by Bell, Hilari
Dayven’s eyes met the old sorcerer’s and again knowledge passed between them. The power, the magic, might have been called forth and directed by the sorcerer’s skill, but it had come from Dayven. His stomach contracted, as if he were standing on a cliff edge, feeling the earth crumble from beneath his feet … as if his destiny was changing, twisting out of its true path. He pulled his hand from the sorcerer’s grip and looked at his finger.
The cut was gone.
Chapter 2
Dayven huddled on the corner of his bed and stared at the wall, waiting for Soren. He had run through half the town in his wild flight from the sorcerer’s tower, bumping into people, knocking things over. His only thought had been to seek refuge in the room he shared with his cousin, in the wing of the palace where all the Watcherlads lived. The result of his test would have spread through the city faster than fire-wind. It always did, when the wizards found someone. Soren must have heard the news by now. So where was he?
Dayven studied his finger broodingly — there was no trace of the cut. He shuddered, remembering the terror of watching his destiny contort, dragging him helplessly to a fate he didn’t want. Surely wizards, like all those who failed to follow their true paths, became ghosts: only the true path led to the next world. Once your spirit lost its way, it was lost forever. At least, that was what Lore Master Senna said. Dayven shuddered again. And yet … the power had come from him. The memory of welling white fire possessed him and he jumped when Soren burst through the door.
“Dayven, Lord Enar wants to see you! Is your tunic clean?”
“The Lordowner wants to see me?” Dayven glanced at his tunic blankly. Then bitterness filled him. “Why? Is he going to congratulate me personally? Don’t you want to congratulate me?”
“I’m sorry,” said Soren. “When I heard about the test, I thought we might need some help.”
“We.” The ache of relief replaced that of loneliness. Dayven’s eyes misted and he blinked hard.
“Don’t be silly.” Soren reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Surely you didn’t think I’d desert you? Anyway, I went to the Lore Master, to ask his advice, and he took me straight to the Lordowner. And he wants to see you right away, so come on!”
Soren pulled Dayven to his feet and hauled him out the door. The late-afternoon sun made his cousin’s hair shine like pale gold. It was something Dayven, who was all nut brown, had always envied. But now there were other things on his mind. “Master Senna wants to help me?” he repeated. “Why? I know I … I can’t be a Guardian anymore. What could Lord Enar want with me?”
“That isn’t true,” said Soren. “That you can’t be a Guardian, I mean. The Lore Master said you aren’t committed to wizardry as long as you ‘have never worked a trick of magic that will alter the destiny of any man.’”
Dayven stopped, staring at his cousin in astonishment.
“Lore Master Senna said that? I thought if you had magic in you, you didn’t have a choice.”
Soren shook his head. “I keep telling you, the Lore Master wants to help you. He told me you still have a choice. As long as you haven’t altered anyone’s destiny by magic, you can still take the Guardian’s oath. And in the oath you foreswear any use of magic, except to be healed by it, so after that it doesn’t matter. But the Lore Master also said that to the best of his knowledge, no one has ever shown the ability and not become a wizard. And he knew stories about people who tried, Dayven. He said it was as if magic exerted a seduction that even the most dedicated couldn’t resist.”
The tiny thread of hope hurt almost as much as despair, but Dayven was certain he could resist. If only…
“Is that why Lord Enar wants to see me? To give me a chance? We’ve been Watcherlads in his court for years, but he never noticed me before. He has dozens of Watcherlads. Why would he care that I … that the wizards want me?”
“I don’t know,” said Soren. “But he was truly interested, not just feeling sorry for you. If it didn’t sound so crazy, I’d swear he was pleased.” He guided Dayven around a corner and started up a small flight of stairs.
“Is your tunic clean?” Soren asked again. This time he really looked at it. Dayven was too nervous to care.
“This is the Lordowner’s private chamber,” he protested as they reached the landing.
“I know.” Soren knocked briskly on the door. “He’s waiting for us.”
Lore Master Senna opened the door.
“Master Senna.” Dayven bowed.
