From a High Tower

by Mercedes Lackey

  Hmm, that’s a lie, Cody, and it’s not a good idea to lie when you are a magician, Giselle thought, her brows creasing. You know very well that all of us use our magic all the time. What’s more, she’s a Master, so she knows it too.

  “Anyways, I don’ see any reason why anybody needs t’fret ’bout us,” Cody continued. “We’ll jest go on our tour, an’ take care not t’rile anything up, an’ that’ll be fine.”

  Rosamund frowned at him. “Just from my point of view, I don’t think that is a good idea. I have only your word for it that what you do will have no effect on what’s already here.” She gave Cody a stern look, and to Giselle’s feeling of satisfaction, she saw Cody cringe just a little. “Moreover, you have no way of predicting what might decide to come at you, regardless of how careful you are. So I have a plan. I am coming with you.”

  Giselle blinked. Well, that’s certainly . . . unexpected. The Captain stared. Kellermann shook his head, and Fox chuckled under his breath.

  She wasn’t at all displeased by this demand. She already liked Rosamund, and she missed the company of another female who was also her countryman and a magician. And Rosamund might be able to teach her more about her own powers than Mother had been able to.

  “This is a joke, right?” Cody said, after a moment.

  “I have never been more serious,” the Hunt Master replied. “You might encounter nothing. But given how luck plays out . . . it is not that I am averse to having your rotting bodies discovered some time next spring. It is that I am averse to finding myself forced to call a Hunting Party together to clean up what you awoke. I greatly dislike having to clean up other people’s disasters.” The look on her face should have warned Cody that she was not joking.

  Evidently it did. “. . . oh,” Cody said, weakly. “Well . . . all right, I guess.”

  “So you don’t object?” Rosamund smiled. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to give you any choice. Now . . . what choice of housing do you have?”

  They all looked at Kellermann, who put his head in his hands and sighed. “Would you prefer a tent?” he asked. “Or a vardo?”

  Rosamund smiled broadly. “A vardo would be perfect, thank you.”

  Rosamund turned up in the morning with two horses and cart. The handsome bay horse tied to the tail of the cart was hers; the other and the cart were borrowed. And the cart itself was laden with three heavy trunks.

  Kellermann had a vardo cleaned out and waiting for her, parked next to Giselle’s. It was not as nice as the one they had given Giselle, since this one had been stripped of the comforts that had made Giselle’s vardo such a pleasure to move into, but it was clean and it had all the basic requirements of bed and storage built in. Cody had asked Giselle to help the Hunt Master move in.

  “I dunno how she’ll take t’this, seein’ as this here is pretty bare,” he said, for the first time in Giselle’s knowledge showing some signs of nervousness. “But it’s about all we got, an’ a tent wouldn’ be much better.”

  But the Hunt Master seemed pleased enough with what she found. “As soon as my gear is stowed, I’ll go back into town and get whatever else I need,” she said, and winked at Giselle. “I have a Graf for a patron. I can afford a cushion or two and some sheets.”

  Giselle bit back a surge of envy. On the one hand, if she’d had such an exalted and wealthy person to rely on, she’d still be snug at the abbey! A Count. A Count for a patron. I wish I had such a thing . . .

  On the other hand, she had the suspicion that, whatever good things Rosamund was getting from this patron, she was earning every bit of it. And perhaps . . . from the little she said last night, I do not believe Fraulein Rosamund has much spare time. And her work sounds . . . rather dangerous. “Well, you get yourself settled,” she replied. “The rest of us have two shows to put on.”

  Rosamund waved Kellermann off, accepted her help, and began taking items out of the trunks, examining them, and putting them back to stow them in the under-bed compartment of her new vardo. After a glimpse into the wide variety of weaponry that was in that first trunk, Giselle no longer had any doubt that Rosamund had more than earned her position as a Hunt Master . . . and that this position was probably a lot more dangerous than she could guess.

  And she made up her mind that the next time she sat down and talked seriously to Rosamund, she was going to be asking a great many questions.

