“I only brought the one pot,” Arkoniel told Kaulin, not anxious to share his prize. Dividing the fire diminished its potency.
“Not looking for that,” Kaulin muttered. Rain ran down his broad back in rivulets as he crouched on the blackened grass at the base of the tree and poked about with a silver knife. Wythnir did the same on the far side and soon straightened up with a cry of triumph. “Look, Master Kaulin, here’s a big one!” he cried, juggling something back and forth between his hands like a hot ashcake. It was a rough, dirt-caked black nodule about the size of a man’s finger. Kaulin soon found some, too.
“A fine one!” Kaulin exclaimed, taking it and holding it up for the rain to cool.
“What is it?” asked Arkoniel. The man was as pleased with this fruit of the storm as he was with his.
“Sky stone,” Kaulin told him, tossing it to him. “Got the power of that lightning bolt fused in it.”
It was still very hot, but Arkoniel felt something else as well, a subtle vibration that sent a tingle up his arm. “Yes, I feel it. What will you do with it?”
Kaulin held out his hand and Arkoniel reluctantly surrendered it. “Lots of things,” he replied, rolling it in his cupped palm to cool it more. “This here’s a couple of months’ livelihood, if I find the right one to sell it to. This’ll put the hot iron back up an old man’s worn-out prick.”
“Impotence, you mean? I’ve never heard of that cure before. How does it work?”
Kaulin slipped the stones into a leather pouch. “The man binds one of these to his member with a red silk cord and leaves it until a thunderstorm comes. As soon as he sees three flashes in the sky, his vitality’s restored. For a while, at least.”
Arkoniel stifled a grunt of disbelief. Such folk “cures” were seldom more than an idea planted in the customer’s mind, sympathetic magic that had more to do with the cully’s desperation than any inherent power of the so-called remedy. It was the sort of cheat that gave their kind a bad name. All the same, he had felt something in the stone. Satisfied, the others set off with their find. Rain sizzled on the lid of the firepot as he trudged after them.
Wythnir slowed until he was walking with Arkoniel. Without a word, he pressed something into the wizard’s hand, then hurried back to Kaulin. Looking down, Arkoniel found himself holding one of the rough hot stones. Grinning, he pocketed it for later study.
The rain had slackened a bit. Halfway across the meadow, Arkoniel caught the distant jingle of harness on the Alestun road. Kaulin had heard it, too.
Arkoniel passed him the firepot. “Take this to my workroom and stay there, both of you. Don’t make any sound until I send word.”
They ran for the bridge. Kaulin and the boy disappeared through the main gate, while Arkoniel sprinted for the empty barracks. Inside he crossed to a window overlooking the road and peered out through a crack between the shutters. The rain had increased again and he could see no farther than the bridge, but he didn’t dare expose himself.
Presently he heard a heavy snort and the creak of harness. A brown-and-white ox appeared out of the storm, pulling a high-sided cart. Two people sat on the driver’s bench, wrapped in cloaks against the storm. The one next to the driver threw her hood back just then and Arkoniel’s heart leaped; it was Iya, baring her face to make herself known to anyone watching from the keep. The driver did the same, a fair-haired young man with vaguely ’faie features. It was Eyoli of Kes, the young mind clouder from Virishan’s orphan brood. Iya had brought at least one of them to safety. The fact that they’d come by cart gave him hope of others.
Though no great wizard herself, Virishan had earned Iya’s respect by gathering up neglected wizard-born children from among the poor, saving them from filthy seaports and backward border towns where their sort were too often abused, exploited, and killed by the ignorant. An outcast herself, Iya had been happy to give Virishan what support she could.
“Ah, there you are, and in this weather!” Iya called, as Arkoniel stepped out to greet them. Eyoli reined in the horse and held a hand down to him. Climbing up the muddy wheel spokes, Arkoniel glanced into the cart. There were only five children huddled there among the baggage and their protector was not with them.
“Where’s your mistress?” Arkoniel asked, as they rattled off again.
