Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “Probably.” Contare had not told Graegor about anything in particular that he wanted done this afternoon. “How were they this time?”

  “Brutal. For trigonometry it was one question that needed six pages of proofs.”

  “Sounds a little like these inventories.” He honestly couldn’t believe how complex the records were for the ice and pump houses. They used charts and diagrams and all sorts of graphs he didn’t understand.

  “Are you finished with them?”

  “Just have to get them sorted. If you’d come help me …”

  “My eyes will fall out if I try to read anything else today. Lord Contare told me to take the day off, so I will.”

  Graegor took the shallow steps two at a time to reach the Hall’s portico. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Patrick’s complaining about the heat, so I thought we’d ride out to the lake.”

  The doors opened in front of Graegor, and he passed into the cool dimness. The spring weather had turned warm. Both yesterday and today, he’d had to use his gen to keep the air around his body comfortable. Unfortunately it didn’t seem like anything would keep his beard from itching. “Great idea,” he told Jeff, “but it’ll probably be really crowded.”

  “Not that lake, the other one.”

  “You mean the pond.”

  “Jeh. You can move that rock and make sure no one can get up there but us.”

  “Except Ferogin.”

  “He can’t either,” Jeff scoffed. “He doesn’t have half your control of earth magic. And anyway, I think they’re all going sailing. A big gang of them was headed toward the harbor.”

  “Good. So who’s going with us?” Graegor asked as he headed for the staircase.

  “Patrick and Marcus for sure. Logan’s still moping, but he’ll go if you do.”

  “Samyel?”

  “He went back to bed after the trigonometry exam. The Schiffs and their crowd finished all theirs this morning, so they’re already drunk. It’s probably for the best. That lake’s too small for a big party.”

  “Because it’s a pond.”

  “Will Contare let you go?”

  “I have to ask him.”

  “Well, ask him, then. Meet you at Spook’s stable?”

  “Meet you there.” Graegor let the link drop. Then he realized that he hadn’t corrected Jeffrei about Sable’s name, which meant that even he himself was thinking of the horse as Spook now.

  He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the implication that he was forgetting anything about Tabitha, not even for a moment, not even something as small as what she had named his horse. It was upsetting enough how weak their bond felt at this distance. The silvery threads through his heart had always been able to tell him, at the very least, if she was awake or asleep, but now he could only sense that she was out there, somewhere, far away.

  But she’d be back soon. A week, maybe.

  He hurried up the stairs. Contare’s office seemed deserted when Graegor passed through its reception area to the workroom, but then he saw Karl standing in the doorway to Contare’s private office. Karl was trying to return an ivy runner to its place over the lintel, and when he saw Graegor, he put his finger to his lips. “Let him sleep,” he sent.

  Graegor nodded and set the leather folder on his worktable, since it seemed the sorting could wait until tomorrow. “Do you know if he needs me anymore today?”

  “He didn’t say anything to me. Are you going riding?”

  “And swimming. With Jeffrei and a few others.”

  Karl shrugged, and his short braid slipped off his shoulder to his back. “Well, no one else is even here, so my guess is that it’s all right. Have Jeffrei take Whiskey. I haven’t had a chance to exercise her this week.”

  Graegor hadn’t had a chance to exercise Sable either, and when he arrived at the stable after stopping at home to change clothes, he could sense the horse’s eagerness even before he rolled back the door. Nolon looked up from Whiskey’s stall, where he was oiling the hinge. “Afternoon, m’lord.” The elderly groom slowly straightened from his crouch and wiped his hands with a rag. “Taking Sable out today?”

  “Yes, I’ll get him ready myself.” He always did. The glossy black stallion was stretching his nose toward Graegor from his stall, and Graegor patted him and scratched his mane and told him what a good horse he was. “Nolon, there will be five of us today. Could you start on Lucky?” Logan always took far too long to get a horse ready.

  “Of course, m’lord.”

