Opening Acts

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  One short hour later, dread, like Discord's Worm, had taken up permanent residence in my bowels. I would have yielded my two legs to return to my dull library.

  Less than two hundred years had passed since Sabria had retreated from near dissolution. A century of savagery, fueled by rivalries between the great magical families and between those blood families and the civil authorities, had left our cities in ruins, half of our villages empty or burnt, and more than two-thirds of Sabria's nobles, scholars, and sorcerers dead. Entire magical bloodlines had been wiped out. Even a whisper of those times yet caused cold sweats and shudders in every Sabrian.

  Now someone had dredged up the foulest magic of those days to create an assassin and had dispatched him to murder Sabria's golden king. Philippe was convinced that his mysterious enemy, who might or might not be his wife, would make a second attempt on the anniversary of the first, some two months hence. The king's death by unholy sorcery must surely relight the smoldering embers of the Blood Wars, and the mysterious spyglass hinted that this time the conflagration might drive us into realms uncharted. I, Portier de Savin-Duplais, librarian and failed student of magic, was charged to stop it.

  "As the secrecy of your investigation must preclude our public relationship, I've engaged you a partner agente confide." Philippe led me, still speechless, back into the sunny, peaceful house. I felt out of time, as if I'd just returned from the Souleater's frozen demesne. "Cousin Portier, meet Chevalier Ilario de Sylvae."

  A tall, fair, long-nosed young man, garbed in an eye-searing ensemble of red silk sleeves, green satin waistcoat, gold link belt and bracelets, and lace-god's finger, ruffled lace everywhere-swept off a feathered hat and dropped to one knee as we entered the reception room. "Gracious lord. Such a delight to attend you on this glorious spring day-though 'tis a bit warmish for the season-and I am so forever humbled and ennobled to serve you, though my spirit trembles at the requirement for discretion. . . ."

  Another hour and I was truly flummoxed. After charging me to uncover an assassination plot and halt the revival of the Blood Wars in the span of two short months, the king had paired me with an imbecile. But I had sworn him my service. Indeed, the implications of the spyglass could not be ignored, and left my first move clear. I needed a sorcerer.