fades in and out, and as you’ve seen, it can be volatile.”
“What’s that have to do with Blaine?” Niklas asked.
“The mages who are working with the artifacts have to limit their time, because the magic drains them so badly,” Dagur replied. “We nearly lost a young mage who worked too long at a time with the artifacts. When we found him, he looked as if he’d been starving in a dungeon for weeks, but it had only been a few candlemarks.”
“One mage, working for a few candlemarks with an artifact, and it does
that
to him?” Niklas said. He stared pointedly at Blaine. “And you’ve anchored all the magic on the Continent.”
“What’s our option?” Kestel asked. She turned on Lowrey. “You said Quintrel had figured out the secret. How do we get it?”
Lowrey spread his hands. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. Quintrel wouldn’t tell anyone else.”
“We’ll keep working with the artifacts,” Dagur said with a sigh. “Maybe something will turn up.”
“That’s not good enough,” Piran snapped. “If the drain is getting worse, then how long until it puts Mick flat on his back—or worse?”
“It will take the time it takes,” Blaine said. “And in themeantime, we’ll figure out how to respond to Quintrel. At least now we have confirmation that I’m having a reaction to anchoring the magic.”
“And until we’ve figured out how to protect you from it, we need to keep you away from powerful magic,” Kestel said.
Dagur shook his head. “No, you don’t understand,” he said. They turned toward him. “It’s magic itself that’s the danger. How close it is won’t matter soon.” He looked at them in turn, worry clear in his face. “The bond is growing more powerful. Pretty soon, magic anywhere will take its toll on him. And if it kills him before he can find a new anchor, we’ll live through the loss of magic all over again.”
CHAPTER
THREE
T HESE STONES ARE THE KEY TO THE FUTURE OF magic in Donderath.” Vigus Quintrel whisked away the cloth covering the top of a worktable to reveal thirteen glowing amber-colored crystals, each about the length and width of a man’s hand.
“What are they?” Carensa asked, puzzled. She leaned forward for a better view. “They look like… rocks.”
Quintrel chuckled. He was a short man in his middle years, with a balding pate. “Sometimes, important things hide in plain sight,” he said. He looked out across the four mages, his most trusted inner circle of advisers. These were the best of the scholars and magic-users who had followed him into self-imposed exile in Valshoa before the Great Fire. The gray-robed mage-scholars peered at the crystals, each roughly the size of a thick candle, trying to figure out what made them glow from within.
“Presence-crystals,” Quintrel replied dramatically.
“Those are just old legends,” Guran said, giving the glowing crystals a wary look. “No one has been known to use a presence-crystal in centuries.” Guran was one of the senior mages, andbefore the Cataclysm, he had been one of Quintrel’s fellows at the University in Castle Reach. Carensa and Jarle nodded their agreement, but Esban, the fourth mage and Quintrel’s second-in-command, said nothing.
Quintrel’s smile broadened, with an expression that cherished knowing a secret. “You’re right. But the Valshoans knew about them—and we found their notes in the archives to make them our own.”
“I don’t understand,” Jarle said. He was in his middle years, similar in age to Quintrel, with graying dark hair and perceptive blue eyes. “How do the presence-crystals affect magic?”
Quintrel’s eyes were alight. “Because they are the way to take back control of the magic from Blaine McFadden and anchor it so that it cannot be taken from us again.”
Carensa resisted the urge to look to either Guran or Jarle for confirmation that she had heard correctly. To her relief, Guran asked the question that sprang to
“What’s that have to do with Blaine?” Niklas asked.
“The mages who are working with the artifacts have to limit their time, because the magic drains them so badly,” Dagur replied. “We nearly lost a young mage who worked too long at a time with the artifacts. When we found him, he looked as if he’d been starving in a dungeon for weeks, but it had only been a few candlemarks.”
“One mage, working for a few candlemarks with an artifact, and it does
that
to him?” Niklas said. He stared pointedly at Blaine. “And you’ve anchored all the magic on the Continent.”
“What’s our option?” Kestel asked. She turned on Lowrey. “You said Quintrel had figured out the secret. How do we get it?”
Lowrey spread his hands. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. Quintrel wouldn’t tell anyone else.”
“We’ll keep working with the artifacts,” Dagur said with a sigh. “Maybe something will turn up.”
“That’s not good enough,” Piran snapped. “If the drain is getting worse, then how long until it puts Mick flat on his back—or worse?”
“It will take the time it takes,” Blaine said. “And in themeantime, we’ll figure out how to respond to Quintrel. At least now we have confirmation that I’m having a reaction to anchoring the magic.”
“And until we’ve figured out how to protect you from it, we need to keep you away from powerful magic,” Kestel said.
Dagur shook his head. “No, you don’t understand,” he said. They turned toward him. “It’s magic itself that’s the danger. How close it is won’t matter soon.” He looked at them in turn, worry clear in his face. “The bond is growing more powerful. Pretty soon, magic anywhere will take its toll on him. And if it kills him before he can find a new anchor, we’ll live through the loss of magic all over again.”
CHAPTER
THREE
T HESE STONES ARE THE KEY TO THE FUTURE OF magic in Donderath.” Vigus Quintrel whisked away the cloth covering the top of a worktable to reveal thirteen glowing amber-colored crystals, each about the length and width of a man’s hand.
“What are they?” Carensa asked, puzzled. She leaned forward for a better view. “They look like… rocks.”
Quintrel chuckled. He was a short man in his middle years, with a balding pate. “Sometimes, important things hide in plain sight,” he said. He looked out across the four mages, his most trusted inner circle of advisers. These were the best of the scholars and magic-users who had followed him into self-imposed exile in Valshoa before the Great Fire. The gray-robed mage-scholars peered at the crystals, each roughly the size of a thick candle, trying to figure out what made them glow from within.
“Presence-crystals,” Quintrel replied dramatically.
“Those are just old legends,” Guran said, giving the glowing crystals a wary look. “No one has been known to use a presence-crystal in centuries.” Guran was one of the senior mages, andbefore the Cataclysm, he had been one of Quintrel’s fellows at the University in Castle Reach. Carensa and Jarle nodded their agreement, but Esban, the fourth mage and Quintrel’s second-in-command, said nothing.
Quintrel’s smile broadened, with an expression that cherished knowing a secret. “You’re right. But the Valshoans knew about them—and we found their notes in the archives to make them our own.”
“I don’t understand,” Jarle said. He was in his middle years, similar in age to Quintrel, with graying dark hair and perceptive blue eyes. “How do the presence-crystals affect magic?”
Quintrel’s eyes were alight. “Because they are the way to take back control of the magic from Blaine McFadden and anchor it so that it cannot be taken from us again.”
Carensa resisted the urge to look to either Guran or Jarle for confirmation that she had heard correctly. To her relief, Guran asked the question that sprang to
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