  Graegor had only just set Sable’s saddle pad onto his back when Jeffrei and Logan got there, both carrying small packs and wearing sleeveless shirts with their trousers and boots. The grin of greeting soon fell from Logan’s face, replaced by an expression that did look a little mopey. Jeff was right—Logan was still upset about Velinda ending things with him.

  Graegor barely knew Velinda at all. He’d suggested once to Tabitha that Logan and Velinda come with them to the theater, but Tabitha had struck down the idea instantly. She’d said that she valued their time together too much to share it with anyone else. To him, though, it was obvious that she was determined to keep all the Thendal girls as far away from him as possible, even to the point of making sure they didn’t take an Academy class if he was auditing it. It made him wonder if she distrusted them or him.

  “Hai, Spook,” Jeffrei said as he walked up to the stall. “How’s my boy?” He scratched underneath the black horse’s mane with both hands as Sable nosed him.

  “Why do you always call him Spook?” Logan asked. “I’ve never seen him actually spook.”

  Graegor snorted. “Jeff just misses his cat.”

  Jeffrei grinned. “Spook was a good cat.”

  Logan lifted an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just get another cat?”

  “Why should I, when I have a horse?”

  “He’s not your horse!” Graegor protested.

  “That’s the best part. I don’t have to feed him.”

  “You’re feeding him right now.”

  “Treats aren’t food.” Jeff gave Sable another handful of raisins from his pocket.

  “Go give Whiskey some. Karl said you should exercise her.”

  Jeff snorted. “It’ll be the only female I’ve exercised all term.” He gave Sable a final pat before moving down the stalls.

  Patrick and Marcus arrived before the rest of them finished saddling. Marcus seemed fine, but Patrick was shoving his shaggy hair back from his forehead with both hands in a ferocious gesture. “I hate heat,” he snarled as he stomped toward the tack room, and continued to swear in Khenroxan as he searched for his gear.

  Marcus saw Graegor’s surprise and shrugged. “This seems to happen every year when it first starts to get hot.”

  “It’s scaring me a little.”

  “Jeh, it’s like a rabbit growing fangs.”

  The sixth horse in the stable, a chestnut mare, looked forlorn as the rest of them went out the rolling doors. Graegor sent a pulse of reassurance toward her as he waved to Nolon, and the mare whinnied. Maybe someone would take her out later, when it was cooler. The sun beat hard on his head as he emerged from the stable, and he looked forward to getting underneath the trees.

  He wished Tabitha liked to ride. It would be a nice way to spend time together, away from public places and their masters’ parlors. She owned three beautiful mares, gifts from Thendal nobles seeking to impress her, but while she let her friends ride them, she never did.

  The air felt thick and clogged, like the traffic down the street toward the Sunrise Gate. Riders on horses walked alongside carriages, wagons, and pedestrians eager to escape to the countryside for the afternoon. Patrick kept sending caustic comments to the rest of them as they picked their way past slower traffic. But still, he never jostled anybody and took particular care around children and dogs; he really couldn’t hide his soft heart. He even let two wagons merge ahead of him from a side street, for which Marcus and Jeff started sending caustic comments
at him.

  Eventually they reached the gate, where the guards alternated between letting people out and—after checking for exile marks—letting them in. Despite the heat, Graegor kept his friends back, standing in line to wait their turn instead of cutting to the front like they could have, so that he could watch the guards at work and see how the people behaved. Fortunately, it seemed that everything at the gate was calm and businesslike, so maybe the hints of discontent that had nipped at the city all spring were subsiding. There hadn’t been a repeat of the incident Tabitha had told him about, when some women had thrown spoiled food at her magi friends. And Graegor hadn’t seen new graffiti appear for a couple of weeks—certainly not that symbol the rogue magi seemed to be using now, the white outline of carpenter’s maul.

  The rogue maga named Haze had never been found, though. Was she lying low, or had she escaped? Contare and Josselin were both worried about the possibility of new exits through the walls, and new fox-dens …

  Graegor shook his head, as if to physically shake off the worry. Not today.

