by Melanie Rawn
How often would this happen before anyone got used to it? Other people’s knowledge springing from Cailet’s lips—if Sarra secretly dreaded the prospect, what must it be doing to Cailet?
“Sarra . . . he said to tell you that he and Val loved you very much.”
Nodding slowly, she whispered, “Not half as much as they loved each other.”
“Gorsha said the same thing. He told me a lot, but there’s so much I want to know about Ambrai and our family and—”
“One thing you should know about me right away. Auvry Feiran is no more my father than Glenin is my sister.”
After a moment, Cailet replied steadily, “True enough.”
“You know what I’m saying.”
“I do. And I think you’re wrong. But we’ll discuss it some other time.”
Sarra went to the door, summoning a smile to reassure Maugir, and before she opened it said over her shoulder, “No, Cailet, we will not.”
27
“Sixteen people at once?” Imilial Gorrst shook her head emphatically. “Impossible!”
Collan paused in the doorway to consider. His knowledge of Ladders began and ended with eight versions of that silly children’s song—well, maybe not so silly; Alin had seized on a variant verse and declared one of the riddles solved—so he couldn’t exactly give an expert’s opinion. But Imilial Gorrst was a Mage, and a Warrior at that; he’d take her word for it.
Cailet Rille did not.
“Why impossible?” she asked calmly, then glanced up from the tray on her lap. “You’re the Minstrel!” she cried in genuine delight.
“That I am, domna, and pleased to see I won’t be singing to your deaf ears from now on.” He bowed and smiled, pretending not to notice Tarise’s frown. He knew Cailet was now Mage Captal and should be addressed as such, but he figured she’d get Captal-ed until she was sick of it from now on. Somebody ought to treat her like a human being.
“Oh, but I heard every single song. It was wonderful!” Her smile was almost childlike in its sweetness. “Will you sing for me again sometime?”
“At your slightest whim.” Taking a straight chair from near the brazier, he turned it around and straddled it, arms folded across its back. “I hear we’re taking a little trip.”
“Just as soon as Healer Adennos reassures everyone that I’m all right.”
“Which remains to be seen,” Tarise said sharply. “Go away, both of you, and let the Captal finish her breakfast.”
Aha—he’d been right. The title might become familiar in time, but right now it still startled her.
Imilial pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’ll get everyone ready, as you say. But it might be two trips, Captal. For one thing, the circle simply isn’t big enough to hold all of us.”
“Then I’ll just have to make it bigger, won’t I? And please, call me by my name. Unless I have to order that, too?” A prospect that obviously tasted sour; her mouth screwed up and she made a comical little face, but Collan saw the real unhappiness in her eyes. Gorgeous eyes, he thought absently, definitely her best feature. Lovely hair, too, if she’d let it grow out.
Imilial gave her a wry grin. “Cailet, then. But you’d better get used to the other.”
“And insist on it from certain people,” Tarise added.
Maybe Tarise had a point. A girl this young would never be taken seriously in a position of such importance. Oh, she might begin to look the role in about twenty years. Until then, insistence on the title would remind everyone of Who She Was.
Have to do something about the clothes, though, Col mused. What does the well-dressed Mage Captal wear? I know a shop in Firrense that’d fix her up just fine. Can’t beat Firrense for really good tailors. She’s a charming little kitten who’ll grow into a sleek black-eyed cat, but she’ll disappear into those regimentals unless something’s done to soften them . . . maybe a jewel or two, earrings at least. . . .
“. . . with Minstrel Rosvenir for a while alone please, Tarise.”
He roused at the sound of his name. When Tarise had left them, Cailet set the tray aside and scooted to the middle of the bed. Cross-legged, body inclining toward him, she caught his gaze with those infinitely black eyes.
“I did hear your music, you know,” she said. “You’re very gifted.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to ask something very difficult of you, Domni Rosvenir. I want you to trust me.”
He arched a brow, but for some reason could not toss back a bantering reply.
“I know more about you than you think,” she said, and did not elaborate. “I’m going to say a name, and I want you to tell me what you feel when you hear it. Ready?”
