I was remembering what it meant to be human and a Meltaanian noble.
“I accept challenge, of course, but you cannot be Alatir, daughter of Garrand. I put a geas on you that would have forced you to kill me years ago.”
“It was your spell. Test it; see if it still holds me.”
I felt a tentative wash of magic, a mere butterfly’s wing of power. “You bear my spell, but how have you hidden from it?”
“Shapeshifting, Madawc. Even as a child, shapeshifting was my best spell, and animal cannot answer geas.”
“What brought you back?”
“You called me. You might say, I am what you made me: someone who hates you, someone who has to kill you, at risk of her own life if necessary. I am under geas to see you stretched dead before me.”
His jaw tightened; the shock and fear were gone. “I defeated you once, easily. I will do so again. This time I will not leave you alive.”
“This time,” I said, “you will not have the chance.”
Meltaanians love spectacle more than anything. In short order, torches were set in a circle outside the castle grounds. You never let sorcerers fight within walls. The walls had a tendency to tumble down. Even that thought did not frighten me. The magic of challenge still held me safe. Fear was a muted thing, for now.
One of the ladies had found me a dress to wear. It was blue silk and matched my eyes. My hair was braided down my back and threaded with silver ribbons. Silver was echoed at bodice, sleeve, and dress front. It was a very simple dress by Meltaanian standards, but the people needed to be impressed, needed to remember what was about to happen.
Madawc faced me in black, run through with silver threads. He glittered like ice in the sun when he moved. He spoke to me as we stood, waiting. “You are Alatir.”
“Did you doubt it?”
“I thought you long dead.”
“You thought wrongly.”
He gave a half bow, a strange self-mocking smile on his face. “I think, dear lady, that you are some lovely phantom come to haunt me.”
“I am flesh and blood and magic.”
Magic grew in the circle of torches. Magic ran along my skin and tugged at my hair, like an unseen wind. I called sorcery to me but did not want to commit its shape to any one spell. I wanted to know the measure of the man I fought. In my terror, he had been twelve feet tall, an endless fountain of magic. Now he was a man, and I was no longer a child.
Fire exploded around me, orange death. The air was choking, close, heat. The fire died, and I stood safe behind a shield. Lightning flared from his hands. The bolts struck my shield and shattered in an eye-blinding display of light.
I faded inside my shield, willing myself into another shape. I was small, thin, hidden in the grass. A green adder hidden in the uncertain torchlight.
I could feel the vibration as he moved over the earth, but I could hear his puzzled voice asking, “Where is she?”
I felt his magic wash over me, searching, but I was a snake and had no real business with magic. He did not come too near the empty folds of the silk dress, but I slipped out a sleeve hole and began moving cautiously, thin and hidden, toward him.
I was a small snake and could not bite through his boots. As he passed me, put his back to me, I grew. I was an older snake, thick as a man’s wrist. There were gasps from the audience. He turned, puzzled, and I struck. He screamed as my fangs tore his flesh, poison pumping home. His struggles flung me away to lie half stunned in the grass.
I began to shapeshift, slowly. He was yelling, “Get me a healer, now!”
A soldier, the one who had brought in the littlest boy, said, “You cannot be healed until the fight is over, Lord Madawc. That is the rule.”
“But I’ve been poisoned!”
The mercenaries whom he had bullied and made into whoremongers formed a wall of steel. “You will not leave the circle until the fight is done. Isn’t that right, Captain?”
The captain, who had brought me in, didn’t have a problem with Madawc, but he licked his lips and agreed. He knew better than to go against all his men. “You must wait for healing, Lord Madawc.”
“I will see you all flogged for this, no, hanged!”
It was the wrong thing to say. The soldiers’ faces went grim, dispassionate. They waited for someone to die.
I stood naked and human once more. All I had to do was stay alive until the poison took effect, and that wouldn’t be long.
Madawc turned on me with a snarl. “I’ll take you with me, bitch!”
