by D. H. Aire
The flame arched back across the chamber, "BLESSINGS, HUMAN MAGE!"
George's column flashed with the sprite's yellow fire.
Chaos reigned among the tiers of mages and elfbloods.
Wardens appeared and Regis instantly called a recess. The Empress demanded answers and called both George and Grendel together. The recriminations were fast and furious.
Gallen rubbed a bead of perspiration from her brow while Grendel made accusations that this was some human trick.
George replied, "Uh, would someone please explain to me what that was all about?"
Abernathy glanced at Regis, who nodded. "Apparently, Lord Llewellyn does not have voting rights."
"Ghosts do not, either," Grendel averred.
Regis glanced back, "However, someone in this room apparently does."
"That is plainly ridiculous," Kolter replied as he strode up to them. "The Llewellyn's line ended. Lord Melkin married into the line and there was tragedy on the eve of the wedding. Melkin went mad and killed his bride. His family restrained him and forced him to abdicate in favor of his younger brother but that was over thirty years ago. The matter was a tragedy according to the Imperial investigation that was conducted. The old Llewellyn line is no more."
The elvin Regis shook his head, "There was, I recall, a regent for the former Lord Llewellyn, who was involved with negotiating the daughter’s marriage."
"That was Lady Elsebet," the Empress herself added. "I remember my mother mentioning her. The Lady was the previous lord’s mother and took charge of raising her granddaughter after the young woman’s death by illness."
George frowned and amended, "Not, apparently, if you believe in ghosts."
"Or, perhaps, reports of the details of the marriage are not true," Gallen offered, edging back, glancing at the current Lord Llewellyn, who was shouting at the Wardens to do something. They did. They vanished, as did the Lord Llewellyn. Only Raven was paying close enough attention to sense Gallen's exultation at that moment; although, to see the former urchin's expression you would never know it.
"Je'orj, you cannot be serious!" Archmage Abernathy cried.
"It's the only way. Grendel, is it acceptable to you that the Llewellyn vote be made null?"
The elfblood smiled. "Of course, that will be eminently fair."
Shaking her head, "Then you are tied… Correct, Regis?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Then let us get on with it. Who is next?"
"Why, Lord Je'orj, there are a number of people, who…"
"Proceed," the Empress intoned.
Regis nodded, then sang out. Thunder shook the room. Silence returned. Regis leaped fluidly to his floating podium. "The election will now continue. That there be no confusion, the candidates are tied. Lord Je'orj has made null the vote he received from Llewellyn, to which Lord Grendel has agreed.
"Last of those to vote are the High Lords. The Cathartan Ambassador and Highmage Candidate, Lord Je'orj du Bradlei is called."
:George. Do you know "how" to cast your vote?:
George struggled not to grimace, trying to smile broadly to his audience, then mumbled to himself, "Haven't the faintest idea."
:Thought not. So what do you plan to do?:
The elves had made it look so easy. "Let's at least try to sway those hold out votes... Enter full stage rapport."
:Warning. Full rapport inadvisable... George. Don't over—:
George reached up and unwrapped the leathery material insulating his computer staff. The tip of the computer crystal stood revealed, yet this time instead of the wan steady glow the light frequency matched that of George's column.
"Commence full level rapport, please," he muttered.
:Acknowledged, expanding parameters to full rapport mode.:
They became not merely parts of the other, but one complete whole.
Where George Bradley could be seen reflecting his magery font's
light, he now became a version only reduced in scale. The multi-particle stream and burst of lights defined images of others. Elves and their gifts of magery danced amid the lasing glare soon joined by his offering his human reflection which softened the tones, to which they added earthy greens, browns, and reds. The blue of the sky of Earth, the world of his birth was similar but unlike the hue of this world. He recalled the sunset bathing the landscape of his last dig in russets and golds, and the sun’s orange fire.
This is who he was.
