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  “So you’re our blood sorcerer?” said Solthain, gesturing. A shell of silver light surrounded him. “Pity. I thought you’d be taller.”

  Marsile’s smile showed his teeth. “I know you. Solthain Kalarien, the First Magister’s son. The Adept who lost his men to Paulus, who spent twelve years with his soul sealed in a crystal.”

  “I am,” said Solthain.

  “Do you think I should fear such a fool?” said Marsile. He made a disdainful gesture at Solthain’s swords. “Put down your toys, boy, and fight with the weapons of an Adept. If you can.”

  Solthain only laughed, and Marsile’s expression darkened further.

  “Perhaps a sword is a toy,” said Solthain, lifting his weapons. As he did, the color of the astralfire sheathing his blades changed from white to silver. “But if you’re not careful you can kill yourself with a toy.”

  Thalia took a deep breath and began casting another spell, as did Carandis.

  “Enough of this,” said Marsile, spilling a second vial of blood over his fingers. The bloody flame blazed to life around his hands. “I shall…”

  Solthain cast a spell of his own.

  It was not a powerful spell, merely a simple one of psychokinetic force. But he drove his will at the floor between his feet, and the spell’s backlash hurled him forward with incredible speed. Before Marsile finished his spell, Solthain struck, his sicarr and cortana slamming into the renegade Adept with terrific force. Marsile’s wards turned the attack, but the silver flame of Solthain’s weapons leeched away their power.

  Thalia struck, as did Carandis, launching blasts of silver astralfire at Marsile. His wards flickered and sparked, and for the first time Thalia saw a hint of fear on his face. Another bolt from Carandis slammed into his wards, and the blue glow dimmed to a faint flicker.

  “No!” roared Marsile, flinging out his hands. The crimson fire pulsed, and psychokinetic force erupted from him in all directions. The burst flung Solthain to the ground and struck Thalia. She stumbled backwards, losing her balance, while Carandis fell against the wall. Marsile raised his hands again, and a sheet of crimson-tinged silver astralfire washed over them. Thalia felt her wards collapse, saw the fires vanish from Solthain’s weapons as Marsile’s magic devoured the spells. She tried to rise, to cast another spell, but her head thundered like a drum, and waves of pain and nausea rolled through her.

  She had no strength left.

  Thalia got to one knee, trying to stand before Marsile killed them.

  But Marsile himself looked exhausted. His face had taken on a deathly gray tinge, and he grabbed at the stone railing for support with one hand. Sweat poured down his face and soaked into the chest and collar of his robes.

  He, too, had no strength left.

  Thalia tried to summon power for a spell. Marsile shoved away from the railing and stalked across the floor, his face tight with concentration. Before him Solthain coughed and rolled onto his side. Thalia fought to work a spell before it was too late, before Marsile killed her brother in front of her…

  A flash of silver light shone through the doors of the Library, and Marsile froze.

  Thalia saw another silver flash, and another, and another.

  The doors burst open, and Arthain Kalarien strode into the Great Library, flanked by Magisters and Adepts.

  Marsile stared at the First Magister, his face tightening.

  “Father,” rasped Thalia. She had never been so glad to see him. “It’s him. The blood sorcerer. Marsile. The same one banished from the Conclave a hundred and twenty years ago.”

  “So I see,” said the First Magister. “It seems you have eluded justice for a long time, Marsile.”

  “Justice?” spat Marsile. “Is that your word for cowardice? The demons offer us power and immortality, the chance to become a new and better race of men. And instead you cower behind your feeble limitations like any superstitious Brother of the Temple.”

  “Do not take me for one of the fools of the Temple,” said Arthain. “The Divine is only a myth told to cow men into obedience. But the Conclave must guide and protect mankind from the demons of the astral world. By allying with the demons, you are a traitor…and a murderer, to boot.”

  “Cowards, all of you,” said Marsile. “You fear those of us bold enough to dare greater things! You timid, craven fools.”

  “My grandfather,” said Arthain, “spoke of you. You have changed little, it seems.”

