A Blight of Mages

by Karen Miller

  He stared back. “What am I—what do you think I’m talking about?”

  “You think I’ve been dismissed again? Or that I’ve flounced off in high dudgeon after some imagined slight?”

  Amazing. She actually sounded offended. “What else should I think? It’s nowhere near close to sunset and here you are, at home before me, and—” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “And it wouldn’t be the first time. And every other time—”

  “Oh, Remmie.” Barl shook her head. There were tears in her eyes. “Of course that’s what you thought. I should have realised.”

  A tiny, warm flush of hope. “So you’re not dismissed? You haven’t stormed out of the artisanry in a huff?”

  Her chin lifted. “Remmie Lindin. Never in my whole life have I stormed anywhere in a huff!”

  He could argue that, easily, but this probably wasn’t the best time. “Then what’s happened? Are you ill? Oh, justice. You’re ill. Have you sent for a pother?” He leapt up. “I’ll send for a pother. What are you doing out here? Go to bed!”

  “No, Remmie, no…” She pressed her hands to her face. “Do stop fussing. I’m not ill.”

  “Then what—” And then he realised, because only one other catastrophe could have sent her home to hide. The College. He sank back to the wobbly bench. “Oh. Oh, I see. You’ve heard.”

  Hands lowered again, Barl stared at the idly paddling drake. “I honestly can’t decide which is worse. That they turned me down a second time… or that they had Arndel deliver the blow.”

  “Arndel?”

  “Yes. So now I’m twice scolded. Properly put in my unranked place.”

  He’d not expected that. “It’s poorly done, I think. They could have refused you kindly. There’s no need for unkindness, or disrespect.”

  “No need?” She laughed, scornful. “Don’t be a fool, Remmie. They wanted to hurt me. To teach me a lesson. Why else make me wait so long for an answer? Why else seek to cause trouble between me and Arndel?”

  And she was right, of course. There could be no other reason. But it made him uncomfortable, that the greatest mages in Dorana could be so vindictive. So petty. Barl was no threat to them. Such behaviour made them look small.

  “I suppose,” he said, hating to admit it. “And what of Arndel? Is he very displeased with you?”

  She shrugged. “What do you think?”

  I think all this misery could’ve been avoided if only, for once, you’d listened to me.

  But he couldn’t say that. “I think he’s probably fuming.”

  “And you’d be right. But he’s not angry enough to dismiss me.” A sideways glance. “So you can breathe easy.”

  “I’ll never breathe easy, Barl,” he retorted. “Not so long as you persist in arrogantly tempting fate like this.”

  He’d thought—hoped—she’d snap back at him for that. But she didn’t. Aching, he watched as she slid from the bench and walked to the duck pond’s soggy, weed-frilled edge. There she stood with her back to him, her head lifted defiantly… and with her arms hugged tight to her ribs, holding herself against the angry grief he could feel churning through her in enormous, sickening waves.

  “Barl.” He bit his lip. “Tell me the truth. Did you really think they would let you in?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, after a long silence. “I wanted to. Honestly, I thought they might. I thought there was a chance they’d see past themselves and do the right thing. For the College. For Dorana.”

  In that case, she truly had been living in a dream. “I know how much you wanted this. I’m so sorry.”

  “Really?” she said, not turning. “I’d have thought you’d want to gloat. Prance about shouting I told you so.”

  And that hurt. “How can you say that?”

  “Easily,” she said, shrugging again. “I’ve always been nastier than you, Remmie.”

  “Then you can bite your nasty tongue,” he snapped. “Just because this has fallen out the way I always thought it would doesn’t mean I’m pleased you’ve been slapped down.”

  “But you’re pleased I’m not leaving Batava, aren’t you? Pleased you’re not being dragged along at my heels again.”

  “And what if I am? Does that mean I can’t be genuinely sorry you’re disappointed?”

  She flicked him a darkly sardonic glance. “Do you know what I think? I think you’d have sulked a while, and then fallen in love with Elvado. I think you tell yourself you love Batava because it’s easier, it’s less painful, than admitting the truth.”

