The other rider, in his way, was just as striking as the first. His long hair, also braided, was a shining black with a single silver streak running from the temple. The cut of his riding gear was unmistakably Kaled’a’in. After several months in k‘Vala, Darian knew the difference between Tayledras and Kaled’a’in styles at once. He was amazingly handsome, but there was nothing about him that suggested that he was either a warrior or a mage—or vain. Whatever his craft, it seemed likely that his only reason for being there was as company for the mage. Was this the so-called entourage?
Darian’s thoughts had come to a complete standstill, and he could only stay where he was, staring. The two riders completed their leisurely approach, and the first dismounted directly in front of Starfall.
“Well, Father, here I am,” the rider said, in a voice rich with amusement. “You have managed to drag me here entirely against my own better judgment, and if I did not know you as well as I do, I might be asking you what made you think this youngster was worth the effort of hauling me up from the south.” He cast a sidelong glance at Darian, and behind the mask, one silver eye winked broadly. “However, since I know you, I shan’t ask that particular question. This, I take it, is young Dar’ian?”
“It is, indeed,” Starfall replied, in a voice so like the rider’s that it was obvious they were related. “Dar‘ian, this is your new teacher, Adept Firesong k’Treva, and his mate, kestra‘chern Silverfox k’Leshya.” Only then did he step forward, and he and his son embraced with much hugging and back pounding.
Darian managed to scramble enough wits together to step forward and make a deeply formal bow. “This is—beyond an honor—sir—” he began, searching frantically for appropriate words, feeling heat rising in his face and ears. I must be blushing as red as a scarlet jay, he thought, increasing his embarrassment.
“You won’t say that when you come to know me, youngster,” Firesong said, with a voice so solemn that Darian would have been tempted to believe him, had he not seen the wicked amusement in the eyes behind the mask. “I am a notorious taskmaster, and I have every intention of working you until you drop, then reviving you and putting you through the mill all over again.”
“Yes, sir, whatever you wish, sir,” Darian replied automatically, and quickly stepped back, hoping that the other folk would forget about him for a while. He suddenly felt as awkward as an elk-calf, and only thirteen years old again.
Dear gods! How did this happen? How could I be the student of one of the greatest Adepts in a dozen countries?
He slowly regained a little composure as people did appear to forget him; father and son embraced again, Starfall introduced Firesong and Silverfox to everyone else present, and the entire group drifted toward the interior of the Vale. Darian followed quietly behind, listening, but not saying anything.
“Oh, I didn’t bring all that much up with me,” Firesong was saying, in answer to a gentle jibe by his father. “We’ve got some wardrobe, and the more portable of Silverfox’s kit. The rest is relatively light, but bulky, and the k’Vala gryphons will be bringing it along at some point. After all your emphasis on speed, I didn’t want to slow things down bringing baggage by dyheli.”
“We have prepared your ekele as you requested, Firesong,” Ayshen put in, showing deference, but not servility. “I hope that you and Silverfox are both pleased.”
Silverfox, who until that moment, had not said a word, laughed softly and clapped Ayshen on the back. “I remember your talent at design and construction from White Gryphon, Ayshen. I have no doubt that you have not only granted our every wish, but anticipated needs we had not even thought of.”
Darian, meanwhile, felt his mind slowly coming back to him. No wonder no one would tell him who his teacher was supposed to be! He’d have been so terrified he probably would have run all the way back to k’Vala, or even farther.
And Starfall was Firesong’s father. Well, that explained a few things. How Starfall had managed to get someone as famous—or infamous, depending on your point of view—as Firesong k’Treva to come be the teacher of poor, lowly little Darian, for one. Gods save me, how can I ever manage to be worthy of this kind of attention? he thought in a haze of confusion that bordered on panic.
Just as he began to seriously consider that run to k’Vala, Firesong’s companion dropped back from the rest.
“He mumbles in his sleep, you know,” Silverfox said conversationally.
“He what?” Darian replied, baffled. Where did that come from?
“He mumbles in his sleep, he has a terrible weakness for candied yams, and he can never remember where he leaves things. He’s human, Dar’ian. He’s not a superior being, he’s as fallible as anyone. I know that at this point, this doesn’t seem likely to you, but I assure you, it’s true.” Silverfox placed his hand gently on Darian’s shoulder, and Darian felt himself relax, despite his anxieties. “I can also promise you that in spite of all of his protests to the contrary, he was quite eager to come here and teach his father’s cherished protégè. Firesong just likes to be coaxed.”
“I—I’d think that after everything he’s gone through, he deserves coaxing, sir,” Darian replied shyly and was rewarded by Silverfox’s dazzling smile.
“And I agree with you entirely.” Silverfox chuckled, patting Darian’s shoulder. “I would agree with you even if I were not understandably prejudiced on his part. Don’t fear him, Dar’ian. Listen to him, learn from him, but do not fear him.”
