“’If you are willing to proceed invested in that faith, then I urge you to take Alurra as I have requested and do your best to teach her formal Imperial-style magic. Her sightlessness makes this a challenge, but she is a quick-witted girl of exceeding intelligence.’”
The apprentice beamed at the praise, and even the raven on her shoulder seemed to preen.
“While prone to impetuousness and fancy, she is reasonably reliable, at her age. More importantly, I foresee that her loyalty and her gifts, including her profound abilities in native Brown Magic, will be instrumental in the fulfillment of your own goals and desires. While she comes trained for basic service, she needs instruction on urban life, as well, and perhaps even the ways of the court. All of these I know you are well-equipped to see to.’
“’In return, Alurra will become a trusted ally and an asset to your endeavors in ways you cannot yet imagine. I will leave that exploration to the two of you, but foresight instructs me that you will become not just good professional colleagues, in time, but fast friends.’”
Pentandra looked at the girl skeptically. “Just to warn you, I don’t make friends easily,” she said, warily.
“Most of mine bark, flap, or purr,” Alurra nodded. “I’m more comfortable in a herd than a hall.”
Arborn chuckled as he lit his pipe with a taper at the fire. “This promises to be an interesting relationship!”
Pentandra shot her eyes to her husband, and only barely controlled her anger. “This isn’t funny, Husband! I do not like being forced to take an apprentice! Certainly not by post, by an old witch I’ve never even met!”
“Wife!” Arborn called, sternly. “Please do not upset our guest.”
Pentandra stopped her tongue before she said something she regretted, and sighed. He was right to rebuke her, she realized. As inconvenient as this was for her, she could only imagine what must be going through the mind of the young girl. “I’m sorry, Alurra. I just wasn’t prepared . . .”
“It’s all right,” the girl said, calmly, “I’ve known about this since before Yule, and I still don’t feel prepared. But if Antimei says it needs to be so, then so it shall be. She’s just like that,” she shrugged. The raven was apparently used to the movement, for it barely noticed its perch shifting.
“It’s . . . it’s nothing personal,” Pentandra said, apologetically.
“I know,” Alurra assured her. “I’m expecting some interesting times ahead, too. But it all works out, in the end. For now,” she added. “There should be just a little more . . .”
“There is,” Pentandra conceded, turning back to the scroll. “’I understand how easy it might be to dismiss the words of a poor rural hedgewitch and her claims of prophesy, but I have provided within this letter three bits of proof of my powers, which shall come to pass shortly. My desire is that you take Alurra for the summer, do your best to instruct her, and if she proves unsatisfactory or fails to give good service, then send her back to me here. But I am certain that what I have seen in my visions will come to pass, and that Alurra will be with you until she passes her certification examinations.
“’Lady Pentandra, I implore you not just as a subject of the Realm begging a boon of the Court Wizard, as so many do, but as a fellow colleague in our craft seeking the best possible instruction for my student. If the stakes were not so high, or the fate of so many dependent upon the outcome, I would never presume . . . but the gods ask of us what they will, and it is up to us to comply.
“’I trust that this will be agreeable to you. I remain, your servant, Old Antimei, the Witch of the Wilderlands.’” Pentandra quietly rolled the note back up. “I guess I have inherited a new apprentice,” she sighed, after a moment’s contemplation. Arborn looked at her studiously.
“Is that wise?” he finally asked. Of all the objections he could have raised, that was one she hadn’t expected.
“Perhaps not. But neither are a great many things I’ve done over the years. That doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing to do. I’ll tell you what . . . give me a day to think about it,” she decided. “Let me actually get to know you a bit, and see if I think things will work out. I owe you that much simply for arriving with a pack of angry hounds, when you did tonight.”
“Oh, thank you, Lady Pentandra!” Alurra said, excitedly.
“You can sleep in our chamber tonight,” she decided, her heart sinking as she realized that a lusty reunion with her husband would have to wait. “The hall below will be filled with exhausted guardsmen, and I think the new Kasari are bunked in the loft.”
“I’ve never felt safer,” Alurra assured her. “I didn’t bring much in the way of belongings – just one little pack.”
“Who came with you, child?” asked Arborn, concerned.
“Who? Why, no one. I came by myself. Except for Lucky, here, and my other friends. Animals,” she clarified.
“You speak to animals?”
“She’s a brown mage,” Pentandra supplied. “Like Lenodara. Only even more powerful, from the way you enchanted that entire pack of dogs,” she added, approvingly. Arborn wasn’t nearly as impressed by that as he was her journey.
“A blind girl walked more than seventy leagues through goblin territory . . . by herself?”
“She said she had her crow,” Pentandra pointed out. “It proves she’s capable and self-reliant – two qualities sadly lacking in most apprentices.”
“Raven,” Alurra corrected. “It wasn’t that bad. Lucky and the others scouted ahead, miles ahead, and always kept watch. I never got closer than a mile to a goblin,” she boasted, proudly. “They watched out for me and kept me safe the entire way here.”
“And once you got to the town?” Pentandra prompted.
