Within the globe the light faded and then brightened, and a scene came into focus; a stony, vetch-covered hill surmounted by a lightning-blasted tree of great girth, a tree that glowed ever so faintly. As the Clansfolk watched, a green and brown scaled lizard poked his head cautiously out of a crevice at the base of it; the lizard looked around, and apparently saw nothing, for the rest of him followed. Now even the adults gasped, for this lizard walked erect, like a man, and had a head more manlike than lizardlike.
“The lizard’s name was Gervase, and he was one of the hertasi folk that live still in the Pelagir Hills. Hertasi once were tree-lizards long, long ago, until magic changed them. Like humans, they can be of any nature; good or bad, kind or cruel, giving or selfish. But they all have one thing in common. All are just as intelligent as we are, and all were made that way long ago by magic wars. Now this Gervase knew a great deal about magic; it was the cause of him being the way he was, after all, and there was so much of it in the place where he lived that his very tree-home glowed at night with it. So it isn’t too surprising that he should daydream about it, now, is it?”
The scene changed; the children giggled, for the lizard Gervase was playing at being a wizard, just as they had often done, with a hat of rolled-up birch bark and a “wand” of a twisted branch.
“He wanted very badly to be a wizard; he used to dream about how he would help those in trouble, how he would heal the sick and the wounded, how he would be so powerful he could stop wars with a single wave of his wand. You see, he had a very kind heart, and all he ever really wanted to do was to make the world a little better. But of course, he knew he couldn’t; after all, he was nothing but a lizard.”
The lizard grew sad-looking (odd how body-language could convey dejection when the creature’s facial expressions were nil), put aside his hat and wand, and crawled up onto a branch to sit in the sun and sigh.
“Then one day while he was sunning himself, he heard a noise of hound and horse in the distance.” Now the lizard jumped to his feet, balancing himself on the branch with his tail while he craned his neck to see as far as he could.
“While he was trying to see what all the fuss was about, a man stumbled into his clearing.”
A tattered and bloody human of early middle age fell through the bushes, catching himself barely in time to keep from cracking his head open on the rocks. There was a gasp from the assembled Clansfolk, for the man had plainly been tortured. Kethry had not toned the illusion-narrative down much from the one she’d been shown; firstly, the children of the Clans were used to bloodshed, secondly, it brought the fact home to all of them that this was a true tale.
The man in the illusion was dark-haired and bearded; bruised and beaten-looking. And if one looked very carefully, it was possible to see that the rags he wore had once been a wizard’s robe.
“Gervase didn’t stop to wonder about who the man was or why he was being chased; he only knew that no thinking creature should hunt another down like a rabbit with dogs and horses. He ran to the man—”
The lizard slid down the tree trunk and scampered to the fallen wizard. Now it was possible to see, as he helped the man to his feet, that he was very close to being man-sized himself, certainly the size of a young adolescent. At first the man was plainly too dazed to realize what it was that was helping him, then he came to himself and did a double take. The shock and startlement on his face made the children giggle again—and not just the children.
“ ‘Come, human,’ Gervase said. ‘You must hide in my tree, it’s the only place where you can be safe. I will keep the dogs away from you.’ The wizard—for that was what he was—did not waste any breath in arguing with him, for he could clearly hear the dogs baying on his track.”
The lizard half-carried the man to the crevice in the tree; the man crawled inside. Gervase then ran over to a rock in the sun and arranged himself on it, for all the world like an ordinary (if overly-large) lizard basking himself.
“When the dogs came over the hill, with the hunters close behind them, Gervase was ready.”
As the dogs and the horses burst through the underbrush, Gervase jumped high in the air, as if startled out of his wits. He dashed back and forth on all fours for a moment, then shot into the crack in the tree. There he remained, with his head sticking out, obviously hissing at the dogs that came to bark and snap at him and the man he was protecting. When one or two got too close, Gervase bit their noses. The dogs yelped and scuttled to the rear of the pack, tails between their legs, while the entire tent roared with laughter.