  “Old Torthain Kalarien?” spat Marsile. “I remember him. As blind and moribund as you are.”

  “I see that your extended lifespan,” said Arthain, “has failed to teach you wisdom. Surrender, Marsile. It’s over.”

  “No,” said Marsile. “It’s only beginning.”

  He worked a spell, and Arthain and a dozen other Magisters started casting, but Marsile was faster. Silver light and blood fire snarled around him, and his body shifted, altering to become an image made of silver light and gray smoke. For an instant Thalia wondered if Marsile had killed himself, if he had transformed into a demon-possessed wraith.

  Then she realized what had happened.

  “Stop him!” shouted Arthain. “He’s shifted his physical form partway into the astral world. Stop…”

  Marsile sank into the floor. The wards upon the Great Library prevented astraljumping, but with his physical body shifted into the astral world, Marsile could walk through both the wards and the stone walls.

  Marsile disappeared into the floor, and a heartbeat later a volley of blue astralfire ripped a burning gash into the stone.

  But Marsile was already gone.

  ###

  Marsile hurried through the very mountain upon which the Ring sat, the stone hurtling around him. His head throbbed, pain shooting through his limbs, but he forced himself onward, his heart thundering in his ears.

  He rebuked himself. He had used too much power, and had allowed those children to irritate him.

  And they had almost killed him.

  So close to immortality, and they had almost killed him.

  He resolved to take greater care in the future.

  He focused his will, rising to the surface, and found himself on the grounds of the Ring, not far from the outer wall. An effort of will brought his body back to the material world, and a spasm of pain shot through him. Marsile gritted his teeth, forcing his legs to remain upright.

  A little more effort, a little more work, and then he could rest.

  He cast an astraljump spell, reappearing atop the Ring’s outer wall. Another astraljump took him to the top of a tower in the city, and then to the dockside district. One more astraljump took him to the end of a stone quay, the ocean lapping beneath his boots. Far in the distance, he saw a ship upon the waters.

  Waiting.

  Marsile pulled another vial of blood from his robes, poured it over his hands, and used it to fuel his magic. A deep breath, and he cast the astraljump spell one final time.

  Crimson fire devoured the world, and when it cleared, he found himself standing upon the deck of a ship. The planks creaked beneath him, the ship rolling with the waves, and Marsile lost his balance. He cursed and grabbed at the mast, steadying himself.

  A dozen sailors gaped at him, and one hastened to the stern, no doubt to fetch the captain. A moment later the captain, a tall man with a red coat and a smile like a shark, hurried to his side.

  “Lord Marsile,” said the captain with a bow. “Was your business successful?”

  “Captain Harkan,” said Marsile, pushing away from the mast. It would not do to show weakness. “It was. Set sail for Orlanon. Some quiet cove where no one will disturb us. I have…a journey to make.”

  Harkan’s cold smile widened. “So long as you have the coin, we shall take you anywhere you like.”

  “You will be paid well, do not fear,” said Marsile. Harkan was the sort of man who would sell his mother to Khauldish slavers for a penny, but the rogue knew every secluded smuggler’s cove from Araspan to Carth. “Set sail at on
ce. The sooner were are gone from here, the better.”

  “Of course, Lord Marsile,” said Harkan. He turned and began shouting abuse at his crew.

  Marsile strode away, let himself into his cabin, locked the door behind him, and collapsed onto the bed. Every inch of his body ached, and tremors went through his limbs. It would take him days to recover from his exertions, if not the entire voyage to Orlanon.

  He set the book upon his trunk and laughed.

  His exhaustion did not matter. He had found what he had come to claim.

  And with that book, he had taken the first step upon the path to immortality.

  Marsile fell into a deep, contented sleep.

  ###

  Thalia sat with Carandis, her head pounding.

  “He got away,” said Carandis, voice bitter. “He murdered Davrus and Rodez both and he got away with it.”

