The days when the Collegium was home had gone with the rise of Avila.
No one could fault her technical skills, she was a Master Wizard, of that there was no doubt. Even he would admit he’d learned a great deal from her. As an instructor and administrator, though, she’d been a harsh taskmaster.
The problem with Avila was that with her it was all technical, form over function. The personal element was lacking. Her edict about the robes was a classic example. She’d convinced the wizards assembly they needed formal robes, something that declared a wizard for what he was. The assembly, mostly made up of other instructors with only a few representatives of the itinerant wizards, had seen it as wisdom and agreed. Standing as the instructors did, the robes were very impressive, with great winged arms. What they hadn’t envisioned was that the stiff, high collars of the things would be impossible to wear for any length of time or that the lack of a split in the front and back made riding awkward and ridiculous. Avila rarely rode, she always used a carriage, for all she wanted an Elven-bred horse. It was the having of it that she wanted.
The endless string of protocols, rules and regulations also made things difficult. As if the training they’d received as wizards and their own common sense couldn’t be trusted, it had to be controlled. The rules also changed, being fine-tuned constantly. It drove Jareth insane.
“I’ll have to change before we see her,” Jareth said, as they neared the gates.
Elon repressed a smile. It would be best in any case. Jareth, as usual, looked rumpled and unkempt. His hair was windblown and spiked from running his hand through it, as he’d done when they crested the hill. He said nothing but gave Colath and Jalila a look. Who both returned it in the same humor.
No one watched the gate, something that surprised Elon and made Jareth sigh and shake his head.
“I know,” he said. “There are no guards on the walls, either, notice? Avila doesn’t think it’s necessary. She barely maintains the wards. Wait here.”
They’d stopped at one end of the dormitory. Taking the steps two at a time, Jareth hurried to his room. It was little more than a cell, with a single bed, a table and candle and a few shelves for personal items and clothing. His robe was hanging from a hook behind the door. That was all he used the room for these days, a place to hang that damned robe.
Pulling it on, he ran his fingers down the front to magically seal it closed but only part way. He’d have to remember to seal it the rest of the way before they entered Avila’s office. Otherwise he couldn’t take long steps and would be reduced to an awkward hobble. They’d never been designed for people with long legs or long strides.
Before he left he remembered to run a brush through his hair. He really wanted to grow it like the Elves did, fastening it back at the temples or at the back. It was straight enough but the custom among men wouldn’t allow it. There were already enough people who claimed he’d ‘gone Elven’ on them.
Elon, Colath and Jalila had dismounted by the time he came down and stood looking out across the quadrangle. Groups of wizards-in-training walked in lock-step from one class to another. Something else that had changed from his day. Once this place had rung with laughter and students had raced each other to their next class.
He shook his head and sighed.
“Hold, Jareth,” Elon said and reached out to straighten the collar. “Colath? Jalila?”
Looking him over, Colath said. “The robe isn’t completely done.”
Jalila simply watched, her dark eyes going from one to the other.
“You’re all enjoying this, aren’t you?” Jareth asked. By the glint in their eyes, they were. “If I seal it completely, I can’t take a full stride, the damned thing catches me short. Remind me before I go in.”
A small smile twitched at Colath’s mouth, the first time Jareth had caught that expression in recent days. Despite the fact it was at his expense, it was worth it if it lightened Colath’s mood.
“Foolish design,” Jalila said, eyeing the hem.
Even she would have been caught short-stepped by the thing. A simple vent in the back would have made it more comfortable.
“I’ll give you no argument on that. All right, so am I decent enough?”
The complaint was querulous enough to almost bring a smile to Elon’s face as well. He wasn’t looking forward to this interview but he needed Jareth. For several reasons other than as a friend and trusted companion. One, he was a wizard and they might need a wizard’s skills. Two, he was of the race of men. The only one among them of that race.
“Yes,” Elon agreed, “you are decent enough. Jalila, would you stay with the horses?”
The look on her face was answer enough but she nodded and folded her arms, settling herself to wait.
“How long has that been policy?”
Elon tipped his chin at the neat rows of students as they walked to the assembly building where Avila’s office was located.
Shaking his head again, Jareth said, “I don’t know. I haven’t spent much time here of late.”
With a quick glance as they reached the doors, Colath reminded him to fasten his gown. Startled, he ran his fingers over the seam to seal it, just before someone opened the doors.
Fortunately, he was standing straight by then.
The young man who greeted them said, “May I ask who is calling and what your business is with the Master of the Collegium?”
What was this? Had Avila gotten too lazy to answer her own door or had she taken on some new airs?
With a glance of apology at Elon and Colath, Jareth restrained the impulse to shake his head and said, “Elon and Colath of Aerilann and Jareth, wizard at large.”