“Then the man who had been hunting the wizard arrived, and he was not pleased. He had wanted the wizard to serve him; he had waited until the wizard’s magics were either exhausted or nullified by his own magicians, then he had taken him prisoner and tortured him. But our wizard had pretended to be unconscious and had escaped into the Pelagirs. The lord was so angry he had escaped that he had taken every hunter and dog he had and pursued him—but thanks to Gervase, he thought now that he had lost the trail.”
The plump and oily man who rode up on a sweating horse bore no small resemblance to Wethes. Tarma smiled at that, as the “lord” whipped off his hounds and laid the crop across the shoulders of his fearful huntsman, all the while turning purple with rage. At length he wrenched his horse’s head around, spurring it savagely, and led the lot out of the clearing. Gervase came out of hiding; so did the wizard.
“The wizard was very grateful. ‘There is a great deal of magical energy stored in your home,’ he said. ‘I can grant you nearly anything you want, little friend, if you’ll let me use it. What way can I reward you?’ Gervase didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Make me a man like you!’ he said, ‘I want to be a man like you!’ ‘Think carefully on what you’re asking,’ the mage said. ‘Do you want to be human, or do you want to be a magician? You have the potential within you to be a great mage, but it will take all the magic of your tree to unlock it, and even then it will take years of study before you can make use of your abilities. Or would you rather have the form of a human? That, too, will take all the magic of your tree. So think carefully, and choose.’ ”
The little lizard was plainly in a quandary; he twitched and paced, and looked up at the sky and down at the ground for help.
“Gervase had a terrible decision, you see? If he became a human, people would listen to him, but he wouldn’t have the magic to do what he wanted to do. But if he chose to have his Gifts unlocked, where would he find someone who would teach the use of them to a lizard? But finally, he chose. ‘I will be a mage,’ he said, ‘and somewhere I will find someone willing to teach me, someone who believes that good inside is more important than the way I look on the outside.’ ”
The wizard in the vision smiled and raised his hands over Gervase. The tree began to glow brightly; then the glow flowed off the tree and over the little lizard, enveloping him and sinking into him.
“ ‘You need look no further, little friend,’ said the mage, when he’d done. ‘For I myself will teach you, if you wish to be my apprentice.’ ”
Gervase plainly went half-mad with joy; he danced comically about for a good several minutes, then dashed into the now-dark tree and emerged again with a few belongings tied into a cloth. Together he and the mage trudged down the path and disappeared into the forest. The glowing globe went dark then, and vanished slowly, dissolving like smoke.
“And that is the tale of how Gervase became an apprentice to Cinsley of White Winds. What happened to him after that—is another tale.”
The applause Kethry received was as hearty as ever Tarma had gotten back in the days when her voice was the pride of the Clans.
“Well done,” Tarma whispered, when the attentions of those gathered had turned to the next to entertain.
“I was wondering if my doing magic would offend anyone—” Kethry began, then looked up, suddenly apprehensive, seeing one of the Clansfolk approaching them.
And not just any Shin‘a’in, but the Sham
an.
The grave and imposing woman was dressed in earthy yellows this evening; she smiled as she approached them, as if she sensed Kethry’s apprehension. “Peace, jel‘enedra,” she said quietly, voice barely audible to the pair of them over the noise of the musicians behind her. “That was well done.”
She seated herself on the carpeted floor beside them. “Then—you didn’t mind my working magic?” Kethry replied, tension leaving her.
“Mind? Li‘sa’eer! Anything but! Our people seldom see outClan magic. It’s well to remind them that it can be benign—”
“As well as being used to aid the slaughter of an entire Clan?” Tarma finished. “It’s well to remind them that it exists, period. It was that forgetfulness that lost Tale‘sedrin.”
“Hai, you have the right of it. Jel‘enedra, I sense a restlessness in you. More, I sense an unhappiness in both you and your oathkin.”
“Is it that obvious?” Kethry asked wryly. “I’m sorry if it is.”