  His fingers were clenching again. With an effort he relaxed them. “And what truth would that be?”

  “That you wish as much as I do you had the chance to live there. To maybe get yourself noticed by some of the greatest mages in all Dorana.”

  Shocked, he felt the hard thud of his heart. She doesn’t mean it. She can’t. She’s hurt, and she’s lashing out. But even though he knew that, he couldn’t stop himself from lashing back.

  “I don’t know why it is you never believe what I say. What will it take to convince you I’m not interested in being noticed? I couldn’t care less for your great mages, Barl. Most everything I need to make me happy is here in Batava. And no matter what you say, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself, and me, that you know my heart better than I do? You don’t.”

  Silence, as his sister watched the drake dabble and splash in the pond’s murky water. And then she heaved a great sigh.

  “Anyway, it hardly matters. You were right and I was wrong. I can’t change anything. I’ve no power at all.”

  She’d hurt him with her waspish tongue. She often did. More often than he liked to admit, or ever told her. But it wasn’t in him to further twist the knife that the College had plunged through her heart.

  “You’re mistaken, Barl,” he said quietly. “You have the power to make beautiful things. Not just clocks. I think clocks are just the beginning. In time I’ve no doubt you’ll become Dorana’s greatest artisan mage. I think you’ll make things other mages can only dream of.”

  Barl laughed, the sound breathy and shaken. “You don’t need to flatter me, Remmie. I’ve no intention of casting myself into the pond.”

  “It’s not flattery. I mean it.”

  “I know,” she said, and turned. The lowering sun glittered the tears on her cheeks. “But please, don’t say anything more. Let’s just go pick your wretched beans and carrots.”

  Nodding, he stood. Hurting miserably for her, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to make this better. In her own time, in her own way, she’d have to come to acceptance. Find a way to ease the disappointment, a reason to laugh and smile.

  “Yes. All right.”

  “Barl!” Ibbitha hurried to meet her halfway to her workbench. “Should you be here? Master Arndel told us yesterday you were taken poorly. I must say, you look peaked. Perhaps you should take another day in bed.”

  The concern was meant kindly, but it set her teeth on edge. Easing her hands free of Ibbitha’s solicitous clutchings, Barl smiled then edged sideways toward her bench.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “It was only a megrim. Besides, if I’d stayed abed again today I’d only have fretted over Lady Grie’s clock. Master Arndel is very anxious it be finished, since he promised her delivery of it this afternoon.”

  “Oh,” said Ibbitha, following. Her lips thinned. “Yes. Of course. We mustn’t upset Lady Grie.”

  So, there was still a lingering resentment over that, was there? She shouldn’t be surprised. There were artisans here who’d had worked years for Arndel and never attracted the attention of an influential First Family mage. And while she and Ibbitha might be friendly, their bond wasn’t near deep enough to overcome the perceived slight.

  She can’t bring herself to admit that on my worst day I’m twice the mage she’ll ever be. None of them can. But it’s not my fault and I won’t feel guilty for it.

  Especially since not one of them, aside from Ibbitha, bothered to ask
after her health or even glance up as she slid onto her workbench’s stool. Doubtless they were sorry she didn’t lie at death’s door. Doubtless they’d spent all yesterday coveting the natal clock she’d almost finished, hoping, dreaming, that she was gone for good and that Arndel would point them out to Lady Grie and that Lady Grie, forgetting her, would show them favour instead.

  Dream on, she thought, sneering on the inside where they couldn’t see. Dead or alive, Arndel’s favourite new patron won’t forget me.

  The natal clock for Ancilla Grie’s mother was close to complete. Oblivious to her fellow artisans and their occasional hushed to-and-fro comments, ignoring Ibbitha, whose frequent glances suggested she had more to say, not even acknowledging Arndel when he entered the workroom to count heads and issue orders, Barl poured herself into the final, exacting incants that would see her latest commission a success. Lady Grie’s design this time featured a full moon and the rising sun, sharing a starless sky. So for the clock’s steady tick she wove an incant echoing the hoots of an owl, that popular symbol of wisdom… and for its hourly chime a brash cockerel’s crow, optimistic herald of the new day. Both incants were a challenge, but there was no chance she would fail.