Something this one very well knew. Even if he hadn’t recognized Jareth, which was unlikely as he wasn’t gone that often, an Elf was somewhat unusual. Elon was certainly well known throughout the Kingdoms.
“Wait here,” the boy said, “I’ll see if she’s available.”
He closed the doors. Jareth was astonished.
“Available, my eye, she’s been watching us from the windows ever since we came over the hill.”
In fact, she had. Avila stood at the windows even now, looking out on the quadrangle, on the neat rows of students making their way from one building to the next. None of this rushing madness that used to take place, they needed to be reminded this was a place of study and reflection, not play.
The horses coming over the hill hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor their riders. They’d gone beyond her view around the end of the building but she hadn’t missed the fact that Jareth wasn’t wearing his robes. She knew the complaints. He had to understand that the discomfort was minor compared to the respect and dignity his status as wizard should have. Dress as the common folk did and they treated you as one of them, not with the deference you deserved for the talents and skills that raised you above them.
There was also a measure of punishment involved in making them wait.
First, for being presumptuous enough to assume she had nothing better to do than to await their pleasure. Second, of course, for Jareth not wearing his robes. Third, to the Elves and particularly Elon of Aerilann, to remind him and them who was Master of this place.
He’d been a major reason why wizards hadn’t been included in the Council and she knew it. It infuriated her that wizards were denied that status. To her mind, not only should they have been included, it should have been the Four – not the Three – who ruled. Wizards and wizardry set those who had magic apart, above common men, almost a race unto themselves. The magic of wizards was an integral part of the Kingdoms and Elon of Aerilann couldn’t see that. All he could see was ancient history, not current truth. He refused to give wizards equal status for something that had happened long in the past. Intransigent and impossible. Resentment still simmered in the back of her mind that she hadn’t been gifted with one of the Elven-bred horses as Jareth had – who was nothing more than an itinerant wizard. And would remain so if she had anything to say about
it.
There was also the not-so-small matter of Jareth’s popularity among the Assembly, the other wizards at large and the students. He had the skills to be a Master wizard, as well, although she’d managed so far to deny him that so far.
None of those things could be tolerated easily.
The young wizard who acted as her secretary waited patiently. That was his job.
Finally, she nodded. “Send them in.”
The young wizard escorted Elon, Colath and Jareth through an anteroom to a pair of elaborate wooden doors. The young man opened them and waved them through.
Avila stood behind her desk, staring out the windows. As Jareth had predicted, she stared out the window at the hill they’d so recently descended. She knew he wasn’t foolish, so Elon had to assume this was her way of making sure he knew she’d made them wait. One of the many reasons he didn’t like this woman.
Although Avila wouldn’t admit it, even to herself, Elon of Aerilann intimidated her. She hated even more than the rest. As most Elves did. Their impassivity made her uncomfortable. She thought many Elves felt superior to men and she took exception to that. It was a relief to her that the only Elven wizard currently was a wizard at large and she rarely saw him. She couldn't read any of them and that bothered her immensely. This one more than any other but for Talesin.
Some of it was that he looked so stern. It was something in the arch of his brows, the intensity of his stare. His dark eyes saw too much, they were too perceptive and she didn’t like that at all. Now, the other one, the one whose name she didn’t know yet? He was a different matter. He was as fair and beautiful as a marble statue, all white and gold. It was an effort to take her eyes from him.
There had been a fourth. From a distance a female by the look. Where was she?
Jareth, of course, was Jareth. He had, at least, made an attempt to bring himself before her in something like reasonable order. That was better. Perhaps he was learning his lesson at last.
She waited, for the proper introduction.
“Master Avila, Elon and Colath of Aerilann,” Jareth said.
Which she well knew but apparently she was going to force them to protocol.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, with a small nod of acknowledgement.
Elon answered, “I have need of Jareth’s services, I would like your permission for him to travel with me for a time.”
Interesting, Avila thought. What was he up to?
“Why would an Elf need the assistance of a wizard?”
“I don’t know yet that I will but it would be better to be well-prepared than ill-prepared.”
“Another wizard wouldn’t do as well?”
He shook his head. “I know Jareth, I know how he’ll act. It would take time to reach that level of familiarity with another.”
“Is this official business?”
As an Elf alone he should be able to request this without these questions, as a member of the Council the same should be true. As if this pettiness weren’t enough, her voice grated at him. She had a voice like a jay, creaky and demanding. The jay, at least, came by it honestly. He schooled himself to patience.
“No,” he said, carefully, “except that I am a member of Council and I have need of his services. I wouldn’t wish to violate your protocols or the terms of the Agreement.”
She visibly bridled at the reminder. That wizards hadn’t been included among the Council clearly still grated with her. She knew well that the Elves, he in particular, along with the Dwarves, had thwarted her in that, although she blamed mostly him. And rightly.