He formed a soul-beast, made of magic, hatred, and fear. It was a great wolf that glowed red in the night.
I had never made a soul-beast before. It took great strength, and if it was destroyed, the spell caster died with it. I formed mine of power, vengeance, the memory of five years of unused magic, the quiet stillness of water, and the freedom of skies. It flowed blue and burst into being a moment before the wolf leapt. Mine was a thing of feathers and claws, no known beast.
I felt the power as never before. I rode the winds of it. It lifted me in a dance of death and joy. I was fanged claws and whirling feathers of gold and sapphire. I bit the wolf and raked his sides with claws. I bled under his teeth and staggered under the weight of his body.
The wolf began to fade. As it lost substance, I gained its magic. I drew its power like a hole in Madawc’s soul; I drained him until I fell to my knees, power drunk, stunned.
The soul-beasts were gone. It was effort to turn my head and see Madawc on the grass. His body convulsed, and bloody foam ran from his lips. The green adder is a deadly thing.
I was stronger than five years ago, but all those years had been without training. Madawc might have killed me without the aid of poison. Then again, he might not.
The geas was gone, and I felt pure and empty of it. I had expected triumph; instead I felt relief, and a great empty sadness.
A voice declared the match over and Alatir the winner. There were hands, a cloak thrown over my nakedness, the warmth of healing magic, and a warm draught of tea.
Dawn light found me rested, healed, and in the bedchamber that had once belonged to Madawc. By Meltaanian law it was all mine now, both my father’s lands which had been stolen and Madawc’s. Madawc had never bothered to appoint an heir from his many bastards. No royalty would marry him.
There was a knock on the door, and the captain entered with the mercenary who had brought the little boy in. They both knelt, and the captain said, “My lady, what would you like for us to do? We have weeks left on our contract, and our contract is now yours, if you want it.”
I asked, “Have you a guard outside my door?”
The younger man spoke. “Yes, my lady, some of the dead lord’s friends are less than pleased at the duel’s outcome.”
I smiled at that. “Is Lord Trahern still within these walls?”
“No, my lady.”
I ignored the captain and asked the other man, “What is your name?”
“I am Kendrick Swordmated.”
“You are now Captain Kendrick.”
The other captain sputtered, but I interrupted him. “I want you gone from here and never come back. Take the four men who rode with you on search yesterday.”
There must have been something in my eyes that told him not to argue. He gave a stiff bow and left the room.
“Now, Captain, how long ago did Trahern leave?”
“Only moments, my lady.”
“Then take what men you think you need and find him. Relieve him of the peasant boy he got last night. The boy is to be healed, then taken back to his home. A gift of gold will be given to his family.”
He smiled. “Yes, my lady.”
“And free all the others. They are my people now, and no one mistreats my people. No one.”
He bowed, grinning. “All will be done as you ask, Alatir Lord-Slayer.”
“Lord-Slayer?” I questioned.
“Yes, my lady, from last night.”
“Go then, Ken
drick.” I stopped him just before he left. “I must attend some business and will be away perhaps until tomorrow. But I will return and expect everything to be done as I asked.”
“I will inform the castle staff of your absence and will do as you ask.” He bowed and left the room.
I stood at the open window and let the autumn wind shiver over my skin. I changed into a familiar form and took to the sky on gray wings.
I settled on the lake’s dark waters and looked for Gyldan. I could not remain with the flock now. I remembered too much, but I had promised him a good-bye.
He called to me from shore, his voice different than any others. I paddled over to him and hopped up on the grass. Regardless of what shape I wore, I loved him. We caressed, touching necks and bills. How could I leave him behind? And how could I take him with me?
He stepped back from me, and I saw magic shimmer over him like silver rain. The flock awoke with cries of alarm and took to the safety of the sky. I watched him change, slowly, but his magic was strong and sure.
