“Scattered across the land, including Fin Panir itself. In remote villages where—unfortunately—some were killed out of hand by zealous Marshals. The Marshal-General has ordered no more killings, but there is … unrest … in some areas.”

Dorrin repressed a shudder. A crisis in the succession of Tsaia—even in the Crown itself—was nothing to the chaos that could result from the entire Fellowship of Gird losing its cohesion.

“In the meantime,” Seklis said, “she bade me inform the Marshals under my eye that they are to report any signs of magery to Oktar, but take no action. She forbade killing suspected mages here, as well as in Fintha. She would like Prince Camwyn to come to Fin Panir with me—”

“And I forbade that,” Mikeli said, without turning to face them. “I have but one brother, and he is dear to me. Let him be as wrong in the Code as he is, and I will still protect him.”

“How many know about him?” Dorrin asked.

“We and Aris Marrakai,” Mikeli said. “For a wonder, given their ages, they have not said aught to anyone else, and a combination of physical exertion and the daily exercise of his power in secrecy has kept it from displaying publicly. So far.”

“Has the Marshal-General any idea why magery is suddenly appearing?” Dorrin asked.

“Several, and none proven,” Seklis said. “The Marshals and paladins she has called to study this may find out.”

“The dragon destroyed Achrya before Midwinter,” Dorrin said. “And is that not when gnomes came to Lord Arcolin? Could it be connected?”

“Anything could be connected,” Mikeli said. “Kieri—King Kieri—used to say everything was. But we do not know, and without knowing we cannot act—”

“Good deeds as well as bad have consequences,” Dorrin said. “It may not be a threat.”

Mikeli finally looked away and sat down abruptly in the remaining chair.

Seklis cleared his throat. “There is more, Duke Verrakai. When we returned from the king’s progress, messages from the Marshal-General also told us of elves come to Fin Panir. Did you know that magelords were in some sort of enchantment in the far west, in that stronghold discovered a few years ago?”

Dorrin frowned. “Paksenarrion said something about that, one night up at the stronghold. I don’t remember any details.”

“Well, there are magelords—clearly magelords from the ancient days—in both the records of the place and by the look of them. They’re just … there. Silent, motionless, unresponsive. The elves now demand that all humans leave—the Girdish and the magelords both. The Marshal-General has ordered the Girdish expeditions home, but has no idea how to remove the magelords—they cannot, it seems, be picked up and carried off. The elves claim they cannot remove them, either, but insist they must be removed. It will take a magelord, they told the Marshal-General, to break the spell that binds them.”