“Dead of a fever this past winter,” Eyoli told him. “It carried off twelve of the children, too. I’ve had the care of the rest since, but it’s hard to make a living with no more magic than any of us has. Your mistress found us begging in Kingsport and offered us sanctuary here.”
Arkoniel turned to the shivering children. The older three were all girls. The two little boys were no older than Wythnir.
“Welcome, all of you. We’ll have you warm and dry soon, and there’s lots to eat.”
“Thank you, Master Arkoniel. I’m glad to see you again,” one of the girls said, pushing her sodden hood back. She was nearly woman-grown, he saw, and very pretty, with wide blue eyes and a flaxen braid. He must have stared, for her smile faltered. “I’m Ethni, remember?”
“The little bird tamer?” She’d been young enough to sit on his knee the last time he’d seen her.
Ethni grinned and lifted a wicker cage to show him two brown doves. “You helped me with that, and now I’ve a few new tricks to show you,” she said proudly.
I’d like to see them! Arkoniel thought, wondering if she’d still sit on his knee. Catching himself, he quashed the thought with a guilty pang. The fact was, though, that this was the first pretty young girl he’d met since he’d broken celibacy with Lhel. That realization, and his body’s warm reaction, were rather disquieting.
“And us! Do you remember us?” the younger girls chided, turning up identical faces. Even their voices seemed the same.
“Rala and Ylina!” one reminded him.
“You made luck knots for us, and sang ballads,” her sister chimed in.
Arkoniel smiled at them, but was aware of Ethni’s gaze still on him. “And who are these fellows?”
“This is Danil,” one of the twins told him, hugging the dark-eyed boy.
“And this is Totmus,” said her sister, introducing the shy, pale one.
“Who else has arrived?” asked Iya.
“Kaulin and a little boy.”
She pulled her wet cloak closer around her, frowning. “That’s all, after all this time?”
“How many did you call?”
“Only a dozen or so since I last saw you. It wouldn’t do to have a crowd streaming down the Alestun road. But I’d expected more to be here by now.” One of the boys whimpered. “Don’t worry, Totmus, we’re nearly there.”
In the kitchen yard Nari and Cook hustled the shivering children to the kitchen hearth and wrapped them in dry blankets.
Later, when the children were all settled on pallets in the hall, Arkoniel and Iya carried their wine cups up to his bedchamber. The thunder had passed, but the storm raged on. As night fell the wind turned cold, pelting the keep with hailstones the size of hazelnuts. The wizards sipped their wine in silence for a while, listening to it clatter against the shutters.
“Our wizards aren’t much of a collection yet, are they?” Arkoniel said at last. “One old faker, a half-grown mind clouder, and a handful of children.”
“There’ll be more,” Iya assured him. “And don’t underestimate Eyoli. He may be limited, but he’s good at what he does. I think he might do to keep an eye on Tobin for us in the city. It’s risky, but he’ll attract far less attention than we would.”
Arkoniel rested his chin on one hand and sighed. “I miss Ero. And I miss traveling with you.”
“I know, but what you’re doing here is important. And surely Lhel isn’t letting you get too lonesome?” she added with a wink.
He blushed, unable to answer.
She chuckled, then pointed at his right hand, noticing the missing finger. “What happened there?”
“A happy accident, actually.” He held up his hand proudly; th
anks to Cook, it had healed clean over the bone end. The new skin there was still a shiny pink and a bit tender, but he hardly noticed it anymore. “I’ve got wonderful news, but it’s easier to show you than explain it.”
Rummaging in his pocket, he found his wand and a coin. He wove the spell and made a black disk the size of his fist, its surface parallel to the floor. Iya sat forward, watching with interest as he flourished the coin like a conjurer and dropped it into the disk. It disappeared and the black aperture snapped out of existence. He grinned. “Look in your pocket.”
Iya reached in and pulled out the coin. A look of wonder slowly spread over her face. “By the Light,” she whispered. “By the Light! Arkoniel, I’ve never seen the like! Did Lhel teach you this?”
