Valdemar 09 - [Mage Winds 01] - Winds of Fate

by Mercedes Lackey

  No, she had to be trained. Now the question was, by whom?

  Kero said if I couldn’t handle her to send her on to old Jendar, her uncle. He’s an Adept; hellfires, he taught me, he ought to be able to handle anyone. He can deal with her. I don’t have to.

  That burden off his hands, he sighed and relaxed. Gradually the sweat of panic dried, his heart went back to its sedate pace, his muscles unknotted. The problem was solved, but he wasn’t going to have to be the one to solve it. He was glad now that he’d delegated one of the teachers—a very discreet young lady, who was, bless the gods, an Herbalist-Healer earth-witch with no Mage-Sight worth speaking of—to greet them when they arrived, just in case he suddenly found himself with his hands full.

  God only knows what I’d have been like if I’d met them at the gate. Babbling, probably. Hardly one to inspire confidence. By the time word reached him that they had arrived, he was back to being the calm, unruffled image of a school-Master, completely in control of everything around him.

  “Yes?” he said; the child poked his head inside, cautiously. All the apprentices were cautious when the Master was in his office. Quenten had been known to have odd things loose in the room on occasion, just to keep people from interrupting him. The legend of the constable’s scorched backside was told in the dormitory even yet, and that had happened the first year the school had been founded.

  “Sir, the people you expected are here. The lady’s name’s Elspeth, the gen‘man is Skif, Elrodie says. If you’re able, sir, you should come down, Elrodie says.” The child looked the way he must have a few moments ago; it wasn’t often an apprentice got to see the inside of the Master’s office. Usually he met the youngsters on their own ground, and when he wasn’t actually in the office, he kept it mage-locked, for his office also served as his secondary workroom. There were things in here no apprentice should ever get his hands on.

  “I’ll be right there,” he said. The child vanished. He waited a few moments more to be certain his stomach had settled, then turned, and started down the stairs.

  By the time he reached the ground, he felt close to normal, and was able to absorb the shock of his visitors’ appearance without turning a hair. Outwardly, anyway. The sword was “quiet”—but the girl and her so-called horse weren’t.

  So long as they don’t do anything....

  He turned first to greet the young lady, as her companion held back a little, diffidently, confirming his guess that she was much higher-ranked than he was. And given her strong family resemblance to King Faram, she was undoubtedly the “Elspeth” that was Heir to the Valdemar throne. She took after the dark side of the family, rather than the blond, but the resemblance was there beyond a doubt.

  To all outward appearances, she was no different than any other young, well-born woman of his acquaintance. Wavy brown hair was confined in a braid that trailed down her back, though bits of it escaped to form little tendrils at her ears. Her square face was not beautiful or even conventionally pretty and doll-like—it was a face that was so full of character and personality that beauty would have been superfluous and mere “prettiness” eclipsed. Like Kero, she was handsome and vividly alive. Her brown eyes sparkled when she talked; her generous mouth smiled often. If he hadn’t had Mage-Sight, he would have guessed that she had Mage-Talent in abundance; she had that kind of energy about her.

  She’d studied her Rethwellan; that was evident from her lack of accent. “I am very glad to meet you at last,” she said, when she’d been introduced. “I’m Kero’s problem child, Master Quenten. She’s told me a lot about you, and since she’s a pretty rotten correspondent, I guess you’re rather in the dark about me.” Her smile widened. “I know what her letters are like. The last time she was with the Skybolts, there was a flood that got half the town, and all she wrote was, ‘It’s a little wet here, be back when I can.’ ”

  He chuckled. “Well, she neglected to supply me with your name and she kept calling you a Personage. I expect that was for reasons of security? You are the Elspeth I think you are—the one with a mother named Selenay?”

  Elspeth nodded, and made a face. “I’m afraid so. That was part of what I meant by being a problem child. Sorry; can’t help who my parents are. Born into it. Oh, this is Skif; he’s also assigned to this job.”

