Then - the Heartstone under the Palace at Haven. This one was a bit peculiar; very old, very powerful, but quiescent. The shields had held through the last of the mage-storms, making it just about the only magical artifact outside of a Vale that had survived complete and untouched. There wasn’t much pull on it at the moment, for there were not that many Herald-Mages about who could use it. Someday, perhaps, Haven would be the Valdemar version of a Vale - but for now, the Stone slumbered. Like a war horse asleep in its stall, it wouldn’t take much to rouse it to fury, but the proper hands could control it with a mere touch of the reins or a whisper in its ear.
However, his were not those hands; that power was there for the service of the Heralds. It was theirs, and theirs alone. They were sealed to it by their very nature, and by the bonds they had with their Companions. It helped to maintain a different sort of web of power, one that linked all Heralds and Companions together.
Next, k’Vala Vale, the nearest to k’Valdemar. Its Stone was old, too, though not nearly as ancient as the Palace Stone, and unlike that Stone, this one was fully awake and active, with much power flowing out as well as into it. There were plenty of demands on the k’Vala Stone, and it responded to those demands as smoothly as a masterful juggler kept an impossible number of toys in the air. It wasn’t quite alive, not quite sentient, yet there was a quality of “life” and “personality” to it that was the hallmark of every Heartstone. That wasn’t surprising, considering how closely linked to the life of a Vale the Heartstone was.
Darian found and identified all of the stones, holding them all balanced within his mind, shining points of brilliant light in the web of life-energy. Firesong followed his work closely, and nodded when Darian found and touched the last of the lot, and the farthest, the Stone of k’Treva Vale.
“Good.” Firesong seemed satisfied that Darian had done the job with a minimal expenditure of his own energies. As a Journeyman, that was all he could really draw on for sustained and heavy use; the energies he himself produced or stored. He could recharge himself with the little trickles of power produced by all the living things around him, but that was akin to filling a cup with the dew collected on leaves. He could also make use of the tiny rivulets of energy as the living power collected in trickles and flowed toward the ley-lines. But not until he reached Master could he use the lines themselves - or the Heartstone.
Most schools of mage-craft built and maintained pools of power available to their Masters, but none except the Tayledras invested the energies not only of their own members but actually ran ley-lines into their power-pools and terminated them there. That was perhaps because only the Tayledras knew how to construct the Heartstones, to keep energy flowing out so that it never overloaded; of all of those outsiders who had tried, only one had succeeded - and that one was the legendary Herald-Mage Vanyel, Adept, and Tayledras-trained. Hundreds of years ago, Vanyel had invested the energies in the web that linked his Heralds, and a spell that had kept (or, more truthfully, irritated) “foreign” mages out of Valdemar, providing that steady drain; the Vales invested the excess in weather-control, shielding, and luxuries like the hot pools. When anyone else tried, the focus of power quickly destabilized in a manner quite destructive and usually fatal to all concerned.
“Now,” Firesong continued, unperturbed, “without disturbing the ley-lines in any way, link yourself to the ones feeding our Stone.”
He knew how to do that. He’d “watched” Firesong do it a thousand times - he’d practiced everything short of touching the lines themselves - and now was the moment of truth. He would either be able to call this hawk he’d trained back to his gloved fist, or fail - and feel its talons sink into his flesh, or watch it soar away out of reach forever.
He noticed that Firesong had no personal shields up whatsoever in case of failure. Knowing Firesong, that might be just another way to increase Darian’s confidence, but it was a trust that touched him deeply.
Except for a brief stab of something sharp, a mingling of fear and excitement, he didn’t let himself think or feel. He just acted.
He “reached” out, moving surely, but not too quickly. He caught hold of the nearest ley-line, and without permitting himself to hesitate, seized it, opening himself to it.
He knew enough to brace himself for the shock, but it still rocked him; it was like opening up his veins to a flow of white-hot glass! For a fraction of a second, he was immersed, blinded by the fiery incandescence, as pathways within him felt the caress of energies they had never known until this moment. Every breath seemed thicker, and every color more intense. All at once, he was drunk, delirious with power, dizzy with its intoxicating song, and disoriented.
Then everything he’d learned, from Starfall, from Firesong, from the mages of k’Vala Vale, came surging to the fore, and it was he who was in control, not the power.
It was still dizzying, still intoxicating, but the heady draught no longer overwhelmed him. He’d ridden horses in Valdemar, some very spirited and powerful horses. This was very like riding such a horse. He commanded; the power obeyed, but only because he had the skill to command and the strength of will not to succumb to the seductive song and be lost in it.
Darian still remembered that lesson outside k’Vala Vale when he’d nearly gotten lost in the shift and flow of the simple life-powers of everything around him. Having experienced that, he knew would not make that mistake again. He made sure that he was still anchored in himself and let his channels become accustomed to the new sensations. Then, metaphorically, he sat back and allowed himself to experience the moment. The wonder of Tayledras teaching was that it permitted the student to accept those things, to comprehend them, but never to become numbed to them; it was a way of understanding, not just using. Now he understood as a Master would. It would never happen like this again, this first taste of power, this seductive latent drunkenness; Darian wanted to be able to remember it, however dimly.