  Beyond the gates the road widened as it followed the lower slopes of the brush-covered foothills that were the city’s northern bulwark. To the south stretched hundreds of acres of fragrant citrus orchards, but Graegor could not look at them, or even smell them, without thinking about the executions. Grimacing, he nudged Sable into a trot, and they started passing slow-moving carriages and the people afoot. A mile to the east, everyone was funneled back into a line at the stone bridge crossing the Queen River. Here the spring rapids sent a cool spray into the air, and once Graegor was on the other side, he looked back to see his friends riding through the spray very slowly; Patrick even had his arms outstretched. Magi could not cool themselves with their power like sorcerers could, so Graegor just waited, even though Sable was eager to keep going. “You liked it too,” Graegor reminded the stallion, scratching his spray-dampened mane.

  The left branch of the road headed north into the hills toward Lake Bayan, while the right branch continued east all the way to the Seonaid River, Lake Masudar, and Lake Edewa. Almost no one was allowed near Lake Bayan, since Lady Malaya used it for sacred ceremonies, but maybe once Daxod was in charge, Graegor would get to see it, and find out the truth of the rumor of a grove of purpleheart trees growing there. The Circle did allow recreation on Lake Masudar, a crystal-clear haven with six or seven swimming beaches. There were little boats to rent, and vendors always made sure to set up their food carts early. It was certain to be crowded today.

  A hundred or so yards before the westernmost tip of Lake Masudar became visible over a hill, another track branched north from the main road. By most people’s reckoning, the track led nowhere, so none of the other people on the road followed Graegor and his friends when they took it, though Graegor was sure they drew some stares. The people of the city were gradually learning to recognize his face, and there would be plenty of curiosity about where the sorcerer was going. The trail passed through a copse of trees, and then it all but lost its definition as it ran across wide, grassy fields baking in the sun.

  The temptation of the open land ahead was too much, and Graegor gave Sable permission. The stallion accelerated from a trot to a canter to a gallop, and Graegor whooped as they surged ahead.

  It was so much fun to ride like this, and it was even better out here instead of around the Hippodrome track. His eyes narrowed down to slits, and his hands were soft on the reins even as his boots braced hard in the stirrups. He felt the wind on his skin and the thrill in his blood, and he thought, like he did every time, that there was nothing in the world like this. He could race for hours.

  Jeff, Marcus, and Patrick weren’t far behind him, but Sable wasn’t going to let anyone pull ahead. Logan didn’t join them; he wasn’t comfortable at a gallop, so he wasn’t going to do it, and he answered Graegor’s quick sending with, “I’ll catch up.”

  Graegor took him at his word, as he always did. Had Logan been worried about being left behind, he would have said so. And Graegor could sense that Lucky didn’t much mind either. “See you in front of the rock!”

  “I guess that’s better than seeing me beneath it.”

  Graegor laughed, and Sable stretched his neck and ran even faster.

  It was hard to understand anyone not enjoying a run like this, especially a Thendal, since the Thendals were the most competitive and accomplished of all the Hippodrome’s racing teams. But based on what little Graegor knew of Thendals—which was mostly through Tabitha—Logan was unusual. Unlike others of his race, he never seemed worried about looking bad in front of anyone. If he didn’t know something, or didn’t like something, he didn’t pretend otherwise. He didn’t lie to himself and didn’t try to fool others. He was so straightforward that he confused all the other Thendals at the Academy.

  And the Telgards, and the Khenroxans, and just about everyone else. Thendals weren’t the only people who said one thing and meant another.

  All too soon, the grassy fields ended at another line of foothills, and Graegor regretfully eased Sable back to a canter, a trot, and a walk. “Nice while it lasted,” he murmured, patting Sable’s shoulder, and the horse whuffed at him. The track here turned sharply uphill into the woods, and Graegor breathed deeply of the evergreen scent. Only a few hundred yards later, he came to a dead end at the foot of an enormous boulder.

  Graegor edged Sable close to the boulder and laid his hand against it. He could extend his own magic to search for any new cracks in the rock or instabilities in the slope, but it was much easier and more certain with earth magic, which would tell him precisely how well the land was sitting. And, of course, only earth magic made it possible for him move this rock.