Unless he had something worth saying, the Lore Master seldom bothered with what he called “useless words.” Now he simply nodded and gestured them to the chair where the Lordowner waited.
Soren hesitated and Master Senna gestured him forward as well, so Dayven and his cousin approached the Lordowner together. Lord Enar was a big man; his strong hands and heavy shoulders made the tall rockoak staff of the herdowner that leaned against his chair look like, well, not a toy, but something he could wield with ease. As a boy, training to be a Watcherlad, Dayven had waited on him at dinner, so he was familiar with the Lordowner’s booming voice. But he had never had Lord Enar’s full attention focused on him, as it was now. It took an effort, as he straightened from his bow, to keep his knees from knocking.
“So you’re the lad that might become a wizard,” Lord Enar rumbled. “Dayven … son of Bran, aren’t you? I remember your father. He was a good Guardian.”
“That’s what I want to be,” said Dayven. “A good Guardian. I don’t want to be a wizard, Lord.”
“Hmm. Your father died in battle, as I recall. Against the Cenzar. How do you feel about that?”
Dayven started at the change of subject. “I … I regret that he died before I was old enough to remember him, but to fight for the Lordowner, to hold his lands and herds, is a Guardian’s duty and his destiny.” His father’s death had been honorable, and all his father’s ancestors had been respectable, too. Why had Lord Enar asked this?
Lord Enar frowned. “I meant, how do you feel about the Cenzar?”
The Cenzar? “They’re the enemy, Lord. Though I understand they’re brave in battle.” The Cenzar had lived in this valley before the Tharn found it, just as the ancient prophecy foretold. They were driven out in Dayven’s great-grandfather’s time, but they’d been trying to get the valley back ever since. Soren said that if the Cenzar believed in destiny, instead of their absurd goddess, they’d have seen sense and given up by now.
Lord Enar looked at Master Senna, who was also his chief advisor, and raised his bushy eyebrows. “What do you think? I’m a soldier, not a schemer, but that sounds like honesty to me.”
“He’s had no reason to lie, as yet,” said Master Senna dryly. “More to the point, Dayven, how do you feel about wizards?”
“I hate them!” Dayven replied instantly. “They’re sly and cowardly, and have no creed. They never go into battle and fight honestly, man to man. They trick people and try to alter their destinies through magic. But I won’t let them do it to me.”
Lord Enar smiled at the Lore Master. “That good enough for you?”
Master Senna’s eyes were fixed on Dayven’s face.
“But their magic — doesn’t the magic tempt you?”
The memory of white fire rose in his mind, but Dayven crushed it down. “No,” he said fiercely.
“It tempted your grandmother…” Master Senna’s voice was very soft.
“But I’m not like that!” Dayven burst out. “Wizards are craven and treacherous. I could never be like that.”
The butt of the staff thudded resoundingly on the floor, drawing all eyes. “Adina’s crime was treason, not wizardry,” the Lordowner pronounced. “And we’ll have no injustice done her descendants in my hall. She paid for her crime, and that ends it. Besides, there are wizards in other lands who have never betrayed their overlords. What matters now, Dayven, is not whether magic tempts you, but whether you can be loyal, and I think you can. I have a favor to ask you. It’s more than I like
to ask of a boy your age, but as far as I can see, you’re the only person who might succeed. Since you’ve already been accepted into their herd, so to speak.”
“I’m ready to obey, Lord, but I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to spy on the wizards for me,” said Lord Enar bluntly. “I want you to study with them. Wear their gray robes. Learn their intentions and report back to me. You can write to your cousin,” he nodded to Soren, “without arousing their suspicion, and he can pass the information on. But aside from the people in this room, no one must learn the truth of this. No one. Or you’ll be useless as a spy.”
Dayven’s heart sank. Spy on the wizards? “But why? They’re your wizards, Lord.”
Lord Enar grimaced. “As you said, wizards have no creed — they’re loyal to no one but themselves. Ordinarily they take no interest in affairs of state, but I’m afraid that these wizards may be in league with the Cenzar.”
