“He had no trouble controlling them before,” said Kisrah. “I’ve used the spells myself—they were neither difficult nor draining. And, Aralorn, despite what your friend, the wizard who gave you that amulet”—not one of her better stories, she admitted—“told you, Geoffrey didn’t create the Uriah, just summoned them to do his bidding. I think that you have been misled.”
She shrugged. She’d learned her lesson; she didn’t argue with someone who might still be under the influence of the late ae’Magi’s spells.
“You were there that night,” he said. “I saw you.”
“And if I say I killed him,” asked Aralorn in a reasonable tone, “what then? You will kill me as well to even the score?”
“No,” he said hoarsely. “My word of honor that I will not. Nor will I tell anyone else what you say to me. I believe I know who did the killing, but I need . . . I need to be certain.”
Why? she thought to herself. So you can justify the black magic used to hold my father as bait to trap Wolf?
“How could I, a second-rate swordswoman and a third-rate green mage, do such a thing to the ae’Magi?” She indulged herself a bit more than was strictly safe, though she was careful that he would not hear the sarcasm in her voice. “Everyone knows how powerful a sorcerer he was—and a swordsman of the highest ability. Why would I want to kill him? He was the kindest, most tenderhearted—not to mention amusing—sorcerer I have ever met. His death was a great tragedy.”
Second-rate swordswoman, but first-rate actress; Aralorn knew that Kisrah could only hear the sincerity in her voice. It was the sort of addlepated garbage everyone said about the last ae’Magi and meant in its absurd, simplistic whole—thanks to the ae’Magi’s charisma spell, which lingered even now. If she hadn’t accused Geoffrey of creating the Uriah, she thought, she might have persuaded Kisrah of her innocence in the Archmage’s death.
Kisrah frowned at her. “You were there that night. Wielding a mage’s staff ...” He hesitated a bare instant, but obviously decided he might as well push all the way. “Wielding Cain’s staff—it is very distinctive.”
She wouldn’t help him convict Wolf. Aralorn gave Kisrah a puzzled look. “I was there that night, but I don’t recall any staff. I sometimes run messages for the Spymaster. When the Uriah started acting strangely, I left as soon as I could. I’m not a coward, but those things scare me. Look what they did to the ae’Magi.”
Kisrah stared at her; she could almost taste his frustration. “The Uriah captured you for him. He had me translocate you to his castle. What did he want from you?”
Aralorn shrugged and modified her story without a pause. “A misunderstanding, I’m afraid. He thought that I had some knowledge of the whereabouts of King Myr. You remember that was about the time Myr, distraught over his parents’ deaths, left without telling anyone where he had gone. It turns out that King Myr visited a healer, who lives quietly in the mountains near the king’s summer residence.” Without a qualm, she stuck to the official story. If it became widely known that Myr and the ae’Magi were enemies . . . it might confuse a lot of Myr’s followers who were still under the influence of the previous ae’Magi. Perhaps time would solve that—perhaps not. “I actually did know where he was, but was told not to tell anyone—you know how the Spymaster is. The ae’Magi didn’t intend any harm to him, obviously, but orders are orders. The ae’Magi eventually accepted that I couldn’t tell him anything.”
Storytelling did come in handy sometimes, Aralorn reflected. Take a grain of truth and embellish it with nonsense, and it was more believable than what had actually happened. It wasn’t as if she really expected Kisrah to believe her anyway; she just wanted to keep him from deciding what had happened with any certainty.
Wolf whined, and it echoed weirdly in the stone-enclosed corridor. Maybe he was worried about how much storytelling she was doing this night. Probably he was right.
“Shall we go, Lord Kisrah? Or would you like to put me to the question? I’m certain Father has some old thumb-screws around here somewhere.”
The Archmage stared at her as if the intensity of his gaze alone would be enough to pick through the tale she’d woven. His expression was as far removed from the charming man of his public image as Wolf was from a sheep. The pink wig looked like the absurd camouflage it was. He looked very tired, she thought suddenly—as if he had spent more than one sleepless night lately.
“No doubt,” he said tautly, “torture would get another answer out of you, equally plausible and equally false.”
Aralorn smiled pleasantly at him; it wasn’t difficult—few things gave her greater pleasure than frustrating someone else’s attempt to gain information. “No doubt,” she agreed congenially.
“Sometimes,” he said with absolute conviction, “I wish there were a truth spell that really worked. Lead on, then, by all means,” he said with a sigh, abruptly shifting back to the harmless dandy. “I would take a look at this spell that holds your father.”
The guard had returned to his duty.
“Lord Kisrah is here to take a look at Father,” she told him.
“Of course, Lady. Should I remain here, or would you like more privacy?”
Aralorn looked to the Archmage, who shrugged his indifference.
“Stay here,” she said to the guard. “I’d rather not have any curious souls wander in while the ae’Magi is here.”
“Yes, Lady.” The guard smiled.
“The wardings are different,” said Lord Kisrah, examining the curtains.
Aralorn shrugged and dispelled her wards. “It was a onetime warding amulet. These wards are mine.”
He opened the curtain and passed through, murmuring without looking at her. “The wardings were Cain’s work—I know it well. I’ve never heard of talismans of warding.”
She was not so easily won from her chosen story. She merely raised her eyebrow at him. “I had not heard of bane-shades before today. Isn’t it wonderful that we may learn throughout our lifetimes. I assure you that the only ones here when the wardings were drawn were my wolf and I. You have your choice of mages.” She gestured to Wolf, who whined and wagged his tail gently. No human mage could manage to stay in an animal form as long as Wolf had tonight. That Cain ae’Magison was something other than purely human was something his father had kept quiet.
Kisrah spared her a brief glare before continuing into the room. She lit a magelight as she followed him in, but he lit his own as well. Obviously, she thought with amusement, he didn’t trust her. Smart man.
She tugged the curtain shut behind her, stopping just inside the alcove, where she could see the sorcerer without interfering with his magic.
Like Wolf, he placed a hand on her father’s forehead and made a gesture that looked somewhat similar. Watching him closely, Aralorn saw the Archmage’s full lips tighten with some emotion or perhaps just the effort he put into the spell. When he was done, he stepped back for a moment, then began another spell.
At Aralorn’s side, Wolf stiffened and took a swift step forward, crouching slightly. Aralorn felt a swift rush of fear; had she trusted too much to her knowledge of this man?
In spite of her suspicions, she really didn’t believe he would actually harm her father. His reputation aside, Aralorn had access to more rumors than a cat had kittens, and she’d never heard a word to indicate he was dishonorable; and someone had taken great care to keep from harming her father. She knew too much about magic to make the mistake of interrupting Kisrah, but she watched him narrowly and trusted Wolf to stop it if need be.
Whatever the spell the Archmage wrought, Aralorn could tell by the force of the magic gathering at his touch and the beads of sweat on his forehead that it was a powerful one. When he was through, Kisrah leaned against the bier for support.