Blind Seer did as he had been taught, for to enable him to work spells with others, he had first needed to learn to detect the scent of their particular magics. Vision-oriented as humans were, most of them tended to perceive magical auras as an extension of their sight. Most of his peers had spoken of them in terms of colors: Ynamynet’s as the translucent blue-white of ice; Isende’s budding power as a pale pink shading to darker rose. Blind Seer had acquired them as scents, similar to that of their user but with a spice that differentiated them.
For this manner of scenting, he did not need the wind, but by habit he oriented his head to catch the best scent. Hanya’s scent came to him overlaid with a note as of overheated metal. Orten’s was acrid, like old piss. Blind Seer checked that one more carefully and realized that some of the stagnation surrounded the staff that rarely left Orten’s hand.
“Neither builds anything now,” he said, when he had finished, “but Orten has put a great deal of power into the staff he carries. There is a reek to the thing, as if he does this habitually, so I do not think that Wythcombe will overlook it.”
“Good, then,” Firekeeper said. She took the leather-covered water bottle from where it hung on her belt and poured some into the shallow cup that fit over the base. Bottle and cup both had been a gift from Elise and Doc, before they had returned to their duties.
Blind Seer did not precisely need a drink, but the water tasted good and, as refilling the bottle would be easily done, he allowed the pampering. He knew that Firekeeper worried about how much of a toll using magic might take of him. Since they had been given little opportunity to test this, they both erred on the side of caution.
They watched in quiet alertness that nonetheless was restful as pack animals were unloaded, tents were raised. Eventually, Fash’s Pack settled into their own encampment in a section of the meadow. The horses and mules were turned out with the cow and goats, causing mild alarm for the one and arrogant disdain from the others.
“Orten reminds me of one of those goats,” Firekeeper said after a time. “If he is going to butt heads with Wythcombe, it will not be now. Do we return to the others? We should show ourselves I think.”
Blind Seer rose and stretched. “I think so. Later, we can be foolishly impatient wild things and vanish into the darkness again.”
The wolves’ arrival at the side door of Wythcombe’s house, unseen by any but Farborn, caused a satisfying amount of upheaval. Firekeeper would never understand how creatures who depended as much on their sense of sight as did humans still saw so little. Since the wolves had been supposed to be sleeping, she and Blind Seer arrived empty-handed, sniffing at the good scents of Arasan’s cooking. Apparently, Fash’s packs had contained some new spices and a sweet red wine, both of which were being used to good effect.
“So, lazy paws,” Arasan said, glancing over his shoulder before returning to stirring some mushrooms in butter, “you come in just in time to eat—as usual.”
Firekeeper laughed. “I will admit. I have learned to appreciate some of the things humans do to good meat, but especially to growing things. There are many new arrivals, we see. Do you cook for all of them?”
“Don’t worry about having to share,” Arasan replied. “We’re sending over some bread and some of Wythcombe’s dark honey, but Fash’s people were happy enough to have permission to fish. They’ve been on the road a good number of days.”
“And they bring with them some we know,” Firekeeper said, giving a head bob of acknowledgement to Hanya and Orten. After Blind Seer’s report, she would have offered Hanya a polite bow. However, as she could not bow to Hanya and not to Orten without causing the outburst she could almost see gathering like storm clouds on the man’s knotted brows, she forbore. “Did you travel well and safely? Your maps were good to us. We did not become the least lost when we came here.”
Hanya, whose feet were bare, revealing toes whose gnarled joints showed the red spots of newly broken blisters, sighed. “It is a long time since I made such a hike. I believed myself in good condition, but the last day’s march, when we had to leave the riding animals behind, that did for me—or at least my feet.”
For his part, Orten made a noise that was an acknowledgement of Firekeeper’s query, if not quite a reply. Having done her social duty, Firekeeper went to join Laria and Ranz who were setting the table, less because she wanted to help than because she wanted a chance to give Laria a squeeze and a sniff. Her sense of smell was nowhere near as keen as Blind Seer’s, and here in the closed room with the varied odors from Arasan’s cooking dominating, she needed to get close.