:A remarkably mature sentiment,: came a dry mental voice, after an interval. :But you, my young student, are a Healing-Mage. So what else do you see, feel, or sense?:
What else? Was there anything else?
But even as he asked himself that, his own Mage-Senses answered him, and he knew that, of course, there was. Within the stream of power that was the ley-line, there were a myriad of little subcurrents, and each of those threads told him of the health of the place it originated from. Eddies and obstructions in the flow as he traced it back out of the Vale showed him where the line itself needed alteration or mending. Two other mages - both Hawkbrothers - had tapped into this particular line; he sensed their presence at the same moment they sensed his. They acknowledged each other briefly, and went on with what they were doing. As did he; his touch moved by instinct and, sure from long practice, he mended the line, smoothing out the eddies, altering the flow until it ran swift and unimpeded.
:Good. So, then, catch!: Just as he completed this work, Firesong flipped something at him. Before it had gone half the distance between them, he lanced out a coruscating line of force and caught it in a gentle net of power, holding it in midair. It was only a river stone, but as he met Firesong’s eyes and saw the approval in them, he was very glad that he had chosen to cradle it, and not blast it aside.
:Well done. Now tap into the Heartstone,: the voice commanded. :You’re keyed to it. Now use it. Without dropping the rock, that is.:
Without releasing his hold on the line or the rock, Darian did exactly as he had been ordered, reaching for the Heartstone, touching it, then melding with its outer edges. He sensed it test him (or was it “taste” him?) and recognize him. That was all there was to it; he joined with the Stone, and all its power was his for the taking.
He’d expected an even wilder rush than the ley-line had fed into him; instead, this was like sinking into a peace-filled globe of light, or a blissfully hot pool of water. There was no sensation of heat, no exquisitely flickering inflow of energy; just the presence of enormous power, and the knowledge tha
t he could do whatever he wanted with it.
This was no spirited horse, obedient to his will, but a kind of partner; a reservoir with a mind of its own, that acknowledged his right to drink of it.
Some mages signaled their achievement of Mastery with the production of “fireworks” that other mages of the same school could see and identify. But the Tayledras considered themselves no more than temporary custodians of their power. The Star-Eyed had granted them the use of that power for the purpose of healing the land after the Mage-Wars, and it wouldn’t even have occurred to them to make such a frivolous use of it as a peacocklike display of achievement with that power.
Theirs was a different tradition; to leave their mark upon the Vale itself, creating some change that would improve the lives of all those dwelling within. And Darian knew just what his mark would be, as the first new Master of a new Vale. He had been thinking about it for some time, ever since he had been told of the tradition, and the last time he’d been in Ayshen’s office, he’d checked the maps and models carefully for a place that would be open and suitable for his gift.
The lake at the far end of k’Valdemar was fed by several springs; he examined each of them in turn, to determine which would be the best candidate for his purpose. When he found one whose source was deeper than any of the others, he persuaded it to change its channel, to sink a little deeper, move nearer to the white-heat at the root of the Heartstone, before bubbling again to the surface.
Now with its waters warmed, it would serve as the water source for the first of the outdoor bathing pools. It wouldn’t take the hertasi long to notice the change, and within days they would cap the new flow and be building great pools to receive the hot waters. By the end of the month, there would be Tayledras soaking in the soothing waters under the stars, and there would be room for anyone who needed a hot soak to come and take one. The current hot pools were all inside one of the first buildings to be constructed here, and there wasn’t enough room to accommodate everyone at the same time.
:A fine choice of gifts to your Vale, Master Dar’ian.:
Firesong’s mind-voice held a smile of approval, and Darian blushed a little.
Just as carefully as he had taken control of Heart-stone and ley-lines, he released them, but not before he replenished the power he had used to create his hot spring. He opened his eyes on Firesong’s little workroom to see his mentor’s eyes full of warmth and congratulations.
Then he took a deep breath, and sat down carefully, right there on the floor, as exhaustion hammered him with a blow that made his legs go weak. He put out his hand and caught the river stone squarely in his right palm, as it dropped.
“Put it all back, did you?” Firesong asked rhetorically. “Well, that’s proper, but you didn’t have to put all the energy back at one time. You could have ‘borrowed’ some of it.”
“I didn’t?” he asked. “But with all the preparations for the celebrations, we’re going to be strengthening the Veil for a few days, and I thought we’d need every bit of energy now.”
“Hmm. A kind thought. Never mind, you’ll recover by this evening,” Firesong interrupted, helping him up and keeping him on his feet with a hand beneath his elbow. He dismissed his shields, and Darian recaptured his own, feeling a little better as he took the power he’d expended on them back into himself again. Firesong didn’t take him far, only past the door and into one of Silverfox’s consultation rooms.
This was a very small room, used only for counseling. It had both a large window and a skylight, but the furniture was minimal. There was a soft, dark-green sling couch there, though, and Darian was very happy to lie down on it, dropping onto the silk-covered, down-stuffed cushions with his head spinning a little.
