sigh and offered a wry smile, an amazingly lifelike expression. 'It was a fine line to walk, indeed.'
Aeron sat down heavily on an empty stool, still stunned by the illusion's revelations. 'I cannot believe it,' he said. 'You sacrificed your life merely to ensure that I would escape the Shadow Stone's influence?'