Laria was as much excited as concerned. Ranz was more worried than his bland expression would indicate, but he seemed to trust that Wythcombe was not going to shove him out the door. Indeed, based on how he looked to Wythcombe for reassurance without even realizing he was doing so, at least some of his worry was for Wythcombe, rather than for himself.
Gathered around the same table, the humans ate and drank. Blind Seer slipped outside to keep watch on Fash’s Pack, so Farborn could hunt. The merlin was taking his role as sentry very seriously—and no wonder, for it had been as sentry he had failed. Conversation over the meal was empty of meaning, which told Firekeeper that the battle, if it was to come, would happen when Orten and Hanya could speak with Wythcombe alone.
She remained, helping clean up from the meal until she heard Wythcombe say, “I don’t want to bother the young people with our old folk’s chatter. Perhaps we should take our tea and apple cake to my room. That way the others can be saved from the indignity of being sent to bed early.”
Firekeeper stretched ostentatiously. “I am not tired, nor do I wish to sit in this closed place when the night is so fresh and bright. I will seek Blind Seer and we will go hunt. With so many mouths to feed, a deer or even an elk would not be unwelcome.”
“Oh, definitely elk,” Arasan said with a laugh. “I’m not certain even you could carry back an elk. Why don’t you settle for a young pig, acorn-fat like the last one you brought?”
Firekeeper shrugged. “We will bring what the night brings to us. This is not a city where we can go to a butcher shop and say give us this and give us that. But I promise, we will come with something, if only rabbits.”
She slipped out without the meaningless farewells humans used and met with Blind Seer.
“I know where Wythcombe’s bedchamber is,” the wolf said. “I have sniffed and it is unwarded. Let us prowl close and learn if they take precautions against listeners.”
If Wythcombe did have such precautions, he had not blocked those who were already his guests. Perhaps, human-like, those within thought that because they were on an upper level of the house, they were secure. Perhaps it never occurred to them to wonder. For the wolves, the broad porch that surrounded the house made getting above almost too easy. They had just made themselves comfortable to either side of Wythcombe’s curtained window when Farborn glided in to join them.
“I thought you would be hunting other than deer or boar,” the merlin said by way of greeting as he perched on Firekeeper’s shoulder. “The elders went upstairs just a few moments ago.”
Within, the three could hear thumping sounds—presumably chairs being moved—and the clatter of glassware. The sounds would have been muffled to human ears, but those who listened had senses honed by lives where missing the crack of a twig or rustle of a leaf might be the difference between eating or going hungry—or life and death.
After a few routine politenesses regarding such things as choice of beverage and a cushion on which to rest Hanya’s feet, Orten’s voice came, querulous and distinct.
“You’ve kept us at a distance since we arrived, Wythcombe. Perhaps you did not wish your new acolytes to hear what we could tell about you.”
“Perhaps,” Wythcombe responded, his words salt and vinegar, “I was adjusting to having my hermitage invaded by your actions for the second time in a moonspan.”
“Second? Oh, you mean the arrival of th
e outlanders.”
“What else?”
Hanya, her tones conciliatory, interjected herself into the pissing match between the two males. “At the time, sending them to you seemed a brilliant idea. You have been considered a great teacher. You had chosen to live in isolation, so we could delay the need to find the right words to inform the people of Rhinadei that after centuries of being sealed, the gate had opened again, and…” Her tone became almost flirtatious. “There was hope that if you took on students, you would choose to rejoin our community.”
“That,” Orten snapped, “was definitely hoped for. No one believed that you would undertake such a challenge without proper texts and the like.”
“Not quite ‘no one’,” Hanya said, but her softer comment was ignored.
Orten surged on. “As I have already said, when the strangers failed to return—although auguries showed they still lived—and you failed to send word, we believed you were being held captive.”