“Do not apologize; as I said, I sense it in your she‘enedra as well.”
“Tarma?” Kethry’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Look, I don’t think this is where we should be discussing this,” Tarma said uncomfortably.
“Will you come to my tent, then, Kal‘enedra; you and your oathsister?” The request was more than half command, and they felt almost compelled to follow her out of the tent, picking their way carefully among the crowded Clansfolk.
Tarma was curious to see what the Shaman’s dome-shaped tent looked like within; she was vaguely disappointed to see that it differed very little from her own inside. There was the usual sleeping pad of sheepskins and closely-woven woolen blankets, the mule-boxes containing personal belongings and clothing, two oil-lamps, and bright rugs and hangings in profusion. It was only when Tarma took a closer look at the hangings that she realized that they were something out of the ordinary.
They seemed to be figured in random patterns, yet there was a sense of rhythm in the pattern—like writing.
The Shaman seemed uncannily aware of what Tarma was thinking. “Hai, they are a written history of our people; written in a language all their own. It is a language so concise that one hundred years of history can be contained in a single hanging.”
Tarma looked around the tent, and realized that there must be close to fifty of these hangings, layered one upon the other. But—that meant five thousand years!
Again the Shaman seemed to sense Tarma’s thoughts. “Not so many years as you may think. Some of these deal with the history of peoples other than our own, peoples whose lives impinge upon ours. But we are not here to speak of that,” the Shaman seated herself on her pallet, allowing Kethry and Tarma to find places for themselves on her floor. “I think the Plains grow too small for both of you, he shala?”
“There’s just no real need for me here,” Kethry replied. “My order—well, we just can’t stay where there’s nothing for us to do. If some of the Clansfolk had magic gifts, or wanted to learn the magics that don’t require a Gift, it would be different; I’d gladly teach them here. But no one seems interested, and frankly, I’m bored. Actually, it’s a bit worse than being bored. I’m not learning anything. I’ll never reach Adept status if I stay here.”
“I ... don’t fit here,” Tarma sighed, “And I never thought I’d say that. Like Keth, I’d be happy to teach the children swordwork, but that would be usurping Shelana’s position. I thought I could keep busy working with her, but—”
“I venture to guess you found her scarcely more challenging than her pupils? Don’t look so surprised, my child; I of all people should know what your Oath entails. Liha‘irden has not had Kal’enedral in its midst for a generation, but I know what your skill is likely to be—and how it was acquired.”
There was silence for a moment, then Tarma said wryly, “Well, I wish you’d told me! The first time one of Them showed up, it was enough to stop my heart!”
“We were a trifle short of time to be telling you anything, even had you been in condition to hear it. So—tell me more of your troubles.”
“I love my people, I love the Plains, but I have no purpose here. I am totally useless. I’d be of more use raising income for Tale‘sedrin than I am now.”
“Ah—you have seen the problem with raising the banner?”
“We’re only two; we can’t tend the herds ourselves. We could bring in orphans and third and fourth children from Clans with far too many to feed, but we have no income yet to feed them ourselves. And frankly, we have no Name. We aren’t likely to attract the kind of young men and women that would be my first choice without a Name.”
“Would you mind telling me what you two are talking about?” Kethry demanded, bewilderment written plainly on her face.
“Goddess—I’m sorry, Keth. You’ve fallen in with us so well, I forget you aren’t one of us.”
“Allow me,” the Shaman interrupted gently. “Jel‘enedra, when you pledged yourself to providing children for Tale’sedrin, you actually pledged only to provide the Clan core—unless you know some magic to cause you to litter like a grass-runner!” The Shaman’s smile was warm, and invited Tarma as well as Kethry to share the joke. “So; what will be, is that when you do find a mate and raise up your children, they must spend six months of the year here, shifting by one season each year so that they see our life in harsh times as well as easy. When they come of age, they will choose—to be Shin‘a’in always, or to take up a life off of the Plains. Meanwhile, we will be sending out the call, and unmated jel‘asadra of both sexes are free to come to your banner to make it their own. Orphans, also. Until you and your she’enedra declare the Clan closed. Do you see?”
