“There is no-one more competent,” said Brice, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose. “I have made extensive enquiries, and opinion was unanimous. Mage Ranowen has no peer when it comes to the theory of magework. Mage Ranowen—”

“My best explanation is that mage-mist is like a bleeding of raw magic,” Bellamie Ranowen said. “Which is what I call the intangible substance that permits us, as mages, to do what we do.”

Venette felt herself shiver. “So you’re saying… Dorana is wounded?”

“Yes.” The College tutor took a deep breath, and steadied herself. “And unstable. And now it would appear the instability is spreading.”

“And we repair it—heal it—how?” Shari demanded. “Do you still claim we must cease all magework? That somehow we are responsible for our plight?”

“Lady Frieden, I never said we were responsible. I don’t know that we are. I don’t know why this is happening. All I know is that before things get better… if they get better… I expect they’ll get a great deal worse.”

If Bellamie Ranowen had shouted the words, they might have hurt less to hear. But her soft grimness gave them a weight that threatened to crush any hope of hope.

“Mage Ranowen, I fear they have already begun to get worse,” Brice told her, equally grim. “While you have been immersed in your investigations at the College and elsewhere, this Council has been making discreet enquiries throughout Dorana, seeking to learn if the instability is widespread.” He looked down at his sheet of notes. “Alas, the news is not encouraging. It seems that incants that should ignite without effort have been taking two and three attempts. Sometimes more. In some instances, the incants are refusing to ignite at all.”

“And when you say these incants should have ignited without effort, do you mean they were simple?” said Bellamie Ranowen. “And the mages in question… how would you gauge their skill?”

Venette shook her head. “The incants were not simple. Transmutations, deconstructions, third and fourth level enhancements. Challenging incants all… but well within the grasp of the mages who reported their difficulties with them.”

“According to their various testimonies,” Brice added, “there was no ease, no suppleness, in the performance of their magework. The incants felt sluggish, the sigils reluctant to burn.”

Bellamie Ranowen tapped a finger to her chin. “And where were these difficulties encountered?”

Brice consulted his notes. “Here, in the First district. And in the Second. Also the Fourth.”

“Two days ago, in my own street,” said Shari, her face tight, her eyes anxious, “three stained-glass windows of a neighbouring town house shattered. There was no reason for it that anyone could see. No children playing bat-a-ball. No wind to put a branch in the wrong place. The glass simply… fell apart. As though it had been clumsily unmade.”