“Some of the officers and wizards, as they reported on enemy activity, leaned in and spoke in low voices as council members gathered in close, listening in stony silence to what I couldn’t hear at all. I didn’t have to hear what they were saying, though. I could read the worry on the faces of the council, worry that the war was not going well.

“After the war reports, an old wizard not far ahead of me in line limped up when it was his turn and spoke at length on the need to create another sliph so that we could quickly get information from place to place out ahead of the enemy.”

Magda recoiled at the very idea of them creating another. She was not at all fond of the sliph. As far as she was concerned the one they had was one too many. She forced her mind back to listening to Isidore’s story.

“The council elder was respectful, but told the man that it had been a great deal of effort to create the sliph, and it had ended up causing trouble that no one had anticipated. The wizard started to argue his case but the council elder cut him off, saying that when the war started, the enemy had found their way into the Keep through the sliph.”

Magda clearly recalled the ensuing carnage. Baraccus had ordered that one of the gifted guard the sliph at all times to prevent anyone from again slipping in to attack them.

She knew one of the wizards, Quinn, who was assigned the lonely task of standing watch over the sliph. He had grown up with Magda in Aydindril. It was a grim duty guarding the sliph, but Quinn didn’t seem to mind. He said it gave him time to write in his journals. He was fond of recording details about events at the Keep, information about people he knew, and his thoughts on the state of political intrigue. Magda had asked if she could one day read his journals. He promised that she could, but said she would likely be bored.

“The old wizard hadn’t known about this breach and fell to stunned silence,” Isidore said. “They thanked him but denied the request. They told him to instead create some additional journey books to help with his communications problems.

“As the old wizard bowed and departed, the next man in line right ahead of me impatiently stepped up. He was a tall, broad-shouldered wizard not much older than me. He wore a beautiful sword—a rare thing for a wizard to do. That’s why I noticed it. Nor did he wear the more common robes that most wizards wear.

“Since I was next in line behind him, I was able to hear the entire conversation. The faces of the council turned sour at the sight of the young man. One of the councilmen asked, ‘What is it this time, Merritt?’”