Dayven stared at him, shocked. “Then why don’t you kill them? Or at least throw them out?”
Lord Enar glanced triumphantly at Master Senna. “Because I might be wrong,” he admitted. “We know the Cenzar are gathering troops for a great attack, perhaps the strongest army they’ve sent against us. The wizards themselves reported it. The Cenzar don’t let wizards live in their city, though they sometimes allow them to visit because of their healing powers. But in spite of their ability to visit the Cenzar camps, they give me precious little information. I ask about troop strength, I get nothing but wizardly double-talk. So I’ve begun to doubt them.
“Forty years ago, they tried to overthrow my father and put a man they could control in his place. We barely discovered their plot in time.”
Dayven struggled not to wince. That was the plot for which his grandmother had died. Lord Enar knew about that, and he was still willing to trust Dayven with this? The Lordowner might be a soldier, rather than a subtle schemer, but he understood men’s hearts far better then Master Senna did.
“Their power was broken then,” Lord Enar continued. “But if they’re plotting with the Cenzar now… I’d be tempted to kill them, or drive them out, but we need their healing powers. In battle, having wizards on your side can mean the difference between winning and losing. And if they are loyal, in their odd way, to punish them would be a great injustice. On the other hand, suppose the Cenzar use them against us in battle? I can’t risk that.”
“How could they use wizards in battle?” asked Dayven. “Wizards are cowards. They never fight.”
“Suppose,” said Lord Enar. “Suppose they could fight from a distance. With magic. No one has ever been sure of the true extent of their powers. At the moment I’m not even sure of their loyalty. That’s why I need a man on the inside, and I think you’re the one for the job.”
“But they’ll want me to learn magic,” Dayven protested. “I promised my … I once swore to have nothing to do with wizards. I want to be a Guardian.”
“The first rule of the Guardian’s creed,” said Lord Enar, “is defending those weaker than yourself. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
“But if he learns magic…” Soren spoke for the first time.
“It isn’t knowing magic that’s wrong,” said Master Senna. “It’s using it to alter what was destined to be. The great evil of wizards is not their gift, but their refusal to accept the way things are, instead of the way wizards think they should be. If your desire to become a Guardian holds true, you might succeed.” Might. His cool gaze searched Dayven’s face, and Dayven stared back defiantly.
“You’ll only be with them until you learn the truth,” Lord Enar promised heartily. “Or until the Cenzar attack, and judging by what I’ve learned of the army they’re raising, that will happen within the year. And you won’t lose by it. If you succeed, you’ll get your sword and whistle from my own hands. Fates, you’ll have earned it! Well, boy? What do you say?”
Dayven had sworn to have nothing to do with wizards. But he had also sworn to serve the Lordowner. Honor is loyalty. This was a test fit for a Guardian!
“I’ll do it.”
“It may be harder than you think,” Lord Enar warned him. “It’s become known that you have magic in you. No Tharn will have much respect for a would-be wizard. If you want to convince the wizards you’re going to join them you’ll have to convince everyone in the castle first, and the town too. The wizards have ears everywhere. You’ll be despised by your friends. And your enemies will gloat, which is worse. But I forbid you to brawl over this, no matter what anyone says. Understand?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Dayven. “Wouldn’t getting into a fight with someone give me more reason to join the wizards?”
“Maybe. But if you start defending yourself with your fists, you may start defending yourself with words, and there’s too much danger the truth will slip out. No fighting.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Dayven sat at the long table, his hands clenched around his knife and fork, his eyes fixed on his untouched plate. The scent of well-cooked roast, usually so appetizing, meant nothing to him. He was trying to identify the origin of the almost inaudible whisper that had followed him throughout the meal. He knew that he should ignore it. Soon he’d be gone, and when he returned he’d be made a Guardian, and the whispers would end forever. But he couldn’t ignore it.
The constant run of Soren’s voice made it harder for him to hear. From the moment they entered the dining hall, and every Guardian and Watcherlad took one look at him and turned away, Soren had been speaking — a nonstop stream of aimless chatter that required no reply.