“Even though they are untrained and I”—Firekeeper had learned to hear irony, and Wythcombe’s words dripped with its caustic taint— “am considered such a great mage that my retirement in these late years of my life has been considered a tragedy for all of Rhinadei? Perhaps you had other fears, eh, Orten? Did you think that I had been tempted along forbidden paths—even though I have been holding out against that persistent squirt, Ranz, for longer than is either sensible or polite?”
There was a long pause during which Firekeeper imagined fidgeting and darted glances as Orten and Hanya decided how to respond.
At last, Hanya said, “There was sincere concern as to your safety. You were told about how these four—no, five, I keep forgetting that I must include the bird—went about defeating Rhinadei’s challenge? They are unpredictable.”
“But nonetheless, you sent them on to me. If I were not such an unsophisticated hermit, I would think that the intention from the start has been to have an excuse to invade my hermitage. Very well. You have done so. Now, rather than continue this wearisome verbal fencing, I will tell you all you will learn from me—and it is not worth the effort to attempt to pry more from the outlanders. I assure you, they know no more and, really, given how little most of them know of Rhinadei, they know less.”
Firekeeper wondered what expression the venerable spellcaster’s features held, for not even Orten made a sound.
“I have agreed to take Blind Seer and Ranz on as my students with the avowed goal of teaching them alternatives to blood magic.”
“Avowed?” Orten’s tone was sharp.
“I can only do what I can do. Blind Seer is already familiar with the blood magic path. Ranz—if certain speculations prove true—was born to it. They both are sincere in their desire to learn other means, but who knows what will happen when they are put to the test? Now, may I continue without interruption?”
Hanya said, a note of laughter in her voice, “I will hold my tongue and I promise to hold Orten’s if he speaks before you give leave.”
“Very well. I’ll take your word on that.” Wythcombe sounded honestly amused. “Over the last seven or so days, I have been teaching them—mostly Blind Seer—basic theory. It is fully within the traditions of Rhinadei for senior apprentices to be taken into the field before they are promoted, therefore my intention is to take them on a journey. Ranz is so grateful for my acceptance that he might spend years listening to dry lectures, but Blind Seer is a different matter. In blood and bone, the wolf is of a people who learn best by doing. I would be a fool not to acknowledge that in my choice of pedagogy. Now, you may ask questions. Know this: just because you feel a right to ask does not mean that I feel compelled to answer.”
Predictably, Orten’s voice was the first raised. “Where will you take them? Such tests always hold a measure of danger, else what use? As Varelle has witnessed, the five outlanders are people of some consequence in their own community. What will we do if they are harmed… or worse?”
Wythcombe’s reply was preceded by a thump that made Firekeeper think he had probably set down one of the large pottery mugs somewhat more heavily than was his wont, but his words were as sweet as birdsong. “Our first stop will be the gate so they can pass through and inform their associates what they are doing and that they do it of their own free will. From there, we will proceed.”
There was a long pause as the other two waited for more. At last Orten said, “Proceed whence?”
“That,” Wythcombe said, “I believe I will withhold for now. I wouldn’t want any interference with my choice of lesson.”
Although Wythcombe had spoken as if they would be departing within a few days, the reality was different. The hermit did have business with Fash—business that now included arranging for his livestock to be taken care of while he was away. To Hanya and Orten’s evident astonishment, there was a period of heated haggling and negotiation over everything from beeswax and honey to hand-spun yarn and sacks of feathers. Wythcombe asked whether some of the traders wanted to remain as caretakers, but no one wanted to stay in the mountains, possibly through winter. Therefore, Wythcombe’s supplies needed to be stored where they would be secure from bear and burrower alike.
As he went about his business, Wythcombe was polite to the two visiting council members, if not cordial. His cool reception of the two who he should have welcomed as honored peers was all the more evident in how genial was his manner to Fash and her associates, many of whom he clearly had known for years.