“Just lie there, and don’t move,” Firesong cautioned. He needn’t have bothered, as Darian had no intention whatsoever of moving. He felt as if he’d run all the way to Errold’s Grove and back.
Maybe a few magical fireworks would have been a better idea, he thought as he closed his eyes.
He woke again, suddenly, sweating, out of a dream that, like the one last night, he could not recall. His heart pounded in alarm, his hands were clenched on the fabric of the couch. An irrational feeling of dread hung over him, and he opened all of his senses in an effort to discover if there was anything wrong in the Vale at all.
But there was nothing. The Vale was as it had been; crafters working at their tasks, hertasi scuttling about, gryphons dozing in the sun. His heart slowed, the sweat dried, and he was too weary to maintain his state of alarm. Gradually he relaxed, and slept again.
The next time he opened them, he was feeling much better, and both the skylight above him and the open window beside him were dark. Someone had come in and covered him with a light blanket, then left a sweetly scented candle burning in a blue glass holder mounted on the wall. He felt better - but he didn’t much feel like moving.
There didn’t seem any real reason to move, either; Firesong knew where he was, and had presumably told anyone else who needed or wanted to know. Silverfox wouldn’t mind him taking over the consultation room. And since Keisha wasn’t going to be home, there was no great urgency to get back to his own ground-bound ekele. He was perfectly content at the moment to lie surrounded by warmth and softness, let his thoughts drift, and listen to the night noises outside.
Keisha’s going to be surprised. Pleasantly, he hoped. This would put him on an equal footing with her, rankwise, though he very much doubted that would change anything in their relationship. She’ll be happy for me, that much I know for sure. All the other honors that had been planned for him were really nothing more than titles to impress other people; reaching the rank of Master meant a real achievement of his own, felt in his heart.
“And how is our new Master Mage doing?” Firesong asked from the doorway, and Darian let out a little yip of startlement.
Firesong chuckled, and moved out of the shadows of the hallway and into the dim light from the candle.
“Serves you right for all the times you’ve sent me out of my skin,” Firesong said. “Especially that time you shaved a year off my life when you managed to sneak up on me in my own ekele. How are you feeling?”
“Tired and hungry,” Darian replied, suddenly feeling that hunger rise up and growl in his gut. “Very hungry, actually.”
“No headache? Nausea? Dizziness?” As Darian shook his head at each question, Firesong smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Then you not only pass, you pass with all honors. And tired is easily fixed - find a ley-line.”
“Now? Without shields?” Darian asked dubiously.
“You’d already integrated your shields into a coherent whole once you became a Journeyman; now you don’t need to protect anyone from your mistakes anymore, because you aren’t going to make any.” Firesong sounded more confident in Darian’s ability than Darian was, and he looked impatient for the first time as Darian wavered. “Look now, do you bother with special shields anymore when you use Oversight? Or gather low-level energy?”
“Well, no . . .” Darian took himself in hand without any further prodding. Firesong was right; by now, everything he’d learned was as familiar to him as the act of speaking or reading. Drawing on that confidence he’d had this afternoon, he closed his eyes, invoked Mage-Sight, and reached for the nearest ley-line, then opened himself. As thirsty earth drank in rain, his power-depleted self soaked in the raw strength of the line, and when he opened his eyes and released it again, he felt as good as he had when he’d awakened this morning.
Firesong gave him a lopsided grin. “Next time, don’t wait to be reminded. I won’t always be around, you know.” He stood up, and Darian finally noticed that he’d changed his clothing from this afternoon. Now he wore blue and green, a loose-sleeved, body-hugging tunic with a high, embroidered collar, and skin-tight trews with matching soft boots. And in one hand he carried one of his many masks, a delicate thing of green scales and wispy blue plumes, that dangled loosely in his long fingers.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Firesong replied. “I’m taking you to your party.” He grinned again. “You don’t for a moment think we’d pass up such a fine excuse to have at least a little celebration, do you? It wouldn’t be Tayledras!”
Firesong was inordinately proud of his pupil, though he wasn’t about to let Darian know that. At least, he didn’t want Darian to know how proud he was. One of the reasons he’d been contemplating giving up taking on pupils was because the last couple had, for one reason or another, never quite come up to his expectations of them. They were not bad people at all, nor stupid, just . . . less than optimal. Perhaps part of that had been a failure to mesh their personalities, or that some of his pupils had been as interested in him as they had been in learning what he taught. Part of that, of course, might just have been that they were discouraged; it would be a very long time before anyone was able to casually work the kind of large-scale magics that had been possible before the Mage-Storms disrupted everything. His pupils would be very old before they had power available to them to duplicate Firesong’s own feats as a young and headstrong Master. It was likely that it would take another generation before there was the abundant power on hand to duplicate the lesser feats of an Adept. Gating was out of the question for at least a hundred years - safe and reliable Gating, anyway. It was no wonder they saw no reason to acquire proficiency in skills it was unlikely they would ever be able to use.
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