So she knew about the Wards? For an instant he felt a wild urge to ask her to remove them. An instant later he knew he didn’t want that. He’d lived all his life with those Wards in place; would he be the same person without them?
“Go on,” he said warily.
The Mage Captal looked levelly into his eyes. “Falundir,” she said.
He caught his breath. “He’s here—he was the one who—sweet St. Velenne, he’s alive!”
“Yes. Did his name hurt?”
“What? Oh—no, not at all. Why should it?” Then, belatedly: “Oh.”
Cailet sat back against the pillows, hands laced loosely in her lap. “Well. Gorsha does do exquisite work, doesn’t he?”
“Why?” he blurted. “I mean, the other night I felt—”
She nodded.
“But not now? Not anymore, ever?”
“Evidently not.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “I haven’t a clue why Falundir’s name should mean anything to you besides his greatness as a Bard. But Gorsha knew you’d have to see him again, so he did something to your Wards. Do you remember anything connected to Falundir? Anything at all?”
Col chewed his lip, frowning. “Nothing I can chase down. But as I understand it, that could be a function of the Wards, too, right?”
“Right. Minstrel Rosvenir . . .”
“Collan. Col if you start to like me,” he said, smiling a little.
“I’m Cailet—Cai if you start to like me. Col, doesn’t it make you angry? The Wards, I mean.”
“Damned right it does,” he answered honestly. “Never knowing when I’ll hear something that’ll give me a headache like the morning after a five-night drunk, and the feeling that St. Kiy Herself siphoned wine into me to make me forget—”
“Me, too,” Cailet confided. “Only, with me, there wasn’t anything to remember. And there wasn’t any pain until I saw Sarra.”
“So I’m told. If this is what knocking them down does, I’ll pass.”
“You’re not Mageborn,” she replied. “It wouldn’t hurt you as much as it did me.” After a moment’s hesitation, she finished, “I was about to ask if you wanted me to get rid of the Wards.”
“No thanks. I guess they’ve been there so long that they’re part of me now. I like my life—or I did until I was fool enough to get mixed up in all this,” he added in disgust.
“Truly told, you’d be different without the Wards. I know I am.”
“But you’re still yourself. Still Cailet Rille.”
“Mmm. Yes, I’m myself. And Cailet Rille.”
He didn’t understand that, or the speculative bitterness in her eyes.
“But I’m also the Captal. Or—at least everybody thinks I am.”
This time the bewilderment made him blink. Twice.
Leaning forward again, she spoke urgently. “You mustn’t tell anyone, Col. Not even Sarra knows. I shouldn’t have told you—but I trust you. Maybe you can trust more if I tell you the truth.” Her mouth curved at one corner, a sardonic expression much too old for her face. “There’s a paradox for you. By telling you that you can’t trust what they say I am, I’m hoping you’ll trust me.”
“What, exactly, a
re you saying?” he asked carefully.
“It wasn’t finished. I learned everything Scholar Wolvar knew, everything Alin knew—” Grief thinned her generous mouth for a moment before she went on. “—and everything Gorsha thought I needed to know. But Lusath Adennos died too soon. He gave me so much—more than I’m aware of right now, I’m sure. But not all of it. I’m not the Mage Captal, Collan. I’m . . . incomplete.”
He pulled in a breath large enough to sing two verses and the chorus to any song in his folios, and let it out very slowly. “Cailet, whatever you aren’t, you’re still who you are. That’s how I’ve had to live my life. I see that now. Whatever’s missing . . . well, there’s nothing I can do about it but fill in the gaps as best I can.”
“And never let anyone know about the holes. I guess I have to look at it that way, don’t I?”
“I guess.” He paused. “And if you’re asking, I can’t think of anybody else I’d trust more than you. All right, yes, it surprises me, too! But it’s true enough.” Managing a crooked grin, he finished, “Maybe we both have to trust the old man’s judgment about all of it, huh?”