  A troop of Swords moved through the Great Library under the stern eye of Magister Jonas. Arthain stood conferring with Solthain and some of the other Magisters. All of the enspelled corpses had been found and destroyed, though Thalia suspected it would be a long time before the Adepts felt at ease again.

  Maerwulf’s attack had been one thing…but it had been centuries since someone had dared to so openly attack the Ring.

  “Father will not let this pass,” said Thalia. “He will hunt Marsile to the ends of the earth. Though I have no idea where the man might have gone.”

  “I might,” said Carandis. “He…”

  Arthain Kalarien and a dozen Magisters approached.

  “Father,” said Thalia. There was something in his expression that she did not like. “What is it?”

  “Carandis Marken,” said Arthain, his voice heavy, “it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that you are under arrest for the murders of Magister Rodez and Magister Davrus.”

  Chapter 10 - Tribunal

  The next day Thalia paced back and forth in her father’s study.

  “This,” said Thalia, “is the most ridiculous nonsense.”

  Arthain Kalarien leaned back in his chair. “I am inclined to agree.”

  Thalia glared at him. “You are inclined to agree?”

  A Magister’s study tended to accumulate clutter. Magister Nazim’s held various objects of art from his native Khauldun, carpets and tapestries and elaborate curved daggers. Poor Rodez’s study had been a chaos of books and scrolls and tomes. The former First Magister Talvin had liked to collect fossils, and had displayed three crystals upon his desk – two of them housing the souls of Aramane Morulan and Solthain Kalarien, and the third intended for Rachaelis.

  Arthain’s study, by contrast, was a study in order. Every book sat in its proper place upon the shelves, and Arthain did not bother with anything as trivial as artwork. Normally two slaves waited at the small desks near the doors, ready to take the First Magister’s dictation, but now the desks were empty.

  For only Adepts knew about the traitors within the Conclave’s ranks.

  And some of those Adepts, Thalia thought, were not traitors but simply blind fools.

  “What would you have me say, daughter?” said Arthain, lifting his gray eyebrows. “Magisters Rodez and Davrus were murdered with Carandis’s own sicarr, and their blood was upon both the blade and her robes. Spells of astral resonance proved it.”

  “While she was possessed by Marsile,” said Thalia. “She had no more control over her actions than as if he had shattered her mind and turned her into a puppet.”

  “Which is difficult to inflict upon the trained mind of an Adept, at least without leaving obvious traces,” said Arthain, “and no one in the Conclave has ever heard of a spell that allows the spirit to possess the body of another.”

  “What the Conclave doesn’t know,” said Thalia, “could fill every book in the Great Library.”

  Arthain gave her a flat look.

  Thalia did not back down. “Talvin tore away Aramane’s and Solthain’s souls and held them imprisoned in those damned crystals of his for twelve years, and no one in the Conclave had ever heard of a spell that could do that.”

  “As I said, daughter, if you had bothered to heed me,” said Arthain, “I am inclined to agree with you. I suspect that Carandis is telling the truth, and that Marsile did indeed possess her.”

  “Then why the ridiculous farce of this tribunal?” said Thalia.

  “Because,” said Arthain. He rose with a sigh. “It has become increasingly obvious that there are traitors within the Conclave.”

  “You mean the Secret College is now general knowledge among the Adepts?” said Thalia.

  Arthain’s mouth twisted. “Thankfully, no. If it were, the Temple would use it as an excuse to unite the kingdoms of the west in a general war against us, as they have done in centuries past. Our noble purpose is misunderstood by ignorant fools blinded by superstition.”

  “They may have a point,” said Thalia, “if Adepts continue to draw on the powers of demons.”

  Arthain ignored her barb. “The Secret College remains a secret, but it is obvious to anyone with eyes that something is amiss. First that butchery with Paulus twelve years past, and then First Magister Talvin himself had dealings with a high demon. And now an outlaw Adept from the past returns to attack the Ring itself. The Magisters and Adepts both are frightened, and demand action. Yet Marsile himself has escaped beyond our reach.”

  “So they’re going to execute Carandis as a scapegoat to make themselves feel better,” said Thalia.

