"The Umbrian-Isphardi border is a long way away, even further for Talisman and Arundel. Ostensibly, we have no vital interests to protect there. If the Empire has designs on Isphardi wealth or Songean resources, it may well be counting on a lack of will in the west to come to their aid."

"Let's hope it never comes to that," Jarrod said as cheerfully as he could.

"Selah to that. However, Ragnor thinks as I do and he has an uncanny way of being right when it comes to Umbria."

Jarrod smiled politely. Two old men trapped in the past, he thought, unable to understand that the world has changed.

"Be that as it may," Greylock said, "d'you think that the Oligarchs will live up to their end of our bargain?"

"I took the precaution of putting the agreement in writing and getting Olivderval's signature on it," Jarrod said with a touch of pride.

"Did you indeed. Well done. They'll pay t.i.the in re- turn for Weatherwarding. Excellent. It means that we'll have to emphasize it at the Collegium. We'll need a lot more Weatherwards in the future. Eventually we shall have to stretch the net to cover almost all of the Out- land." He looked across at Jarrod and smiled. "It looks as if we shall have to encourage members of the Disci- pline to have children. We're going to need them." He stopped and thought for a moment,

"Speaking of the Outland, I presume that your Con- cordat includes Isphardel's new territory and that will mean that Songuard will be getting its weather con- trolled for free. Perhaps we should negotiate a treaty with them as well. We shall need Weatherwards in the

154 mountains come what may." The smile reappeared and he stretched languidly. "Most of this won't be my prob- lem anyway. We're looking twenty years into the future and I'll be dead by then."

"I wouldn't count on that," Jarrod said loyally.

"Ragnor's at least twenty years older than you are,"

"True, lad, but Ragnor's either Errathuel come back or a freak of nature. Either way, I doubt he'll be with us much longer."

"He seemed fine to me," Jarrod objected.

"He's very frail," Greylock said gently, "and the Sea- son of the Moons is not too far off. He's never had much tolerance for the cold."

Jarrod wasn't comfortable with the turn the conver- sation had taken. "What do you suppose will happen next?" he asked.

"On the international front? Very little. There will be a proclamation of the Commission's decision. The ad- venturous and the desperate will move into the Outland and stake claims." He hesitated. "That reminds me," he said, "when are we going to resume the clearing of the Giants' Causeway?"

"As soon as Nastrus gets back. He's decided to take a holiday. I've got a bunglebird ready to send to Dean Handrom the moment that he reappears. With luck we'll get to our eastern border before he disappears again for the rutting season. After that, it's anybody's guess."

"You'd better ask him to recruit some of his kin while he's there," Greylock observed, "The broadsheets paid gratifying attention to our exploit at Celador, but if the effort peters out, opinion may turn against us."

"We could probably manage without the unicorn if we could persuade our Magicians to venture into the Outland. We don't have to move the stuff all that far.

I imagine the new settlers would be grateful for some 155.

building material and Nastrus isn't very good at send- ing things to locations that he doesn't know first- hand." He felt a strong twinge of guilt at hiding his intentions from Greylock, and he made a mental note to pick a new site when Nastrus came back. There must be more than enough stone for the new building by now.

"Well, now that you're up to Talisman, you'll prob- ably get some help from the Chief Warlock."

"From Sumner?" Jarrod feigned mild surprise. "Isn't that rather out of character?"

Greylock gave a phlegmy little chuckle. "On the con- trary. It would be an opportunity to make himself bet- ter known, give him a chance to profit from the work that we've already done." He looked at Jarrod side- ways, eyes glittering. "Let us not forget that Sumner wants to be the next Archmage."

"That's not possible," Jarrod said flatly.

"I for one hope not, but he's a very ambitious man."

"He's never performed a significant piece of Magic,"

Jarrod objected.

"You're forgetting the defeat of the Outlanders in Arundel," Greylock said mildly. "He claims credit for that."

"That was just a jumped-up piece of Weatherward- ing," Jarrod said dismiss! vely. "He wouldn't have pulled it off without Ragnor's tactics."

"You're being uncharitable," Greylock said with a smile. "The fact remains that he sees himself as the sav- ior of Arundel and he blames Ragnor for what he per- ceives as a lack of recognition. It would be a mistake to underestimate him."

Jarrod sighed. "I always thought that life would be simple once we had defeated the Outlanders, but it cer- tainly hasn't turned out that way."

"The irony is that it was the Outlanders who held

156 us all together, gave us a sense of common purpose.

I've a nasty feeling that future generations will look back on these past fifteen years as the golden age of Strand."

