Storm Warning

by Mercedes Lackey

  A shield—something Celandine wouldn't want damaged!

  He grabbed one of the canvases at random as Celandine drove him back, and held it in front of him as he backed toward the windows. Celandine's mouth twisted in a snarl.

  "Put that thing down, you idiot!" he screamed. "How dare you put your hands on—"

  He never finished the sentence.

  There was a crash of glass as all the windows shattered at once. Karal ducked instinctively, crouching and making himself as small a target as possible as shards of razored glass went everywhere. Celandine came up out of his fighting crouch in shock and glanced around wildly—

  Then a dozen crossbow bolts hit him at once from the direction of every window; his body jerked wildly in a grotesque parody of a dance—

  —then he dropped to the floor, eyes already glazing in death.

  Karal dropped to the floor as well, as his knees gave out.

  "Karal!" Kerowyn leapt through one of the broken windows and crashed through the easels to get to him, knocking paintings in all directions. "Karal, are you all right? Did he scratch you? Sayvil said there was poison on his blade. Are you—"

  "I'm all right, I'm fine," he replied weakly. "Oh, dear Sunlord, I have never been as grateful for any lessons in my life as I am for yours." He hugged the painting to his chest, and took deep, steadying breaths. "He was going to kill me and leave me with a copy of one of Elspeth's knives in me. He said they got it when she left one in their ambassador."

  He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. Altra finally wormed his way through the tangle of art supplies and tumbled easels, and began winding around and around him frantically, purring loud enough to make both of them vibrate.

  "Elspeth's knife?" A large man climbed over the windowsill with a crossbow in each hand; after a moment, Karal's mind put a name to him. Skif. He wasn't a mage, but he often sat on the Council with Kerowyn.

  "Elspeth's knife?" the man repeated, scowling ferociously. "Demons take it, I knew that thing was going to come back to haunt us!"

  Karal started to shiver, when he happened to look down to see just what painting he had snatched up as an impromptu shield.

  Ulrich's warm, amused eyes gazed up at him; he froze for a moment, then burst into tears.

  Sixteen

  :Are you sure that you're ready for this?: Altra asked anxiously. :This is going to be very dangerous for you.:

  Karal shrugged, and shook his head.

  "Actually, I'm quite sure that I'm not at all ready for a confrontation like this," he admitted to the Firecat. "But we just don't have a choice. An'desha needs help; besides being afraid of allowing his emotions free play, he's locking down his anger because he is certain that if he lets it go, he'll use his powers to hurt whoever he's angry at. The problem with doing that is that it just makes things harder for him the next time he's angry." Karal rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully. "He has to discover that 'control' doesn't always mean 'containment.' He's got to see that the simplest solution isn't always the right one."

  The Firecat washed a paw thoughtfully. :I saw how he was when they told him how near you'd come to being killed—both times,: he said. :Terrible anger—then nothing. He just turned it all inside himself.:

  "Terrible anger is dangerous when you are—or were—an Adept who specialized in destruction," Karal said grimly. "Someone has to prove to him that he can lose his temper and his self-control, vent his emotions, and not hurt anyone in the process. Then he'll feel safe enough to go after those very emotional memories of Adept Ma'ar and learn all the destructive magic that Ma'ar knew. Firesong thinks the Ma'ar memories are important; I know that they have to be the key to this situation. I can't tell you why I'm so certain, I only know that I am."

  Hurry, hurry, hurry. That sense of terrible urgency made him as tight as a strung crossbow. The sense that time was running out on them was stronger than ever.

  :But are you the best person to do that?: Altra asked, with complete logic. :Shouldn't it be someone who's also a mage, who can defend against his attack if he should lash out? He can turn you into a cinder, and you haven't got any kind of protection.: The Firecat looked up at him with large, bottomless blue eyes, full of candor and concern. :I'm not completely certain even I could protect you against his full power, in a killing rage.:

  Karal sighed. "That's why it has to be me. It has to be someone so completely vulnerable that An'desha knows that person is defenseless. It has to be someone who knows An'desha well enough to make him rage with anger in a very short time. Firesong won't do, Firesong could hold his own against any attack An'desha could launch, and what would that prove? And it has to be done, because if it isn't, I think he'll be incinerated. Talia and Firesong both agree with me. If he keeps turning his anger inward, one day his power will turn inward as well, and it will consume him."

