Heart of the Exiled

by Pati Nagle

Others in the circle nodded, and a discussion ensued in which Rephanin occasionally asked a question aimed at causing the adepts to reiterate the principles of focus-building. He hoped the restatements would help Sulithan grasp the ideas, for he could not accept work so poor as the dark arrow.

  Heléri refrained from joining the discussion. Rephanin saw that she was watching him and took care to keep his gaze from straying toward her. At length he ended the discussion and went to a large wooden chest that stood near the door. It contained guardians’ cloaks, finely woven and lined, clasped with silver Greenglen falcons. Rephanin took one from the chest and shook it out, pale green with a soft silvery lining, the colors warmed by firelight.

  “The principles here are the same. The qualities to focus are protection, concealment, warmth. Take two cloaks each, though you might only complete the focus in one by tomorrow evening. Remember, it is better to work thoroughly than in haste.” He folded the cloak in his hands and took out another, offering both to the nearest mage, who stood to receive them.

  “You are welcome to work in this chamber at any time. I will be here most of the night.”

  Working in the same chamber tended to enhance the effectiveness of the khi in use, even if each mage was creating an independent focus. For this reason Rephanin kept the magehall’s main chamber open at all times, available to any of the circle who wished to work there.

  When the rest had collected their work, Heléri came forward. Rephanin handed her two of the cloaks. “It is good of you to assist us.”

  She smiled softly. “I am glad to be of service.”

  Rephanin watched her go to a table near the back of the chamber. He returned to the timekeeper and removed the metal bowl from the basin, carefully drying it with a soft cloth before setting it with its fellows.

  The arrows lay loosely scattered over the table where he had left them. He could sense the intensity of the khi focused in a certain arrow and let his fingers brush the fletching as he moved away. The tingle of khi in the feathers was unmistakably Heléri’s.

  He returned to where he had left his two cloaks. Heléri was sitting with a cloak spilling in silvery folds over her lap, hands pressed together about a corner of it, eyes closed in deep concentration. Though he rarely saw khi, he thought he sensed a pale glow in the air around her head and hands. It made her appear even more beautiful. Turning away from this distraction, he took his seat and reached for a cloak, preparing for a long night’s work.

  Turisan arose early, partly because the sunrise coming through the Star Tower’s glass dome disturbed his rest, partly because Eliani also rose with the dawn. He was glad, for it gave him time before the Council would convene, and he wished to visit the city garrison. He would stay away from Kelevon as he had promised, but he wanted to ensure that the Steppegard was being well treated.

  He sent Pheran, his attendant, to fetch clothing for him and quickly donned the tunic and legs, grateful for their warmth in the chill morning.

  “A cloak? I am going down into the city.”

  “Yes, my lord. The broidered wool or the velvet?”

  Turisan was about to say “neither,” then remembered that he had given his guardian’s cloak to Eliani. He would have to request another.

  “The velvet.”

  At least it was not covered with ornament. Turisan smiled at himself, acknowledging that his distaste for ostentation—not new, by any means—had increased significantly since he had met Eliani. Pheran had been clever enough to realize this was not a temporary state and had given up trying to dress him in grand style.

  He drew a deep breath of chill air as he left Hallowhall to cross the public circle. Few others were abroad this early, only a handful of folk in the marketplace, trading early. Turisan sensed them watching him as he walked toward the magehall, paused briefly to collect himself, and went in to inquire for Rephanin.

  The magehall was steeped in silence and shadow, its hearthroom vaguely lit by a single hanging lamp and a bank of coals on the welcoming hearth. Turisan paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimness, relieved to be out of the wind.

  The attendant who greeted him—a slender female whose cool air suggested that no one’s importance was greater, at least here in the magehall, than that of the magelord himself—deigned to lead Turisan to the hall’s main chamber. She stopped outside its door and turned to him, speaking softly.

  “Lord Rephanin may yet be inside with some of his circle. If they are at work, we must not disturb them.”