He walked up to his mage column and touched it with his right hand. He hoped it was enough. After all, he was human and could only do that which others thought must be magic.
:Rapport levels returning to baseline status.:
George turned away and blinked. The total silence startled him. The elves stared past him. He slowly turned and saw the Empress standing there with the most radiant smile.
The column had changed. Tears came to George's eyes as he glimpsed the Earth on a fine spring day in a rush from day to sunset to night in his column. The colors of magery emerged once more.
Revit and Terus were the first to reach him as his tears wet his cheeks.
"Those of the upper Tiers," Regis proclaimed, "Lord Je'orj du Bradlei stands now but one vote ahead... This is your final opportunity to make your wishes known."
An elfblood mage sang out high in the Seventh Tier, then an adept in the Fourth, a master in the Six, another in the Fifth. For a moment, they were tied. Then it was a total of three to Grendel to but one to George.
Grendel ascendant.
As Regis cast his gaze across the room one last time, he noted one mage still standing in a darkened corner of the Fourth.
Master Donnialt had hated having to make this choice. Grendel was the wrong person for the task. A human mage becoming Highmage could tear the Guild apart. Was it worth civil war?
Moments ago he had glimpsed another world, one mentioned in whispers. A world left behind from when humanity sailed the stars in ships like those that crossed the ocean, but had been vast according to legend. That world touched his soul. How could one of elvin blood forget its beauty? That had been magic – no matter what Je'orj Bradlei might say. Donnialt sang out and the russets and gold, a leaf of light sailed on the breeze of his creation and reached the human's column. Donnialt then cried, knowing he may have been responsible for a disaster.
"Tied," Regis proclaimed.
Chapter
14
There was no word from the Conclave those first few days. Balfour worked in the Hall, knowing that matters at home were taking on an air that left him suspicious. Everyone was naturally nervous and tense hoping to hear word of George; however, there seemed to be more to it.
Perhaps it was the fact that dwarves were again camped on the grounds. Tett and Spiro seemed to be in charge for the most part. However, when he had gone home yesterday, those two and Se'and were gone.
Me'oh had casually commented that they were upon some errand. Fri'il looked decidedly uneasy, then Cle'or had asked him… actually asked him… if she might visit the Hall. That was something he had not allowed for some time. Specifically, after she had been affronted by a particular healer's disparagement of his human medical skills, it seemed his wisest course. After all, Cle'or had almost killed him. His Uncle Ofran had ordered the healer barred from the Hall until he learned proper manners. Cle'or's behavior, his uncle had made clear to him, was for him to deal with – and he had.
Completely to Cle'or's surprise and chagrin.
That she asked him for the favor had to be partly a clever distraction. She might really want to visit the Hall and guard him, personally. What Se'and might be up to, that really worried him.
The Hall’s guards observed Cle'or most carefully as she entered at his side. The way she was greeted by the urchins and her warm response to them, put everyone quickly at ease. The youngsters were healing nicely. Andre even assured her that they would be released in a few days.
Balfour noted Cle'or's frown. "It is still not safe out
there."
"The others are well enough," Andre stated flatly.
"Milord, would it be possible for the girls and me to talk privately?"
"Use my office. No one will disturb you there."
It was difficult for Cle'or, but she had to tell them the truth. Andre and Juels knew that some of their friends had not been found. "You cannot go back."
"Lady, no one is going to keep us here," Andre warned.
"No one shall even try," Cle'or assured her. "But people know who you are now. Being girls on those streets will be twice as dangerous... Your pack friends are safe. Rejoin them you could, but the life as street waifs is closed to you."
Juels peered at Andre, who looked stricken with sudden realization. "That’s, that’s what I told you,” Juels said. “They’ll seek to send me and all the youngest to the Imperial Orphanage. I won't go!"
"You won't," Andre replied coldly, then glanced at Cle'or appraisingly. "The other Rats are in similar trouble, aren't they?"