  :And besides,: Altra added, :he's your friend.:

  "That's right," Karal agreed. "He's my friend. Friends help friends. We're both strangers in this Valdemar place. Sometimes friends are all we have."

  He didn't have to mention all the nights this past week that An'desha had held him while he wept out his grief for Ulrich; Altra knew all about that, since he'd been there. He didn't say a word about the thousand little kindnesses that An'desha had shown him since—and the way he had gently deflected Firesong's resulting jealousy. None of that really mattered anyway. What did matter was that An'desha needed help, and it was help that Karal could give him.

  In the larger picture, if he didn't help An'desha, they might never have their "breakwaters" to use against the disruption-waves. The latest one had caught at least one large animal that Karal knew of, turning it into a monstrous killer that had savaged an entire herd of cattle before twenty men shot it full of arrows. Word had trickled back that the Tayledras Vales were suffering damage to their special shielding. According to Master Levy, the engineers and mathematicians had constructed a pattern of increasing power to these waves. Natoli had explained it to him, and he had felt the jaws of time closing on them. Something had to be done, and done quickly.

  It had taken Karal the better part of the afternoon to work up the courage to face this particular trial. It had been relatively easy to steel his nerve to face a possible enemy, but to have to face a friend who just might kill him—that took a different kind of courage altogether.

  Now, though, he was as prepared as he was ever likely to be. An'desha was hiding down in the tent in the garden, already shaken by a preparatory confrontation with Firesong, carefully planned and choreographed by Karal and the Healing Adept beforehand. The effects of the last disruption-wave were over, which meant there would be no interference from that quarter. Now, if ever, was the perfect moment.

  As always, his eyes met the painted eyes of Ulrich in the portrait he'd hung on his wall. I hope I'm doing the right thing, Master, he told the painting silently. I'm not as sure of this as Altra and Firesong think I am.

  He really didn't expect an answer from the portrait, and he wasn't surprised when he didn't get one. He tugged his tunic into place, and headed down the stairs into the garden.

  An'desha had been getting alarmingly predictable in his reactions to emotional confrontation; now that Karal had the fabric-draped room—for Kerowyn did not want to risk another assassination attempt and ordered him to stay in the ekele for the duration, or at least until Solaris sent official word of what she intended to do—An'desha had no other refuge than the small tent in the garden. Whenever he was upset or had an argument with anyone, that was where he went.

  He had been spending a lot of time in that tent, and the number of times in a given day he was retreating to it was increasing.

  Karal nodded to Firesong, who was lurking just out of An'desha's hearing. Firesong's jaw tightened, and he nodded curtly back. Firesong didn't like this any better than Altra did; he liked his part in it even less. He was going to have to create a very tough mirror-shield around that tent to hold in whatever An
'desha let loose.

  If there're going to be any victims here, let's keep it to one. The expendable one. I am expendable. I am stupid. Here I go.

  He pulled the tent flap aside and dropped down on his heels next to An'desha, who was sprawled on his back with his arm over his face, cushioned by a pallet identical to the one that Karal now used for a bed upstairs.

  "Down here again?" Karal said incredulously. "What's wrong this time?"

  An'desha didn't even remove his arm. "Firesong. He does not understand. He wishes me to sift through the memory fragments of Ma'ar again." An'desha's hands clenched into fists, and his mouth tightened, sulkily. "He will not understand. Those memories are very old, and to read them I must grow very close to them."

  "So?" Karal let scorn creep into his voice. "I think that Firesong is right, An'desha. You aren't thinking of anyone or anything but your own self. You are, quite frankly, becoming a spoiled brat. We have been coddling you, making allowances for you, and now you have no more spine than a mushroom!"