  “By which she’s tactfully saying that my chief duty is to play bodyguard,” Skif said, holding out his hand. Quenten released his Mage-Sight just a little, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. This young man was perfectly ordinary. No Magical Artifacts, no Adept-Potential.

  Except that he was also riding a Guardian Spirit. Not as exalted a Spirit as the girl‘s, but—

  The mare turned, looked him straight in the eye, and gave him a broad and unmistakable wink.

  He stifled a gasp, felt the blood drain from his face, then plastered a pleasant smile on his lips, and managed not to stammer. “Since there is only one Elspeth with a mother by that name that I know of—that Kero would have been so secretive about—I can understand why you are in that role,” he said. “It’s necessary.”

  “I know it is,” they both said, and laughed. Quenten noted that they both had hearty, unforced laughs, the laughter of people who did not fear a joke.

  Elspeth made a face, and Skif shrugged. “We know it’s necessary,” Skif replied for both of them. “But that doesn’t mean Elspeth much likes it.”

  Quenten had not missed the sword calluses on her hands, and the easy way she wore her blade. She had the muscles of a practiced fighter, too, though she didn’t have the toughened, hard-eyed look the female meres had after their first year in the ranks.

  He coughed politely. “Kero did, at least, tell me what brings you here, and I have to be honest with you. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. None of my teachers are interested in anything but teaching, and none of the youngsters ready to go out as Journeymen are up to trying to cross your borders and dealing with the magical guards of that border. I assume you know about that; I couldn’t pass it when Kero first took the Skybolts north, and I don’t know that I could now that I’m a more practiced Master with years in the rank.”

  Elspeth’s face fell; Skif simply looked resigned.

  “What about you teaching us?” she asked—almost wistfully. “I mean, I don’t suppose either of us are teachable, are we?”

  Do I tell her right now? He thought about that quickly; well, it couldn’t do any harm to tell her a little about her abilities right off. It might make her a little more cautious. “I’m afraid Skif isn‘t—but, young lady—you are potentially a very good mage. Your potential is so high, in fact, that I simply don’t feel up to teaching you myself. And you have to be taught, there is absolutely no doubt about that.”

  Her face was a study in contradictory emotions; surprise warred with disappointment, elation with—was it fear? He hoped so; she would do well to fear that kind of power.

  “I don’t have the time,” he said truthfully. “You’re coming to the teaching late in your life, and as strong as you could be—well, it will require very personal teaching. One to one, in fact, with someone who will be able to deal with your mistakes. And I can’t do it; it would take time away from the students I’ve already promised to teach. That wouldn’t be fair to them. And I gather that you’re under some time considerations?”

  Both of them nodded, and Elspeth’s “horse” snorted, as if in agreement.

  Dearest gods, it’s looking at me the way old Jendar used to when I wasn’t up to doing a particular task and said so. Like it’s telling me, “at least you know when not to be stupid. ”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to you to give you less attention than you need, especially given that.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and her expression turned bleak. “So I’ve come on a fool’s errand, then?”

  “Not at all,” he hastened to assure her. “What I can and will do is send you on to my old master, Kero’s uncle, Adept Jendar. He’s no longer teaching in his school—he will, on occasi
on take on a very talented pupil like yourself. But without my directions, introduction, and safe-conduct, you’d never find him. He’s very reclusive.”

  “I don’t suppose we could get him to come back with us, could we?” Skif asked hopefully. “That would solve all our problems.”

  Quenten shrugged. “I don’t know; he’s very old, but on the other hand, magic tends to preserve mages. I haven’t seen him in years and he may still be just as active as he always was. He’s certainly my superior in ability and knowledge, he’s just as canny and hard to predict as Kero, and I won’t even attempt to second-guess him. The best I can offer is, ask him yourself.”

  Skif looked a great deal more cheerful. “Thanks, Master Quenten, we will.”