“No, it’s that spell I’ve been working on, remember? But I did start with one of her spells as a base.” He wove the sigil for the window spell on the air, and had Iya peek through at Nari and Cook knitting by the kitchen fire. “That was the start of it, but I added to it, and visualize it differently.”
“But your finger?”
Arkoniel went to his desk and took a taper from the candle box. Weaving the spell again, he thrust the taper partway in and showed her the resulting stump. Iya reached into her pocket and found the missing half.
He held up his finger again. “The one and only time I was careless. So far, anyway.”
“By the Four, do you realize how dangerous this is? How big can you make these—these—What do you call them?”
“Doorways. I’ve made some large enough for a dog to walk through, if that’s what you’re getting at, but it won’t work. I’ve tried it with rats, but they come through mangled on the other end. Small, solid objects go through just fine. Just imagine being able to send something all the way here from Ero in the blink of an eye! I haven’t tried anything that ambitious yet, but it should work.”
Iya looked down at the candle stub and coin. “You haven’t taught this to Kaulin or the boy, have you?”
“No. They’ve seen it work, but not how it’s cast.”
“That’s good. Can you imagine how dangerous this could be in the wrong hands?”
“I understand that. It’s not perfected yet, either.”
She took his damaged hand in hers. “Perhaps this was a blessing. You’ll have this before you as a reminder for the rest of your life. I am proud of you, though! Most of us go our whole lives simply learning the magic created by others, without ever making anything new.”
He sat down again and sipped his wine. “It’s thanks to Lhel, really. I’d never have figured it out without the things she’s taught me. She’s shown me a good deal about blood magic too. Wonderful things, Iya, and nothing like necromancy. Perhaps it’s time we stopped thinking that way about the hill folk and began to learn from them before they all die out.”
“Perhaps, but would you trust just anyone with the kind of power she has over the dead?”
“It’s not all like that.”
“I know, but you know as well as I do there were reasons they were driven out. You can’t let your affection for one witch blind you to the rest. Lhel’s had her reasons not to show you the dark side of her power but it’s there, believe me. I’ve felt it.
“All the same, what you’ve accomplished here is marvelous.” Iya touched his cheek, and a hint of sadness crept into her voice. “And you’ll do more. So much more. Now, tell me about this Wythnir. You seem fond of him.”
“There’s not much to tell. From what Nari and I have been able to gather, his early life was about like that of those children downstairs. But you wouldn’t believe how quickly he takes to everything I show him.”
She smiled. “So, how do you like having an apprentice of your own?”
“Apprentice? No, he came with Kaulin. He belongs to him.”
“No, he’s yours. I saw that the minute he looked at you, down in the hall.”
“But I didn’t choose him, I just—”
She laughed and patted his knee. “Then this is the first time I’ve heard of an apprentice choosing the master, but he is yours, whether you and Kaulin have worked it out between you or not. Don’t let go of him, my dear. He will be great.”
Arkoniel nodded slowly. He’d never thought of Wythnir that way, but now that she’d said it, he knew she was right. “I’ll speak with Kaulin. If he’s agreeable, will you be our witness?”
“Of course, my dear. But you must settle it tomorrow morning.”
Arkoniel’s heart sank. “You’re leaving so soon?”
She nodded. “There’s still so much to do.”
There was no arguing with that. They finished their wine in silence.
To Arkoniel’s relief, Kaulin had no objection to giving over his bond on Wythnir, especially after Arkoniel offered a handsome compensation for his loss. Wythnir said nothing, but beamed happily as Iya tied his hand to Arkoniel’s with a silk cord and spoke the blessing.
“Will you swear the wizard’s oath to your new master, child?” she asked him.
“I will, if you tell me what it is,” Wythnir replied, wide-eyed.
“Don’t guess I ever got ’round to that,” Kaulin muttered.
Iya shot him a disdainful look, then spoke kindly to the child. “You swear first by Illior Lightbearer. And you swear by your hands and heart and eyes, that you will always obey your master and strive to serve him the best you can.”
“I swear,” Wythnir replied eagerly, touching his brow and breast the way she showed him. “By—by Illior, and by my hands and heart and—”
“Eyes,” Arkoniel prompted softly.