  An'desha sat up, suddenly, his mouth agape with shock, staring at Karal with a dumbfounded expression. "Wh-what?" he stammered.

  "You are spineless, An'desha!" Karal accused. "You know yourself that what we need lies in your mind, and you are too frightened to even try to look for it!" He let his own expression grow pitiful and petulant, and pitched his voice into a whine. "'Those memories are dangerous, they might hurt me, I am afraid of them—' as if we all aren't afraid of much worse than a few paltry memories!"

  "But I—" An'desha began, his eyes glazed with shock at the way Karal had abruptly turned on him.

  "But you. Always you. What about the rest of us?" Karal asked. "What about all that we have been doing? What about the losses, the harm that we have suffered, while you have been curled here in your little cocoon of self-pity, feeling, oh, so put-upon? What about the Tayledras, who are trying to piece their Vales together again, the Shin'a'in who fear their herds of precious horses will turn into herds of monsters—what about the Shin'a'in ambassador who died a few days ago? What about them? What about Karse? And Rethwellan?"

  An'desha was on his feet now as he tried to push past Karal. Karal shoved him back rudely, not letting him leave the tent, and evidently it never occurred to him that he could just turn and slash his way through the walls to get away. An'desha backed up a pace, and Karal shoved him again, getting right up close and shouting into his face.

  "You are a spineless, lazy, selfish coward, An'desha," he spat. "You've been playing the poor little wounded bird for too long! I have had quite enough of this, and so has everyone else! It is about time you started doing something to help, instead of whining about how afraid you are! We're all afraid, or hadn't you noticed? I was afraid, when Celandine nearly killed me, but you didn't see me whining about it, did you? You don't hear Firesong whining about how exhausted he is, even though he is working on shields until he is gray in the face?"

  An'desha's face had flushed to a full, rich crimson.

  But he wasn't angry enough yet, and Karal kept right at him.

  "You don't hear Darkwind whining about how put-upon he is, even though his shoulder still isn't healed and he is working night and day with the other mages! It's time to stop whining and start doing something, An'desha—or go find someone else to whine at, because we are all tired of you!"

  An'desha's face was contorted out of all recognition, but Karal continued the verbal abuse, continuing to attack him for being cowardly, selfish, and spoiled.

  An'desha's hands were clenched at his sides, and he stood as rigidly as a tent pole—

  —and there were colors swirling around those clenched fists—brilliant scarlets and explosive yellows, mage energies that, if they were visible to him, were probably quite potent enough to flatten an entire building.

  He'd seen Ulrich strike down something by magic once, and the powers gathering around An'desha's hands right now were twice, perhaps three times as bright.

  He wanted to run. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn and flee. Every hair on his head felt as if it was standing straight on end from the power in this little space.

  But instead of fleeing, he did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life; harder than facing Celandine, harder than coming to this strange land in the first place.

  He stepped back a pace, spread his hands, and sneered.

  "Well?" he taunted. "I'm right, aren't I? I'm right, and you're too spineless even to admit it!"

  And he waited for An'desha to strike, still holding that merciless sneer on his face....

  The air hummed with power; he'd read of such things, but he'd never experienced it. Now every hair on his head did stand straight on end—

  And An'desha's control finally exploded.

  "Damn you!" An'desha screamed. "Damn you!"

  There was a flash of orange and white, and the energy dissipated, draining away into the ground so quickly that in one breath it was completely gone.

  An'desha collapsed down onto his pallet, folding up as if he was completely exhausted, his face pale and pained. "Damn you," he repeated dully, as Karal dropped down to his side in concern and a fear that he'd managed somehow to make An'desha burn himself out. "Damn you, Priest, you're right."

  He looked up, as Karal tentatively touched his shoulder, eyes bleak. "You've been coddling me, and I've been unforgivably selfish."