  Turisan waited silently while she opened the door a little way and peered in. A moment later she pushed it wide and invited him to enter.

  The chamber, which Turisan had never seen before, was windowless, roughly circular, and furnished with more practicality than elegance. It was clearly a room for working rather than ceremony, and that surprised him somewhat. Ten chairs sat empty in a half circle before a dying fire, small worktables scattered behind them.

  Rephanin stood near the hearth, dressed in a simple long tunic of dark gold, talking quietly with one of his mages. On a table that had been pushed against the wall between hearth and door was a small pile of cloaks. They were all sage lined with silver, the colors of Clan Greenglen, worn by Southfæld’s Guard. The sight pleased Turisan, who had come in hopes of acquiring one. He waited until Rephanin’s conversation ended and the other mage departed, then approached the magelord with a bow.

  “Greetings, Lord Rephanin.”

  “Greetings, Lord Turisan. How may I serve you?”

  Turisan gestured toward the cloaks. “I have given my cloak to my lady, and the garrison’s stores have all been issued to recruits. By chance, have you one ready that I could take?”

  Rephanin nodded and turned to the table, passing his hands through the air above the cloaks before selecting one and handing it to Turisan. “This is the best of what I have here.”

  Turisan accepted it with a small bow and ran his hands over the soft, pale green weave. It seemed warm to the touch, but perhaps that was from sitting near the hearth.

  “Your work?”

  “Heléri’s.”

  Surprised, Turisan looked up at Rephanin, whose face told him nothing save that the magelord seemed tired, a small crease showing between his brows. Probably he had been at work all night and was ready to retire.

  Turisan folded the cloak over his arm. “I thank you, and I will not keep you now, but I have another request.”

  One dark brow rose. Rephanin waited silently as was his wont, but Turisan felt none of the vague menace he had often known in the magelord’s presence. Perhaps he had misjudged Rephanin. He hoped so, for he was about to ask his help and, by asking, perhaps learn whether Rephanin’s gift was real or merely legend. He glanced toward the open door to make sure no one else was present, then spoke quietly.

  “I have questions about mindspeech. I—we are both finding it distracting—sometimes even dangerous, I think. I would like to discuss it when you are at leisure.”

  Rephanin’s gray eyes held his for a moment, then looked down, hidden by dark lashes. “My gift is unlike yours. You would do better to ask Heléri’s advice.”

  “I will, but I would value your counsel as well.”

  “Very well. Come tomorrow at sunset.”

  Turisan nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He withdrew and followed the magehall attendant to the colonnade that connected the magehall with Hallowhall. Even here the wind was bitter, and Turisan cast his new cloak around his shoulders over the velvet, sighing as its warmth enfolded him.

  Heléri’s work again, like the ribbon on his arm. She was his kindred now, being Eliani’s eldermother. Smiling at the thought, he hastened into the palace and down to the council chamber, hoping he was not late for the session.

  Rephanin sat musing by the hearth in his private chamber. The dim light cast by a bed of glowing coals fell on an untouched meal on the low table beside him. He should eat, but he was too tense to do so, and he would not rest if he retired no
w. Too many troubling thoughts revolved in his mind.

  Turisan wanted his advice about mindspeech. He found that rather ironic. How different this day might have been had he been the first to discover Turisan’s potential, or Lady Eliani’s.

  He sighed, remembering his shock when Heléri had told him that the young couple had bonded in Alpinon—not here in Glenhallow—and the relief that had followed after he had taken time to reflect on this. It should not have mattered to him where they had found their gift, but strangely, it did. A chance missed by a wider margin was somehow less painful.

  It maddened him that Turisan and Eliani had stumbled upon the gift he himself had actively sought for so long, the gift of distance speech. He was certain that either of them would have been a responsive distance partner for him, but chance had not brought them together.

