The Mageborn Traitor--Exiles, Volume 2

by Melanie Rawn

  It was part of a larger problem: the scarcity of Mageborns. Cailet sat in silence while Col and Granon discussed it. During the years from the destruction of Ambrai in 951 to Anniyas’s death in 969—the years of the Purge—hundreds of Mageborn children had been lost. The few lucky ones had been found by a Mage and Warded so strongly that their powers were locked up forever. The many unlucky ones were killed by frightened neighbors, just like in the terrible days after The Waste War.

  And then there were the tragic ones: the ones who went mad.

  Most of the Mage Guardians had died at Ambrai. Their children had died with them—or never been born. Some Mages had escaped, lived in hiding, married, and either feared to bear daughters and sons or bore them in fear of the future, when their children might or might not have access to training that would control and nourish their magic.

  Hundreds dead, hundreds unborn. In the seventeen years since establishing Mage Hall, Cailet had on average added only five names each year to the Lists. Fewer than ninety new Mage Guardians—while those who had survived Ambrai gradually died, their memories of the old ways dying with them.

  “It’ll take Generations to rebuild your strength,” Col said. “It’s not surprising that the Warrior lines were hit so hard—you Bekkes, the Garvedians, the Gorrsts—all of you were at Ambrai, defending the city.”

  “Good thing we didn’t lose the Adennos line of Healers,” Granon said. “Or the Scholarly Escovors.”

  Collan rose. “Marra brews it strong, but also potent. Cailet, does your exalted Captalship possess anything so mundane as a commode?”

  She grinned and pointed. When he went through to the bedroom and the bathroom beyond, she looked at Granon again. “What is it?”

  He hesitated. “I tell you truly, Captal, if it came to it, we wouldn’t have enough Warriors to defend Mage Hall. The Wardings you have from The Bequest must be bulwark enough.”

  “If we’re attacked, Gransha,” she said with a thin smile, “it won’t be from the outside, with swords and magic.”

  He winced, suddenly showing the wrinkles of his fifty-four years. “Like today, you mean? I don’t even want to think about it—but now I have to. Would it be possible for me to observe while you Ward the boy? I’d like to learn how, in case I ever need to.”

  “Tomorrow morning first thing,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s something you can learn.”

  “At least let me help—if I can.”

  She smiled at him, and nodded. Dear Gransha. Could I have chosen anyone better as Master of Warders?

  He protects you as I would have, came the acknowledgment.

  Granon stood and stretched his Warrior’s muscles. “I’ll be there. I wish you a good night, Captal. Please give my respects to Lord Collan.”

  “I will.” Cailet sipped coffee for a while, staring at nothing. At last Collan returned.

  “No, I didn’t fall in,” he said. “Marra’s in your bedroom tidying up, and we had a little talk. Aidan’s happy here. All Lady Sefana’s fears about his not fitting in were unfounded.”

  “Thanks be to St. Miryenne for it,” she agreed.

  “Wish Val Maurgen could be around to see him.” Collan sprawled in a chair and sighed. “So what’re you going to do for Toman?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to think about it tonight.”

  “Is that an unsubtle hint that it’s late and I should be going?”

  “Not at all. I don’t usually go to bed until First, sometimes later.”

  “And you look it, too,” Collan observed ungraciously.

  Cailet only smiled.

  “Whatever your worries now,” he went on, “just wait till the twins get here.”

  “I have been waiting,” she replied. “For sixteen years. But I can wait a while more. They’re not finished learning what you and Sarra can teach them.”

  “That’s what I keep telling her.” He shifted in his chair, hooking a knee over the arm. “Cai—will they do all right here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t go easy on ’em. They’re mine, and I love them, but Taigan can be an arrogant brat and Mikel can talk his way out of almost anything.” He paused for a moment. “The Mikleine boy—Mikel thinks he’s seen him before. So do I.”

  “You have? Where?” She tried to sound casual about it.

  Cailet—what are you thinking?

  “I like the boy—he’s pleasant enough and he’s got a brain between his ears. I like him,” Col said again, unnecessarily.