  “Do you . . . really need all of this?” she asked, surveying what looked like a full suit of leather armor, a pair of swords, several daggers, a hand-crossbow, a coach gun, a pair of pistols, an axe, a mace, a morning star, and many boxes of ammunition.

  “All at once?” Rosamund asked, picking up, counting, and replacing a box of quarrels for the crossbow. “Not generally. But you never know what you might need, and we are rather too far from a Brotherhood Lodge for me to be comfortable without having everything I might need with me.” She looked a little sideways at Giselle. “Something you should keep in mind is this: when you are fighting against something or someone that is powerful in magic, and they know that you, too, are a magician, more often than not they completely forget to guard themselves against a purely physical attack. That has saved my life, and more than once.”

  The second trunk, to Giselle’s relief, contained nothing more lethal than clothing. That all went straight into the under-bed storage, still in the trunk, after just a cursory look.

  The third trunk held . . . well, some interesting things. Some of the sort of equipment that Giselle remembered Mother using for various bits of minor magic. Books, quite a few of them. Some items that were clearly personal. Something not unlike a mirror, except it seemed to be made of black glass. Some of that stayed in the trunk, and some got stowed in various drawers and on shelves about the vardo.

  “Well now,” Rosamund said cheerfully, when she had finished. “Linens and curtains, a featherbed and a few nice comforts, I think. I’ll be back—”

  A tap on the side of the vardo interrupted them. They both turned to see Captain Cody standing there. “If yer goin’ to come along with us, you might as well be of some use in the show,” he said, sounding just a little bit cross. “Poor Ellie hasta move like a cat with her tail on fire t’change after th’ Quadrille. You kin take her place as a Injun gal. Ellie, give her yer costume an’ show her.” He started to move off, then came back. “An’ I ain’t payin’ ye,” he added, then truly left.

  “Well,” Rosamund said, both eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. “Is he always that . . .”

  Giselle shrugged. “It is his show,” she pointed out. “And you did just attach yourself to it without asking leave.”

  “So I did.” Rosamund gazed at the empty doorway. “Well. I’ll do it. But only after I make myself perfectly comfortable.”

  She leapt down out of the front of the vardo where the door was, tied her horse to the side of the wagon, and climbed up into the cart, chirping to the horse and slapping the reins on his back.

  Giselle smiled to herself. Things were beginning to look . . . very interesting. In Hunt Master Rosamund von Schwarzwald, Captain Cody might just have met his match.

  9

  “WELCOME to my new home,” said Rosamund, as Giselle settled onto a fat cushion on the floor and accepted a cup of tea. “What do you think?”

  “I really like it,” Giselle confessed. Rosamund had opted to get someone to come attach fold-down seats to the inside of her vardo, with permanently attached cushions. For the rest, she had added curtains in the expected earthy colors, and a lot of leather straps to hold things into their shelves. Even the bedding was in earthy colors. It didn’t look like the sort of décor most people would think of as “feminine,” but it certainly seemed to suit Rosamund.

  “Fewer things to tip over. I am not an expert at driving,” Rosamund confessed. “But that is not why I invited you here. I expect there is a lot you want to ask me about.”

/>   Giselle was silent for a moment. “What exactly do you do?” she asked, deciding that this pretty much summed up all of her questions. “Mother was not in the Brotherhood as such, and the visitors we got never told me very much about it.”

  “Ah . . . now that . . . is a good question.” Rosamund settled back on her cushion, as a light breeze stirred the curtains covering the open door and the curtains closing off her bed from the rest of the wagon. “The Brotherhood mostly kills things, quite simply,” she said, without any hesitation at all. “Bad things, of course. I’ve disposed of vampir, werewolves—and a werebear. A witch or two. Several Elemental Magicians that had gone to the bad. I’ve sent many sorts of spirits on their way, which I suppose is not technically killing things, since they were already dead.”

  “What are vampir?” Giselle asked. “Mother never mentioned them.”