He lay, a naked man, pale, white hair like moonlight. Eyes sparkled black so they showed no pupil. He blinked up at me with wide uncertain eyes. His voice was deep and song-filled, full of rushing wind and the freedom of wings. “I saw how you changed.”
I was human beside him, crying.
He ran hands down the length of his new body. “I could not follow you as a bird, but as a man…”
I knelt and kissed his forehead. “You are not a man.”
He gripped my hand. “I am your mate. I will follow you, whatever form you take.”
We held each other as the sun rose and knew each other as a woman knows a man. Afterward he lay panting beside me with innocent eyes. How much he had to learn. I could take the memory of my magic, of his magic, away. I could leave him as I found him. I ran a fingertip down the sweat-soaked length of his body. He shivered. “Your name is Gyldan, and I am Alatir.”
He tried the names on his human tongue, “Gyldan, Alatir. Are they nice names?”
“Yes, I think so.” I stood. “Come, we can take shelter at the mill for today. They will give us clothing and food.”
He nodded, and I helped him stand on his uncertain legs. I led him by the hand along the path that the children took to feed the geese. We shivered in the dim autumn sunlight. It was colder without feathers.
HOUSE OF WIZARDS
This is another story about domestic skills being more important than magic. I have no talent for organizing a household. None. Over the years I’ve come to realize that being able to cook, clean, and make order from chaos is a skill of the highest order. It is a different way of looking at the world, almost a polar opposite to the absent-minded artist thing I’ve got going. I wouldn’t trade who and what I am, but sometimes I get glimpses into that other way of thinking, of being, and I think, wouldn’t it be nice. But I am definitely one of the wizards making a mess, and more work for Rudelle.
RUDELLE was a practical woman. The fact that she had married a wizard did not change that, though marrying Trevelyn Herb-mage was the most impractical thing she had ever done.
Her husband was tall, as were most Astranthians. His eyes were the color of a Red-Breast’s eggs. His hair was the yellow of early summer corn silk.
Rudelle knew she herself was not a great beauty. Her hair fell thick and wavy to her waist, was only the color of autumn-browned leaves. She wore it in a long braid, piled like a crown atop her head. Her eyes were plain brown, like polished oak. She was not tall, though she did possess ample curves, of which many men were fond. She was a good cook and tidy, laughed often and well, but had a sharp tongue. Her brothers learned early that she was not to be trifled with.
She had no idea why the tall, blond stranger had asked for her hand. And she found it a sense of wonder that his eyes shone with love when he looked upon her.
She knew she would be the only non-magic in the house full of wizards. Trevelyn was the eldest and would inherit the family estate. He tended the family magic shop already, freeing his parents so they could further their magical research.
So Rudelle and her husband would live with his parents, two sisters, and a brother. All were spell casters.
Rudelle would cook and clean and help tend the shop. She would raise fat children and fend for herself in a house of magic.
Her brothers had thought her mad to travel across the sea to Astrantha. Calthu was a land where magic was rare and often persecuted. What did she, a Calthuian farmer’s daughter, know about Astrantha—land of a thousand magics? Nothing.
But from the moment their boat docked Rudelle had loved the city of Almirth, capital city of Astrantha. It was noise, the frantic calls of multicolored parrots being unloaded from a boat, the high neighing of unicorn-horses with their spiraling horns, the soft mumblings of spells as sorcerers lifted cargo boxes with word and gesture, and the hum of any busy port.
Trevelyn said, “Look up, there.”
She followed where he pointed but at first saw nothing against the summer blue sky. Then something, something silver, flashed in the sun. The silver point whirled and raced itself and was joined by a flashing bit of gold. A third point of light, like a ruby winking in the sun, joined the mad flight.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Dragons,” he replied, “playing tag.”
Rudelle stood and stared until the point of light became a rainbow of scattered stars, a dozen colored fireflies, high in the vault of the day.
Trevelyn touched her shoulder gently. She turned, startled, and winced. Her neck was stiff from looking up.
