Suddenly those nearest the mages saw a change come over them as their faces relaxed and turned due east, and their eyes took on that unfocused look that the eyes of mages have when they see with other than their physical eyes.

The sky began to lighten ever so slightly, and the tenseness in the men ran through Aren as he cast his presence among them. 

Aren used his power to touch the other mages as they cast their vision out toward that which already reached out to try to corrupt them; he touched the captains as they felt their swords; he touched the would-be king as he stood unafraid, resolute. 

He felt a touch of cold at the center of his spine, and he knew their time was running out. For a moment, desolation came over him, and the world appeared a useless thing, beneath contempt, and he longed to leave this heat for the stable cold. Then he shook himself, and looked into the northern sky; but he knew he would not yet be able to see that which came. 

In that moment all the delight which magic brought to him filled his heart, lifted his thoughts and feelings to that sense of wonder and beauty which drove him on. He took a deep breath, as the memories of his life since he first touched magic washed over him, jumbling his awareness of who he was into a mixture of feelings.