Venette Martain’s lips pinched. “Yes. I’m sure you are.” She stood. “I came here out of courtesy, one friend to another, so do be sure you pass my message to Morgan. There will be an edict issued in the next day or two. Complex mageworking is to be restricted, by order of the Council.”

Barl stared at her. “Why?”

“Tell Morgan if he wants to know more, he knows where to find me. Good evening, Mage Lindin. I’ll show myself out.”

Horrible woman.

Alone again, Barl retrieved her notebook and notes. Slapped them down on the table and folded back into the chair.

Complex magework to be restricted? What is the Council up to now?

Then she shrugged. Morgan would find out. But anyway, it didn’t matter. No Council edict would ever apply to them.

Frowning, she returned to her work.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Twenty-nine

So,” said Barton, his voice heavy with melancholy. “That’s it, then.”

Slumped on Batava schoolhouse’s front step, Remmie nodded. “Yes. That’s it.”

Barton sat, keys dangling from his fingers. Keys. They needed Brantish locks to secure the schoolhouse’s classroom doors because a warding couldn’t be trusted to take, or last any length of time if it did.

“It’s hard to fathom, Remmie.” With a sigh, Barton rested a hand on his shoulder. “I never thought I’d live to see this. I never thought such a thing was possible.”

“Neither did I.”

They were surrounded by a dreadful silence. All the children had been sent home. The schoolhouse’s classrooms and playground and field were empty, save for the random manifestations of mage-mist that had made them unsafe.

Barton heaved a sigh. “So, Mage Lindin. What are you going to do now?”

“I’m not sure. You?”

“Remember my uncle, in the Third district? I’m going to him.”

Barton’s uncle? Oh, yes. The baker. “That’s good,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “At least you can make bread without magic. Yeast’s a magic all its own.”

Barton heaved another sigh, then leapt to his feet as mage-mist thickened into existence halfway across the schoolhouse assembly yard. Cursing, he snatched up a pebble and threw it. The mage-mist spat and sparked and sizzled it to dust. Then it faded, capricious, as swiftly as it appeared. No need for the banishing incant that only worked one try out of three.

“I can’t believe this,” Barton said, his voice shaking. “Dorana’s falling to pieces around us, faster and faster every day. And what is the Council of Mages doing to save us? Nothing… except take away more and more of our magework. All those high and mighty ranked mages and what use are they? None!”

“Steady on,” Remmie murmured. “I’m sure they’re doing their best.”

“It’s not enough.”

No. It wasn’t. “When will you leave?”

“As soon as I can buy a seat on Benyt’s wagon.”