“Oh, Antimei had me go visit a hedgewitch she knows here, a friend. I’m to go to her if you . . . reject me.” The tone in her voice demonstrated that the blind girl feared that alternative, but was ready to face it.
“And if I do? Reject you, that is?” she asked, curious.
“It would be . . . bad,” Alurra decided.
“Bad? How, bad?”
“Bad in so many horrible ways I can’t even think about them all. You must understand, Mistress, I don’t want this because I want this, if you take my meaning. It has been . . . foreordained?” she said, trying hard at the long word.
“Fated?” Pentandra shot back, automatically, her stomach sinking. There were several examples of prophecy and foresight intruding into history. Universally, such entanglements spelt disaster for those involved. “That is dangerous talk, my girl. We all have the freedom of our will.”
“So it is said,” Alurra nodded. “As Antimei says, our fates are composed of our free will struggling against circumstance, with destiny the inevitable outcome.”
“What does that even mean?” Arborn asked, confused.
“I’m . . . I’m not really certain myself,” Alurra confessed, hurriedly. “But I trust her. She has helped my village for generations, always far more powerful than she lets on. All I ask is that you grant her this boon. She says she can’t teach me any more magic, on account of my eyes. I can’t read,” she sighed. “I can see through the eyes of my animal friends, but their minds can’t . . . see words, not the way human eyes apparently can. Or something like that,” she dismissed, frustrated. “So I’ve learned as much as she can teach me, but Antimei says it will take one of the most creative and talented magi in the world to finish the job. Lady Pentandra.”
“This is not the usual way apprentices are selected, I take it,” Arborn said, quietly, as the silence following Alurra’s declaration stretched.
“No, usually . . . well, honestly, I do not know. I’ve never taken one before. Minalan chose his first apprentice, Tyndal, and inherited his second. His third, Lenodara, he selected to avoid a riot breaking out. I’m not certain that there is a standard method for that sort of thing. I mean, the Magic Fair has a venue to match good apprentices with good masters, but that’s a relatively new de
velopment.
“None of which factors into my decision,” she announced, setting her wine glass on the table in front of her. “I’ll prepare a bed for you in our chamber tonight, and we shall reconsider the matter by light of day. Arborn, would you mind fetching some blankets from the press? I don’t want to wake the servants at this hour.”
Later, when Alurra was settled in, her raven perched on a rafter overhead, Pentandra and Arborn retired to their own bed and drew the curtains. As an additional guard, Pentandra cast spells to keep them from being overheard by the sleeping girl.
“Welcome back, my husband,” she said, kissing him warmly as she slid into bed. “I’ve been expecting you for days.”
“I was delayed,” Arborn reminded her, apologetically. “We were in the east country when I received a message. I had to meet . . . someone,” he said.
“Who?” Pentandra asked, innocently. Arborn’s reluctance to speak of the matter invited her curiosity, she reasoned.
“I . . . there are some things I must be cautious about speaking of,” he mumbled. That caught Pentandra’s attention sharply.
“Like what? Unless it’s another wife and a cottage full of bastards, I can’t think of anything you couldn’t share with me,” she said, patiently.
“It’s . . . well, our marriage has put me in a difficult position—”
“How so?” Pentandra asked, icily. This did not bode well.
“I am in the sworn confidence of . . . certain parties,” he said, his jaw clenched, “and those parties are wary of the Arcane Orders.”
“You . . . what?” All sorts of unlikely scenarios erupted in Pentandra’s mind at the admission. Was Arborn working for their foes? The Southern rebels? Queen Grendine’s sinister Family?
“It’s the Alka Alon,” Arborn said, quickly, anxious to pacify her. “You have to understand, the Alka Alon and the Kasari have worked together for centuries. In many ways we are their eyes and ears in the wilderness. We have protected and aided each other countless times.”
“And the Arcane Orders threaten that?”
“There are many Alka who are mistrustful of human beings, even the Kasari. Especially magically Talented human beings. The history of the Magocracy wasn’t exactly benevolent, when it came to relations with the Alka Alon,” he pointed out.
“Agreed. But there isn’t a Magocracy, any more,” Pentandra responded, coolly.
“But from the Alka Alon’s perspective, that was only a few years ago. Most of them still remember the Magocracy, personally. And many see human magi as a dangerous threat – as dangerous as human gods.”
“Granted,” she nodded, curtly, if defiantly. “We also have saved a whole bunch of people – human and Alkan – from certain death. Does that count for nothing?”
“I am not defending their attitude,” Arborn said, holding up his hand, “I’m just reporting it. They are wary. And concerned that the Arcane Orders will delve too deeply into matters that do not concern you.”
Pentandra snorted, angrily. “Like rushing in to assist an ally under attack, when no Alka Alon would?”
“That has been mentioned in your favor,” Arborn agreed. “Indeed, it is the main reason for the softening of their stance. The Alka Alon have humanity’s interests in mind. But I am still cautious about sharing their secrets overmuch.”
“I am your wife, and no longer a leader in the Arcane Orders,” she reminded him, stiffly. “You may elect to tell me or not, as you desire, my husband.”
