“I was delighted to get him, and could not believe my good fortune. He has the ability, you see, and he was so eager to learn. But after a few months it became apparent that something was wrong. He mastered the rudimentary disciplines with an ease which delighted us both, but as soon as we tried to move on to the higher magicks, things began to go awry.”
Nysander shook his head, remembering. “At first it was simply that the spells would not come off. Or they would, but with the most unexpected results. He would try to move a small object, say a salt cellar; it would overturn. He would try again and the salt would burst into flames. On the third try it might fly at his head, or mine. One day he attempted a simple messenger spell, and in the space of five minutes every spider, centipede, and earwig in the place came swarming in under the door. We began conducting his training outside after that.
“Attempting to levitate, he blew up an entire grove of trees in the park. A simple summoning, butterflies I think, and all the horses went crazy for an hour. Things soon reached such a state that whenever anything unusual happened within the Orëska grounds, we got the blame for it.
“Oh, but it was frustrating! In spite of all the blunders, all the destruction, I knew the power was there. I could feel it, even when he could not. For he did succeed now and then, but so erratically! Poor Seregil was devastated. I saw him brought to tears just trying to light a candle. Then there was the time he turned himself into a brick.”
Caught sipping his wine, Alec choked as he began to laugh. He knew he shouldn’t, but the wine was in him to the heart and he just couldn’t help it. None of this sounded like the Seregil he knew.
Nysander shook his head ruefully. “The one sort of spell he really took to was shape changing, though I generally had to assist him. This time, however, he was determined to do it by himself and he turned himself into a brick—I believe he was trying for a horse at the time. In any case, there was the usual flash, then a thump, and there he was on the ground at my feet; an ordinary brick!”
Alec pressed a hand over his mouth, quaking with stifled laughter that jostled the bed. Seregil stirred against the pillow.
“No, no, do not trouble to move. It is good for him to sense us with him.” Nysander patted Seregil affectionately on the shoulder. “You never like being reminded of that incident, do you? Ah, Alec, we may well laugh now, but I assure you, it was not very amusing at the time. To change another person out of such a self-imposed state, particularly that of an inanimate object, is terribly difficult. It took me two days to get him back! I knew we should stop after that, but he begged me to give him just one more chance. Then he really did it, sending himself into another plane.”
“Plane?” Alec hiccuped, wiping his eyes.
“It is like another country or world, except that it does not exist in our reality. No one really understands why they exist at all, only that they do and that there are ways to cross into them. But they are dangerous, for the most part, and difficult to return from. Had I not been with him when he did it, he would have been lost. It was then that I was forced to say ‘No more.’ ”
Nysander looked down at Seregil again, all the mirth gone from his face. “That was one of the saddest days of my life, dear boy, the day you took off your apprentice robe.” Taking a deep draft from his goblet, he went on. “You see, Alec, denied children, our apprentices often fill that gap. We give them our knowledge and our skill, and they carry our memory into the future when we die. So it was between my old master and myself. Losing Seregil as my apprentice was like losing a beloved son.”
“But you didn’t really lose him, did you?”
“No, as it turned out, I did both of us a great service by not allowing him to keep at it until he killed himself. It also forced him to find out what he was truly suited for. But he went away for a long while after that, and I did not know if I would see him again. When he returned, however, he was well on his way to what he is now.”
Alec sighed. “Whatever that is.”
“Do you not know?”
“I’m still not sure. I want to understand, so that I’ll understand better what he’s trying to teach me.”
“A wise course. And I am certain that when he is ready, Seregil will explain better than either Micum or I could. For now I can tell you that both he and Micum are Watchers.”
“Watchers?”
“Spies, of a sort. None of them may speak of it, even among themselves. But as I happen to be the head of the Watchers, I can offer you an explanation.”
“You’re a spy?” Alec exclaimed in surprise.