  Quenten felt as if a tremendous burden had just been lifted from his shoulders. There’s nothing quite like being able to legitimately pass the responsibility, he thought wryly. And, feeling a good deal more cheerful himself, he told both of them, “Even if I can’t offer you the dubious benefits of my teaching, I can still offer the hospitality of the school. You will stay for at least the night, won’t you? I’d love to hear what Kero’s been up to lately. You’re right, by the way,” he concluded, turning with a smile for Elspeth, “She’s a terrible correspondent. Her letter about you was less than half a page; the letter I’m going to give you for Jendar is going to be at least five pages long, and I don’t even know you that well!”

  The young woman chuckled, and gave him a wink that was the mirror image of the one Skif’s spirit-horse had given him. He racked his brain for the right name for them—Comrades? No, Companions, that was it.

  “I can even offer something in the way of suitable housing for your—ah—friends,” he said, bowing a little in their direction. “Your ‘Companions,’ I believe you call them. I don’t know what kind of treatment they’re accustomed to at home, but I can at least arrange something civilized.”

  Elspeth looked surprised at that; but the Companions themselves looked gratified. Like queens in exile, who had discovered that someone, at last, was going to give them their proper due.

  “We have two loose-boxes, with their own little paddock, and you can fix the latch-string on the inside, so that they can open and shut it themselves,” he said, hastily, trying to look as if he had visits from Guardian Spirits all the time. “Kero always had Shin‘a’in warsteeds, you know, and they needed that kind of treatment; they aren’t Companions, of course, but they’re a great deal more intelligent than horses.”

  “That’s lovely,” Elspeth said as he fell silent, her gratitude quite genuine. “That really is. I can’t tell you how hard it is even in Valdemar to find someone who doesn’t think they’re just horses.”

  “Oh, no, my lady,” he replied fervently, convinced by the lurking humor in both sets of blue eyes that the Companions found him and his reactions to them very amusing. “Oh, no—I promise you—I know only too well that they aren’t horses.”

  :And you don’t know the half of it, friend,: whispered a voice in his mind.

  For a moment he wasn’t certain he’d actually heard that—then the light of amusement in the nearest one’s eyes convinced him that he had.

  I think I should ignore that. If they wanted me to treat them like heavenly visitors, they wouldn’t look like horses, would they? Or would they? Do the Heralds know what they are ? If they don‘t—no, I don’t think I’d better tell them. If the Companions want them to know, they’ll know. If not—no, it would not be a good idea to go against the wishes of a Guardian Spirit, in fact, it would be a very stupid idea—

  He realized that he was babbling to himself now, and decided to delegate the tour of the stables and school to someone else. He was going to need a chance to relax before he dealt with these two again.

  Dinner, held without being under those disturbing blue eyes, was far easier. They exclaimed over his mage-lights, and over the tame little fire-elemental that kept the ham and bread warm, and melted their cheese for them if they chose. They marveled at a few of his other little luxuries, like the stoves instead of fireplaces, which kept his quarters much warmer in winter, even without the aid of more fire-elementals. He exchanged stories with them of what he knew of Kero, and Faram and Daren, from the old days with the Skybolts, and what Kero was up to now, at least, as a Herald. He actually got quite a bit of useful Court gossip from her; she knew what to look and listen for.

  But he got even more from Skif, who evidently didn’t miss anything. That young man bore watching; he reminded Quenten of another one of the Shin‘a’in, one he knew was trained as an assassin, who’d been one of the Skybolts’ specialist instructors for a while—an instructor in techniques he knew, without being told, that he didn’t want to know anything about.

  There was a great deal more to Skif than met the eye. Quenten had the feeling that he was not only very resourceful, he could probably be quite dangerous. He also had the feeling that Skif’s presence had a great deal to do with the reason why Elspeth hadn’t been bothered by mages eager to use her before this.

  Elspeth was, he discovered, an extremely well-spoken young lady, but in many ways she was still a girl.