Soren didn’t want him to find out who was doing the whispering, and Soren was probably right. He had promised Lord Enar: no fighting. But he could, with honor, figure out who it was for the future, couldn’t he?
One whisper had been growing louder for the last half hour, and it was starting to overwhelm his cousin’s voice. Eyes down and body rigid, Dayven sought to identify the source of the fragmented insults.
“…she was hanged of course…” Dayven could almost make it out now. “…knew … bad blood in both of them … mother’s side of … she was always such a proper slut.”
Dayven snapped to his feet and spun around.
Soren grabbed his arm, murmuring urgently about duty and missions. Dayven didn’t care.
In all the hall only one pair of eyes met his, taunting him silently. Benen. Benen, whose father was such a wastrel he’d chosen to call himself his mother’s son; who had always been jealous of Soren’s swordsmanship, his skill with horse and lance. And he was sly as a wizard. Just the kind to whisper behind your back the insults he wouldn’t dare say to your face. If the truth were known he’d—
Jerking his arm, Soren turned Dayven toward the high table at the end of the room.
Lord Enar was looking at him. Burly and commanding, he held Dayven’s gaze until Dayven’s eyes dropped. Obedience to the Lordowner was the Guardian’s second rule. Very well, Lord, Dayven promised silently. My loyalty will prove my honor. I will pass your test. I will catch these wizards at their treachery and put a stop to them. I will be the Guardian my mother wanted me to be, and I will redeem the disgrace my grandmother brought upon us. And the cowards who are whispering now will eat their words with pepper sauce!
The next morning he stood with Soren by the castle gate, his pack dragging at his shoulders. They had spent most of the night packing Dayven’s clothes and discussing the difficulties he would face.
“I still think the hardest part will be to convince the wizards you really want to be one of them,” Soren fretted. “After the way you ran out of there yesterday—”
“I’ll tell them that when the others found out I could work magic, they rejected me,” Dayven said. “They’ll believe that. It’s true.”
“Don’t let it bother you too much,” said his cousin. “When this is finished, you’ll be a hero. When you come back…” He paused and a shadow crossed his fac
e.
“Soren?”
“I’m sorry, I just suddenly… You will come back, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. I’m only moving across town.”
“You think that now,” said Soren. “But I’ve been feeling all night like you’re going farther, somehow. That your destiny is changing.”
A cold shiver rolled down Dayven’s spine. He had often thought Soren had a touch of the seer’s gift, though his cousin denied it. The seer’s gift was said to be akin to wizardry, but since it revealed destiny instead of changing it, it held no dishonor. Indeed, many bards were said to have a trace of it.
“Destiny can’t change,” said Dayven stoutly, rejecting fear. “You follow your true path or turn from it, that’s all. I’m going to follow mine. With courage and good cheer.” It was the third rule.
Soren still looked worried.
“I’ll come back,” said Dayven. “I promise.”
“But you’re breaking your oath to your mother now, aren’t you?”
“Do you doubt my honor?” Dayven started away.
“No, of course not.” Soren caught his arm. “I understand that you had to make a choice. And your choice was right. But it shouldn’t be like that, Dayven. You shouldn’t have to choose between oaths. Maybe that’s why I feel … uneasy.”
“Well, don’t. My loyalty is to the Lordowner and my people, oath or no oath. No wizard’s trickery will ever change that, I swear it.”
Chapter 3
“Now you want to be a wizard?” The sorcerer’s embroidered robe had been replaced by one of plain gray homespun, even shabbier than A the doorkeeper’s. “You changed your mind in a hurry.”
“I didn’t have much choice,” said Dayven. “Once they learned I had magic, the others wouldn’t accept me. Who wants a Watcherlad that’s half wizard? Who would sponsor my Guardianship?” It was disturbingly easy to sound bitter. When his training as a Watcherlad was complete, the Guardian who gave him the sword and whistle would undertake his final training — and any stain on Dayven’s honor would reflect on his sponsor as well. Would any Guardian risk taking on a boy who had the ability to work magic?