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Wild West show," Carialle said in Keffs ear. 'There is no connection between
what Chaumel does with his toys, that hum in the floors, and any energy source
except a slight response from that random mess in the sky. Geothermal is
148 Anne Mc^aJJrey u- ^oo.i/ i-ajiw iiyc silent. And before you ask, he hasn't
got a generator. Ask him where they get their power from."
"Where do your magical talents come from?" Keff asked the silver magiman. He
imitated Potria's spell-casting tech-
nique, gathering in armfuls of air and thrusting his hands forward. Chaumel
ducked to one side. His face paled, and he stared baletully at Keff.
"I guess it isn't just sign language," Keff said sheepishly.
"Genuine functionalism of symbols. Sorry for the breach in etiquette, old
fellow. But could the New Ones do that," he started to make the gesture but
pointedly held back from finishing it, "when they came to Ozran?"
"Some. Most learned from Old Ones," Chaumel said, not really caring. He
flipped the wand into the air. It twirled end over end, then vanished and
reappeared in his side-slung holster.
"Flying?" Keff said, imitating the way the silver magi-
man's chair swooped and turned. "Learned from Old
Ones?"
"Yes. Gave learning to us for giving to them."
"Incredible," Keff said, with awhisde. "What I wouldn't give for magic
lessons. But where does the power come from?"
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Chaumel looked beatific. "From the Core of Ozran," he said, hands raised in a
mystical gesture.
"What is that? Is it a physical thing, or a philosophical center?"
"It is the Core," Chaumel said, impatiently, shaking his head at Keffs
denseness. The brawn shrugged.
'The Core is the Core," he said. "Of course.
Non-sequitur. Chaumel, my ship can't move from where it landed. Does the Core
of Ozran have something to do with that?"
"Perhaps, perhaps."
Keff pressed him. "I'd really like an answer to that, Chaumel. It's sort of
important to me, in a strange sort of way," he said, shrugging diffidently.
Chaumel irritably shook his head and waved his hands.
"I'll tackle him again later, Cari," Keff said under his breath.
"Now is better . . . What's that sound?" Carialle said, interrupting herself.
Keff looked around. "I didn't hear anything."
But Chaumel had. Like a hunting dog hearing a horn, he turned his head. Keff
felt a rise of static, raising the hair on the back of his neck.
'There it is again," Carialle said. "Approximately fifty thousand cycles. Now
I'm showing serious power fluctua-
tions where you are. What Chaumel was doing in the hallway was a spit in the
ocean compared with this."
Chaumel grabbed Keffs arm and made a spiraling ges-
ture upward with one finger.
'This way, in haste!" Chaumel said, pushing him through the hallway toward the
great room and the landing pad beyond. His hand flew above his head, repeating
the spiral over and over. "Haste, haste!"
a CHAPTER EIGHT
Night had fallen over the mountains. The new arrivals seemed to glow with
their own ghostlight as they flew through the purple-dark sky toward Chaumels
balcony.
Keff, concealed with Chaumel behind a curtain in the tall glass door,
recognized Femgal, Nokias, Potria, and some of the lesser magimen and
magiwomen from that afternoon.
There were plenty of new faces, including some in chairs as fancy as Chaumel s
own.
'The big chaps and their circle of intimates, no doubt.
Wish I had a chance to put on my best bib and tucker,"
Keff murmured to Carialle. To his host, he said, "Shouldn't we go out and
greet mem, Chaumel?"
"Hutt!" Chaumel said, hurriedly putting a hand to his lips, and raising the
wand at his belt in threat to back up his command. Silently, he pantomimed
putting one object after another in a row. "... (untranslatable)..."
"I think I understand you," Keff said, interrupting ITs attempt to locate
roots for the phrase. "Order of prece-
dence. Protocol. You're waiting for everyone to land."
Pursing his lips, Chaumel nodded curtly and returned
150
to studying the scene. One at a time, like a flock of enormous migratory
birds, the chariots queued up beyond the lip of the landing zone. Some
jockeyed for better position, then resumed their places as a sharp word came
from one of the occupants of the more elaborate chairs.
Keff sensed that adherence to protocol was strictly enforced among the
magifolk. Behave or get blasted, he thought.
As soon as the last one was in place, Chaumel threw open the great doors and
stood to one side, bowing. Hast-
ily, Keff followed suit. Five of the chairs flew forward and set down all at
once in the nearest squares. Their occu-
pants rose and stepped majestically toward them.
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"Zolaika, High Magess of the North," Chaumel said, bowing deeply. "I greet
you."
"Chaumel," the tiny, old woman of the leaf-green char-
iot said, with a slight inclination of her head. She sailed regally into the
center of the grand hall and stood there, five feet above the ground as if
fixed in glass.
"Ilnir, High Mage of the Isles." Chaumel bowed to a lean man in purple with a
hooked nose and a domed, bald head. Nokias started forward, but Chaumel held
up an apologetic finger. "Femgal, High Mage of the East, I greet you."
Nokias's face crimsoned in the reflected light from the ballroom. He stepped
forward after Femgal strode past with a smug half-grin on his face. "I had
forgotten, brother
Chaumel. Forgive my discourtesy."
"Forgive mine, high one," Chaumel said, suavely, hold-
ing his hands high and apart. "Ureth help me, but you could never be less than
courteous. Be greeted, Nokias, High Mage of the South."
Gravely, the golden magiman entered and took his place at the south point of
the center ring. He was followed by
Omri of the West, a flamboyantly handsome man dressed fittingly in peacock
blue. Chaumel gave him an elaborate salute.
With less ceremony and markedly less deference, Chaumel greeted the rest of
the visiting magi.
"He outranks these people," Carialle said in Kerfs implant. "He's making it
clear the/re lucky to get the time of day out of him. I'm not sure where he
stands in the soci-
ety. He's probably not quite of the rank of the first five, but he's got a lot
of power."
"And me where he wants us," Keffsaid in a sour tone.
As Nokias had, a few of the lesser ones were compelled to take an unexpected
backseat to some of their fellows.
Chaumel was firm as he indicated demotions and ignored those who conceded with
bad grace. Keff wondered if the order of precedence was liquid and altered
frequently. He saw a few exchanges of hot glares and curt gestures, but no one
spoke or swung a wand.
Potria and Asedow had had time to change clothes and freshen up after their
battle. Potria undulated off her pink-
gold chariot swathed in an opaque gown of a cloth so fine it pulsed at wrists
and throat with her heartbeat. Her per-
fume should have been illegal. Asedow, still in dark green, wore several
chains and wristlets of hammered and pierced metal that clanked together as he
walked. The two elbowed one another as they approached Chaumel, striv-
ing to be admitted first. Chaumel broke the deadlock by bowing over Potrias
hand, but waving Asedow through behind her back. Potria smirked for receiving
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