“My family is expecting us.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He hugged her. “Don’t be sorry. I love the way you enjoy such ordinary things.”
She blushed. “I am a country bumpkin.”
“No, never. Most of these people would be lost without their magic. They couldn’t cook, or do business, or even marry without magic. They would be just as amazed at ordinary things in your world.”
Rudelle shook her head. “If you say so, husband.”
He kissed her forehead. “I say so.”
As they walked arm in arm through the bustling crowd, he warned her of his parents. “They liked the idea of having children, but raising us didn’t interest them much. Their primary interest is the study of magic, not family.”
She frowned.
He squeezed her hand and smiled. “That is one reason I did not wish to marry another wizard. I wanted a wife, and I wanted to be a real father.”
She smiled, then, and felt warm and whole in the shadow of his eyes.
The house was on a quiet street with large, fenced yards and tall, stately houses. There was a woman walking very fast from the house. Her shoes clump-clumped on the stone walkway. She nearly ran into them in her haste to get through the gate. She gasped, made a vague curtsey, and said, “I resign my position. You can’t cook in a kitchen that explodes,” and she was gone, half-running down the quiet street.
Rudelle looked at her husband.
“That was the maid,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Rudelle was about to ask for a more detailed explanation when the world swam for a dizzying moment and they were no longer in the yard.
Rudelle grasped his arm in a panicked grasp. “Trevelyn, what’s happening?”
“It’s all right, Rudelle. Mother teleported us to her study. No harm done.”
Rudelle wasn’t sure she agreed. Her stomach was twisting, and she was forced to breathe deeply of the stale unpleasant air. Rudelle hoped she would not embarrass herself by throwing up all over her new mother-in-law.
A tall, blond woman stood in a room. She could have been Trevelyn’s younger sister, but Rudelle had been warned that sorcerers lived a very long time and aged accordingly. She was still grateful that Trevelyn was a mere herb-witch and herb-healer, and thus would age normally.
The woman was beautiful, like a princess. But her yellow-gold hair was stragg
ling from a loose braid, and her blue gown, which matched her eyes perfectly, was stained with ink in a large smear from bodice to mid-knee.
The woman smiled; it was Trevelyn’s smile. “Welcome, wife of my eldest son.” She closed her eyes a moment and yelled, “Gaynor, your son is home! Where is that man?”
Her voice seemed to echo in an unnatural way. Rudelle glanced at Trevelyn.
He said, “The only way to communicate from Mother’s study is by magic.”
Rudelle turned in a circle, searching for the door. There were only rough-hewn stone walls. “There’s no door.”
“No. In case one of Mother’s spells goes awry, the house above us is protected.”
Rudelle stood in the middle of the room, trying to keep her face blank. A thick, gray coating of dust touched everything. Spider webs stretched across the room like garlands strung for a party. Broken bits of crockery lay on the floor. Ancient bits of food had dried to their surface.
His mother vanished to find his father. Trevelyn whispered to her, “Mother never allows a maid to touch this room.”
“Why not?”
“It is her work room.”
“She works in this?”
He grinned. “She never allows anyone to clean this room.”
“We shall have to see about that. It’s filthy.”
His mother reappeared accompanied by a slightly older replica of Trevelyn.
Trevelyn said, “May I introduce my mother, Breandan Spellweaver, and my father, Gaynor the Researcher. And to you, my parents, may I introduce my wife, Rudelle the Quick-fingered.”
Breandan asked, “May one ask how you came to have such a name?”
“I am quick with needle and thread.”
“Oh, I suppose if you have no sorcery that sewing is a useful talent.”
His father interrupted, “You are not a sorcerer, for you do not shine.” He squinted at her. “She does not shine at all, Breandan.”
“She is a healer, Gaynor. Healers do not shine until they perform their magic.”
He nodded. “Yes, a healer. We’ve never had one of those in the family.”
[Anita Blake Collection] - Strange Candy Page 13