  Finished at last, the incants warded safe within the glossy clock, she slid off her wooden stool and slipped out of the workroom for a few precious moments, to breathe in some fresh air and wriggle the kinks out of her spine. The late morning sky was beginning to gauze over with high cloud, and it was cooler than it had been when she’d left Remmie brooding over his morning poached egg and brown toast. She thought she could taste the promise of rain.

  Wandering the outside of the artisanry, arms folded against the slight chill, she felt the day before’s bruised feeling return as her glow of success faded. Her eyes were scratchy and tired. Tormented by failure, she’d not passed a restful night. And though, for Remmie’s sake, she’d tried hard to show a careless face at breakfast, she’d not managed to fool him… and his concern was another burden wearing her down.

  He’d be better off if I wasn’t around. I think it’s time he lived his own life, and stopped fretting about mine. We’ve been in each other’s pockets ever since Mama and Pa died. That’s long enough.

  Not that he’d agree. Remmie was convinced she couldn’t manage without him. And though she’d told him and told him he was very much mistaken, he wouldn’t listen. Which meant he left her with no choice: she’d have to convince him the hard way, by deed instead of word.

  But not yet. Let the dust settle on this College business. Let him see I’ve not fallen into a heartbroken decline. And then, once he’s stopped hovering…

  She’d thought about little else most of the night, and while she walked to the artisanry. Six more months, she’d decided. That was all she needed. Six months taking advantage of Lady Ancilla Grie’s patronage and learning what little there remained for Arndel to teach her. Then she’d look for a new artisanry, in the northern or western districts, say. A goodly distance from Batava, at any rate. An artisanry that would appreciate her talents, that would pay her what she was truly worth and give her room to grow.

  And when she found it, she wouldn’t tell Remmie. She’d slip out of their cottage in the dead of night, leaving an apologetic note and a promise she’d be fine. So he could live his life, and she could live hers, and they could care for each other from a sensible distance.

  He deserves to be happy, to have a family, not struggle along always caught in my wake. And since he won’t free himself, I have to do it for him.

  He’d be furious, of course. He might even, for once, hold a genuine grudge. But she’d rather live with him angry than go on watching him deny his own happiness for her sake.

  If I don’t do this, I’ll start to hate him for caring.

  And if that ever happened, her heart really would break.

  Drifting to a halt she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun. Still bruised, still shaken, but at the same time oddly at peace.

  “Mage Lindin? Mage Lindin!”

  So much for peace. Breathing out her resentment, beating down her stubborn pride, Barl schooled her expression to polite enquiry and turned.

  “Yes, Artisan Master?”

  Arndel was wearing his swallowed-hedgehog face. “What are you doing out here?” he demanded, striding across the grass toward her. “Have you finished Lady Grie’s clock?”

  “I have, Artisan Master.”

  “Then why did you not—”

  “Master Arndel, I was just coming to fetch you.”

  Halting, he snorted. “Indeed.” His face pinched even tighter. “You’re to take the clock to Lady Grie. She is sending a carriage. Come now and show me it won’t disgrace the artisanry.”

  She was to take the clock? By herself? But before she could ask, Arndel marched off toward the workroom, and all she could do was hurry after him, perplexed.

  Chapter Nine

  I’m told your brother is a man for whom teaching is a passion, Mage Lindin. Would you agree?”

  Barl took her time turning away from the picture window in Lady Grie’s grand parlour. The comment was an odd way for the woman to announce her presence. Did she think complimenting Remmie would set an unranked mage at ease? Or was her intent more sinister?

  I know who your family is. And if you displease me, who can say what I might do?

  She didn’t know Lady Grie well enough to be certain. Best to be cautious, then, and remain on her guard.

  “Lady Grie,” she said, nodding respectfully. “Artisan Master Arndel asks me to convey his best wishes, and his hope that you find your clock satisfactory.”