Arborn stared at her for many moments in the light of the tiny magelight before he sighed. “I met with Ithalia and a small squadron of her kin. Only briefly, but long enough to hear news. News about Ameras, the heir to the Aronin of Amadia.”
Pentandra knew a little about the mysterious figure. Minalan had met her once. A young Alkan who was the only daughter of one of the wisest of the Fair Folk, who had disappeared at the very beginning of the goblin invasion.
Pentandra still didn’t understand why she was so important – her family had ruled one tiny little stronghold in the Mindens, a few hundred Alka at most. They had to abandon it after the Dead God had taken over the rest of the valley. Most of the other inhabitants had found refuge with their kin in the Kulines, but for some reason the entire Alkan Council were almost panicked because this one Alkan girl was missing.
“Was she found? Was she dead?”
“She was not found, and she seems to be alive, by the report,” Arborn said, quietly. “She was seen in the far northeast, where few of even my people venture. At least that’s what is suggested. Ithalia was checking with me to see if there was any news from human lands. That’s why she needed to see me, specifically. Ameras is supposedly keeping company with a human High Mage.”
“A High Mage?” Pentandra asked, curious. “Who?”
“That isn’t known. And it was why Ithalia wished me to discretely inquire of my loving wife, to see if my contacts at the Arcane Orders could provide a clue, without arousing alarm. But that is the second sighting of her in two years. When all the world is searching for her. It is as if she doesn’t wish to be found.”
Pentandra chewed her lip in the darkness. “That’s part of what I don’t understand – why all the interest in one Alka Alon princess? What is so special about her? Is she the heir to a lost dynasty or something?”
Again Arborn was silent for an unnaturally long time before he answered.
“The term ‘Aronin’ means ‘guardian’. Her family not only guarded the molopor of Boval Vale—”
“And not terribly well,” Pentandra blurted.
“They weren’t expecting an abomination to crawl out of a hole with a bloodthirsty horde, no,” Arborn said, sourly. “But the Aronin was also charged with the task of being the custodian of a great armory. An arsenal containing weapons from the ancient wars between the Alka Alon – weapons so dire that they were gathered and sequestered away by common assent at the end of the struggle to keep them from being used casually ever again.”
“That’s just the kind of weapons we need against the Dead God!”
“We know,” Arborn said, grumbling. “Indeed, it was toward just an occasion as this that they weapons were put away in the first place. Only now that they are needed, the only person who knows where they are is lost to us. As is the location of the armory.”
“Wait, the Aronin was the only one who knew?”
“That was his purpose,” Arborn agreed, grimly. “To protect not just the armory and how to open it, but even its location. Only he and the members of his line know the secret. He guards not just its location and entry, but keeps the conscience of when and how it is used. Which means Ameras is the last one with that knowledge.”
“Oh. Well that explains the interest, then,” Pentandra conceded. “And why the Alon want to keep it quiet from the Arcane Orders. But why do they want to involve you, directly?”
“All of the Kasari rangers look to me,” her husband said, softly. “I am their captain. I directed a few fellows to go investigate. But that is a dangerous, wild land. It may be many months before I hear anything. And I am married to a High Mage noted for her discretion.”
“Well, I am gratified that you explained it to me,” Pentandra sighed. “I promise not to misuse the information. Honestly, if we’re going to win this war, humans and Alka are going to have to start trusting each other!”
“That depends on the humans,” Arborn said, rolling onto his back and staring at the canopy overhead. “That depends on the Alka Alon. That was the other thing she was warning me about. There is a . . . faction of Alka who actively hate humans. And most of the other Alka Alon. An ancient political feud that turned into a generational vendetta,” he explained. “They have been witnessed actively assisting the gurvani.”
“We’ve heard that rumor before,” Pentandra reminded him. “The Enshadowed. So far, the average gurvan hasn’t benefitted much from it.”
“They are now. Ithalia told me of an encounter she had near the borde
rs of the Penumbra. She was attacked by undead.”
“That’s not a terribly complicated spell, if grisly,” Pentandra said, squirming despite herself at the thought of the dark realm of magic. “Even gurvani shamans can do it. The undead don’t last long. And they don’t fight well.”
“These did,” Arborn insisted, quietly. “They fought with twice the strength of a man, were alacritous, and possessed rare cunning in battle. I, too, have faced the living dead in my travels. These were not the usual walking corpses, my love. These were different. Ithalia fears they are but the first works of the Demon God. He is awakened, and at work.”
“And he is actually an undead Alka Alon,” Pentandra finished. “I know, we heard about that. So it’s our good guys and their good guys against our bad guys and their bad guys. I don’t see what the problem is in helping each other.”
“It is happening, but slowly, as suits the lives of –” the big man stopped and yawned before finishing. “—the Alka Alon. My wife, would you be terribly upset if we spent the evening in repose? It’s not that I did not miss you fiercely, but I have been on the road since before dawn—”
“And again dawn brightens the east,” Pentandra said, understandably. “Our happy reunion can wait until morning. Or later. But not much later,” she added. “I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lady Pleasure
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 39