Not a sound in the plaza. Even the children were struck dumb.

With a joy that was almost like laughter, the councillor sang out the syllables of dead Sorvold’s incant. They ignited the shimmering air and set the melted gold and silver in the glass bowl to wild swirling. Round and round they whirled, melding and muddling into one gleaming silver-gold mass.

The councillor clapped his hands sharply. Whispered a single word under his breath. His fingers traced two final sigils. Barl felt the pull of them, felt the punch through her ribcage and the burn in her blood. Her heart leapt as she was trapped in the power of the incant, the power of raw power, the glory of great work. She nearly cried her heartache aloud.

Me. Me. That should be me.

Now the councillor was muttering more swift syllables. The newly melded precious metals rose in a slender column, as lithe and elegant as the mage who created it. Like a weaver with his spindle he coaxed the blended gold and silver higher, then higher still, his planed and angled face alight with pleasure. The column caught the sunlight and blazed fire. Around the plaza, mages broke into fresh applause. Children squealed.

Barl closed her eyes, fighting tears.

Me. Me. That should be me.

When she could bear to lift her eyelids, she saw the glorious silver-gold column suspended in the air, caught fast in a web of magic. It looked like a frozen flame, a captured sunspark.

It looked like magic brought to life.

The councillor raised his right hand, fingers clenched to a fist… and Barl knew, she knew, what he was going to do.

An unmaking? With no safeguards? You can’t be so rash!

“Ri’ga!” commanded the councillor. “Ba’vek!”

She gasped as the unmaking incant punched through her. Beside her Remmie flinched, feeling it just as keenly, but he ignored his own pain to care for Batava’s frightened children. So did Barton. Every mage in the plaza was distressed to some degree. Unmaking incants of that strength were restricted, their use almost never approved. Too much could go wrong with them. And this one was brutal. Why would the Council countenance its use when—

And then Barl turned back to the magic-melded gold and silver column… and saw exactly why.

“Remmie,” she whispered, reaching for him. “Look.”

Distracted by upset children, he started to scold her for bothering him. But Barton Haye choked and pointed, forestalling him. And then the plaza was full of pointing, gasping mages.

“That’s not possible,” said Remmie. “Is it?”

The powerful unmaking incant had failed.

“It was once,” she breathed. “But not any more.”

Somehow, incredibly, Brahn Sorvold had created a fusing incant that could not be destroyed.

With a careless snap of his fingers, the councillor vanished the unharmed gold and silver column, then returned to his fellow councillors. Lord Varen stepped forward, hands raised, and waited for the excitement in the plaza to subside.

“The Council of Mages thanks you for attending this Winsun demonstration. And, in memory of Mage Sorvold, opens the Hall of Knowledge to public enjoyment for the next three hours.”