  She knew how she was treated inside Valdemar, and how her rank worked within that Kingdom, but had very little notion of how knowledge of her rank would affect people, for good or ill, outside it—or how they could and would exploit her, given the chance.

  “You see,” Skif said, after he’d explained some of the ways in which she would have to be careful around local nobility. “I told you it was complicated down here.”

  She made a face, and the mage-light picked up golden glints in her eyes as she turned toward her partner. “You told me a lot of things, and some of them I was right about.”

  Quenten intervened. “It’s not her fault, Skif; she’s always dealt with very highly-ranked nobles. It’s the local lordlings you have to be really careful with around here. I’d say that half of them were never born to their titles—or at least, weren’t the first sons. They didn’t get where they are now by being nice, and most of them want to climb a lot higher before they die. You can’t even count on blood relations to be honest with you. Well, take Kero’s brother, for instance. He’s all right, but the Lady Dierna is pretty much an information-siphon for her relatives. And there are a couple of them that none of us trust, not even the King. Go to Lordan and within half a day every one of Dierna’s relatives will know that something brought Heralds down out of Valdemar. Let Lordan know who and what you are, and I personally wouldn’t vouch for your safety once you got off his lands. Ransom is too tempting a prospect.”

  “Huh,” was Skif’s only comment. He reached for another piece of smoked ham, thoughtfully. There were odd markings on his hands; old scars that looked like they might have been left by knife fights.

  Interesting, Quenten thought. A strange sort of partner for a princess. For Skif was a partner and not “just a bodyguard;” the body-language of both of them said that. More than a partner, a lover, maybe? That seemed likely at first—

  Then again, maybe not. They were both Heralds, and the little he’d managed to pry out of Kero on the subject indicated that Heralds had an even closer brotherhood than the tightest mere company. Emotionally, sexually, whether the two were lovers didn’t bear any thought after that; they were Heralds, and that was a good enough answer for Quenten.

  “Even if you were left alone, they’d find a way to use your presence,” he continued. “Believe me, the more you act like common folk, the better off you are.” He waited for understanding to dawn, then said, patiently but forcefully, “Get out of the white outfits. ”

  Skif snickered; Elspeth simply looked bewildered. “Look, common people don’t ride around in immaculate white outfits. The horses are bad enough, add the uniforms, and you might as well hire barkers to announce you in every little village. I’ll get you some clothes before you leave; save the white stuff for when you need to impress someone. Your simple presence as someone’s gues
t could lend weight to some quarrel they have that you know nothing about.”

  And I wish there was a way to dye the Companions, too, but I’m afraid the amount of magic energy they have simply by being on this plane is going to bleach them again before they get half a day down the road. That’s assuming dye would take, which I wouldn’t bet on.

  Elspeth sighed, and finally nodded a reluctant agreement. “Damn. Being able to pull rank on someone who was being stupid would have been awfully useful. All right. You know more about the way things are around here than we do.”

  “That’s why he’s got Bolthaven as a freehold of the King,” Skif put in unexpectedly. “As long as it’s a freehold, none of the locals can try and bully each other by claiming he’s with them.” He turned to Quenten, gesturing with a piece of cheese. “Am I right?”

  “Exactly,” he replied, pleased with Skif’s understanding. “Not that anyone who knew anything about magic would ever suspect a White Winds school of being on anyone’s side. We don’t do things that way.”

  Skif grinned crookedly. “I kind of got the impression from Kero that you folks were the closest thing there was to Heralds down here.”

  “Oh,” he replied lightly, trying to keep away from that subject. The brotherhood of the White Winds mages wasn’t something he wanted to confide to an outsider. There were things about White Winds people that weren’t shared by any other mage-school, and they wanted to keep it that way. “We aren’t that close.”

  :I’ll second that,: whispered that voice in his mind. He started involuntarily.

  “So what exactly are these ‘mage-schools,’ anyway?” Skif persisted, showing no notice of his momentary startlement. “I mean, some of you are real schools, and some of you seem to be philosophies, if you catch my meaning.”