  “She likely wouldn’t have encountered any, they prefer to lurk in ruins. They live on the blood of living creatures. I have been told that there are some who do not kill their victims, and who actually live on the blood of animals rather than humans but . . .” Rosamund shrugged. “I have never seen any. All the vampir I killed were murderers, and the only things ‘living’ that they left behind were unfortunates who they turned into others of their kind.” She gestured at the shelves. “I have a book, I’ll loan it to you.”

  “That . . . would be useful,” Giselle replied. “Have you dispatched more things than that?”

  “Some bad trolls. Other things that one might think were only in fairy stories. I’ve done so alone, and with help. I know how to recognize most Elemental creatures on sight, and how to combat them if need be. Yes, I am an Earth Master, and yes, most Earth Masters are healers, like Tante Gretchen, but I am not.” She shrugged. “All things considered, it’s just as well. Most of the active warriors of the Brotherhood are Fire Masters, actually, although my guardian Gunther is also an Earth Master.”

  “How did you . . . come to be this thing?” Giselle asked.

  “Oh . . . that is a very short story. I showed my magic quite young, and was being taught by another Earth Master whom I called my Grandmother, although we were not related. A werewolf attacked us both. I was rescued by the man who came to be my guardian, with others of the Brotherhood. Everyone decided it would be safer for me and my father and mother if I were to live at the Lodge.” But Rosamund’s expression had darkened a great deal, and Giselle knew immediately that there was more to the story than just that. “I literally grew up training to be one of the Brotherhood, especially after they all realized that hurting, and not healing, was my forte.” She sipped her tea. “I have the advantage of you. I know, more or less, your story. Gunther passed it to me when he sent me to intercept you and this . . . lot.”

  Giselle giggled; in part with relief that she would not need to tell over her tale, and in part because of the expression Rosamund had on her face when she said “this . . . lot.”

  Rosamund sighed. “Amateurs,” she elaborated, a little sourly. “I can only assume that because the distances are so great in the New World, and because the native Elementals do not respond significantly to white Elemental Masters, they are accustomed to vast, barren spaces in which their actions have few, if any, consequences.”

  “Well,” Giselle suggested, “Perhaps you should compare the Black Forest to territory crawling with hostile troops, troops who have often left traps behind them.”

  “It’s accurate,” Rosamund agreed. “Perhaps not crawling with hostile troops, but certainly the part about traps being left behind.” She took a hearty drink of her tea then smiled over the teacup. “I do believe we are going to be excellent friends, you and I.”

  Giselle started a little in surprise, which turned to pleasure. “I haven’t had many friends,” she confessed. “Three, really. Mother’s friends from the Brotherhood and Tante Gretchen.”

  “Ah! Pieter Meinhoff and Joachim Beretz.” Rosamund nodded, and offered Giselle more tea. “Joachim taught me to shoot. Most of my friends as a child were adults, too. Introducing me to other children didn’t . . . work out very well.”

  “How so?” Giselle asked, curiously.

  “Well, it generally began with me quizzing them on what sorts of lethal skills they had—I knew better than to talk about magic, of course, but it seemed to me asking about their ability to shoot, or stab, or bash in heads was just making sure we were all able to defend ourselves if something dangerous came at us. And then they’d ask me why, and I’d tell them, and they’d run away screaming and have nightmares for months.” Rosamund smiled as Giselle gave her an odd look, not sure whether or not to believe her. “It’s quite true. You can ask Gunther if you ever meet him. Or Joachim.”

  “I’m beginning to get the notion that those of us born to magic are not easy children to raise,” she said, finally.

  “Oh we aren’t. It’s just as well it generally runs in families. And to change the subject entirely . . . am I going slightly mad, or is your hair longer tonight than it was this morning?” Rosamund looked at her with her head to the side, quizzically.

  Giselle realized that the braids wrapped around her head had begun to sag and put her hand to them. “Oh bother. Yes it is. It grows ridiculously fast, but it grows faster when I am perturbed. Mother said it had to do with the fact that the sylphs like it, but she never told me anything more than that.”