“Old m—? Oh, you mean Gorsha. He was very fond of you, you know. I think that’s partly why I—”
“Fond of me?” he echoed. “He had me conked over the head!”
“I promise I won’t do the same when we go through the Longriding Ladder,” she teased.
“Aw, thanks,” he retorted. Then: “Cai, can you really expand it?”
She nodded solemnly. “I’ve always had the magic, you know. Now I have the knowledge. Both together equal power. Yes, I can do it.”
“And this is where I’m supposed to start trusting you, right?” He stood, swung his leg over the chair back, and picked up the tray. “I’m crazy to say it, but I do. You’ll be all right, kitten. And I won’t tell the others.”
She drew up her knees and propped her elbows on them, chin in hands. “Kitten?” she echoed with a touch of whimsy.
“Sorry.”
“No, I kind of like it. It’s nice. Brother-ish.” Bright eyes watched him in amusement. “I begin to see what Sarra likes so much about you.”
“Sarra?” He couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, she likes me fine—as long as I do what she tells me to!”
“Well, there is that part of her personality . . .” Cailet grinned up at him.
“Someday I’ll tell you what happened when we first met.”
“Will you? I never did hear the whole juicy scandal!”
“One of these days I’ll give you every detail. There’s a tavern in Renig—no, better make that a different tavern in Renig, come to think of it. I’ll buy you a drink and tell you all about it. But not until you’re legal, Cai. All I lack on my charge sheet is corrupting an underage girl. You want to get some rest now or talk to the Healer Mage?”
“Elomar, please, if he’s not sleeping.” Again she hesitated, then said shyly, “Col? Thank you. I’d like it if we became friends.”
“We already are. And I promise never to call you Captal in private.”
“I’d rather you promised never to call me that at all,” she complained.
“Can’t do it, kitten. In public, that’s what you are.”
“But for me, for myself and my friends, I can be just Cailet?” She nodded. “I guess I can live with that.”
He thought it best not to mention that she’d have to live with it.
28
Perfectly simple, really.
The Mages didn’t think she could do it, of course. A spell of Convincing was available to her that would work even on them. She didn’t use it, nor any of the other words and workings that bounded up like startled galazhi at her every thought. She told herself she’d have to do some serious organizational thinking very soon now. All these spells were a distraction and sometimes she found it hard to concentrate on what people were saying.
Collan trusted her. So did Sarra. And Elomar, of course—he had breathed for her, he knew the essence of her power. The trio of Slegins were willing to take Sarra’s word for it, as were Tarise Nalle and her husband Rillan Veliaz—more or less. She had only to meet Bard Falundir’s eyes to see implicit belief that she could do whatever she said she could do.
But Telomir Renne, Tamosin Wolvar, Ilisa Neffe, Imilial Gorrst, and Kanto Solingirt knew too little about her and too much about Magelore. A Ladder was a Ladder was a Ladder, created long ago by Mages far wiser than they with esoteric spells lost in The Waste War, and Ladders could not be altered in any way—except to kill them with fire.
Cailet could have ordered them, of course. She was the Captal. They were compelled to obey her by oaths they had sworn long ago. Even Telomir, whose magic had been Warded on its first appearance, but who knew almost everything there was to know about being a Mage Guardian.
Taig Ostin was missing from the group gathered in the Ladder chamber. She hadn’t seen him since Longriding. He hadn’t come to her early this morning the way all the others had, after Elomar pronounced her recovered. The neglect hurt. Was he frightened of her, too? To see doubt in his silver-gray eyes would be more than she could bear.
“It’s not necessary,” Ilisa Neffe was saying. “Forgive me, Captal, but it truly is not.”
Oh, but it was. And not just to prove to all of them that she could do it, to make this one action proof of her true power. But not of the truth. This they must not know.
“I disagree,” she said quietly. “Any outpouring of magic, and much is needed to work a Ladder, will attract the Malerrisi.”
“It’d take them half a day to get here from the Academy,” Ilisa replied. “The streets simply aren’t negotiable.”
Cailet repressed a sigh. “Shainkroth?”