The memory of the wizard wars was still too strong for either race to allow wizards that kind of power. Friend though Jareth might be, this one was a reminder why they shouldn’t have it. Power didn’t sit her well. That they’d granted her Advisor status hadn’t mollified her much. It did no good to remind her the Council was conceived to consist only of the representatives of the three Races and that wizards weren’t a race apart, however much she wanted to insist they were.
She felt they hadn’t recognized the proper importance of wizards in society.
While the common conceit was that wizards served all races, the truth was neither Elves nor Dwarves had much need of those services. The one clause of the Agreement that dealt with wizards decreed that they worked at the will of the Council, with the Master’s consent. That was the only reason he’d done this. He wanted no enemies, no petty quarrels to distract and deter. Avila was a Master at those skills. While he was standing before Daran High King making his arguments he didn’t want her objecting to his use of one of her people.
“Jareth is an itinerant wizard-at-large, he can do as he wills.”
Keeping his voice even Elon nodded. “I would prefer to offer you the courtesy of obtaining your consent. There may be some danger involved, I wouldn’t want it said of me that I didn’t at least offer you that knowledge.”
“Danger?” she asked, with apparent unconcern that was nothing of the sort.
This threatened to be endless.
“We go up into the high country. There have been some incidents with creatures from the borderlands.”
There had been rumors of such, Avila knew. Creatures from the borderlands strayed across every now and then. That was what the Hunters were for, though. Dangerous, yes, those creatures certainly could be dangerous. Even to a wizard. It crossed her mind, although she wouldn’t admit it to herself or to any who asked, that it would be a solution to the problem of Jareth. Not that she wished him any ill but that was perilous country. Anything could happen.
“Jareth, I assume you are aware of this?” she asked.
Jareth nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
This was insulting. Even Avila had to know that. Elon’s integrity was unquestioned. As a Council member his request was no more than reasonable. Of course, it wasn’t beyond Avila to force them through this pretense just to be insulting. To make Elon ask.
“In that case, I have no objection.”
Which wasn’t quite the same as assent but Elon would take it. He nodded and bowed his head a little, if only to show respect for the office she held, if not for the one who held it. She wouldn’t know the difference and it cost him nothing to make the gesture. That mollified her even more.
With relief, they departed.
Once they were outside the gates and over the hill out of sight, Jareth pulled up. “Hold a moment.”
In that short distance he could already feel the collar chafe beneath his chin. He took the damned robe off and stuffed it in his saddlebags.
Jalila shook her head in resignation and held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
Her hands swift and sure, she folded it neatly and rolled it to a size that would more suit his saddlebag. She handed it back.
Both Elon and Colath restrained their amusement as Jareth watched in amazement.
How could a man who could do the wonders he could not know how to fold his clothing so they didn’t appear in disarray?
“That’s better,” Jareth said, rubbing the chafed spot beneath his jaw.
Elon asked, mildly, “Are you sure you’re comfortable enough?”
Giving him a narrow-eyed look, Jareth said, “Why is it my people are so convinced Elves have no sense of humor?”
“Because it’s too subtle for most,” Colath answered, his eyes twinkling as they got under way once again.
“That must be it,” Jareth said, nodding wisely.
Chapter Four
Selah wandered aimlessly through her solar. Her loom stood still, the tapestry she’d been weaving with that fine Elven thread unfinished. She’d started to go back to it several times, had even sat and sent the shuttle back and forth a few times, but to no avail. She couldn’t keep her mind on it or much of anything else these days, however much she tried.
What had she been thinking? Something… It had slipped away from her again. Weak frustration and a trickle of fear washed through her.
&nbs
p; “My lady,” a voice said.
She couldn’t help it, she jumped a little. That voice, that sing-song voice. Tolan. He was here in her solar. She wished he wouldn’t come. She remembered he’d come once before. When was it? While Ailith was visiting Mother? Yes, perhaps it was. She remembered she hadn’t wanted him there.
Her mother. Delae. That firm, practical woman’s face rose in her mind from the fog of her thoughts. Love washed through her and then faded away.
“My lady,” Tolan repeated.
Her heart quickened. She turned.
“Tolan?” she said, bewildered.
“Yes, my lady.”
Tolan wandered over to the half-finished tapestry. Whatever picture she’d once set to make on it, it was a jumble now.
He touched the delicate tendrils of Elven thread. So fine, so strong.
Selah didn’t want him touching it but she couldn’t bring herself to object. He frightened her. The sun shone brightly on the floor, a piercing ray shafting through the narrow arrowslit marking the time on the floor like a sundial. So bright.
“My lady.”
She looked up again. Tolan.
“I would like to speak to you about your daughter,” he said, in that soft, sing-song tone.
Ailith. Her heart twisted. What of Ailith? Another thin stream of fear wound through her.
The Coming Storm Page 11