"Perish the thought," Jarrod said. "No, I'm looking forward to the era of the Archmage Greylock."

The old Mage smiled. "Egregious flattery," he re- joined. "I still have to get the votes."

chapten 16

reylock's conversation, with its talk about Rag- nor's death, stayed with Jarrod and worried him. If the Archmage died, or even if he decided to abdicate his office in favor of Greylock, Jarrod's life was bound to change. No Archmage, to his knowledge, had ever stepped aside or been deposed, but Ragnor had mani- festly accomplished everything that could be expected of an Archmage. He had invoked the Cloak of Protec- tion to render Celador invisible when the Outlanders threatened and he had, in the popular mind at least, discovered and performed the Great Spell. If he wanted to lay down the burden, no one would gainsay him.

Jarrod's mind ran on. If Greylock became Archmage, and, despite the old boy's reservations, there really could be no question that he would, then he might well suc- ceed him as Mage of Paladine. That was farther than Jarrod had ever thought to go when he was growing up and it would be enormously satisfying, but it would also mean that he would be tied to the Outpost and to Stronta-at least for the first two years.

He got up from his chair, went to the window and looked out. Greylock had also brought Nastrus to mind.

Where was he? Jarrod wondered as he contemplated the townsfolk's grazing kina. It was ironic that Pellia, for whom he had had the greatest affection, had only been back to Strand twice, while Nastrus, who had, more often than not, been a thom in the foot, was the one

158 who stayed. He had come to count on the unicorn's presence, but he had no right to do so. The truth was that he needed the unicorn to turn his dream into a reality, and he now realized that if he didn't seize the opportunity soon, he might never get the chance.

He left the window and wandered over to the shelves that lined one of the walls. His mind continued to make calculations as he ran his eye over the handwritten books in their wooden covers and the carefully ar- ranged ranks of scrolls in search of a text on building.

There was nothing remotely useful. He had told Grey- lock that he would send a bunglebird off to Handrom the moment that Nastrus reappeared. He came to a de- cision. Even if he did send the message promptly, it would take a sennight for the Dean to a.s.semble a cadre of Magicians and a fortnight more for them to travel to the point on the Causeway where work had stopped.

That would give him three sennights, with Nastrus' help, to get his own work done, or at least to make a consid- erable start.

The decision made, he went to his desk and drew a sheet of paper toward him. He dipped a quill in the inkwell and began to make notes. There was a great deal of work to be done and most of it would have to be done in secrecy. There was sure to be enough stone available by now, but what he had in mind would re- quire more than that. Worse still, he had no expertise in the area. He would need wood and roofing material and neither were available in the Outland. Before he did anything he would need advice. There was a Master Mason that he had met at the palace after Hall. If the man was still at Stronta, he might be able to glean some of the things he needed to know. On reflection, he thought, it would be best if Nastrus stayed away a while longer.

159.

The following morning Jarrod went in search of Moresby Yarrow. His memory had retrieved the name as well as some information that the mason had vol- unteered. The man had been brought to Stronta by a midcountry baron made prosperous by the boom in the wool trade and desirous of constructing a new house to reflect his new status. Yarrow had complained that the baron had kept him cooling his heels while he had en- joyed the opening of the boar-hunting season. Had the potential commission not been a big one. Yarrow had said, he would have been on his way home days ago.

Jarrod hurried to the Chamberlain' office, hoping that he would not be too late.

It took the best part of the morning to track the man, and Yarrow, when found hunched over a pint of porter in one of the better taverns outside the walls, matched Jarrod's memory of him in every respect save for his clothes. He was broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with an outdoorsman's weathered face. He was bald and made up for it by being bearded. His hands were large with callused pads and his clothes, on this day, were good, but plain. If he was impressed by being sought out by a Mage, he didn't show it.

Jarrod's offer of another pint was accepted, and served by the landlord himself. Mine host was nervously in- gratiating and clearly hoped that his new patron would leave as soon as possible. After a few minutes of aimless pleasantries. Yarrow looked at Jarrod and said, "I am flattered by your company. Excellence, but I rather doubt that this is one of your usual haunts. In fact the goggling of this riffraff"-he indicated the rest of the room with a toss of his head-"rather proves it. I imag- ine that you want something from me."

"Information," Jarrod agreed. "You seem to me to be the kind of man who would respect a confidence."

160 "Depends what it is," Yarrow returned. "I'll have no truck with politics."

"No politics, I promise you. I'd like to ask your ad- vice about how one goes about building a modem cas- tle."