“Not exactly. The Watchers are my eyes and ears in distant places. They travel around, talking, listening, observing. Among other things, they have been quite valuable in keeping an eye on certain movements by the Plenimarans. The Queen has her own intelligence service, of course, but my people are often of aid to them. Within the last year there have been rumors of unusual activity in the north, so I sent Seregil and Micum out to appraise the situation.”
“Why would a wizard be the leader of that kind of thing, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It does seem odd, I suppose, but it is a tradition which predates the founding of the Third Orëska. My master and his master before him and on back through the centuries, we have always held the post, and my successor shall do the same. The Watchers have contributed much to the libraries of the Orëska over the years. They also keep those of us who take an interest in the wider world well abreast of what is happening beyond our borders.”
“But can’t you just find things out by magic?”
“Sometimes, but you must never think that it grants one omnipotence.”
Alec turned the goblet around in his hands, studying the golden tracery as he weighed his next question.
“Come now, Alec, out with it! I think I know what you are wanting to ask.”
Taking a deep breath, Alec plunged on. “You knew that something had happened to Seregil, and you knew we were trying to come to you. Why didn’t you just bring us here yourself, like you did with that wine last night?”
Setting his cup down, Nysander laced his fingers around one up-drawn knee. “A fair question, and a common one. In this particular case there were a number of reasons for not doing so. First, I did not know exactly where you were or exactly what had occurred. What little I did know came to me in a fleeting vision, not by any conscious seeking on my part. To search for someone by magic when you do not have many clues is difficult at best, and generally disappointing. Over the next few days I was able to get brief glimpses of you both, but they told me little more than that you were on land or sea until I recognized the Canal.
“That is one reason. The next is that such spells as would have been necessary to bring him here are more difficult than you imagine; all magic takes a certain toll, and translocating him here would have been a thousand times more difficult than bringing down that jug of wine, even for me. Besides that, Seregil, with his own peculiar resistance to magic, has difficulty with translocation spells. They leave him quite ill even under the best conditions. Weakened as he was, he might not have survived. Furthermore, I could not have brought you both, so there you would have been, wondering what had become of your friend. All in all, I decided that it would be safest to await your arrival.”
Nysander paused, regarding Alec for a moment from beneath his shaggy brows. “Now those are all valid reasons, but beyond them is one that supersedes all. The Orëska is founded on the principle that the purpose of magic is to aid the endeavors of mankind, not to supplant them.
“Despite the hardships you endured, all your worry and care, think of what you have gained. You were braver and stronger and more loyal than you have probably had to be in all your life. And your reward is that you succeeded; you saved the life of your friend. Would you give that up to have had me simply spirit you here from that inn?”
Alec thought of the expression on Seregil’s face when he’d awakened in a clean bed in Rhíminee.
/> “No,” he answered quietly. “Not for anything.”
“I thought as much.”
Alec took another sip of wine. “Micum tried to tell me about you, but you still aren’t how I imagined a wizard would be.”
“Indeed?” Nysander looked rather pleased. “Most of my colleagues would agree with you. But they have their ways and I have mine. All of us serve the greater good in our own fashion. But I believe you had some point to make?”
“It’s just that, with what you told me about Seregil and all, I don’t understand about Thero. It seemed to me, yesterday I mean, that he doesn’t—Well, he doesn’t seem to like Seregil very much. Or me, for that matter.”
Nysander grimaced wryly. “If it is any comfort to you, I do not think, in his heart, that Thero cares much for me, either.”
“But he’s your student!”
“That hardly guarantees affection, my boy, although ideally such regard should exist between master and pupil. Your faithfulness to Seregil after such short acquaintance speaks well of you both.
