Dali might envision the Mirrorshroud as a subterfuge that would
allow him to trap Par, but Coil had a far better use for the
magic. If he could find a way to get possession of the cloak long
enough to put it on . . . His excitement at the prospect would
not allow him to finish the thought. How could he manage it?
he wondered, his mind racing as he dressed and paced the length
of his cell, waiting for his breakfast.
It occurred to him then, for just a moment, that it was ex-
traordinarily careless of Rimmer Dali to show him such a magic
when the Shadowen had been so careful to keep all their other
magics hidden. But then the First Seeker had been anxious for
his help in locating Par, hadn’t he, and the cloak was useless
unless they found Par, wasn’t it? Probably Dali had hoped to
persuade Coil simply by letting him know he possessed such
magic.
Then the first suspicion was abruptly crowded aside by a
second. What if the cloak was a trick? How did he know that
the Mirrorshroud could do what was claimed? What proof did
he have? He started sharply as the metal food tray slid through
the slot at the bottom of his door. He stared at it helplessly a
moment, wondering. But why would the First Seeker lie? What
did he stand to gain?
The questions besieged and finally overwhelmed him, and
he brushed them aside long enough to eat his breakfast. When
he was finished, he went down to the exercise yard to train with
Ulfkingroh. He needed to talk with Rimmer Dali again, to find
out more about the cloak and to discover the truth of its magic.
But he could not afford to seem too interested; he could not let
the First Seeker surmise his true motive. That meant he had to
wait for Rimmer Dali to come to him.
But the First Seeker did not appear that day or the next, and
it was not until three days later as sunset approached that he
materialized from the shadows as Coil was trudging wearily back
to his cell and fell in beside him.
“Have you given further thought to helping me find your
brother?” he asked perfunctorily, his face lowered within the
cowl of his black cloak.
“Some,” Coil allowed.
“Time passes swiftly, Valeman.”
Coil shrugged casually. “I have trouble believing anything
you tell me. A prisoner is not often persuaded to confide in his
jailor.”
“No?” Coil could almost feel the other’s dark smile. “I would
have thought it was just the opposite.”
They walked in silence for a few paces, Coil’s face burning
with anger. He wanted to strike out at the other, having him
this close, alone in these dark halls, just the two of them. He
fought down the temptation, knowing how foolish it would be
to give in to it.
“I think Par would see through the magic of the Mirror-
shroud,” he said finally.
Dali glanced over. “How?”
Coil took a deep breath. “His own magic would warn him.”
“So you think I would fail to get close enough even to speak
with him?” The whispery voice was hoarse and iow.
“I wonder,” Coil replied.
Dali stopped and turned to face him. “How would it be if I
tested the magic on you? Then you could make your own judg-
ment.”
Coil frowned, hiding the elation that surged abruptly within.
“I don’t know. It might not make any difference whether it works
with me.”
The gloved hand lifted, a lean blackness stealing the light
from the air. “Why not let me try? What harm can it do?”
They went down the hallway and up a dozen flights of stairs
until they were only several floors below the cell where CoIl
was kept imprisoned. At a door marked with a wolf’s head and
red lettering that Coil could not decipher, Rimmer Dali pro-
duced a key, inserted it in a heavy lock, and pushed the door
back. Inside was a single window through which a narrow band
of sunlight shone on a tail wooden cabinet. Rimmer Dali walked
to the cabinet, opened its double doors, and took out the Mir-