“Is that what happened then?” Kate asked. “Was the attack on King Orwin just an argument that escalated into a fight?”
“I doubt it,” said Raith with a sad shake of his head. “But I’m afraid we don’t exactly know what happened. That was a secret Hale took with him to the next life. He went there not to assassinate the king but to persuade him, with the help of his magic if need be.”
“His magic?”
“Yes, his magic—and yours—can influence the minds of living creatures. It’s called sway. It’s a rare and powerful spirit gift.”
Suddenly Kate remembered just who she was talking to. “But I don’t understand. You’re a magist, and yet you were friends with my father, and you know about Vianne and Kiran and me.”
“Oh, and me, let us not forget,” Anise said, the hint of a smirk on her face. She held out her hand and a gush of water rose up from her palm, bubbling over on itself like a miniature fountain.
Kate gaped. “You’re a wilder, too?”
Anise flashed a pleased, proud smile.
“We all are here,” Raith said, and when Kate swung back to him, he added, “Magists are no different from wilders. The ability to imbue inanimate objects with spells is just a form of spirit magic, similar to what enables you to touch minds. We’re even bound by the same laws. Did you know that when wilder magic and magist magic meet directly, they will cancel each other out?” He nodded at her frown. “It’s true. All magic flows from the same source. It’s all connected. When it meets itself, it simply stops.”
Kate’s frowned deepened. “I don’t understand.”
He gestured to the revolver on her belt. “It’s like what would happen if two bullets were to meet in the air, both of them rendered powerless at the impact.”
Slowly, Kate nodded, although her doubt remained.
“Magist magic doesn’t work at night either,” Raith went on. “We can’t create new spells any more than a pyrist can summon fire or an aerist wind. Everything we might need at night, we must prepare in the day.”
Now Kate openly gaped in astonishment. She’d never heard this before, and it seemed a secret the Mage League wouldn’t want divulged. But she was glad to learn it, to know the magists weren’t as all-powerful as they seemed.
Then another question rose up in her mind. “Do you know why I was able to use my magic last night?”
Raith shrugged. “Who can say? Magic is a fickle thing, as unpredictable as the weather, at times. But I would venture to guess it was because the moon was full and you were standing in its light. No one knows exactly how it all works, but magic in Rime is connected to the light. Moonlight is usually too weak to make much of a difference, but it’s not unheard of. Of course, if you want to know more, you’d have to ask a white robe. As for myself, I’ve never been preoccupied with magical theory. Not when there’s a world that needs fixing.”
Kate started to ask him more, but he cut her off with a raised hand. “The point here, Kate, is that we were all the same once, some three hundred years ago, before the War of Three divided us into wilders and magists. Back then all the cities in the three fronts employed magic wielders in their armies—magicians, as we were called then. They used all the magic available to them to try to destroy their enemies. Including, as the legend goes, unleashing the nightdrakes.”
“I always thought that was just myth,” Kate said.
“Some of it might be. We don’t really know what happened, other than that magic was involved.” Raith scratched at his chin, his blackened fingers noticeably stiff. She wondered how they’d gotten that way, imagining some spell gone wrong.
“But we do know the consequences,” Raith continued. “After the war ended, thanks entirely to the destructive force of those same nightdrakes, the laying of blame began. Magicians with active gifts, like those of fire and earth, were held responsible for the devastation by both the city leaders and the magicians with more passive spirit gifts, like what the magists possess today. Our magic could be contained. It’s more easily restricted and was thereby considered safe, while the other forms of magic were deemed too unpredictable and too powerful to be allowed. And so the lines were drawn.”
He paused and drew a weary sigh. “But I and some others in my order believe it’s time for those lines to be erased, for wilders and magists to be united again. That is what your father ultimately wanted when he decided to do all he could to convince the king to stop the Inquisition, and it’s why I asked Vianne to tell you the truth about your father even though Hale didn’t want you to become involved.”
“I don’t understand,” Kate said, feeling as if she were standing on the narrowest edge of a precipice, an inevitable fall looming. She remembered Anise’s earlier warning, and dread began to pulse in her temples. “What exactly is going on here?”
“This,” Raith said, gesturing to the room, “is the headquarters of the Rising, and you are here because we want you to take your father’s place among our ranks.” He paused, then added with a wry smile, “And before you ask, Corwin’s theory about us is wrong. We have nothing to do with the daydrakes. On the contrary, we’re doing everything we can to stop them.”
23
Corwin
CORWIN STARED INTO THE DARK pit before him, and a tremor of fear passed over him from head to toes. The high priestess expects me to jump into this?
Last night, he’d finally finished reading his grandfather’s account of his uror trials, and although much of it remained vague and pointless, the section concerning the third trial had been specific enough to give Corwin worry.
I jumped into the Well of the World and passed out of this life entirely. At least for a time, Borwin Tormane had written.
The Well of the World. Corwin leaned nearer the pit, one so deep it was said to have no end. It seemed to snarl at him like a black mouth. Although the pit was called the Well of the World, the underground cave that housed it was called the Vault of Souls—in part, Corwin suspected, because of the way it echoed. A single voice speaking a single word easily became a thousand hushed whispers against the uneven rock walls and stalactite-strewn ceiling. Located beneath Mirror Castle, this was a holy place, one he’d rarely been allowed to visit before. Even today, he’d had to ask the high priestess for permission. She’d granted it without comment, although she’d sent two of her priestesses to escort him. They stood watch by the single narrow door behind him.
Corwin stretched out the torch he held as far over the pit as he dared. Nothing. There was nothing inside it to give reflection. Just a dark hole in the ground. He tried to imagine jumping into it. He couldn’t. Even though he still had the second trial to get through first, he felt ready to quit right now just to avoid thinking about taking that leap even for a moment. It made him dizzy and sick to his stomach.
“Please tell me you’re not going to jump,” a voice called behind him, and Corwin gave a start. He spun around, the torch hissing at the motion.
“Dal, you idiot,” Corwin said, spying his friend standing across the way. “You nearly scared me to death.”
“Not my normal effect on people, I’ll admit,” Dal replied, glib as usual. “But do you mind coming out of there? These beautiful ladies won’t let me go any farther, and you know how shouting gives me a headache.”