“It took me many years to find another apprentice. As I said before, there are few who have the inborn power, and those who do vary greatly in their ability. Of those few who did trickle into the Orëska each year, I found none that suited my purposes until Thero. Whatever else you may think of him, he is tremendously talented. There is no facet of our art he cannot grasp. The fact that he was of my old master’s family made him seem all the more suitable at the time. All that, together with the fact that I was beginning to feel quite desperately in need of a successor, blinded me to certain aspects of his nature which might otherwise have given me pause. Thero has proven trustworthy in every way, yet his thirst for knowledge borders on avarice—a serious flaw in a wizard. He also possesses no sense of humor and, while you will not find that listed among the requirements of the Orëska, I believe it to be an invaluable trait in those who aspire to power of any sort. And this lack of humor causes him to find me an embarrassment on occasion.
“However, it is his animosity toward Seregil which has most alarmed me over the years, for it reveals envy—one of the most dangerous weaknesses of all. He cannot be content that he replaced Seregil, that he is more gifted in magic than Seregil could ever have been. And though he has little use for my affection himself, he cannot bear that Seregil retains it. Of course, Seregil is little better, as I am certain you shall see for yourself soon enough. But Thero is a wizard. If he acts this way over such small matters, what will he not be capable of over great ones, when he is great?”
Nysander paused, massaging his eyelids with two fingers. “For with or without my teachings, he will be great. And so I keep him with me because I fear to let him go to another master. It is my greatest hope that with time and maturity he will gain compassion, and then what a wizard he shall be!”
Alec was amazed at the old wizard’s candor. “Seregil tells me nothing of himself, and you tell me everything.”
Nysander smiled. “Oh, hardly everything yet! We all have our secrets, and our reasons for them. I have told you this about Thero and myself so that you may understand him better and perhaps see why he acts as he does. Like Seregil, I also expect and trust in your discretion.”
Nysander was just reaching for his goblet again when a yellow globe of light winked into being in front of him. It hovered a moment, gleaming like a tiny sun, then floated gently to settle on his outstretched palm. The wizard inclined his head, as if listening to a voice inaudible to Alec. It disappeared as abruptly as it had come.
“Ylinestra,” Nysander explained. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Closing his eyes, he held up a long forefinger and a similar light, bright blue in color, sprang up there. “Certainly, my dear,” he said to it, “I shall be with you shortly.”
At a slight flick of his finger, the mote of light shot out of sight.
Anticipating Nysander’s departure, Alec stood up and felt the wine rise to his head. “Well, uh, I think I’m beginning to understand a few things. Thank you.”
Nysander raised an eyebrow. “There is no hurry. I have sent word.”
“No, really. If Ylinestra was waiting for me— Oh, damn!” Alec stammered to a halt, cheeks flaming. “I didn’t mean, that is— It’s the wine, I guess.”
“Illior’s Light, boy, what will Seregil ever make of you if you cannot keep a straight face?” Nysander chuckled as he rose to his feet. “Perhaps you are right, though. She can be impatient. Why not take a stroll in the gardens? I should think you would find it most pleasant there after being confined in ships and houses for so long. Wethis can sit with Seregil.”
“I don’t think I could find my way around,” said Alec, thinking of all the twists and turns between here and the main entrance.
“That is easily remedied. Take this with you.” Nysander opened his hand to show Alec a small cube of green stone, incised on each side with tiny symbols.
Alec rolled it around on his palm. “What is it?”
“A guide stone. Simply hold it up and speak where you wish to go. It will lead you.”
Feeling a bit silly, Alec held out the stone and said, “To the gardens?”
The words were scarcely spoken before the cube took on a pale nimbus and rose to hover in the air just in front of him.
“It will take you anywhere on the grounds you are allowed to go,” Nysander explained. “Do remember not to attempt to enter any wizard’s chamber unless invited. If you are ready, simply instruct it to proceed.”
“Go on, then,” Alec told the cube. Floating across the room, it passed though the polished wood of the door in a decidedly unnatural fashion.
Behind him, the wizard chuckled again. “Be certain you open the door first.”
