Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  To his great surprise, Firesong burst out laughing so hard that he started to cough and had to get control of himself before he could talk again. “You couldn’t see any use for it!” he rasped out at last, shaking his head, and dabbing at his eyes with a silken handkerchief. “Well, at least I won’t have to disabuse you of dreams of easy glory! But I forget. You never saw any really powerful magic, did you?”

  “Not with my original master,” Darian replied truthfully. “Once the mage-storms began, I don’t think he could do much of anything; he certainly couldn’t change, steer, or even predict the weather, and that might have impressed me that magic had some uses. That was Wizard Justyn - ”

  “Justyn, Justyn . . .” Firesong muttered, eyes intent as he concentrated. “I think I may have met him once. Name sticks in my mind.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I think I have it. It would be right after the end of the Ancar-Falconsbane debacle, I think. Mercenary-mage, got a head wound doing something ridiculously heroic, lost most of his powers and got talked into using what he had as a Healer out where they didn’t have one. Someplace in the middle of nowhere - very nice nowhere you have here, by the way. I love what you’ve done with the place. He was part of a group of similarly retrained folk, not a big group, though. Darkwind, Elspeth, and I met with them before they got sent out to new posts. Your Justyn wound up out here, obviously. Am I right?”

  Darian’s mouth fell open; he couldn’t help it. Firesong had just told him more about his own master than he himself had known! He could only nod in astonished confirmation, and felt embarrassed that he had known so little about Justyn.

  So he really did meet the people he claimed he had! And we never believed him.

  “How did you know?” he asked. “How could you remember after all this time?”

  Firesong shrugged. “I can’t help it; I almost never forget a face or a name, but I can’t remember where I left my boots. Well, at least I won’t have to disabuse you of any grandiose schemes for becoming a Wizard-King; that’s a relief anyway. Tales notwithstanding, I’m afraid there aren’t many kingdoms going without claimants. What have you done and learned while you were with Adept Starfall and Mage Firefrost? How have they been educating you?”

  Darian told him as succinctly as he could; it really wasn’t difficult since he and Firesong shared the same kind of magical education. Firesong listened, nodding from time to time, and said at the end, “You’ve had a good, solid education, but that’s to be expected with my father teaching you. You said that originally if you’d had the choice, you wouldn’t have chosen magic. What about now? If I could remove it from you, is that what you’d want?” Then he said something else that shocked Darian. “I can, you know. That’s one of the things a Healing Adept can still do, and I suspect that’s one of the reasons why Father wanted me here. If having this power really bothers you, still, I can take it away.”

  Once again, Darian was caught off-guard by the unexpected question, and answered without thinking. “Ah - no, not now. It seems as if it’s something I should do.” He shook his head, unable to come up with anything that sounded right. “I guess I haven’t thought about it, about having a choice, I mean. There didn’t seem to be one.”

  “There is a choice,” Firesong said somberly. “And I want to give you one. An informed choice. There’s something more I want to show you, before you make that choice.”

  Before Darian had any idea of what the Adept was up to, Firesong had reached up - and removed his mask.

  Darian blinked, but did not turn away or lower his eyes. In many ways, the scar-seamed face behind the mask was not as horrific as it could have been. It certainly wasn’t pretty, or rather, the fact that it was the ruin of something that had once been handsome was actually painful to think about. The silver eyes looked out of a randomly patterned set of shiny, tight patches divided by thick, red scars, something that was nearly another mask. It wouldn’t give nightmares to children -

  Not screaming nightmares, anyway. Maybe bad dreams, though.

  “There is often a price to wielding great magic, Darian,” the scar-twisted lips said. “This was mine. Envoy Karal paid with his sight. Two more of our party paid with their lives. I was very, very lucky, when it came down to cases. I could easily have died as well, had I not been protected by one of those who did. I had - thanks to the gods, who sent Silverfox - learned that there were far more important things than having a pretty face, and losing it didn’t destroy me. I was beautiful.” The scarred lips smiled. “I still am. I don’t wear masks for my own sake, but the sake of others, so that they need not feel pain that I myself no longer experience. But, Darian, had I not learned things about what is important by then, this minor price could have been a very major one. Have you thought about that, the possibility that you, too, might be asked to pay a great price for power?”

