He shrugged. “I had thought to reason with him when I found him. I think now that he may refuse to listen to me. I had hoped that having you at Southwatch would make a difference. It apparently has not.”
Coll took a deep breath. “You are a fool if you think Par will come here. A bigger fool if you think you can use me to trap him.”
Rimmer Dall shook his head. “You still don’t believe me, do you? I want to protect you, not use you. I want to save your brother while there is still time to do so. He is a Shadowen, Coll. He is like me, and his magic is a gift that can either save or destroy him.”
A gift. Par had used that word so often, Coll thought bleakly. “Let me go to him then. Release me.”
The big man smiled, a twisting at the corners of his mouth. “I intend to. But not until I have confronted your brother one more time. I think the Mirrorshroud will let me do so. This is a Shadowen magic, Valeman—a very powerful one. It took me a long time to weave it. Whoever wears the cloak appears to those he encounters as someone they know and trust. It masks the truth of who they are. It hides their identity. I will wear it when I go in search of your brother.” He paused. “You could help me in this. You could tell me where I might find him, where you think he might be. I know he is in Tyrsis. I don’t know where. Will you help me?”
Coll was incredulous. How could Rimmer Dall even think of asking such a thing? But the big man seemed so sure of himself, as if he were right after all, as if he knew the truth far better than Coll.
Coll shook his head. “I don’t know where to find Par. He could be anywhere.”
For a long moment Rimmer Dall did not respond, but simply stood looking at the Valeman, measuring him carefully, the hard eyes fixed on him as if the lie could be read on his face.
“I will ask again another time,” he said finally. The heavy boots scraped on the stone of the walkway. “Return to your sparring. I will find him on my own, one way or the other. When I do, I will release you.”
He turned and walked away. Coll stared after him, looking not at the man now but at the cloak he carried, thinking, If I could just get my hands on that cloak for five seconds...
He was still thinking about it when he woke the next day. A cloak that when worn could hide the identity of the wearer from those he encountered, making him appear to be someone they trusted—here at last was a way out of Southwatch. Rimmer Dall might envision the Mirrorshroud as a subterfuge that would allow him to trap Par, but Coll had a far better use for the magic. If he could find a way to get possession of the cloak long enough to put it on... His excitement at the prospect would not allow him to finish the thought. How could he manage it? he wondered, his mind racing as he dressed and paced the length of his cell, waiting for his breakfast.
It occurred to him then, for just a moment, that it was extraordinarily careless of Rimmer Dall to show him such a magic when the Shadowen had been so careful to keep all their other magics hidden. But then the First Seeker had been anxious for his help in locating Par, hadn’t he, and the cloak was useless unless they found Par, wasn’t it? Probably Dall had hoped to persuade Coll simply by letting him know he possessed such magic.
Then the first suspicion was abruptly crowded aside by a second. What if the cloak was a trick? How did he know that the Mirrorshroud could do what was claimed? What proof did he have? He started sharply as the metal food tray slid through the slot at the bottom of his door. He stared at it helplessly a moment, wondering. But why would the First Seeker lie? What did he stand to gain?
The questions besieged and finally overwhelmed him, and he brushed them aside long enough to eat his breakfast. When he was finished, he went down to the exercise yard to train with Ulfkingroh. He needed to talk with Rimmer Dall again, to find out more about the cloak and to discover the truth of its magic. But he could not afford to seem too interested; he could not let the First Seeker surmise his true motive. That meant he had to wait for Rimmer Dall to come to him.
But the First Seeker did not appear that day or the next, and it was not until three days later as sunset approached th materialized from the shadows as Coll was trudging wearily back to his cell and fell in beside him.
“Have you given further thought to helping me find your brother?” he asked perfunctorily, his face lowered within the cowl of his black cloak.
“Some,” Coll allowed.
“Time passes swiftly, Valeman.”
Coll shrugged casually. “I have trouble believing anything you tell me. A prisoner is not often persuaded to confide in his jailor.”
“No?” Coll could almost feel the other’s dark smile. “I would have thought it was just the opposite.”
They walked in silence for a few paces, Colls face burning with anger. He wanted to strike out at the other, having him this close, alone in these dark halls, just the two of them. He fought down the temptation, knowing how foolish it would be to give in to it.
“I think Par would see through the magic of the Mirrorshroud,” he said finally.
Dall glanced over. “How?”
Coll took a deep breath. “His own magic would warn him.”
“So you think I would fail to get close enough even to speak with him?” The whispery voice was hoarse and low.
“I wonder,” Coll replied.
Dall stopped and turned to face him. “How would it be if I tested the magic on you? Then you could make your own judgment.”
Coll frowned, hiding the elation that surged abruptly within. “I don’t know. It might not make any difference whether it works with me.”
The gloved hand lifted, a lean blackness stealing the light from the air. “Why not let me try? What harm can it do?”
They went down the hallway and up a dozen flights of stairs until they were only several floors below the cell where Coll was kept imprisoned. At a door marked with a wolf’s head and red lettering that Coll could not decipher, Rimmer Dall produced a key, inserted it in a heavy lock, and pushed the door back. Inside was a single window through which a narrow band of sunlight shone on a tall wooden cabinet. Rimmer Dall walked to the cabinet, opened its double doors, and took out the Mirrorshroud.
“Look away from me for a moment,” he ordered.
Coll turned his head, waiting.
“Coll,” a voice came.
He turned back. There was his father, Jaralan, tall and stooped, thick shouldered, wearing his favorite leather apron, the one he used for his woodworking. Coll blinked in disbelief, telling himself that it wasn’t his father, that it was Rimmer Dall, and still it was his father he saw.
Then his father reached up to remove the apron, which instantly became the Mirrorshroud, and Rimmer Dall stood before him once more.
“Who did you see?” the First Seeker asked softly.
Coll could not bring himself to answer. He shook his head “I still think Par will recognize you.”
Rimmer Dall studied him a moment, the big, rawboned face flat and empty, the strange eyes as hard as stone. “I want you to think about something,” he said finally. “Do you remember those pitiful creatures in the Pit at Tyrsis, the ones driven mad by Federation imprisonment, their magic consuming them? That is what will happen to your brother. It may not happen today or tomorrow or next week or even next month, but it will happen eventually. Once it does, there will be no help for him.”
Coll fought to keep the fear from his eyes.
“I want you to think about this as well. All Shadowen have the power to invade and consume. They can inhabit the bodies of other creatures and become them for as long as it is needed.” He paused. “I could become you, Coll Ohmsford. I could slip beneath your skin as easily as a knife blade and make you my own.” The harsh whisper was a hiss against the silence. “But I don’t choose to do that because I don’t want to hurt you. I spoke the truth when I told you I wanted to help your brother. You will have to decide for yourself whether or not to believe me, but think about what I have just told you as you do.”