Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  But he rather doubted that being told she would never be anything other than a hedge-wizard would satisfy a headstrong princess. Nor would being told she could not be any kind of a mage at all.

  He was prepared for just about anything, or so he told himself; from a spoiled brat who thought a white uniform and a coronet entitled her to anything she wanted, to a naive child with no Mage-Talent whatsoever, but many dreams, to someone very like some of his older pupils—

  That would be the best scenario in many ways, to have her turn out to be teachable; with Mage-Talent present, but unused, so that he could give her what she wanted, but would not have to force her to unlearn bad habits. Theoretically, the discipline required by the Heralds' mind-magic would carry over, and give her a head start over Talented youngsters who had yet to learn the value of discipline.

  A flash of white on the road just below the gate alerted him, and he paused for a moment to key in his Mage-Sight. That, in particular, had improved out of all recognition since joining the Skybolts and his elevation to Master-class. If this child had any ability at all, he would be able to See it, even from the tower. Then he would know what to tell her if she asked for training. And he'd have some time to think about just how he was going to phrase it, be it good news, or bad.

  Two dazzlingly white-clad riders on pure white horses entered the main gate and paused for a moment in the yard beyond before dismounting.

  And that was when Quenten got one of the greatest shocks of his life.

  Whatever he had been expecting—it wasn't what he Saw.

  The ordinary young woman with the graceful white horse was—not ordinary at all. She was the bearer of an untrained, but major Mage-Gift; one so powerful it sheathed her in a closely-wrapped, sparkling aura in his Mage-Sight, that briefly touched everyone around her with exploratory fingers she was apparently unaware of. Quenten was astonished, and surprised she hadn't caused problems with it before this. Surely she must have Seen power-flows, energy-levels, even the nodes that he could See, but could not use. Surely she had wondered what they were, and how could she not have been tempted to try and manipulate them? Then he recalled something; these Heralds, one and all, had mind-magic and were trained in it. If they didn't know what Mage-Talent was—it could, possibly, be mistaken for something like Sight. And if she was told that this was just another way of viewing things, that she could not actually affect them, she might not have caused any trouble.

  They have no idea how close they came. If she had ever been tempted to touch something....

  That was not the end of the surprises. She was carrying at her side something that radiated such power that it almost eclipsed her—and only long familiarity with Kero's sword enabled him to recognize it as Need. The sword had changed; had awakened somehow, and it was totally transformed from the relatively simple blade he had dealt with. Now there was no doubt whatsoever that it was a major magical artifact—and it radiated controlled power that rivaled the Adepts he knew.

  It's a good thing I never tried mucking around with it when it was like this. It probably would have swatted me like a fly.

  He wondered how he could have missed it when they were riding in; it must have been like a beacon. And how the mages at Faram's Court could have missed it—He had his answer, as it simply—stopped what it was doing. It went back to being the simple sword he had known; magical, yes, if you looked at it closely enough, but you had to look very closely and know what you were looking for.

  Did it put on that show for my benefit? he wondered. Somehow that idea was a little chilling. No one he knew could detect Mage-Sight in action; it was a passive spell, not an active one.

  No one he knew. That didn't mean it couldn't be done. That notion was even more awe-inspiring than the display of power had been. Need was old; perhaps the ancient ways of magic it was made with harbored spells he couldn't even dream of.

  The creature she was riding—not a horse at all, even if it chose to appear as one—rivaled both the young woman and the sword, but in a way few would have recognized. The aura enveloping it was congruent with the creature's skin, as if controlled power was actually shining through the skin. Which was very much the case.... Although few mages would have known it for what it was, Quenten recognized it as a Guardian Spirit of the highest order. And from the colors of its aura, it was superior even to the Ethereal Spirits he had once, very briefly, had conversation with when some of the Shin'a'in relatives came to Bolthaven for the annual horse-fair—the ones Kero's other uncle called "spirit-Kal'enedral," that served the Shin'a'in Goddess. The "veiled ones," shaman Kra'heera had called them; the unspoken implication being that only the spirit-Kal'enedral went veiled. They were to this "horse" what an eating knife is to a perfectly balanced rapier.

  One blow after another, all within a heartbeat. He practically swallowed his tongue with shock and dropped his arms numbly to his sides.

  For a moment, he felt like an apprentice again, faced with his Master, and the vision of what that Master had become after years and years of work in developing his Talent to its highest pinnacle placed before him. All that power—all that potential—and he hadn't the slightest idea what to do with it.

  His mind completely froze for a moment as he stared at her. I can't take her on! his thoughts babbled in panic. One slip—and she wouldn't just blow up the workshop, she could—she could—and that Guardian—and the sword—and—and—

  Only years of self-discipline, combined with more years of learning to think on his feet with the Skybolts, enabled him to get his mind working again so that he could stop reacting and start acting like a mage and a competent Master, instead of a dumbfounded apprentice.

  And the first thing he did was to turn away from the window. With her out of his sight and Sight, he was able to take a deep breath, run his hand through his sweat-damp hair, and think. Quickly. He had to come up with an answer and a solution.

  One thing was certain; it wasn't a question of whether she could be trained or not; she had to be trained. One day, she might be tempted to try to manipulate some of the energies she could sense all around her, and then—

  No telling what would happen. Depends on what she touched, and how hard she pulled.

  It could be even worse if she were in a desperate situation and she simply reacted instinctively, trying to save herself or others. With the thrust of fear driving her—

  Gods. And the very first thing we are taught is never, ever, act in fear or anger.

  She would be easy prey for anyone who saw her, and wanted to use her. There were blood-path Masters and even Adepts out there who wouldn't hesitate to lure her into their territory with promises of training, and then exploit her ruthlessly, willing or not. Anyone could be broken, and no mage had gotten to the Master level without learning the patience it took to break someone and subvert them, even if it took a year or more.

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

  Kera 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. Q
uenten 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 mercs 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 occasion 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 ail 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 lo
ng, 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.