“I think so. Now what was the business about a Name?”
“The caliber of youngling you will attract will depend on the reputation you and Tarma have among the Clans. And right now—to be frank, you will only attract those with little to lose. Not the kind of youngling I would hope to rebuild a Clan with, if I were rebuilding Tale‘sedrin.”
“The part about income was clear enough,” Kethry said after a long moment of brooding. “We—we’d either have to sell some of the herd at a loss, or starve.”
“Are you in condition to hear advice, the pair of you?”
“I think so,” said Tarma.
“Leave the Clans; leave the Plains. There is nothing for you here, you are wasting your abilities and you are wasting away of boredom. I think there is something that both of you wish to do—and I also think that neither of you has broached the subject for fear of hurting the other’s feelings.”
“I ...” Kethry faltered. “Well, there’s two things, really. Since I’ve vowed myself to rebuilding Tale‘s-edrin—that needs a man, I’m afraid. I’ll grant you that I could just go about taking lovers but ... I want something more than that, I want to care for the father of any children I might have. And frankly, most of the men here are terribly alien to me.”
“Understandable,” the Shaman nodded. “Laudable, in fact. The Clan law holds that you, your she‘enedra, and your children would comprise a true Clan-seed, but I think everyone would be happier if you chose a man as a long-term partner-mate, and one with whom you have more in common than one of us. And the other?”
“If I ever manage to get myself to the stage of Adept, it’s more-or-less expected of a White Winds sorceress that she start a branch of the school. But to do that, to attract pupils, I’d need two things. A reputation, and money.”
“So again, we come to those two things, as important to you as to the Clan.”
“Well that’s odd, that you’ve been thinking of starting a school, because I’ve been playing with the same notion,” Tarma said in surprise. “I’ve been thinking I enjoyed teaching Justin and Ikan so much that it would be no bad thing to have a school of my own, one that teaches something besides swordwork.”
“Teach the heart as well as the mind and body?” the Shaman smiled. “Those are praiseworthy goals, children, a
nd not incompatible with rebuilding Tale‘sedrin. Let me make you this proposition; for a fee, Liha’irden will continue to raise and tend your herds—I think a tithe of the yearlings would be sufficient. Do you go out before the snows close us in and see if you cannot raise both the reputation and the gold to build your schools and your Clan. If you do not succeed, you may always return here, and we will rebuild the harder way, but if you do, well, the Clan is where the people are; there is no reason why Tale‘sedrin should not first ride in outClan lands until the children are old enough to come raise the banner themselves. Will that satisfy your hungers?”
“Aye, and then some!” Tarma spoke for both of them, while Kethry nodded, more excitement in her eyes than had been there for weeks.
Kessira and Rodi remained behind with the herds when they left two weeks later. Now that they were to pursue their avocation of mercenary in earnest, they rode a matched pair of the famed Shin‘a’in battlesteeds; horses they had picked out and had been training with since spring.
Battlesteeds were the result of a breeding program that had been going on for as long as the Shin‘a’in had existed as nomadic horsebreeders. Unlike most horsebreeding programs, the Shin‘a’in had not been interested in looks, speed, or conformation. They had bred for intelligence, above all else—and after intelligence, agility, strength, and endurance. The battlesteeds were the highly successful result.
Both horses they now rode were mottled gray; they had thick necks and huge, ugly heads with broad foreheads. They looked like unpolished statues of rough granite, and were nearly as tough. They could live very handily on forage even a mule would reject; they could travel sunrise to sunset at a ground-devouring lope that was something like a wolfs tireless tracking-pace. They could be trusted with an infant, but would kill on signal or on a perceived threat. They were more intelligent than any horse Kethry had ever seen—more intelligent than a mule, even. In their ability to obey and to reason they more resembled a highly trained dog than a horse, for they could actually work out a simple problem on their own.
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