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Yes. Shape-shifting is one of the Seven Disciplines, though perhaps the least understood.
She brightened. Could I become a mage, then?
To be a mage you must master four of the Seven, and shape-shifters are rarely able to master any
discipline other than shifting. There was a debate in the Guild some years ago which contended that
shifting was not a discipline at all but a deviancy, a disease as the common folk believe. The motion
failed. You and I both have magic in our blood, child.
The black disease, they call it, or sometimes just The Change , Griella said quietly. Her eyes were huge
and dark.
Yes, but despite the superstitions it is not infectious. And it can be controlled, made into a true
discipline.
She shook her head. Her eyes had filled with tears.
Nothing can control it, she whispered.
He set a hand on her shoulder. I can help you control it, if you ll let me.
She buried her head in his barrel-like chest.
Someone hammered on the door downstairs.
Her head snapped up. They re here! They ve come for you!
Under his appalled stare, her eyes flooded with yellow light and the pupils became elongated, cat-like
slits. He felt her slight body shift and change under his hands. A beast s growl issued from her throat.
While she is changing. Before it is too late.
He had had the construction of the spell memorized all morning. Now it left him like a swift exhalation of
breath and swooped into her.
There was a savage conflict as the birthing beast fought him and the girl writhed, agonized, caught
between two forms. But he beat the thing down. It retreated and underneath it he could sense her
mind human, unharmed, but utterly alien. The revelation shocked him. He had never looked into the
soul of a shifter before. In the split second before the spell took hold he saw the beast spliced to the girl
in an unholy marriage, each feeding off the other. Then she was limp in his arms, breathing easily. He
shuddered. The beast had been strong, even in the moment of its birthing. He knew that if it ever became
fully formed he would not be able to control it. He would have to destroy it.
Sweat was rolling down into his eyes. He set the girl down, still trembling.
Prettily done, my friend, a voice said.
Standing in the room s doorway was a tall old man who looked as thin as a tinker s purse. His doublet,
though expensive, hung on him like a sack and his broad-brimmed hat was wider than his shoulders.
Behind him a frightened-looking young man bobbed up and down, crushing his own hat between his
hands.
Master, said Bardolin, a swell of relief rushing through him.
Golophin took his arm. I must apologize for the rowdiness of our entrance. Blame young Pherio here.
He does not like me walking the streets in these times, and he sees an Inceptine on every corner. Pherio,
the girl.
The young man stared at Griella as though she were a species of particularly poisonous snake. Master?
Put her on a couch somewhere, Pherio. You need not worry. She will not rip your head off. And hunt
up some wine no, Fimbrian brandy. Bardolin always has a stock in his cellar. Run now.
The boy staggered off carrying Griella. Golophin helped Bardolin into a chair.
Well, Bard, what s this? Consorting with nubile young shifters, eh?
Bardolin held up a hand. No jokes if you please, Golophin. It was too close, and it has wearied me.
Worth a paper in the Guild s records, I think. If this is in the nature of research, Bard, then you are
certainly on the cutting edge. He chuckled and swept off his preposterous hat, revealing a scalp as bald
as an egg.
We were expecting soldiers with an Inceptine at their head, said Bardolin.
Ah. Golophin s bright humour darkened.
They took Orquil away yesterday. I had thought today they would take me.
When Pherio came back with the brandy Golophin poured two glasses and he and his one-time
apprentice drank together.
You bring me to the reason for my visit, Bard: these atrocities that the Inceptines practice in the name of
piety.
What about them? In the name of the Saints, Golophin, they can t be after you. You ve been the adviser
to three kings. You had Abeleyn sitting on your knee when he was too young to wipe his own arse
Which is why I am the one man the Prelate must bring down. Without me the King has no disinterested
advisers nor any who can tell him what is going on halfway across the world at the drop of a hat, I
might add. Abeleyn knows this too, as I hoped he would. With the Prelate on his way to the Synod at
Charibon he has a breathing space. Already the burnings have abated, which is why you are here today,
my friend. Only the hopelessly heretical are going to the pyre at the moment, but the catacombs are still
filling. By the time the Prelate returns there will be thousands there awaiting his pleasure, and if the Synod
approves his actions here then there will be nothing Abeleyn can do, unless he wants to be
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