  Karal grinned, which obviously astonished him, for An'desha gaped at him. "I'm right twice," he pointed out. "I told you that you were underestimating yourself, believing that because you have the memories of a Falconsbane or a Ma'ar, you also have their ways. You thought that if you 'lost control' of an emotion, you'd lose control of everything. Well. You lost control of your temper, didn't you? You were afraid to learn everything that lay in your old memories, because you were afraid that if you got too angry with someone, you'd use it. You just got angry, and there you are, after doing nothing more than curse me—and here I am, unsinged, unflattened. Falconsbane would have sent me through a wall, or incinerated me. You are sitting there, back in control again, and your own man. Right?"

  An'desha stared at him. "You mean—all that was just to prove to me that—" He reddened again. "Why, I should—I—"

  Karal raised an eyebrow at him. "And?" he said impudently. "Why don't you, Adept?"

  "Because you aren't worth the effort it would take to blow you through the wall, Priest," An'desha retorted, a ghost of a smile lurking around his eyes. "And because it's not worth taking on your vengeful god as an enemy just so I can get some satisfaction! Damn you! Why do you have to be so right?"

  "It's not my fault!" Karal protested. "I can't help it!"

  "Pah!" The young mage mock-hit his shoulder. "You revel in it, and you damn well know you do! One of these days you'll be wrong, and I'll be there to gloat!" The ghost of a smile had become a grin. "Just wait and see!"

  "I'll be looking forward to it," Karal replied, and he meant every word. A moment later, Firesong looked in on them both, with a small but loving smile on his handsome face.

  After all that, though, he felt an obligation to be there along with Firesong when An'desha worked up his own courage and took the plunge into those old, dangerous memories. It became something of a vigil for the two of them—An'desha lay in a self-imposed trance, looking much like a figure on a tomb, while the two of them watched, waited, and wondered if they might have been wrong in urging him to this. Firesong hadn't expected it to take more than a mark or two, but the afternoon crawled by, then most of the evening, and still the trance showed no signs of ending.

  "Is this getting dangerous?" Karal asked in a whisper, as Firesong soberly lit mage-lights and returned to his seat beside An'desha's pallet.

  "No—or not yet, anyway," the Adept replied, although he sounded uncertain to Karal. "I have been in trances longer; for two or three days, even."

  But those were not trances in which you pursued the memories of power-hungry sadists, Karal added, but only to him
self. Still, nothing had gone overtly wrong yet. There was no point in conjuring trouble.

  He wished that Altra was here, though. The Firecat had waited just long enough to be sure that he had survived An'desha's anger, then had vanished without an explanation. He could have used Altra's view on this; if Solaris' behavior was anything to go by, a former Son of the Sun should be much more familiar with trances and their effects than he was.

  A hint of movement riveted his attention back on An'desha. Had his eyelids moved? If the lights had been candles, he would have put it down to the flickering shadows, but mage-lights were as steady as sunlight. Yes! There it was again, the barest flutter of eyelids as the sleeper slowly, gently awakened.

  A moment later, and An'desha opened his eyes and blinked in temporary confusion—Firesong poured the tea that had been steeping all this while, and helped him to sit up, then offered him the cup. An'desha took it, his hands shaking only slightly, and drank it down in a single swallow.

  "How late is it?" he asked, as he gave the cup back to Karal, who poured more tea for him.

  "Evening. Not quite midnight," Firesong told him.

  An'desha nodded. Karal watched him covertly, and was relieved to see nothing in his expression or manner that was not entirely in keeping with the An'desha that he knew. "I discovered that we have been laboring under a misconception," he said, finally. "Before Ma'ar died, there was a time when he had to deal with the kind of situation we have now, although the initial destruction was of a single Gate and the spells of the area around it, and nowhere near so cataclysmic as what came later."

  Firesong nodded with excitement in his eyes, and Karal leaned forward. "So what did he do?"

  An'desha sipped his tea before replying. "It isn't so much what he did, as what his enemy did," he said. "He wasn't concerned with the effect of the waves outside his domain, so he simply built the sort of shield that I think we've been assuming we'd need all along." An'desha shook his head. "That would be a dreadful mistake," he continued. "A shield wall alone would simply reflect the waves again, and the reflected waves have the potential for causing more harm than the original waves!"