17
WATCHER BUSINESS
Taking Valerius’ admonition to heart, Alec saw to it that Seregil drank the prescribed infusions. Still terribly weak, Seregil slept most of the time, rousing just long enough to take a little nourishment before lapsing back again.
Alec’s diligence quickly earned the brusque drysian’s respect, and he, in turn, grew comfortable with Valerius’ abrasive manner, recognizing the gentle sureness of his healing and liking him for it.
Nysander provided whatever he needed and visited several times a day. When Alec mentioned the writing lessons with Seregil, the wizard brought writing materials and a simple scroll for him to work on.
Alec and Nysander were playing nine stones in Seregil’s room the second morning after the purification when an old woman in a travel-stained cloak appeared at the door of the sickroom.
“Magyana!” Nysander exclaimed, rising to embrace her. “You should have sent word. I had no idea you were back.”
“I wanted to surprise you, my dear,” she replied, kissing him soundly. “Yet it was I who was surprised. Thero says Seregil has been hurt.”
Going to the bed, she laid her hand on Seregil’s brow.
She must be as old as Nysander, thought Alec. The woman’s face was deeply lined and the heavy braid coiled at her neck shone white as moonlit snow.
She sketched a quick, glowing symbol in the air over the sleeping man and shook her head. “Thank the Light he is safe. Who did this to him, and how?”
“He ran afoul of Mardus and his necromancers in the north-lands,” Nysander told her. “Young Alec here brought him to me just in time. Alec, this is Magyana, a fellow wizard and my dear companion from the days of our youth.”
Magyana turned to Alec with a warm smile. “Bless you, Alec. Nysander would have been desolate to lose him, as would I.”
Seregil stirred just then, muttering hoarsely as he fought his way out of some panicked dream.
“There now, Seregil,” Nysander said, raising his voice as he bent over him. “Open your eyes, dear boy. You are quite safe. Are you awake at last?”
Seregil’s eyes flew open. Seeing Nysander and the others, he lay back with a sigh of relief. “I keep dreaming I’m back in Mycena.”
Nys
ander sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “You are safe now, and whole, thanks to Alec. He has told me of your adventures and you will tell me more when you are stronger. But for now you must rest. You very nearly destroyed yourself this time.”
“I know.” Seregil shook his head weakly. “Damn fool that I was, I’d have deserved it, too—”
He shifted to look up at Alec, a shadow of doubt in his eyes. “You all right? I—I wasn’t myself for a while there.”
“I’m fine,” Alec assured him, knowing in his heart that he was damned lucky to be able to say that.
Leaving Seregil to Alec’s watchful care, Nysander walked Magyana to her tower at the northern corner of the House.
“My dear, you were away too long!” he remonstrated gently, slipping an arm about her waist and pressing his lips to her cheek again.
“Surely the lovely Ylinestra kept you occupied in my absence?” she shot back, returning the kiss.
“You impossible woman! You with your damnable celibacy. All these years I have filled my bed with lesser women and not a single spark of jealousy from you. You speak of them as if they were children, or lapdogs.”
“Have most of them been any more than that to you, you old rogue? But perhaps I do feel just the smallest spark, as you call it, toward this sorceress. I understand that she is as talented in the casting room as she is in the bedchamber. There, are you satisfied?”
“Perhaps just a bit,” Nysander replied, affecting a sulk. “The girl does have a head for magic, but in truth she is beginning to weary me with her demands, in bed and out.”
“Ah, the trials of the hot-blooded.” Magyana let him into her tower rooms. “You know you shall not have a jot of sympathy from me. But now to Seregil. You still have not told me how he came to be in such a state. It took more than ordinary magic to leave such marks on him.”
Pausing in the center of the immaculate workroom, Nysander watched as she set about the familiar ritual of tea making. “Evidently he and the boy stole something from Mardus in the northlands. It appears to be an object of little consequence but, as you saw, it proved to be extremely dangerous. I can tell you no more than that, I fear.”
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