Cle'or nodded and slowly smiled. "Well, I do not believe that will long be a problem."
That night, at the dinner table, Cle'or turned and simply asked Se'and, "When?"
Balfour looked from one to the other as the Cathartans, one and all, smiled as Se'and answered, "Tomorrow night early enough?"
Nodding, Cle'or turned to him, "Milord. I have a favor to ask."
"Don't tell me... I can guess. Though, the kids are not by any means well enough. You intend to sneak them out of the Healers Hall?"
Cle'or coughed, "Actually, we were hoping, you could do that." Her elfblooded husband stared at her, but before he could prevaricate, she continued, "What I really wanted to ask is..."
Balfour was not a mage. Elfblood though he be, elvin magic was beyond him. Only the most simple healings, dependent on herb lore, had he any skill with during his apprenticeship in the Hall. A herbalist’s skill did not qualify one to serve as a healer, a gift for the high healing mageries did. Thus, he had left the city and the Aqwaine Empire, and returned to the distant Barrier Mountains of his father’s people.
He would have remained there had he not met Je'orj Bradlei and been introduced to the true nature of his own talents. He was a practitioner of the human gift of healing and the knowledge imparted by the computer staff. That made Balfour an enigma and threat to his peers, who could not grasp how he could do any act of major healing without recourse to spell or charm.
What Cle'or had asked him to do… rather forcefully… truth be told, had a possibility of success that should have otherwise been impossible. The Hall was warded against mundane and magical intrusions and intruders. How it might react to what Balfour would attempt should prove interesting, if it were not such folly in the first place.
Yet, this was in a good cause. Or so he struggled to convince himself as he walked up the street toward the Hall's outer gate. If this did not work, he at least had a chance of breaking away from the greater folly. Now all he had to do was concentrate. Convince himself and the guard at the gate that no one was approaching them.
Balfour winced at every footstep he took, knowing how loud they must sound as he strove to weave it into the pattern of ‘no one there, all is quiet and calm.’ Until the moment he marched right past the two warders on duty, he could not believe this was working.
That was when he felt the tingling as he passed across the perimeter of the Hall's wards. That moment felt as if it were forever. The enchantment examined him, recognized him, sensed his intentions, miraculously eased. His footsteps faltered, the sound attracted one of the two warders, who began turning his head to look.
Balfour concentrated with all his might. ‘Nothing there, must have been a roosting bird.’
The warder blinked. "Bird," he mumbled, turning back to watch the street.
Balfour was inside the Hall, pausing to take a deep breath. Well, I'm here. Now can I pull this off?
Andre did not know what woke her. The room was dark. The door barred from the outside by magical means, the guards’ way of seeing to it that the urchins posed no threat of mischief during their stay in the Hall.
Moonlight filled the window, then was abruptly occluded. Andre's right hand lay hidden beneath her pillow. She took a firm grip of the pottery shard concealed there that Juels had slipped here shortly after they arrived here.
"You won't need that," a deep, melodic voice softly whispered.
Andre opened her eyes and stared up at Balfour's dim shape. "Certainly doesn't," rasped Juels poised behind him, shard of glass in her hand.
He chuckled. "Well, Cle'or has definitely had a hand in your training."
Throwing off her blanket, Andre rose, fully dressed. "We had best hurry. You took your time getting here, by now Crisp and the boys are half way to the kitchens."
"Come on, then."
Crisp and his friends still carried the marks of their trauma, but they were mobile. Mobility in an urchin raised on the streets of the Seventh was the secret of survival. His friends raided the kitchen pantry for food, then were startled at the seemingly sudden appearance in their very midst of Andre, Juels, and the healer.
Andre grinned. "You left your doors and windows latched firmly behind you, I take it."
Crisp shrugged, "No fun in it, otherwise."
Balfour shook his head, as the urchin lads wiped cake crumbs from their faces. What are we setting loose tonight? he wondered ruefully. He moved to the door, opening it ever so slightly, carefully peering outside.