  While Darian sat in silence, Firesong put his mask back on again.

  “What about not using it?” he asked finally. “There’s a price for inaction, too. The trouble is, usually other people get caught in paying it as much as you do. At least, if I keep this Gift and use whatever power I have, I’ll be making the choice to act instead of just standing by and wringing my hands.”

  Behind the mask, the eyes closed for a moment. “That is a good answer - and, I might add, one I’ve not heard before. It should have been obvious you aren’t the kind of young man to choose inaction.”

  The silver eyes opened again, and there was a smile in the voice. “Young Dar’ian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar, you have passed my test. I will be quite pleased to have you as my student and to teach you all I can, until you have achieved everything possible within the limits of your Gift, or you drop from exhaustion. Have I passed your test as well?”

  Slowly, Darian nodded. “I think . . . you won’t be an easy teacher, but you’ll be a good one. I think. . . we can get along.”

  Firesong chuckled. “You’d be surprised at how few people realize that is important for teacher and pupil! One more thing, before I let you go for the day. If ever there is something that you are afraid to tell me, do not hesitate to confide it in Silverfox. That - in part - is his profession, to be a trustworthy confidant,”

  “I will, sir,” Darian replied, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up, and as he was about to leave the room, Firesong motioned to him to stay.

  “Dar’ian, I have one request.” He sighed, and Darian wondered if he’d done something wrong already. “Do me the very great favor of never calling me’sir’ again. Don’t call me ‘Master’ either. Call me Firesong.” His eyes grew mournful. “Being called’sir’ makes me feel so old!”

  “Yes, s - Firesong,” Darian replied quickly. “But I’ve come to respect those who are wiser than I am, and I only meant it as a compliment.”

  “Hmm. Well, in that case, I’ll let it pass, once in a while.” Firesong replied.

  Darian went out the door and down the covered stair, unable to tell if Firesong was serious or had been teasing him.

  He decided to walk at the edge of the small lake that lay just beneath the cliff housing Kel’s aerie and Snowfire and Nightwind’s home. Darian was so preoccupied with sorting out his thoughts that he practically walked into Snowfire and Nightwind.

  “Dar’ian, wake up!” Nightwind called, startling him into looking up. She smiled at him, and he smiled back sheepishly.

  “Sorry,” he said, coming over to join them; they were dangling their feet in the water like a couple of youngsters. “I was thinking. I was just - well - I was talking to Firesong, or he was talking to me, I mean, and I have a lot to think about.”

  “Hmm. I should imagine!” Nightwind replied. “I know Silverfox, of course - a very fine kestra‘chern, by the way - but I’d never met Firesong. I must admit to you that when I heard who your teacher was going to be, I was not anticipating being as impressed as I was.”

  “You, too?” Snowfire said with astonishment. “I knew his reputation, and I rather
thought he’d be something of a pain. I figured he’d have a tantrum when he saw his ekele, and as for training Dar’ian, no matter what Starfall said, I thought he’d be very haughty about it.”

  “He’s not like that at all,” Darian began.

  “I agree, I agree!” Snowfire replied hastily. “I agree completely! I don’t know what’s happened to him since he made that particular reputation, but he certainly doesn’t deserve it anymore.”

  “I know what’s happened,” Nightwind replied, with a cynical half-smile. “Silverfox is what happened. He could humanize a monster.”

  A step behind Darian, and Nightwind’s sudden blush, made Darian look around. Silverfox had just stolen up upon them in time to hear that last remark, and his grin at Nightwind’s embarrassment was full of mischievous charm.

  “So, do you have any monsters you need tamed?” His grin widened. “Less of that is my doing than you might think, my dear,” he said genially. “Behind all those exquisite masks is a very real and generous man whose humanity has never been in doubt. He simply had to reconcile himself to the fact that he didn’t have to wear the masks on his heart, only his face.”