  “In essence, yes,” said Arthain.

  “Like superstitious and ignorant peasants attacking the Adepts?” said Thalia.

  She heard a creaking sound, and realized that it was her father’s teeth grinding. “Do you remember what Talvin used to say, how the Conclave had grown complacent and corrupt? More and more, I fear that he was entirely correct.”

  “You always nodded when he made those speeches,” said Thalia. “Please don't tell me that you’ve summoned a high demon to cleanse the world of the wicked.”

  “Don't be trite.” Arthain shook his head. “The fact remains that the Magisters are terrified, and many of them believe Carandis was in league with Marsile.”

  “Then call off the tribunal,” said Thalia.

  “I cannot do that,” said Arthain. “The Conclave’s law is clear. I shall preside over the tribunal, but I cannot dismiss it without cause.”

  “So how are we going to save Carandis?” said Thalia.

  “Your testimony will help a great deal, as will Solthain’s,” said Arthain. “And my opinion as First Magister carries weight.” His scowled deepened. “I think we shall be able to save her life…though she might wish that we had not.”

  ###

  Carandis stood alone in the great hall of the Ring.

  A table stood upon the dais, and nine Magisters sat behind it, Arthain Kalarien at their center.

  In a few hours they would decide her fate.

  Carandis remembered the terror she had felt before her Testing, the certain knowledge that she would either live or die, that she would defeat the demons or perish.

  At least this time, she thought with dark amusement, she got to keep her clothes on.

  The Magisters questioned her at length. Some seemed certain she had been Marsile’s accomplice. First Magister Arthain, she suspected, was at least sympathetic to her, thought his grim expression gave away nothing.

  “Carandis is completely innocent of these murders,” said Thalia. “She fought valiantly, first against the wraiths, and then against Marsile himself. You will recall, Magisters, that after I hit her with a blast of silver astralfire, she fought with me against Marsile. That ought to be incontrovertible proof that she was indeed under his control. And I urge you also to remember how she fought against the Jurgurs when Lord Corthain led the Swords against Maerwulf and his followers.”

  “I am also certain that Carandis is innocent,” said Solthain when the Magisters questioned him. “When I entered the Great Library, I saw both
her and my sister putting up a valiant struggle against the outlaw Marsile. And you think this notion of possession is outlandish, Magister? Might I remind you that I spent twelve years with my soul imprisoned in a bauble atop Talvin’s desk? Blood sorcery can work any number of twisted feats.”

  At last all the testimony had been given, and the Magisters conferred among themselves for a moment. Arthain looked even angrier than usual, and Carandis suspected that was a bad sign.

  Finally the Magisters returned to their seats.

  “Carandis Marken, Adept of the Conclave,” said Arthain, “this is our sentence. Concerning the charges of murder, blood sorcery, consorting with demons, and treason, we have been unable to reach agreement.”

  Carandis blinked.

  “Therefore, it is decided that you will prove your innocence,” said Arthain. “You shall be put to the trial. Marsile has escaped, no doubt to work more villainy and to kill more innocents. You will find him and kill him. Return with his head and you will prove your innocence. Fail, and you will be declared guilty.”

  “This is absurd!” said Thalia, from where she stood with Solthain next to the dais. “Marsile was a Magister, and Carandis is no match for him alone! The Conclave must respond to this attack in force, not by sending one lone Adept!”

  “Do not,” said one of the Magisters, “speak out of turn.”

  “Silence, both of you,” said Arthain. “Sword-Captain.”

  A man in the black ceremonial armor of a Sword-Captain stepped forward. In his hands he carried a black staff, capped at either end with steel. Carandis recognized the staff at once. Adepts outside of Araspan carried such a staff as a badge of office, signifying that they had been assigned a task by the First Magister of the Conclave.

  In Carandis’s case, it was a badge of her trial.

  She hesitated and took the staff, the wood cool and smooth against her palms.

  ###

  “You don’t have to do this,” said Thalia.

  Carandis smiled. “I think your father would say otherwise.”