  Few understood his desire. Folk assumed that since he could share mindspeech with anyone in his presence, he must be satisfied. The fact that distance—even obstacles as simple as a door—could interfere with his gift seemed unimportant to them, but to him it was a source of infinite frustration.

  Not that he had known such interference of late. It had been centuries since he had employed his gift.

  Flinching away from painful memories, he rose and added a log to the fire. It flared brightly for a moment before settling to burn.

  A quiet knock fell on his door. He almost chose to ignore it, and when finally he answered, his tone was sullen.

  “Who is there?”

  “An old friend.”

  The voice he knew at once, for he had first heard it centuries ago and had recalled it often. Indeed, it had haunted him for a time, though that was long ago. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a moment to compose himself, then rose and opened the door to Lady Heléri.

  She stood cloaked in the color of the midnight sky, a color that was reflected in her eyes. Alone with her for the first time in hundreds of years, with no one to watch, he now dared to look at her more closely than he had since her arrival at Glenhallow. She seemed almost unchanged from when he had first known her in Eastfæld. It was only a deeper quality about her blue gaze, a greater steadiness in her, that told the difference made by the centuries.

  “A gift from Alpinon.”

  In her hands was a small carved whitewood box, which she extended toward him with a soft smile. He glanced at it but preferred to gaze at her face, drinking in the features that for so long had only been a memory.

  Heléri’s smile opened into soft laughter. “May I come in?”

  Rephanin stepped back and swung wide the door, accepting the box she pressed into his hands. It contained tea, the fragrances of leaf and petal rising richly when he opened it. Very likely she had blended it with her own hands. He carefully shut the box and stepped to a shelf to set it aside.

  “Such a comfort to visit a fellow night-bider.” Heléri removed her cloak and hung it by the door, next to his. “My kin all prefer more light than I enjoy.”

  “You used to love the day.”

  “Long ago, yes. I find I have changed.”

  “I have not.” It was a challenge of sorts; he knew it as he said it.

  Heléri walked to the hearth, then turned to face him, her form outlined in its fiery glow. “But you have, my friend. That is why I am here.”

  Rephanin waited for her to explain her meaning. A long moment passed in silence as she gazed intently at him, then she stepped toward him.

  “Why do you no longer use your gift?”

  Scowling, he looked away and stared into the coals. “Why use a tool that gives no advantage?”

  “You are a trainer of mages—”

  “And I can learn nothing through mindspeech that a student of any worth will not tell me openly.”

  Hearthlight glinted from her eyes. “You could use it to teach. That young mage who did not lay khi into his arrow—if you had shown him the technique through mindspeech, it would have been more effective than any explanation.”

  Rephanin turned from her, angry that she was right. Anger was a large part of why he no longer used mindspeech: anger, resentment, misunderstanding …

  “Rephanin, you can give your circle the experience of mindspeech, show them what it is like. No one else in flesh can do that. Some of them may have aptitude—”

  “Do you not think I have been searching for aptitude?” The words fell much more bitterly than he had intended. He stared at her, old hungers awakening to intolerable strength.

  “Oh, Rephanin.” Heléri’s voice was filled with whispered sadness. “Still?”

  He moved away, unable to bear her pity. Ancient jealousy twisted inside him.

  He had realized too late that he wanted her. She had already met her Stonereach lord, had already found mindspeech with Davharin, by the time he knew it.

  Perhaps it was only the gift she shared with Davharin that he truly wanted; he no longer knew. He had spent centuries searching for a similar bond without success. In the beginning he had confided his hope to her, but it was long since they had ceased to correspond.

  He heard Heléri’s step, felt the warmth of her khi beside him. He could not resist looking at her.

  “Speak to me, Rephanin. Speak to me as you once did.”

  The blue depths of her eyes offered an open path to her heart, dizzying to contemplate. He held back from it.

  “Perhaps you could speak to me. Have you tried since you came to Glenhallow?”

  A wistful smile curved her lips. “Every time we have met.”