He could just faintly hear one of the warders on rounds outside. Gently, he closed the door and looked at his charges. "No talking for any reason." Picking up the most injured of the boys, he warned, "Still close to be me and don't distract me, otherwise…"
Andre huddled in close between Crisp and Juels, the other urchins right behind them, with one last look over his shoulder, Balfour took a deep breath, then quietly opened the door wide. One of Crisp's compatriots made sure that the door was left firmly locked behind them. Let them wonder, Juels thought, grinning as they slowly crossed the yard to the back gate, slipping outside.
Tett and Spiro waited in the alley. They had been watching the Healer's Hall for hours with a patience only dwarves could be said to have mastered.
One moment they were alone, in the next, Balfour said, "Now they are your responsibility."
Tett grinned, finding himself surrounded by smiling, giggling children. "Come, this way," he gestured as Spiro clasped the elfblood's hands.
"Good work. We'll see to their safety. Now, you three must be off."
Balfour frowned as Andre and Juels made no move to follow the boys and Tett into the recesses of the alley toward the small doorway half hidden behind refuse. "Wait. You are to take these two as well."
Andre shook her head, "The lady was quite clear, milord."
"Very clear," Spiro added with a nod, backing away, "good luck to you." Then he hurried through the little door and out of sight.
Juels muttered, "I guess she forgot to tell you."
"To tell me what?" Balfour asked caustically.
Andre had struggled with the concept, but had come to accept it. They could never go back to what they had been. Cle'or had been right about that. The choice she had offered them? With difficulty, she answered, "Ahem… Father, I believe we should discuss that once we get home."
Balfour paled at the look of frail hope in their eyes. Oh, no. Cle’or couldn't have. She hadn't. I won't allow this... George! Now I know what you feel like.
The guards shouted in alarm early the next morning. The urchins were missing from their pallets, though their rooms were securely locked. The senior shouted for someone to send for Master Balfour and the Imperial Guard.
The Master's coach pulled up the drive shortly thereafter. The healer looked pale and wan. Balfour had little acting to do. He had been arguing with Cle'or for hours.
The warden offered a hand of comfort to the shaken elfblood. Cle’or was adopting them, the House could use foster-daughters, s
he claimed.
Oh, By the Empress! He thought as the healer stated, "I am certain the children left on their own, Master... Cook reported that the kitchen appears to have been raided of cake."
Balfour shook his head, then grudgingly smiled, "Don't tell me they stole your breakfast on their way out as well?"
The guard chuckled. "No, Master. They were good enough to leave us our morning gruel."
Mage Meltron strode forth from the Guild Hall. He grimaced beneath the brilliant light of mid-day. Imperial courtiers saw him and scurried toward him. With a curse, Meltron shouted a chant. The courtiers stumbled, and when they looked back, there was no sight of the mage.
The dwarf hated heights, but that had not stopped him from renting the upstairs room and watching the Guild's entry day and night. So, someone had come forth, yet, what did that bode of the Conclave?
Mage Meltron strode inconspicuously down the avenue. He had one last thing to do before absenting himself from the Capital. Something his Dark Master would doubtless enjoy and their bane, the human mage would learn to his rue.
Chapter
15
Weeks passed. Andre hated wearing Cathartan livery; although, Juels seemed to be reveling in all this. She loved the big house and all the attention the women were giving them. Whenever Balfour was about, they addressed him as father, which pleased Cle'or no end and seemed to amuse Juels, inordinately.
Imperial Guards were stationed on the grounds. The girls were told to keep out of their way. Se'and had told them that should they become proficient in the skills Cle'or was now seeking they master, that soon they would have run of the city.
"What of our friends, my Pack Rats?" Andre had asked that first day in this, when told to put on her the newly-sewn garb and livery.
Se'and smiled, "I understand your Pack Rats are in the best of hands… just where you told them to go should there be trouble."