  He took a few centering breaths before opening his consciousness to the quiet, vast power beneath him. It rose smoothly toward him as a thin white mist, clearly visible to his half-shut eyes, though he knew that the magi probably wouldn’t be able to see it. The ground through which it rose was strong and solid, supporting the weight of the boulder without strain, without any sign of letting loose in a slide anytime soon. Good. He moved his focus to the boulder itself. As big as it was, the boulder wasn’t actually supporting any other rocks around it. Roll it up in a tilt, and suddenly a horse and rider could edge past it to the point where the track continued. Roll it back, and the way was shut.

  In the past, Jeffrei, as well as other Academy students who knew about the pond at the end of this track, had climbed over the boulder in order to get around it. But the track was steep enough and long enough that even overconfident young magi didn’t tackle it very often. Being able to ride—well, it made a huge difference.

  “All’s well?” Jeffrei sent as he rode up on Whiskey.

  “Jeh. Nothing’s changed.” Graegor took an apple from his saddlebag and reached forward to feed it to Sable.

  “What could? The elders don’t come up here. At least not this way.”

  “Daxod’s good with earth magic too.”

  Jeff shrugged. Sable whuffed for another apple, which he got. Patrick and Marcus appeared, and then they all sent to Logan to pester him to hurry. “Shut it,” he told them carelessly. “My horse is feeling lazy and so am I.”

  Logan and Lucky did get there eventually, neither one the least apologetic. Graegor set his focus on the earth magic again, bracing himself forward in the saddle so he could watch the exact motion of the rock. He wove the hidden patterns of the white mist into his own purple core, and then he leveraged, and lifted.

  It was not difficult, exactly, but it was something of a strain to hold the boulder in place, leaning on one rounded edge. The others rode quickly through the narrow gap, and he nudged Sable forward after them. He rode slowly, fixing his gaze on a smear of moss on the boulder; Contare had taught him to focus on a single point when lifting, tilting, or rolling enormous objects. He had to turn his head, and then twist his shoulders and back, to keep his eyes where he needed them, and once onto the track again, he turned Sable around so
that he could face the boulder squarely as he put it back. That was more difficult in a way, because the huge rock wanted to fall, but he got it resettled with hardly a sound.

  “Show-off,” Patrick sent in a jealous whine.

  Graegor grinned. That insult had become a joke among his friends, due to the number of times Ferogin and his magi muttered it in Graegor’s hearing. “I won that fight, you know,” he sent, imitating Ferogin’s condescending superiority.

  “Crybaby.”

  They soon reached the switchbacks, which were the most daunting part of the path for anyone afoot but which gave their horses little trouble, and at the top they entered forestland with thick underbrush that constantly overgrew the trail. But they were shaded from the sun, so the air was cooler than it had been below, and it was scented with new-growth pine and wildflowers. After another hour’s riding, Graegor saw a glint of water through the trees, cool and fresh, and he urged Sable into a faster walk.

  A doe and her fawn raised startled heads at the approaching noise and hurried away from the water’s edge. Sable took their place and dipped his muzzle as Graegor dismounted. All was quiet. There was the broad, grassy bank, and there was the rope-swing, tied to a tree’s high branch and looped around its trunk just as they had left it. On the other side of the pond, a row of saplings clung to a crumbling edge, their exposed roots tangling in the dry dirt and in the thick mud beneath the water. At the spot where the stream fed into the pond lay the scattered remains of a beaver’s halfhearted attempt to build a dam, proving that everyone eventually got lazy here.

  They piled all their saddles and other gear in a clearing near a bend in the shoreline, where the horses could be picketed but still reach the water and the patchy grass. “All set, boy?” Graegor murmured to Sable as he gave him another apple. “You just relax now. We’ll do some more running on the way back.”

  Jeff kicked off his riding boots and socks, tossed his shirt and trousers onto his saddlebags, and headed for the pond. They usually stripped to the skin while swimming, but Jeff waded in still wearing his breeches. “I’d rather not freeze my balls off this time,” he sent.