Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

of such a creation.
    Unexpectedly, Gerem grinned. “I’d place bets on Lord Kisrah. Nevyn told me about the time you chased a pick-pocket into the heart of the infamous slums of Hathendoe and came back unscathed. A chicken should be child’s play.”
    “Stole my best gloves,” agreed Kisrah solemnly. “Purple with green spots, just the color and shape of spring peas.”
    Gerem laughed but stopped when he saw Kisrah’s mournful face.
    “Don’t worry about hurting his feelings,” rumbled Wolf. “He knows what the rest of the world thinks about his clothes.”
    Reassurance was not exactly Wolf’s strong point, so Aralorn was pleasantly surprised that he’d gone out of his way to smooth the waters.
    The Archmage grinned, looking Gerem’s age despite his wrinkles. “Faugh, Cain, you ruined it. He would have begged my pardon in another moment.”
    “I like the bells,” commented Aralorn, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “Perhaps I’ll get myself a pair.”
    Kisrah looked superior. “Spies don’t wear bells.”
    She snorted. “Fat lot you know about spies. I was in your household for three months, and you never even knew my name.”
    He frowned, staring at her intently. “The maidservant . . . Lura—”
    “Not even close.” She shook her head mournfully.
    “She’s a shapeshifter,” said Gerem. “She wouldn’t look like herself.”
    “Even if you did manage to guess what part she played, she’d never admit it,” added Wolf, coming to his feet.
    He took on human form, leaving off the mask and the scars—for Gerem’s sake, Aralorn thought. She glanced at her brother, who was looking nervous again. Yes, she was definitely going to have to do something about the black clothing. It was hard to look intimidating in . . . say, yellow. She grinned at the thought of Wolf dressed in yellow, with a bow to hold his hair back in its queue.
    Kisrah drew in his breath at seeing Geoffrey’s face on Wolf.
    “You need to wear a different color,” she said out loud, to distract both Wolf and Kisrah from something neither cared to think about. “Black is so . . . so—”
    “Conservative,” chided Kisrah, recovering from his initial shock.
    Gerem looked from Kisrah in pink, red, and green to Aralorn in her muddy-colored tunic and trousers, then advised dryly, “Keep the black.”
    Wolf, bless his soul, smiled—a small smile that bore little resemblance to the charm of his father’s. “I intend to.”
    The curtain rattled again, and Nevyn shut it carefully behind him. He surveyed the room, his eyes stopping on Wolf.
    “Cain,” he said, in a tone that was more of an acknowledgment than a greeting.
    At his entrance, Wolf had gone still, almost, thought Aralorn, apprehensive.
    “Nevyn.”
    “It’s been a long time. I—I—I had forgotten how much you look like him.” The stutter irritated Nevyn, and he stiffened further.
    Rather than make things worse, as was his general reaction to people who feared him, Wolf merely nodded. “Shall we begin?”
    “Yes,” agreed Kisrah. “We’re all here now.” He looked around, and for lack of a better place, he pulled himself up on the bier to sit beside the Lyon. “What do you need from us?”
    “I need to know what you have wrought,” said Wolf. “So I can unmake it.”
    “Then I’ll tell my part first.” The ae’Magi wiggled his feet, and the bells chimed softly in response.
    “Tell us all of it,” suggested Aralorn. “Not just the spell—not everyone here knows what has been going on. I suspect that Gerem, for one, has no idea what happened to him, and we still only have guesses about who is responsible for this mess.”
    “The whole story?” asked Kisrah. “There are parts that should remain secret.”
    “Everyone here knows how my father died, or should,” said Wolf. “We might as well tell our version, too—after you are through with your story, Kisrah.”
    “Very well, then,” agreed the ae’Magi. “I’m no storyteller, but I’ll tell you as much as I remember. Shortly after Geoffrey—the ae’Magi—died . . . I had a dream.”
    Aralorn saw Gerem stiffen, like a good hound on a scent: Gerem had dreamed, too.
    Kisrah continued. “Geoffrey came to me as I slept and sat upon the end of my bed—just as he used to.
    “ ‘My friend,’ he said. ‘I have nowhere else to turn. I need your magic to come to my touch.’
    “This surprised me greatly, for he was the greatest mage I ever saw.
    “ ‘A spell?’ I asked.