Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

black, any mage could unwork the spell. As for the others— Geoffrey’s voice softened with understanding —did you not try and unwork the spell? If it had been only one, anyone could have freed the Lyon. The time is not yet met for him to awaken. Have patience, all will be well.
    Aralorn tried to make herself even smaller without moving so much as a hair. She very much would rather that neither of the participants in this bizarre conversation realized that there was a mouse listening to every word.
    The Lyon will die if something is not done soon. She has no intention of bringing Cain into this, or she would have done it long since. No good can come of this, Geoffrey. Evil begets only evil. The magic that I, and whatever other poor benighted fools you chose to aid you wrought here, is evil. I should not have done it.
    Geoffrey’s voice was harsh. You think my son is so stupid that you could snare him any other way? I searched for him fruitlessly for years without catching him—because I could not find the right bait. Now I have it. Don’t fret yourself, he’s here with her. Cain’s mother was a shapeshifter. She gave him the ability to use green magic, something I failed to recognize until it was too late because of his talent with human magic. The mixture proved volatile—too volatile for his sanity. At least I hope he is insane . . . that is easier to accept than flesh of my flesh being so given to evil.
    Geoffrey paused as if putting aside an old grief. Aralorn’s face twisted into a snarl, an expression that sat oddly on the mouse’s face as she traded terror for rage at last. She put aside all thoughts of an ancient evil, satisfied that her enemy was Geoffrey ae’Magi. She and Wolf must have failed. This is Geoffrey ae’Magi. He twists and manipulates with a skill I might envy if he did not use it as he does.
    Kisrah did not respond, and at last the phantom continued. Don’t be so impatient. I told you he would come. He might even be here already. I’ve seen him take the shape of animals before. Have you looked closely at Aralorn’s wolf?
    With those words, Geoffrey’s form dissolved. As it left the room, Lord Kisrah drew in a deep breath that was more of a gasp and sat up, clutching his head and grimacing in pain. He got up slowly, like an old man, and stirred the coals in the fire before setting a log in the grate. It was a very long time before he went back to sleep, and Aralorn didn’t move until he did.
    A very cautious mouse crept out of the room at last, shivering and wary.

    Wolf, in human form and wearing his mask, opened the door and let Aralorn into her room before she had a chance to knock. Startled, she looked quickly around to make certain there was no one to see him before stepping through the door and pushing it closed behind her.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked after a brief look at her face. “What frightened you?”
    She stepped closer to him and pressed against his warm chest. She felt him stiffen momentarily, as he still did at unexpected touches, then he relaxed and pulled her more tightly to him. She took a deep breath, feeling her panic abate.
    She stepped back to see his face.
    “Thanks, I needed that.” She hesitated. “I saw . . . Wolf, it was your father. I was watching Kisrah sleep when your father materialized in the room.”
    He didn’t appear surprised, just tugged her closer again and bent to rest his head on top of hers as she told him the whole of what she had seen.
    “He has to be dead,” she whispered. “He has to be, but I swear to you this was him.”
    “Are you certain it was he?”
    An illusion? Aralorn examined her memory. Illusionists could not create an actual double any more than a shapeshifter could take on the appearance of a specific person. There were too many fine details to be missed—a mole behind the earlobe, the slant of a smile, the swing of a walk.
    “Not unless it was created by an illusion master who knew your father very well,” she said finally. “Every nuance of speech or expression was Geoffrey’s.” She frowned. “Though he didn’t really speak. I would say that it was mindspeaking, but I’ve never been able to send or receive by mind. I understood everything he said— they said—quite clearly.”
    “Dreamspeaking is different,” replied Wolf. “If Kisrah was asleep, probably it was a dreamspeaker—which was one of my father’s odder talents.”
    “Dreamspeaking as in dreamwalking?” asked Aralorn. “It