Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

have seen what Tam had, but Nastriut was one of the most powerful wizards of his generation. From the vantage point of the hill, Nastriut and Tam could see that the fog that had grown from the first day of the battle was not what either had thought. It was not a spell cast by one of Fargus’s wizards or some side effect of the sheer volume of magic.
    “ ‘Just before Faen fell into the sea,’ Tam said, ‘you saw a dark fog engulf the whole island.’
    “ ‘There was magic so thick it hurt to breathe,’ said Nastriut. ‘Death, more death, and dreams of the power of blood. From the sea I saw it like a great hungry beast.’ The old man shuddered and swallowed hard. ‘Have you been dreaming of power, Tam? I have. Dreams of the power death brings and the lust that rises through my blood. It promises me youth that has not been my state for a century or more.’
    “ ‘If I use black magic,’ whispered Tam, ‘my dreams tell me that I can end all the fighting and go back to my home. Are you saying this thing is in my dreams?’
    “ ‘Such dreams we all had before Faen died,’ the old man said. ‘I dreamed that we created this with the taint of death magic, but I had no proof. When this beast killed the island, it was half the size it is now. But it is the same, the same.’ ”
    The great hall was deathly quiet, and Aralorn was able to drop her voice to a whisper that echoed—a trick of tone and architecture she’d discovered a long time ago.
    “Tam could not have done it, but Nastriut’s reputation was such that Fargus’s mages left the battlefield to help. Over a hundred mages pooled their magic to create a desert of obsidian glass to contain the Dreamer their blood magic had brought into being. Nastriut died in the doing—and he was not alone. The rest of the wizards vowed never to use black magic again upon pain of death. To ensure that this promise was kept, they placed upon themselves a spell that allowed their magic to be controlled by one man—the first ae’Magi, Tam of Hallenvale.”
    “A pretty tale to cover the wizards’ stupidity,” said Gerem abruptly. “It was abuse of magic that created the glass desert, not some heroic effort to save the world.”
    Aralorn smiled at him. “I only tell the tale as it was told to me. You can judge it true or false if you wish. It won’t change the results.”
    “The destruction of a dozen kingdoms,” he said.
    “You’ve been listening to your teachers.” Aralorn smiled her approval. “But there were other results as well. The wizards were vulnerable, most of them trained to use magic in a way that was forbidden them. Now the people feared them and killed them wherever they found them. For generations, a mageborn child was killed as soon as it was recognized. Only in Reth or Southwood could wizards find sanctuary.”
    Aralorn surveyed her audience, child and adult alike. “If you wonder if this story is true, ask the Archmage what the first words of the wizard’s oath are, the oath every apprentice must make to his master since the ae’Magi was set over the mages at the end of the Wizard Wars.”
    “Ab earum satimon,” said Kisrah. He frowned thoughtfully at Aralorn, then translated softly, “To protect our dreams. Where did you hear this story? I have never heard it before. I thought the glass desert was a mistake caused by a clash of magic gone wild and out of control.”
    “I told it to her,” said Nevyn, stepping out from a doorway. “It’s an old tale I heard somewhere—though Aralorn has improved upon it.”
    Aralorn nodded gravely in acknowledgment of the compliment as she rose from her seat. “I have heard several variations of the story since. Lord Kisrah, you wanted to see my father?”
    “One more story, before you go?” asked Falhart. “Something less . . . dark, if you would? I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d rather not spend the night trying to convince my children that there is nothing lurking in the shadows.”
    Aralorn glanced down at Wolf, who was lying on his side being patted by small hands, his eyes closed. It was unusually tolerant of him. In his human form, he avoided people’s hands, other than her own, altogether. The wolf was less shy, but she wondered if he was really asleep. If so, a few minutes more could only help him.
    She gave Falhart a challenging look. “No more comments about my height?”
    He raised his right hand. “I swear.”
    She glanced at Kisrah.
    “I can wait,” he