  “But—?”

  “But he might’ve been the one who delivered that box.” Collan looked her straight in the eye. “And I’m pretty sure he’s the boy I saw in Roseguard Grounds the night the twins were kidnapped.”

  “‘Pretty sure,’ ‘might’ve been’—what are you trying to tell me, Col?”

  “Don’t try that song, Cailet, you never could sing in the key of Stupid. He could be a Malerrisi.”

  Geridon’s Balls! Cailet, tell him he’s wrong!

  “So could any of them be.” I can’t.

  “And you’re not going to try and find out?” Collan chewed his upper lip, shaking his head. “Risky. What if—”

  “What if what? Life is one long ‘what if,’ Col. What if I died in the middle of the night, all alone, without Elomar and Granon here to have the Making of another Captal in my place?”

  A cheery thought, growled Gorynel Desse.

  You’ll like this one even better. “What if Glenin Feiran arrives one morning with an army of Malerrisi to attack Mage Hall? I can’t deal in ‘what if’ and stay sane. All I can do is work with what I have, and keep a close eye on Josselin Mikleine—as close as I keep on all the other Prentices. You don’t have to be raised at Malerris Castle to use magic the wrong way.”

  “Like Auvry Feiran,” he said, and she hid a flinch.

  “Frankly, if Josselin is Malerrisi, I’d rather have him here where I can watch him than planted in Heathering like that blacksmith your Minstrelsy rooted out earlier this year.”

  “Sorry we didn’t find him sooner. And how did we get started on this depressing conversation, anyhow?”

  “Late hour, too much brandy. And that poor boy.” She shrugged. “I’ll do what I can for him. But I can’t promise anything. I can Ward the Wild Magic, though it might take a while.”

  He rose and stretched as Granon had done, saying, “And you’ve not only got to plan it out, you need rest in order to get it done tomorrow.” Unlike Granon, who would never have dared even think it, Collan came to her and ruffled her hair. “G’night, kitten.”

  “Good night. Col. Sleep well.”

  Later, after Aidan had consulted her about the next day’s schedule of classes and Marra had brought in a late-night snack that Cailet left untouched, she slid between cool sheets and stared at the little lamp burning in the corner of her bedchamber.

  “What about the sword, Gorsha?” she asked aloud.

  It seizes on magic, and the intent of the user, he said. You know that. Josselin’s intent could not therefore have been to kill the boy.

  “Or he’d be dead. Yes, I can accept that. But he didn’t need to kill him, did he?”

  What are you thinking?

  You have no idea what a relief it is that it’s impossible for you to read my mind. Of course, it’s equally impossible for me to read yours. . . .

  What are you thinking?

  She did not reply, watching firethrown shadows dance on the ceiling as a soft breeze sneaked under the lamp’s clear glass.

  Cailet!

  Oh, very well. Just this—it was a splendid opportunity for him to distinguish himself, not just from those in his class, but from every Prentice who has ever come to Mage Hall. Saving the Captal’s life isn’t something most Listed Mage Guardians get to do in a lifetime.

  And you suspect him because of it? Suspect him of what?

&n
bsp; Sarra sent me an interesting letter with Josselin and the roses. You were off somewhere thinking deep thoughts while I read it. Where do you go when you’re not talking to me, anyhow?

  My memories. When all the other Mages who remember Ambrai have died, Lusath and Tamos and I will still be here to remind you. What did Sarra have to say?

  What Col repeated tonight—that Mikel thinks Josselin might have a few physical characteristics in common with that Malerrisi neither he nor Taigan can quite remember.

  He gave a complex snort. Believe me, those who see that boy even once will remember it until their dying day!

  Collan does. Cailet turned over in bed and curled around a pillow. He remembers a beautiful dark boy with gray eyes. You heard what he said tonight. Think of it, Gorsha—what better place to hide a Malerrisi than in a Hall full of Mages? What do we know about Josselin, anyway? An orphan, born in 969 at one of the Equinoxes—

  Glenin wouldn’t dare. She wouldn’t risk—

  He’s the right age, she mused. And we have no idea where he was living until a year or so ago.

