"Eighty thousand buen."

It was more than Rubines had expected. A lot more. "I have thirty seven, and three hundred." After begging and borrowing as much as he could, he'd reached the limits of financial assistance available even to a Councilor.

Othrelos laughed in his face. "Less than half? You understand the difficulty involved in obtaining this quantity of those particular resources, yes? I cannot possibly sell it any cheaper. Not even considering your... connections."

"I will have the money," Rubines promised. "The thirty seven is a down payment. I'll have the rest in a week, but the materials must be delivered immediately."

"I know what you've been doing, Rubines Highfait. Do not think my eyes are blind. You have nothing left to sell, no one left to borrow from. Where will the remaining forty three come from?" Othrelos shook his head. "I am sorry, but until I have the money in my hand, I will not send anything anywhere."

There was one resource Rubines hadn't tapped. One bridge he'd not crossed. If he couldn't borrow any more, or sell anything more, he did still have one recourse. "Bring the materials to the northern rim in three days. I will have everything you ask."

"If this is a trap, if you expect to assassinate me and escape unpunished..."

Rubines held his hand to his chest in genuine shock. "Never! I have not fallen so far as you imagine."

He had no intention of killing anyone on the council. But... he did plan to rob them. He had no other choice.

It cost him nearly three thousand buen to have the papers drawn up, signatures forged, and emergency allowances arranged. He had the arrangements credited and billed to Aragos Nelaragos, with the entirely fictional persona of Delis Rufait as executor. It cost another thousand to hire an illicit actress to play the part of Delis Rufait and actually collect the money, and a promised cut of eight thousand more to prevent her running off with the lot.

He'd expected it to cost more. When all was said and done, he'd drained the Council coffers of over a hundred thousand buen, nearly 80% of their entire collected budget for the next decade.

They wouldn't be needing it in ten weeks, let alone ten years. Rubines repeated it to himself over and over as he hurried to the meeting place with the stolen purse burning a hole in his soul.

Othrelos was there to meet him, with eight armed guards. Rubines counted out the thousand-buen chits with hands he held steady by only the greatest effort of will. Othrelos' eyebrows rose higher and higher as the number approached his demanded eighty thousand. Rubines added one more, with a nod of respect, then gestured for the goods to be brought forward.

"I honestly didn't believe you'd do it." Othrelos' hand closed over the bag of money, then he tucked it securely into his jacket's inner pocket. "I'd have wagered my life that this was some sort of trap." He sighed. "I am sorry."

Rubines felt a chill. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

Othrelos shook his head and backed toward his personal carriage. "The materials you've asked for, it's impossible to obtain. You would know that if you paid any attention to the world at all. But instead you gad about with The Shadowcalled?"

"What are you saying?" Rubines demanded coldly.

Othrelos leapt lightly to his carriage door, hanging on with one hand and one foot, as the driver immediately flicked it into motion. "Our ways part here, Rubines Highfait. I do thank you for the donation. It will be used well."

Rubines took three furious steps toward the turning carriage, confident he could catch it before it could gain speed, then slammed into an unseen barrier that split the clearing in half. The telltale glint of silver shone on the ground, the foliage beside it disturbed by the collision, the barrier casting itself unmoved.

Othrelos Darholden rode away, leaving Rubines to his fate.

The eight soldiers closed in.

Rubines drew his sword, but from the stances of the three at the back, they were at least magen, if not archaen. He knew he would not try to assassinate a fellow councilor with anything less. He could deflect lesser castings, but archaen castings could often not be seen. And his mental defences were already gravely weakened from Delarin's recent careless assault, far from their usual strength.

"DELARIN! HELP!"

Then they were upon him. With blows exchanged at a rapid flurry, Rubines did his best to hold his own, but five warriors were more than sufficient to wear him down. With the barrier at his back he couldn't hope to escape.

"DELARIN!!"

They were close to his realm, no more than a stone's throw from Shadowdell. Rubines knew Delarin could hear him. He did not know if he would be willing to come.

If he did not, Rubines knew he would die.

Castings sparked off his blade, or sizzled against the barrier, the silence of the magen proof they were highly skilled experts at the very least. Rubines was bleeding now, from a dozen cuts, his councilor's robe shredded and ruined.

Still he fought, desperately, with every ounce of his strength.

"Stop." The word resonated, not loudly, but unmistakably. Everyone present, Rubines and his eight assailants alike, all fell still and turned as one to the source of the voice.

Delarin Shadowcalled, wearing his usual loose black shirt with an open front, hands extended and silver glinting on his chest, stood at the very edge of his prison. His eyes glowed with purple light that cast silver shadows, so bright that they seemed to outshine the bloody moon that feebly strove to light the sky.

"Come."

Rubines started walking without meaning to, and by the time he realized what he was doing he was already halfway to the border. He broke into a run, then, hurrying to Delarin's side, ignoring the sting and burn of his many injuries.

"No," whispered one of the magen, stuttering to a stop before he'd taken eight steps. "No! You will not suborn me, vile sorcerer."

He turned and fled, but forgot the barrier still splitting the clearing and slammed into it face first. He staggered back, clasping a hand to his face, blood seeping between his fingers.

"Come," Delarin repeated, voice echoing more deeply with power, and the magen dropped his hand and followed his fellows. Delarin stepped back and allowed them to cross the border, one by one.

"You may go, Rubines," he said, then turned to follow the final magen.

Rubines swallowed. "What will you do with them?"

Delarin smiled coldly. "You're not ready to know that. And you have your own concerns. Let me deal with mine."

Rubines shivered. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that Delarin Shadowcalled was anything but truly mad, the truth would not stay hidden for long.

He was throwing the fate of their people on a power-drunk lunatic who thought he could become a god. Moons help him, but he almost believed Delarin would succeed.

One way or another, in triumph or destruction, Rubines Highfait would be at his side.

Steeling himself against the dread, he turned and began the long walk back to the city. They were running out of time, and he still needed those ingredients.