“But surely this mage is dead by now,” Acair said, wondering if it would make him look weak to reveal how greatly he wished that might be so.
“Most likely.”
He didn’t like the way she’d said that, as if she wanted to believe it but couldn’t bring herself to.
“I recoil from the very idea of looking dense as a rock,” he said, “but I still don’t understand why any of this matters. Let’s assume, if we must, that this man is still roaming through the world, hunting for souls. The question is, why would he bother?”
She looked thoroughly disappointed. “Youarea rock. What have we been discussing?”
“Magic.”
“Blackmagery,” she said pointedly, “for which there is a terrible price.”
“I haven’t paid a terrible price,” he pointed out.
“I’m not sure you’ve paused long enough in your wild swath-cutting through the Nine Kingdoms to know what sort of price you have or have not paid,” she said seriously. “Or it might be that whilst you trumpet your deeds as if they were fashioned of the depths of hell itself, you don’t use all that much dark magic.” She looked at him. “Or do I have that awrong?”
“I use what’s expedient—”
“Which is generally not Olc,” she said pointedly, “or Lugham, or a trio of other magics that I don’t even like to mention. General naughtiness, Acair, is not black magery in a proper sense, something you should understand by now.”
“I’m trying to turn over a new leaf,” he muttered.
“One could hope so,” she said with a gusty sigh, “which is why what I’ve told you is so important. Sift through all the knowledge I’ve put in that empty head of yours and tell me what you learned today.”
“A black mage loses a piece of his soul every time he uses an evil spell,” he said wearily. “So?”
She threw her napkin at him.“So?”
He set her napkin aside and suppressed the urge to swear. “What difference does it make? There is a price to be paid for usinganymagic. There is no possible way to avoid that. The only thing one could hope for was an endless supply...”
He stopped speaking. That happened, he supposed, when one actually listened to what was coming out of one’s mouth.
His mother only shook her head, no doubt in despair.
“There is no final price paid when one has an endless supply of something that sustains him,” he managed faintly.
“Such as what the country of Neroche gives its deliciously gallant young king,” she said, nodding. “I’d think twice about going up against Mochriadhemiach of Neroche, me lad. He has the entire reserves of that enormous country as his underpinnings and if you think he doesn’t know that perfectly well by now, you’re mad. He could throw all manner of spells at you for decades before he was even forced to yawn.”
“He does seem rather perky,” Acair conceded.
“As would any black mage with a proper supply of... well, what shall we call it? Power? Enthusiasm?”
“Souls?” he said hoarsely.
She slapped her hand on the table, sending teacups rattling. “Ofcoursesouls, you idiot. Think on it! A mage who never pays a price for his black magic? Your father lusted after power, which would have allowed him many things, but in the end all the power in the world didn’t serve him and it would have eventually destroyed him because of the magic he used. But a mage who can tradeothers’souls for magicmaking will never tire, never pay a price for his spells, never find himself in a position where he’s at risk of being stopped.”
“Ye gads,” Acair said faintly.
“Well said.”
He took a deep breath. “Then the purpose of those spots of shadows is made clear.”
“And so it is.” She paused, then shook her head. “I’ve said more than I should have.”
“For once, I believe I agree with you,” he said. He wondered if there might be enough daylight to apply himself to fixing her roof or if some vile spider would slay him if he tried to stack wood in the dark. At the moment, he thought that might be preferable to what he faced. He pushed his chair back. “Thank you for tea, Mother.”
She eyed him over her spectacles. “Off to do foul deeds, my son?”