  This is insane.

  Taigan and Mikel trusted the Malerrisi after he “saved” them from an attack. Perhaps I’m meant to trust Josselin for the same reason. She felt his shocked denial, and decided to confront him. You knew my father. Does Josselin look like Auvry Feiran did at that age?

  Cailet—!

  I didn’t think you’d tell me. Go back to your memories, Wraith. I’m going to sleep.

  You’re turning nasty in your isolation, Captal.

  Don’t start that again!

  But he was gone, and it was a long while before she slept. When she did sleep, she dreamed of Auvry Feiran—whose face changed to that of Josselin Mikleine.

  14

  GORYNEL Desse was the only Mage in history to have the honor and responsibility of the Making of two Captals—Lusath Adennos and Cailet Rille. The second time, it had killed him.

  Elomar knew from Cailet’s Making that there was a place where such things occurred, but understood no more than she did about the process of getting there. Lusira monitored their physical bodies—Elo’s work when Gorsha had supervised The Bequest. Gorsha, wearing full regimentals on a lean, strong body no older than Cailet’s, guided them to the featureless grayness she had inhabited once before, half her life ago. She could feel Elomar’s presence in the background, and even hear his footsteps on the black-glass surface, but when she turned to look for him, she couldn’t find him.

  But she did see three other men: hazy, indistinct, each shining in his own way. A Candle and a Sparrow just like her own glinted from one man’s collar; a pure white Mage Globe hovered between the hands of another; a shock of golden hair glowed in the dimness.

  “Alin—” she breathed, and though she could not see his face clearly, it seemed to her that he smiled.

  Gorsha took her elbow and turned her gently around. “They’ll be here if you need them,” he said as they walked, “just like always. We must find the child.”

  As if conjured by his words, another haze coalesced before them. It became not one child but six, all between the ages of four and seven, huddled protectively around the slight form of Toman.

  “The same ages they were when they died,” Cailet murmured. “They haven’t aged—”

  “They still see themselves as they were in life,” Gorsha agreed.

  “Like you do, my vain First Sword?” She glanced at him quizzically, and he winked. She touched his arm, feeling the solidity of him; looked up into brilliant green eyes; saw his lips part with a suddenly caught breath. He loved her. She knew that, depended on it. But the abrupt reality of him—in a completely unreal place—young and vital and compelling—

  She recoiled, her cheeks burning. His head bent, and he sighed, and said, “There’s work to do, Captal.”

  Nodding mutely, she turned and walked with slow, careful steps toward the children. A close look at their faces told her how startled they were at being separate again.

  “Is this what it’s like for you and Alin and Tamos and Lusath?”

  “Not in the slightest. We were adults, and we deliberately chose. These are children, who had no idea what they were doing.”

  “But how did it happen?”

  “Find out. Ask them.”

  She stopped walking when one of the girls flinched back. This was far enough. “Hello, Toman. Do you know who I am?”

  “Captal,” the girl said, eyeing her with wary blue-green eyes. Toman bit both lips and said nothing. But his eyes knew her better than the Others’ did.

  “You can call me Cailet. You’re Jennia, aren’t you?” she said to a girl who had Toman’s dark eyes. “And that’s Felena, your little sister.” The girls nodded. They stood on either side of their brother, holding his hands. Cailet smiled with what she hoped was reassurance, and looked at the other children. “Imilan, and Deik, and Imbra, right?”

  More nods. Cailet had to keep reminding herself where she was, what was going on here. They were just six children: blonde Imbra, rusty-haired Deik, tall Imilan, the three dark Lille siblings. All of them were clean and neat in bright sweaters, pants, and boots; Toman’s sisters wore matching green ribbons in their hair.

  They looked just as their families would have sent them out on a spring picnic—five years ago.

  Imbra, who at seven was the eldest, took a step forward. “Where are we?”

