"Who do you think it will be?"

"Anyone who will swear fealty to Oriseus against the Sceptanar. I think the High Conjuror is getting ready to make a move on the throne, and that Dalrioc Corynian of Soorenar is out to make a friend of the next king of Cimbar."

"Won't the Sceptanar destroy him?" Aeron asked, surprised.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. It is the way of things in Cimbar, Aeron. The Sceptanar is the most powerful mage who wants the throne. From time to time, a new mage rises who has the skill and the ambition to overthrow the old king." The Calishite watched the crowd of students and novices excitedly following Oriseus back into the college. "I've always known that man possessed the ambition. Now I begin to believe he possesses the skill as well."

"You're going to oppose him?"

Sarim met his eyes with a haunted look. "I wouldn't be surprised if Master Raemon's murderer strikes again. Those who stand for the populists or the Sceptanar are going to be removed from positions of authority . .. one way or another."

"Telemachon was my sponsor. Without his support, I'll be forced to leave anyway." Aeron paced away, examining the place where Telemachon had stood before he died. "Sarim? I know it's not a matter for students, but why did Telemachon think Oriseus had killed Raemon? What evidence did he have to make that accusation?"

"I do not know. Lord Telemachon was not allowed to argue his point before Oriseus's allies passed a motion absolving Oriseus of suspicion. That was what provoked the argument; Telemachon felt that he was denied the opportunity to present his case."

"I'd like to know what he found out," Aeron said quietly, speaking his mind aloud.

Sarim measured the wiry student with a long, thoughtful look. "So would I. Keep me advised of how your studies with Oriseus proceed, Aeron. I want to know what he teaches you. And in the meantime, you are not without a sponsor. I'll see to it that you can stay here as long as you like. You've been a good student, and you have amazing potential. But watch yourself, Aeron. Knowledge is power . . . and risk."

Ten

Within a week of Lord Telemachon's passing, the Ruling Council named a young master Aeron barely knew as the new High Diviner. It was no surprise that the new ruling master was a minor senator and Soorenaran advocate who openly deferred to Oriseus in council meetings and conversations. Although Aeron had little contact with any of his fellow students, and even less with the masters now that Telemachon was gone, he slowly became aware of a growing tension in the air. After years of maneuvering, a challenge to the remote Sceptanar was growing within the halls of the college.

Oriseus spent days at a time attending to private business in his estates and lands surrounding Cimbar, and the students of the college whispered that he was building support among Cimbar's lords and generals for a move against the city's faceless king. It struck Aeron as senseless and negligent that the Sceptanar should sit idly by, watching his foe grow in strength, but the Cimbarans among the college thought nothing of it. The city's rules of succession decreed that the Sceptanar must answer any personal challenge brought against him. The king was free to crush any coup or rebellion with whatever forces he deemed appropriate, but as long as his challenger did not rise in arms against him, he could not use Cimbar's soldiers and heroes to defend his own position. Of course, Oriseus ensured that the Sceptanar abided by his own laws by building his support among the generals, the lords, and the people.

Oriseus grinned and jested when bold or contentious lords and mages demanded to know his intentions, deflecting any suggestion that he prepared to challenge the city's overlord. But the city's demagogues proclaimed his virtues and cried out for Oriseus to seize the throne and lead Cimbar to war against Akanax. It was widely known that the Sceptanar did not desire war, but the mood of the city was shifting away from its faceless overlord. Aeron fumed as the college ground to a halt, students and masters alike wasting their days in shameless rumormongering. Annoyed by the distraction, he wondered what would happen if the storm hanging over the college broke.

Lord Oriseus, as energetic and capricious as ever, resumed his duties a few days after defeating Lord Telemachon. A week after his return, he sent for Aeron. The young student found Oriseus in his spartan chambers in the Masters' Hall. He'd never seen the High Conjuror's quarters, and he was surprised by the barren walls and utilitarian furniture. Oriseus's flamboyance was carried in his face and his manner, leaving no exaggeration for his belongings. "You sent for me, Lord Oriseus?" he asked.

"Ah, Aeron! Yes, of course I did." The lean sorcerer grinned and bobbed like a servant, pulling out a chair by the narrow window for Aeron. "How are your studies proceeding? I haven't spoken to you in a couple of weeks."

"Very well, my lord," Aeron replied. "Master Sarim has been helping me with some difficult invocations."

"Indeed." A fleeting grimace crossed Oriseus's bearded features. "I was surprised to learn that Sarim had assumed Telemachon's place as your sponsor."

"I could not remain here if he hadn't."

"I would have been glad to sponsor you, Aeron. Your potential is extraordinary, extraordinary! We cannot allow you to leave." Oriseus glanced from side to side, even though they were completely alone, and leaned close. "Besides, I think things will change here soon. The college has grown too ... conservative. Too hidebound by the artificial distinctions of class and wealth, instead of the real potential of the students. You are perhaps our finest example of a student whose talents far exceed the abilities of those who call themselves his betters. I see a college where the only measure of a student's standing is his power and skill, Aeron. A change for the better, I believe."

Aeron did not know how to reply to that. "I wish it were so," he laughed nervously. "I'm in favor of any arrangement that sets me level with Dalrioc Corynian."

"Yes, I suppose you would be," Oriseus said thoughtfully. "Do you recall the details of our first conversation after your novitiate examination? We talked of the Weave and the old Imaskari shadow magics."

"I remember. You hinted that the Imaskari had mastered another method for working their spells, a power that freed them of the Weave." Aeron met Oriseus's gaze. "The same power that you used against Lord Telemachon."

Oriseus smirked and rocked back on his seat. "Ah, Aeron, you cannot understand how delighted I am that someone perceived the skill of my final spell! I wondered if everyone had missed it."

"It was plain as day. You touched no Weave that I could see. Do you mean no one else noticed?"

"Aeron, your gift is unique. You are the only one with elven blood among us, and I suspect that you are the only wizard within these walls blessed with mage sight." Oriseus nodded eagerly. "Yes, I used the old magic against Telemachon. He was stronger than I expected."

There was something almost unhealthy in Oriseus's fevered eyes, the anxious intensity that kept him dancing from foot to foot, trembling and shaking like a man on the verge of a seizure. Aeron sensed danger, risk; a cold hand of caution settled over his heart. But despite himself, he was intrigued. He'd thought he understood where all the pieces fit, but now he realized that at least one part of the puzzle had eluded him. "How did you do it?" he asked quietly.

Oriseus sighed and spread his hands. "Alas, I cannot explain. How could you describe what you see of the Weave to one of your blind fellows? How could you tell a deaf man what the song of a nightingale is like?" He paced away, hands clasped behind his back. "You are brilliant, Aeron, but you lack the sense you need to wield the power."