Dark eyes narrowed, but his voice lost none of its polite regard. "If the trace has already been established, it cannot be broken – not without interference with the caster."
"I understand that. But a well-away or something which will off-centre the trace, so that I cannot be precisely pinpointed – do you have anything of the sort available?"
"You are a mage, Miss…?"
"ar Corleaux. I have studied, but do not have the strength for most of the spells, unfortunately."
He nodded, still watching her with dark, probing eyes. "An invested spell is no little thing. Will not one of ordinary duration suffice?"
"Not really."
"Very well. You would like this immediately, I gather? It will not come cheaply."
Medair shrugged, dipped a hand into her pocket, and placed a sapphire on the desk. His brows rose. "As to the other task," Medair continued, placing a ruby beside the sapphire. "There is a geas on me. I would like it broken."
The Adept gazed at the two gems, which winked like mismatched eyes. He probably thought her a jewel thief, fleeing from justice. "Would you prefer gold instead?" she asked. "I carry gems, since they are so compact, but if they’re not suitable I can arrange for coin."
"Not at all, Miss ar Corleaux. These are, in fact, more than generous." He reached out a long, bony arm and scooped the red and blue up. "I believe there is an invested spell of the type you desire in storage. If you will follow me, we will fetch it and then see about the geas."
With a certain amount of caution, Medair trailed him through the House. Her reward was a circle of malachite depending from a thin leather cord, which she immediately hung about her neck. Catching the Adept’s eye, she found him smiling with full comprehension.
"It’s not a perfect cure," he warned. "This would spread a trace focus out over perhaps a five-mile area, but only so long as the caster is not in your presence, whereupon the misdirection would become plainly obvious. Now we shall see to your geas. I will need much help, depending on the strength of the caster. Follow me."
He collected four women and two men, a couple of whom were in the middle of instructing. They invited their classes along, rather as if a geas-breaking were some rare and amusing game. They took her to a large empty room with a high roof and no windows, and Medair was directed to stand in the centre of a star chalked on the floor.
"The problem with the geas," said Adept an Selvar to the assembled audience, "is that it takes on a dimension which far outstrips the caster. Even if one of you –" he looked at the students with a humorous eye "– were somehow to successfully fumble out the casting, I doubt that I alone would be able to break it. I see you smile, whether with derision or disbelief, I do not care to speculate. But simply put, if I were to cast a geas, it would take at least three of me to break it, perhaps four. Thus I have gathered seven together and we shall overwhelm by force of numbers."
"Please, Sir," said one of the students, a snub-nosed youth with merry eyes. "What’s the geas making her do?"
"Manners!" snapped one of the mages, cuffing the boy, which he bore with the grin of one who was willing to take the rough so long as he got what he wanted.
"Would assuaging young Bartley’s curiosity be too much to ask, Miss ar Corleaux?" an Selvar asked.
Medair summoned a light-hearted amusement she did not truly feel. "Oh, it’s ensuring that I don’t spend two nights in a row in the same bed," she said, to the amazed delight of the youngsters. "By forcing me to travel almost continuously," she added. "I wouldn’t be overly surprised if I were in the Korgan Lands by the end of Summer, the rate I’m going."
She laughed with them, as the mages each took up a position at the points of the star. Then she sent a silent prayer to Farak. This would work, and she would be free to go her own way.
"Now we shall test the mettle of the geas' caster," said an Selvar. "The first step is to make the power of the spell visible. This is a standard task, but you might wish to watch how we begin melding our power as we perform it. Miss ar Corleaux, it would be best if you left the charm I gave you outside the star."
Medair removed the necklace and deposited it and her satchel over a chalked line. She watched with interest and admiration as they smoothly opened a flow of power between each point of the star. It was a delicate task, this melding. She had seen it often fail, but these six performed the feat with ease, and soon she began to glow. The geas manifested not as the snake she had imagined coiled about her spine, but as a network of silvery lines beneath her skin, patterned like veins.
"Now, a geas can be badly cast in numerous ways," an Selvar continued. "It could be poorly claused, as we call it, allowing the 'chanted person to merely perform the letter of the task and not the spirit. It could even allow the 'chanted person to kill the caster, which would be unfortunate – from the caster’s point of view. It could be sloppily set, but as we can see, this geas has hold of Miss ar Corleaux very thoroughly indeed and I assume, since she needs it broken, that she has not been able to escape the punitive effects. What we will do now is simply pull the power out, as if we were uprooting a weed. The question is how extensive is the root system and whether we are strong enough to pull it up. It is always best to use more magi than is likely needed in a geas-breaking, so that much energy is not expended to no profit." The adept smiled at Medair. "This won’t hurt," he promised, then signalled to the other mages.
It was fascinating to watch. Lines of force erupted from the six mages as they began a low-voiced chant. The power lines curled about Medair, then attached themselves to the silver beneath her skin, which began to lift out of her flesh. It was a curious sensation, a little as if someone were pulling out hairs all over her body, but, as promised, without pain. The magi gradually increased the pull and she watched their faces, noting that concentration had turned to a more intense effort. The pull on her decreased and she felt distinctly lop-sided.
Then the lines of force snapped. Medair staggered, pain blooming behind her eyes, and she lifted a hand even as two of the magi fell over. The audience burst into noise, a confused babble of surprise. Covering her eyes, Medair saw wriggling lights and tried to block it all out.
A touch at her elbow preceded Adept an Selvar’s warm voice. "I am sorry, Miss ar Corleaux," he said. "Whoever placed this geas on you is obviously an adept of great power – probably one of the most powerful. We cannot break it."
Medair fought the throbbing which seemed intent on bursting her head and, after a sentence or two more, an Selvar evidently realised that she was barely taking in what he was saying. He led her to a cool dark room where there was a couch she could rest upon. A damp cloth was laid on her forehead and he silently withdrew, leaving her to struggle with pain and frustration.
The ache did fade, becoming little more than a dull memory, but the disappointment remained. She was stuck with it. Geas, going to Athere. White Snakes.
As soon as she was able, Medair left the couch. Sitting around reflecting on the setback would only depress her further. Adept an Selvar was in the next room talking to a pale, exhausted pair of mages. He immediately suggested lunch.
"I’m sorry to have been of so little help to you, Miss ar Corleaux," he said apologetically over a glass of very good ginger wine. "We will, of course, refund your fee."