While the result was appalling, the concept was intriguing. Oh, this is fascinating. Everyone knew, of course, that it was possible for an unscrupulous, immoral mage to make use of the power of someone's life-force by wresting it away in a violent death. Violent death was what often created a link to the physical world, in fact, as the power released, combined with the dying person's wish to live, forged a bond holding the spirit to the earth past the end of his life. That was how ghosts were created; that was probably how the spirits of Vanyel, Yfandes, and Stefen had been able to join with the great Forest in the north of Valdemar. Vanyel had done consciously, and under control, what others had done by sheerest accident and panic.
Now, there was no doubt that killing someone to take the power of their life-force was wrong, evil. But what if you simply forged that link to drain it off when they died naturally? Why would that be bad? The original owner wouldn't need that power, and it would only dissipate back into the energy-web that all life created. That would be why so many of the power strands woven into this sanctuary were so clear and clean; this power hadn't been stolen, reft away by violence. It had simply been taken up when the original owner no longer needed it.
No, there would be nothing immoral about that, no more than inheriting a house or a book from someone.
Hmm. This requires a great deal of thought. Granted, it does take power to create these links, but the outcome... when your donors did die, the power would go to whatever receptacle you had created for it, where you could tap it at will. It wouldn't even need to be invested in an object like this sanctuary.
Falconsbane could very easily have used the power in this sanctuary to keep himself aware of the world, even to keep track of those of his bloodline, picking and choosing among his "candidates" until he found one about to make that crucial step, opening himself to invasion by opening himself to magic.
All the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, leaving Firesong with a most intriguing whole.
The view from here is enchanting indeed. Enough for one day. It certainly answers the first part of my question—how I create the same kind of sanctuary that Falconsbane did. Now he was left with the other half—how did one find a new body without stealing one?
He followed his link back to his own body, and opened his very physical eyes on the tiny stone-walled room, the stone table, and the glowing crystal.
It wasn't cold in here, or he would have gotten a great deal stiffer than he was. He stretched, getting his blood moving again. An'desha had said this morning that he would gladly take Firesong's place on the Grand Council; Firesong was not certain what had prompted that offer, although he was mildly grateful for the gesture.
Today, too, they were finally rid of Karal again—he'd gone back to the Palace and his official suite.
Today Karal was supposed to take up his duties again. And An'desha wants to be at the Grand Council meeting. Coincidence? I think not.
He frowned and rubbed the side of his nose with his finger in irritation. Karal and An'desha were entirely too solicitous of each other. And could Karal actually be the one responsible for An'desha's increasing independence? The Karsite had all manner of odd notions in his head; could he be imparting them to An'desha? After all, An'desha was perfectly tractable until he began spending so much time with Karal.
Well, if Karal keeps aggravating that Shin'a'in, he's going to find himself with more trouble than he can handle. It wouldn't surprise me too much if the man decided to declare blood-feud, which would certainly solve all of my difficulties with him.
A gloating, gleeful thought occurred to him. Karal's career as an envoy—as well as his life—seemed destined to be very short, given the number of times he'd been attacked and the number of enemies he'd collected. Perhaps he could persuade Karal to be a part of his own experiment with capturing the Power of another's life-force. And then—perhaps he could play with the situation a bit—
No, that's probably not a good idea, he decided immediately And I don't want to link a Karsite Priest into anything of mine; the Goddess only knows what Vkandis would do about that. Nor do I really want to manipulate the situation to get Karal into difficulties, even though an accident to Karal would make certain that An'desha was in great need of comforting, and pliant with grief.
He stretched again, grimacing at the numb state of his rump. Stone benches. How very typical of this place! Elegance without comfort....
He had come to realize that he was very discontented here. He hated the feeling of eyes on him every time he ventured out of the ekele, and so perversely went out of his way to be outrageous. Not that he hadn't been the center of attention back in the Vales, but the attention he attracted here was not the unalloyed admiration and indulgence he got back home. Here he was stared at because he was alien, flamboyant by the standards of these curiously dull people. When he gave vent to some strong opinion, people looked at him as if he had committed some breach of etiquette; often as not, when he inquired after something that should have been commonplace, they gave him looks that said clearly they thought he was out of his mind.
I miss the Vales, damn it all. I miss decent food that I don't have to prepare for myself. I miss my hertasi servants. There is no reason why I should be forced to pick up and clean after myself; there is no reason why I should have to devote a single moment to anything other than mage-craft! I am a mage—why should I do the work of a menial? Oh, he could have servants coming in, but he didn't want snoops from the Palace making free with his private areas.
He missed the way he didn't even have to ask for something he wanted at home; hertasi would anticipate what he wanted without his asking. He missed the varied temperatures of all of the springs in a Vale; here he was confined to one spring of hot water and one of cold. Most of all he missed the gentle, cultivated warmth of the Vales, the unvarying climate, the presence of flowers and fruit everywhere, at every season. His own ekele was a poor substitute for a Vale. It was too small, and there was no way one could pretend one was alone in a wilderness.
And I am mortally weary of the prudishness of these Valdemarans. One cannot even soak in a pool without some sort of modesty covering.
He was tired of their limited diet, tired of their limited understanding, their limits upon everything except their curiosity.
I have very simple tastes. I am not asking a great deal. Just some of the amenities of civilization, including civilized behavior.
As for the reason he was here, there were no answers and far too many limitations there as well. The mage-storms were too strong, too chaotic in their effects, to respond to the magics he knew, yet he could not bear to admit that they defeated him. If he had all the Adept-level mages of all the Vales at his disposal, he might be able to concoct a shield, but that was by no means a certainty. The storms themselves came and passed so quickly he could not study them properly, and even if he could, he simply didn't have the resources he needed.