  Disappointment stabbed him. He closed his eyes briefly, his answer rasping in a throat suddenly gone tight.

  “Well. That is not surprising. You are a distance speaker, and you have a partner. What would Davharin think of your being here?”

  “He knows I am here.”

  So it was true that the bond outlasted death. She could still speak to Davharin though he dwelt in spirit. Perhaps she spoke to him even now.

  “He does not mind? Were I he, this is the last place I would want you to be.”

  “No, he does not mind.” She ran her hand along the back of a chair, her face distant, her voice soft. “I cannot explain, for I do not really understand why, but … many things that matter to us are unimportant to those in spirit.”

  Rephanin’s bitter mood vanished, replaced by a tenderness he had not allowed himself to feel for centuries. “Why did you not follow him? You and he are the only mindspeakers I know of who have not crossed in the same season, if not the same day.”

  She fixed him with a steady gaze. “I have not done all I wished to do here.”

  Rephanin did not dare ponder her meaning. He drew a ragged breath, weary with heartache. Gazing down at her, he yielded and reached out to her as he had not done to anyone for centuries.

  Heléri.

  Her face lit with happiness, the way to answer opened by his thought. Ah, my dear friend. Thank you.

  Her voice in thought was strong, much stronger than he remembered. Centuries of mindspeech with Davharin had honed her gift. Rephanin felt a visceral thrill at her strength and also an inevitable stirring of desire.

  He moved away, hoping to hide it. Would that he could separate his feelings from the act of mindspeech. He had never succeeded.

  So your gift is not lost, as some have feared.

  He turned, gazing at her in surprise. Lost?

  She nodded. Many have begun to doubt its existence. Turisan told me he had never witnessed you using it.

  True enough. There has been no need.

  There is need now.

  He was too weary to argue. If he gave her all his reasons, explained all his past follies and transgressions, perhaps she would understand, but he had no wish to relive such memories.

  Heléri approached him, looking up with concern once again. Our forces need mage-blessed protections. Your circle needs all possible help to provide them. Will you not do all you can for your people when we are facing war?

  He rubbed at his
temple, remembering the last war, also begun at Midrange. It seemed only a short while ago, though it had been more than five centuries. There had been no urgent call for his services then, but that had been a small conflict. Though it had its place in song and history, he always thought of the Midrange War as a minor crisis, compared with the travesty of the Bitter Wars.

  Heléri was watching him, waiting. He sighed.

  Of course I will do all I can.

  She smiled and caught his hands in hers, clasping them briefly. Her khi made his skin shiver with desire.

  Thank you, Rephanin. I will see you at the Council session this evening.

  She let him go and went toward the door, pausing to don her cloak. He watched her, admiring her graceful movements, the perfection of her flesh. She smiled at him over her shoulder and quietly slipped out.

  He went to the closed door, leaning his hands upon it, and also his brow. He strove to follow her khi, to find a hint of it beyond the door, but as always, the barrier stopped him. Sighing, he turned back to his chamber.

  She had just made him promise to use mindspeech in his circle. He had been avoiding that for centuries.

  Perhaps she was right and it was time to let go of precaution. The needs of their people outweighed his scruples. He might even have gained greater control of his gift.

  He hoped so. He would need it.

  Lord Berephan received Turisan in his work chamber, which took up the entire top floor of the garrison’s gatehouse. Shelves upon shelves of bound records lined the walls, and a large table in the center of the chamber was scattered with maps. A window looked eastward over the city walls, giving a wide view of the plains, their grasses now dry and golden, that fell gently toward the Silverwash. Turisan saw a company of guardians practicing there.

  Berephan stood frowning over the maps. He was tall, his fair hair coarser than usual for a Greenglen, showing a slight tendency to wave that suggested some ancient alliance between one of his ancestors and a Steppegard. He glanced up as Turisan approached.

  “Greetings, Lord Turisan. You are abroad early this day.”