  “Come here, you wicked creature,” Nightwing replied, leaping to her feet and holding out her arms. “Give me a proper greeting!”

  “So little Nightwind still wants a hug from Uncle Silverfox?” the kestra‘chern teased. He did go to her and give her the greeting hug she wanted, though, and then clasped hands with Snowfire.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, may I add,” he went on. “We stopped long enough at k’Vala that I managed to hear of your joining with my old friend, and I was quite anxious to meet the fellow capable of swerving her from her childhood vow never to wed anyone at all!”

  “Silverfox! I was only twelve!” she objected, laughing.

  “You seemed quite serious at the time, my dear,” Silverfox replied, and turned back toward Darian, who was edging away, thinking that he was intruding. “Please, Dar’ian, come join us. I had come specifically to talk to you a little more.”

  “You’re sure I won’t be in the way?” he asked.

  Snowfire and Nightwind both beckoned, and Silverfox smiled. “Not at all. A great deal of what I wanted to discuss with you concerns these two, as well, since I am told they are your oldest friends here. And it is about Firesong. I should like you three to know more about him, as he will be a part of k’Valdemar for some time to come. Perhaps longer than even he anticipates.”

  Snowfire raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You think he might stay?”

  Silverfox only shrugged. “I cannot predict. I can only say that until a reason for him to leave should manifest, he will remain, and if none does - ”

  “Interesting.” Nightwind found another soft spot on the bank to sit, and invited Silverfox to take her earlier perch. “So what is it that has turned your Firesong into a paragon?”

  “Time, trials, and being forced to work with a fraction of the power that he was used to having,” Silverfox said casually. “No more Great Magics for him or for anyone; every bit of magic has to be carefully planned to gain the maximum benefit from the minimum of power. That has forced him to be patient, careful, restrained. He can no longer afford to act on impulse - almost a shame, since he had turned impulsiveness into an art form.”

  “In short, he grew up,” Snowfire snorted, then blushed. “I’m sorry. That was entirely uncharitable.”

  “Not entirely wrong, but very uncharitable,” Silverfox agreed. “I ask you to try to recall that his reputation was made in the days when he could afford to send up a Gate just because he preferred not to ride a single day’s journey. And no small part of that reputation was caused by his own insatiable urge to tweak the noses of others - so to speak.” Silverfox trailed his fingers in the water meditatively, then added, “He still has that sense of humor, but he has learned to express it in ways that are more - humorous.”

  “I detect your delicate hand there,” Nightwind chuckled. Silverfox’s only response to that was an odd look.

  “I told him that I thought we’d get along all right, sir,” Darian offered. “I still do, and I think I like him, too.”

  “Good! That was what I was hoping to hear you say,” Silverfox applauded. “Have you any questions?”

  “Ah - one.” Darian decided to just come out and ask it. “What exactly is a kestra‘chern, and why did Firesong choke when Starfall mentioned your clients?”

  Nightwind suddenly developed a fit of coughing; Silverfox quelled her with a look.

  “A kestra’chern is predominantly one who comforts, Dar’ian,” Silverfox said, taking care with his words. “That is the profession. The least that a kestra’chern does is to supply ease, a distraction, and an absolutely trustworthy confidant. The best of us are in part Healers - Healers of the mind and spirit, rather than of the body, although we have some skills there, and are often asked to help Healers when they are shorthanded. Sometimes that leads to some very intimate contact, for sometimes it is easiest to lead someone to open his heart when he has been intimate in body. That is not always, or even often, the case; it truly depends on the kestra’chern.”

  Darian was perfectly capable of reading between the lines; but he also thought about Lilly, how she had used her crude skills to keep the barbarians occupied with her and away from the village girls - and he made a mental note to tell Silverfox about her at some point.

  “As for why Firesong choked - ” Now Silverfox grinned. “Starfall initially had a - how shall I put this? - a somewhat narrow and distorted view of my profession, and said some misguided things about my relationship with Firesong.”