“Eyes,” Wythnir finished proudly. “Thank you, Master Arkoniel.”
Arkoniel was surprised by a wave of emotion. It was the first time the child had called him by name. “And I so swear, by Illior, and by my hands and heart and eyes, that I will teach you all I know, and protect you until you are grown into your own power.” He smiled down at the boy, remembering when Iya had said these same words to him. She’d kept her word and so would he.
Arkoniel was sorry as always when Iya rode out later that day, but the keep seemed a different house now, with so many people under the roof again. Wizard-born they might be, but they were still children and racketed about the hallways and meadow like farmers’ brats. Kaulin grumbled about the noise, but Arkoniel and the women were glad of the new sense of life they brought to the old house.
Their presence brought new problems, as well, he soon discovered. For one thing, they were much harder to hide than quiet little Wythnir. On tradesmen’s days he packed them all off into the forest with Eyoli and Kaulin to guard them.
The other children joined Wythnir at his lessons, and Arkoniel found he had a school, as well. Fortunately, Wythnir’s remaining shyness fell away around the others and Arkoniel watched with delight as he began to play like a normal child.
Pretty Ethni was a welcome addition to the household, too, but a disturbing one. She flirted with Arkoniel whenever they met. He was flattered, but saddened as well. Though twice Wythnir’s age, she had none of his promise. Even so, he encouraged her and praised every small advance. It was rather nice, the way she smiled at him when he did.
Lhel saw the true nature of his feelings for the girl before he did and told him the first time he came to her after the other’s arrival.
She chuckled as they undressed each other in the oak house. “I see a pair of pretty blue eyes in your heart.”
“She’s only a girl!” Arkoniel retorted, wondering what form a witch’s jealousy might take.
“You know as well as I do that’s not true.”
“You’ve been spying again!”
She laughed. “How else can I protect you?”
Their coupling that day was as passionate as ever, but afterward he caught himself comparing Lhel’s brown throat to Ethni’s smooth white one and tracing the lines around her eyes. When had they gotten so numerous, and so deep? Sad and. ashamed of himself, he drew her close and buried
his face in her hair, trying not to see how much greyer it was now.
“You are not my husband,” Lhel murmured, stroking his back. “I am not your wife. We are both free.”
He tried to read her face but she pulled his head back down on her breast and stroked him to sleep. As he drifted off, it occurred to him that for all the passion they’d shared here in this oak house, neither of them had ever spoken of love. She’d never taught him the word for it in her language.
Chapter 29
Tobin celebrated his fourteenth name day in Atyion, and Duke Solari saw to it that it was a grand affair. Far grander, in fact, than Tobin would have liked; he’d have been happier with a small hunting party at the keep, with just the Companions and a few friends, but Iya had warned against going there now. She wouldn’t say why and Tobin’s old resentments against the wizard boiled up. But in the end even Tharin had taken her side and Tobin had grudgingly given in.
All the same, he was glad to visit Atyion again. The townspeople turned out to greet him, and Tobin was pleased that he recognized so many faces among the crowd.
Even the castle cats seemed glad to have him back. Packs of them gathered wherever he sat down, winding around his ankles and curling up on his lap. Lytia’s orange tom, Ringtail, slept stretched between Tobin and Ki every night, and followed Tobin around the castle. The cat couldn’t abide Brother, though. When Tobin called the ghost in secret, Ringtail would dart under the furniture, growling and hissing until Brother was gone.
To Tobin’s great relief, the king did not come out for the name day feast. Solari was disappointed, but still managed to fill the great hall with guests. The high tables were packed with lords Tobin hardly knew—Solari’s captains and liegemen mostly—but farther out, soldiers wearing the colors of Atyion sang and yelled out toasts to Tobin’s health. Looking out over that sea of faces, Tobin was all too aware of who wasn’t there. Una had not been heard from since her disappearance, and Arengil was gone, too, sent home to Aurënen a few days after the embarrassment on the roof. Weeks later it came back to Tobin through palace gossip that the young foreign lord had been deemed a bad influence.