Although Wythcombe was busy, he did not neglect lessons for Ranz and Blind Seer. For his part, Blind Seer was content, if increasingly short of sleep, for he still spent hours each night with Firekeeper. She, in the end, was the one who insisted that he stop stretching himself so thin.
“We came here so you could learn.” She said, pressing her nose against his and not quite squeezing his ears. “Learn all you can, for that is our real hunt. Do you think I am some fickle human to believe you have ceased to love me because you must take a little time from our play?”
She kissed him on the leather of his nose. “I will be a maker of sausage and chopper of potatoes, just as Arasan—who is far more than a cook—plays the part of a somewhat dim-witted steward. Besides, I am the only one among us who knows anything about packing for a long tour—leaving aside the traders, who will not be with us. My pride will be assuaged by showing off my skill.”
They didn’t leave when the traders did, although Orten and Hanya clearly expected them to do so. When the matter came up over the evening meal, Wythcombe made a shooing gesture with his spoon as if already easing his guests down the trail.
“I need to brief my companions before we set out for the gate. If you would care to tell Varelle to expect guests, well and good. If not, also well and good. She has shown herself to be alert to matters regarding her charge.”
But if Orten and Hanya believed that Wythcombe was going to reveal more about their eventual destination once the pack train was gone, they would have been disappointed. When Arasan asked, all Wythcombe would say was, “I promised Blind Seer this would be no empty make-work. There is something I wish to check, something that bears a closer relation to my new students’ goals than you might believe. And I assure you, reaching that place will not be easy, and some of us may not return.”
Blind Seer was pleased to see that once Wythcombe accepted Ranz as a student, he treated the young man quite properly. When Ranz had retrieved his personal goods from the cottage in the now slowly melting city of ice and snow, he had proven to be well-equipped for the next stage of their journey. Nonetheless, Wythcombe made certain that Ranz’s medical supplies had been refilled. He also presented Ranz with a many-pocketed dark-brown leather vest, the pockets of which held a curious assortment of powders and pellets. Blind Seer suspected these were meant to ease the casting of spells. The wolf tried to imagine himself similarly equipped and shook until his loose fur made Firekeeper sneeze. Whatever path of magic he chose, Blind Seer did not think it would be one that involved
so much extra material.
Wythcombe himself wore a vest not unlike the one he had given Ranz, although his was a bleached tan and showed a great deal more wear. His hat was also well-worn and practical, meant to protect his balding head. His wide belt was equipped to hold any number of small bottles. Other than a hunting knife, Wythcombe’s only weapon was a staff of polished wood, inscribed with numerous curious designs, and topped with an irregularly shaped chunk of rough, naturally faceted crystal. Had the staff not nearly burned Blind Seer’s nostrils with the power of the mana secreted within it, it might have simply seemed like a somewhat peculiar support for the old man as he walked.
Firekeeper had been very cheerful when Wythcombe had held back one particularly large and ornery billy goat from the livestock that departed with Fash and her pack train. The wolf-woman liked goat meat, but didn’t eat it as often as she would like. She and Blind Seer were very careful not to hunt any creature that might belong to a human—this being a very good way to prompt a wolf hunt. Although they would never be in danger, there was no need for innocent Cousins to be slain.
She was only slightly less cheerful when Wythcombe explained that he had another use for the goat than eating it.
“I haven’t been exaggerating how dangerous the area we are going into may be. For that reason, I think it would be unwise for our three best scouts to be burdened by heavy packs. Rusty will serve as pack animal.”
“He looks big enough,” Arasan said, eyeing Rusty critically, while the goat eyed him back from yellow eyes in which the squared horizontal pupil stood out in striking contrast, “but goats are notoriously ornery. Do you really think he’ll carry a pack?”
“I know he will. He has often come with me on foraging expeditions.” Wythcombe’s eyes brightened as he enumerated Rusty’s virtues. “Rusty is also a much less picky eater than a horse or mule would be. He will be able to go anywhere we can, and quite likely places that no one other than Farborn could reach. He can defend himself, too. Those horns are not just for show.”
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