The Mage stiffened and glanced at her husband. He looked a little sick. Cailet couldn’t blame him. It was not something she should have known—except it had been part of his uncle’s instruction in Mage Globes. Two years ago in Shainkroth Tamos Wolvar had shown them how to construct near-invisible spheres “tasting” of their magic, and left them as decoys while they escaped the city. The Net closing in on them had been woven by the Fifth Lord himself at a distance of three miles.
“Point taken,” whispered Tamosin Wolvar.
Imilial Gorrst hadn’t understood a word of this and was about to say so in no uncertain terms. Cailet forestalled her by addressing Kanto Solingirt.
“Your own studies must show that what I propose is possible.”
“Your pardon, Captal, but ‘possible’ is not the same thing as ‘probable.’ The subtle complexities of Ladders have been speculated over for thirty Generations, but no one has ever been able to—”
“Oh, for—” Collan looked up from stuffing an extra blanket in Jeymi’s pack. “If it works, great. If it doesn’t, we’ll be dead. But if the Malerrisi catch us, we’ll be dead, too. What’s the difference?”
Cailet tucked a smile away from the corners of her mouth—an action not made any easier by the glance Sarra gave the Minstrel.
“Have you any more pithy comments to make, or does that about sum it up as far as you’re concerned?”
“That’s it,” he affirmed blithely.
“For your enlightenment,” Sarra went on coldly, “the difference is that some of us will be alive in Longriding. But I still believe Cailet is right. We must go together, all at once.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
His expression of puzzled innocence—ludicrously overdone, of course—brought a twitch to Cailet’s mouth. She disciplined her features and before Sarra could frame a retort said, “When Taig returns, we’ll leave.”
“Captal,” Telomir began.
“Enough.” She loathed herself for saying it, and for the way they all bent their heads in submission. All except Sarra and Collan—thank all the Saints, Cailet thought gratefully.
To her intense relief, Taig entered a moment or
two later. His jaw was set and the look he gave her was given to the Captal. Cailet felt a painful squeezing around her heart. All her life he had been too old for her, too loftily Blooded for a Third Tier, too richly dowered for an orphaned nobody. He was still all those things: but she had become Mage Captal. If there had been distance before, it was a chasm now.
“They’re gathering up in the tower, just like yesterday,” he said.
“Another Net,” Ilisa remarked. “We evaded the first one. If they weave it before we’re out of here, we won’t make it through the Ladder.”
“Another—?” Cailet faced her, frowning. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“Your pardon, Captal. With everything else—but there was no magic for them to sense, I swear it.”
“There is now,” Sarra stated. “The Mage Globes.”
Kanto Solingirt limped to the Ladder circle. “That’s it, then. Hurry up, all of you. Captal, we must leave now.”
They pressed together—sixteen people plus journeypacks, Collan’s lute case, and two crates of Bardic books. Jeymi stood on one, Cailet on the other, bringing her eye-to-eye with Taig, Telomir Renne, and Collan. The first two looked grim. The third gave her a wink.
She closed her eyes and drew on Alin’s knowledge. I miss you, she thought, but I guess part of you is always with me. . . . The Blanking Ward came into being around her, but not around those at the perimeter. Momentary panic—I can’t do this, what made me think I could possibly do this?—vanished as Tamos Wolvar’s lifetime of study slid smoothly into her mind. Oh, of course! Just like pouring magic into the thought-mold of a Mage Globe to expand it. More . . . a little more . . . St. Miryenne be merciful, no wonder nobody’s ever tried this before!
It was taking everything she had to push the boundary of the circle even a few inches. She needed at least a foot, preferably two. And the circle must be a perfect circle or the swirling energies of the ancient Ladder spell would angle wildly and crash into each other and—
(That’s why Ladders are circular—and so many buildings—magical energy trapped inside whirls around and around, never to escape. How many rooms and temples and closets—and even sewers!—were designed for the possibility of Ladders? But what about the really old shrines, like the one in the hills above Havenport? Triangular, not round—)