  “Starfall nearly had a litter of kittens,” Nightwind said rudely. “And what he said doesn’t bear repeating. Needless to say, several of your k’Leshya compatriots had some choice words with him when we found out.”

  “Oh - oh!” Now Darian understood Firesong’s reaction - hearing his father go from disapproval to calmly mentioning a room for Silverfox’s clients -

  I think I’d have choked, too.

  Snowfire snickered. There was no other word for the sound he made. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said, “I admire Starfall immensely, but he has been known to get pig-headed about some things.”

  “So you will recognize the same trait in the son,” Silverfox said smoothly. “I am glad, however, that there are no misunderstandings now; we have a full plate, which will be fuller yet if those threatened barbarians should appear.”

  They all nodded, but it was Darian who broke the silence that followed that statement. “I’ve put it off long enough, I guess,” he said, mostly to Snowfire and Nightwind. “I’d better take care of one last thing before I discover I haven’t got the time for it.”

  “What’s that?” Snowfire asked.

  Darian made a face of distaste. “Tomorrow I’d better put in an official appearance in Errold’s Grove.”

  Nine

  Keisha kept herself busy, trying not to miss Shandi too much. Midsummer Faire came and went (Keisha stayed away, except for a single trip around the traders’ booths), with no further signs from the mysterious Hawkbrothers and the absent Dorian Firkin except for the frequent overhead flights of gryphons, sometimes bearing burdens, sometimes not. Lord Breon’s son came to the Faire representing his father, “selected” the wedding-shawl that had been especially made for him (with no indication that he realized his selection had been carefully steered). Valan of Kelmskeep assured everyone that, yes, the Hawkbrothers were in the process of setting up their settlement, and yes, Darian Firkin was with them. As to when he would reintroduce himself to Errold’s Grove, that, Val didn’t know. He had seen them, met with them on several occasions, even been to their settlement, so he could at least testify to that much.

  Keisha didn’t much blame Darian for not showing up immediately and putting himself at the disposal of the village. If she were in his position, she’d give them a great deal of time to settle themselves down before she came to vi
sit. The village of Errold’s Grove was entirely too keyed up about the return of their peregrinating son for her liking.

  Fortunately, the excitement of Midsummer Faire, with Val in attendance, twice the usual number of Hawkbrother-traders, and several entirely new traders up out of the south, gave the villagers plenty to spend their excitement (and money) on.

  Keisha wouldn’t have stayed so much away from the Faire, but after the first few candlemarks, she discovered that she couldn’t tolerate the press of people. She retreated to her workshop, discovered during the excitement of the games and contests that even that wasn’t far enough, and removed herself to the woods until the contests were over. Increasingly, Keisha suffered from headache, upset stomach, general nervousness when she was around two or more people - and she had no idea how to make it stop. Her best shelters were her workshop and the forest, and of the two, she preferred the forest, for in her workshop she was easy to find, and during the Faire people seemed to think it was their duty to coax her to attend.

  She kept away from her family, too, as much as possible. In fact, even the outwardly peaceable Fellowship folk were something of a trial to be around, for beneath their placid exteriors lurked a stew of complicated emotions. Evidently there were some members of the group for whom a placid life and an absence of outward conflict was more of a trial than arguments would have been! Fortunately, she could get her meals without having to stay at the table.

  She salved her conscience by providing her family with food instead of her physical help - greens and herbs from her garden, other foodstuffs from the bounty given her by her patients. They seemed to fear that now that she was on her own, she was in serious danger of starving to death. Every day saw a rough, temporary container plaited of green reeds or made of giant leaves stitched together left on her doorstep, containing something to eat - a loaf of fresh bread, a round pat of fresh-churned butter, fresh-picked vegetables, a meat or berry pie, a half-dozen eggs - if it was edible, it generally ended up in a basket on her doorstep. Sooner or later the bounty would probably dry up, but while it continued, sharing it with her family soothed the pangs of conscience for “deserting” them.