  Today Lady Grie was dressed in blue silk, her hair pinned with sapphires, her slender throat captured by gold. She closed the parlour doors, then flicked a careless glance at the gift for her mother, covered and placed on the carved wooden sideboard by a servant.

  “I’ve no doubt I shall.” One eyebrow arched. “You haven’t assuaged my curiosity.”

  And nor did she want to. Remmie had nothing to do with this woman. His pupils were unranked, his world far removed from hers.

  But I don’t dare displease her.

  Resenting that, she forced a polite smile. “Remmie’s a fine teacher, yes. His students care for him very much.”

  “But do they learn?”

  “He says they do.”

  Lady Grie arched both her eyebrow. “And what do you say?”

  “I say he’s right, but you can hardly count me disinterested. He’s my brother.”

  “I have two brothers,” said Lady Grie. “I never compliment them, nor do they compliment me. Our loathing is mutual. Such is the joy of family.”

  Barl linked her fingers behind her back. All this pointless chitchat, and if she was late returning to the artisanry Arndel would blame her.

  “Lady Grie—”

  Waving a hand for silence, Lady Grie crossed the plush cream carpet to a silk-striped, plumply cushioned armchair and lowered herself into it with a groaning sigh. She looked monstrously uncomfortable, a life-sized discouragement to any woman contemplating a child.

  “I’m curious about your brother, Mage Lindin, because I’m curious about you. So much talent in an unranked mage, it’s not… usual. I’m intrigued.”

  Barl blinked. “Oh.”

  Lady Grie rubbed a smooth, slender hand over her distended belly. The blue silk rustled, whispering of wealth. “And because I’m intrigued, I made some inquiries. It seems you’ve ruffled feathers in the College of Mages. And the Hall of Knowledge.”

  Hearing that was like being doused with ice water. Before she could stop herself, Barl took a step forward, her temper woken and seething. “The Council’s told tales of me? To you? Lady Grie—”

  “No, no, not the Council,” the woman said. “Your Guild. So many important people upset with you, Mage Lindin. I have to say, I’m surprised. I thought you were clever.”

  And what did that mean? Had Lady Grie changed her mind? Did she not
want Barl Lindin’s exclusive services any more?

  If that’s so, then Arndel will surely dismiss me. The blow to his pride won’t permit anything less.

  And if she was dismissed…

  No reputable artisanry took on a mage without first checking that mage’s standing with the Guild. Her standing was precarious now, thanks to the College proctor and interfering Lord Hahren. More than likely she’d be disparaged. Recommended against.

  If my life falls to pieces, and takes Remmie down with it, I doubt he’ll forgive me. Not this time.

  “Mage Lindin—” Lady Grie leaned forward as far as her belly would allow. “You’ve gone quite pale. Are you unwell?”

  Upset, she answered without thinking. “No, I’m angry. The Guild had no right to talk of me. What business is it of theirs if I choose to further my studies?”

  “I think you’ll find it’s where you want to further them that’s caused the consternation.”

  And now Lady Grie sounded exactly like Remmie. “Why? Because it’s the College and my family is unranked?” She folded her arms tight across her aching stomach. “I tell you I am sick to death of this nonsense. By what right do ranked mages trample my dreams? I am no criminal, I do not seek to use magic in any unlawful way. All I want is a chance to test the length and breadth and depth of my talent in the best school Dorana has to offer. There is no good reason for that chance to be denied me. My rejection by the College is nothing but a conspiracy of pettiness.”

  “Well, well, well.” Lady Grie laughed. “You’re quite the firebrand, aren’t you?”

  Silenced, Barl let her arms fall by her sides. Oh, my wretched temper. “I’m sorry, Lady Grie. I forgot myself. It won’t happen again.”

  “That would be for the best,” said Lady Grie, eyebrows raised again. “Now show me my new clock. I’ve told my mother I have a wonderful surprise for her. I’m keen to know you’ve not made a liar of me.”

  So her foolishness was to be swept under the fine cream carpet, was it? Soundlessly sighing, Barl relaxed her tight fingers.