The strange white bird floated down to land on Firesong’s shoulder; he reached up absently to scratch its crest, and it climbed down from its perch to nestle in his arms, head tucked blissfully under his chin, crooning. A firebird—Darian now recalled. Firesong’s bondbird is a firebird. The horrid painting that had been on Justyn’s wall flashed into his mind, and the blob on the painted Firesong’s shoulder that everyone in Errold’s Grove had thought was a chicken or a goose.
A good many things now made perfect sense—the special arrangement of heated pools, for instance. Everyone knew that the reason Firesong wore masks was because he had been terribly scarred at the end of the mage-storms. Presumably, he was shy about exposing those scars to anyone but the closest of companions—and you couldn’t wear a mask to soak in the pools, you’d ruin it. Silverfox might well feel more comfortable in a ground dwelling, especially in a storm when the tree would sway and toss—hence the extra rooms below.
And both of them were giving up a considerable level of luxury to come here, only for the purpose of teaching Darian. Under other circumstances, it would have been perfectly reasonable for Firesong to insist that Darian be sent to him. No wonder so much effort had been spent on building his ekele!
And of course, who wouldn’t want to impress the fabled Adept Firesong with the finest ekele it was possible to build? No matter how poor it was, compared to what he had left, at least it would be clear that they had tried.
But when Firesong came to the new ekele, he stopped, and turned to his father. “Surely this is not ours—” he began.
His voice reflected surprise, not disdain.
“It is,” Starfall replied, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “We may not have a fully-charged Heartstone, or a Veil to hold back the weather, but we have power enough and skill enough to give you comfort. You will find your own pools here below, a bathing room, a steam room, and a room for Silverfox to receive clients.”
“I am mostly retired, but I still do take massage clients,” Silverfox said smoothly, as Firesong choked. There had been something implied that Darian didn’t understand, but he had a good idea that Kel could tell him—and would.
“I have well-insulated the ekele, Adept Firesong,” Ayshen said diffidently. “I do not think you will find any chills or drafts this winter.”
The Adept seemed charmed, pleased, and just a little surprised. “I am not sure what to say,” Firesong replied at length. “Except to thank you, thank you all. You have more than made us welcome.”
“Oh, I
am certain that you will find plenty to complain of,” Starfall laughed. “But until you do, I hope you find your new ekele satisfactory! And on that note, we will leave you to settle in.”
As Darian was about to leave, Firesong turned to him and summoned him with a crooked finger. “Come up with us,” the Adept said. “I would like to talk with you a little.”
Darian swallowed, felt his mouth go dry as old snakeskin, and obediently followed the two into the ground-level of the structure. They paused long enough for a glance around the pool room; Firesong nodded as Silverfox exclaimed in pleasure.
“When the plantings get their full growth, this will be enchanting,” Firesong observed warmly.
“I cannot believe that they have gone to such trouble for us,” Silverfox replied, shaking his head, then he laughed. “Well, perhaps they have heard tales of your famous plaints when you lived in Valdemar, and had none of the niceties of a Vale at your disposal!”
“That could well be,” Firesong agreed, with as much humor as Silverfox. He found the staircase and began climbing it, with his partner and Darian close behind.
Darian had not seen the ekele since the furniture was moved in; as he entered behind the other two, he saw that not only had furnishings been put in place, but there were beautifully woven rugs on the floor and hangings on the walls.
Silverfox went briefly to the window, then looked back at Firesong. “I think I will see the chambers on the ground first. If there is a storm, I still do not care for being in the boughs of a tree.”
“Only one who was raised in a tree could, ashke, so if there is a storm, I can understand,” Firesong chuckled. “For that matter, if there is a storm, you may find me joining you below!”
Silverfox saluted them both and then descended the stairs noiselessly, and Firesong gestured to Darian to take a seat. Gingerly, Darian sat down on a chair woven of willow withes, and Firesong took another just like it, placed opposite him. The Adept leaned back in the chair, relaxing as the withes creaked, settling beneath his slight weight, but Darian remained sitting straight upright, back and shoulders staff-stiff. He had no idea what to expect, and wondered desperately what Firesong expected of him. He couldn’t look away from those silver eyes.
“So,” Firesong said, after he’d watched Darian carefully for a time. “Being a mage, becoming an Adept—was this your idea, or someone else’s?”
“If I’ d had a choice, you mean?” Darian hazarded. “In the very beginning?”
Firesong nodded.
“If I’d had a choice originally, I’d just be a trapper, like my parents,” Darian said softly. “After my parents died, I was apprenticed without anyone asking me what I wanted. I’d rather have been apprenticed to the village woodcutter. I didn’t want to be a mage, I didn’t want anything to do with magic. I couldn’t see any use for it.”
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.
Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 02] - Owlsight Page 25