  “Probably because she didn’t know, herself. If I were you, I’d ask another Air Master if you ever meet one. None in the Brotherhood, I’m afraid. Mostly Fire, then Earth, and a few Water. But I can ask the Graf if he knows one.” Rosamund nodded, and poured the last of the tea for herself, as Giselle put her cup aside. “It’s a good thing that I’m taking your place as an Indian maiden, then. If your hair grows that fast, you’d soon have a hard time stuffing it under that wig.”

  “I’ve been cutting it,” she replied.

  Rosamund shook her head. “Don’t. I mean, stop cutting it, unless it actually gets so long it gets in your way.”

  “Oh?” That was interesting. Mother had always insisted she keep her hair as long as possible. “Why?”

  “Two reasons. The first is showmanship. A pretty lady sharpshooter with long golden hair is just too perfect. The second is . . . I think the sylphs might be using your hair as a place to store Air Magic.” Rosamund held up a cautionary hand. “It’s just a theory! I have nothing to base that theory on!”

  “My hair . . . as a place to store Air Magic.” Giselle giggled. “That’s a very silly theory. But I do think your notion of showmanship is a good one.”

  There was a tap on the doorframe, on the other side of the curtains. “It is Leading Fox, who wishes to speak with Miss Schwarzwald.”

  “It is Rosamund, and it will be a little crowded but you are welcome to join us,” Rosamund called back.

  Fox held the curtain aside to mount the steps and enter the wagon. This time the bird on his shoulder was a magpie. “Kellermann said that you wished to speak with me?” the Indian said gravely. His very presence made the vardo feel much smaller.

  “Since I’m to be part of your tribe, I wondered if you would mind teaching me Pawnee?” Rosamund asked, with an ingratiating smile. “You know, the usual way we do it.”

  “I do indeed, and it was in anticipation of that that I brought my friend.” The magpie lofted from Fox’s shoulder at his nod and somehow passed through the bed-curtains hiding Rosamund’s bed from the room. “If you could play the Pawnee woman during the tours of the camp as well, it would free Rosalita, which would be agreeable to both herself and Pablo.”

  Rosamund laughed. “I think I can do that. It seems only fair.”

  Fox smiled slightly. “Thank you. Now that you have the teacher, I shall depart.” And with no further words, he pulled aside the curtain again and left.

  “And I shall, as well,” Giselle said. “The morning begins extremel
y early with this show.”

  “Oh do trust me on this: it begins even earlier with the Brotherhood,” Rosamund laughed. “I shall find sleeping until dawn to be an unexpected luxury!”

  The only reason that the show left three days later was because there was another date to be met, and they would never have managed to get to Reichenbach on time if they stayed any longer. People were still paying to see the show. More people than ever before were paying the extra to take the “tour of the camps.” To say that the changes were successful would have been grossly understating matters.

  And despite some initial reservations, it seemed that adding Rosamund to the group had been an excellent idea. She was outstanding with the horses and the cattle and buffalo; no surprise to Giselle, who knew how easy it had been for Mother to handle any animal of any sort, but quite the shock to the original trainers of the hairy beasts. She was able to lead all four of them in the Grand Procession all by herself, which she did in her Pawnee costume. She suggested that, given a little more time, she might be able to get them to do a controlled stampede as well, and that, all by itself, won her Captain Cody’s heart. Giselle no longer had to half-kill herself getting out of her Quadrille costume and into the war dance piece. Rosamund pleased the other Pawnee by not only drumming correctly, but joining in their song correctly. It appeared that the magpie had given her much more than the Pawnee tongue.

  Giselle was a little jealous of that, but only a little. She had never had a female friend of her own age before, and she found herself enjoying Rosamund’s company quite out of all expectation.

  When they set off down the road to their next destination, the town of Reichenbach, Giselle was looking forward to the trip. She would have much more free time in the evenings with Fox and Rosamund, and Rosamund had promised to do what she could to enhance Giselle’s Mastery of Air Magic.

  “I cannot do much,” Rosamund had cautioned. “But I know from what Gunter and Joachim told me that there are certain things Annaliese had not gotten around to coaching you through, and what she had planned is something I can do. We just need to find the right place for it.”