  Cailet hedged a little. “This is probably a scary place for you, but I promise it’s all right. You’re safe. Nothing will hurt you.”

  “Magic?” When Cailet nodded, Imbra asked, “Who’s he?”

  He—Gorsha. Tall, broad-shouldered, impressive in black regimentals—intimidating despite the mildness of his expression. “He’s a friend of mine,” Cailet said. “He’s here to help us.”

  “Help us do what?”

  Cailet stuck her hands in her pockets, keeping her body loose and casual. “I think maybe you know. You have magic, too, after all.”

  The girl looked at the Others, then at Toman, who was practically cowering. Turning back to Cailet, she burst out, “But magic hurts! He hurt us! With the sword!”

  “I’m sorry for that,” Cailet began.

  Deik spoke up. “It felt like the thing we put in the box.”

  “The—?”

  Behind her, Gorsha whispered, “Wards.”

  Oh. “That was your magic.”

  “But it hurt!” Imbra insisted. “The sword hurt all of us, Toman worst of all—and before that we felt all those people—”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Nobody wanted to hurt you. But the man who had the sword promised to protect me, and—”

  All at once her frightened defiance melted away, and she shuddered. So did the Others, and Toman. “We didn’t want to—it just happened—”

  “It’s all right. I understand.”

  “We couldn’t stop it! We kept it all boxed up for a long time, but then it got out—” Tears trembled in her blue eyes.

  “How did you put it in a box?”

  Jennia let go her brother’s hand and came to stand with Imbra, stroking her blonde hair to soothe her. “We did it at the very start. When we came together.”

  “I see. You must be very strong to have done that.” All six children nodded. They had responded to their own names and could speak as individuals, but they always used we. Cailet tilted her head, pursing her lips as if mildly curious. “I’d like to know how you did it. Maybe I could help you do it again. Do you remember?”

  And all at once she was drowning.

  —water—can’t breathe—help me—

  —swim swim catch Deik’s hand—cold so cold—

  —rocks—head hurts—can’t see—

  —let go my arm let go let go LET GO—

  —Papa, help—please, Papa—cold and dark—

  —can’t b
reathe—

  —hungry scared up-down-side-side stop want Mama scared hungry—

  THERE!

  And what had been six became one. That was all any of them remembered. How it came to be, what deliberate process or random chance led them to Toman, none knew. They had been separate, and now were joined.

  And they wanted to take her with them—

  “Cailet!”

  She gasped, shaking as violently as the children. Leaning against Gorsha’s strength, she raked the hair from her eyes and saw that they were huddled together again, hanging onto each other. All at once Tamos Wolvar strode toward them, followed by Alin, and Captal Adennos—and even Elomar. Each man knelt, embracing frightened children, murmuring that it was all over, they were safe, nothing would hurt them.

  Cailet stood straighten “I’m all right,” she managed.

  “Did you find out how it happened?”

  She nodded, and kept her voice low as she explained.

  It had been an accident. They hadn’t meant to do this, whatever it was. But they had, and the infant personality was not strong enough to reject them. Indeed, it never considered rejecting them—for it only knew itself abandoned, and in need. The Others were suddenly there, and in this there was comfort.

  Four-year-old Felena, a sister. Six-year-old Jennia, the other sister. Both familiar, and loved in the way a baby loves anyone who cuddles and coos and feeds it. Imilan and Deik, also six, were unknown, but Jennia wanted them there, felt comfortable with them, and so it was all right. But the last, Imbra, was strange. Something burned in her, something her friend Jennia hadn’t known about before but had watched with the Others in a paralyzing jumble of fascination and fear. The thing crouched within her like a stalking silverback cat, bright and patient. Imbra was scared of it, but all it did was curl up tight to wait. They surrounded it with their fear of it, and fear had been vigilant in protecting them.

  When Cailet finished, Gorsha shook his head. “It’s the most remarkable example of spontaneous instinctive self-Warding I’ve ever heard of. Makes you wonder how many other children do it this way, and so effectively that no magic ever escapes.”