Choices

by Mercedes Lackey

  Finally, he stood before Master Adrun’s door. He knocked, the wood unyielding under his knuckles.

  “Come in,” the Master Healer called.

  Tarek entered the study.

  A cozy fire burned on the hearth, though it did nothing to erase the chill inside him. Master Adrun sat at his desk, frowning intently at some paperwork.

  “Sit,” the Master said, indicating the chair. “I just need a moment.”

  Throat dry, Tarek perched on the cushionless chair. He waited while the Healer shuffled through the pages on his desk. After a solid minute had ticked by, Master Adrun nodded and pushed the papers to one side. Steepling his fingers, he gave Tarek a considering look.

  “I’m sure you’re aware your position in the Healer’s Collegium is unique,” he said. “You seem to be handling it well, but I’d like to hear your perspective on being the oldest student we currently have enrolled.”

  “Ah.” Tarek leaned forward, trying to muster his thoughts. He’d come prepared to answer questions about the properties of herbs and plants, to discuss the manipulation of Healing energies. Not to be quizzed on the particularities of his situation.

  But still, he was a lord’s son, as well as a student at the Healer’s Collegium, and his early lessons in diplomacy had not entirely deserted him.

  “It’s not, perhaps, the easiest,” he finally said. “But I can’t argue with the fact that my Gift manifested so late. And, in a way, I think it’s probably inspiring for the younger students to see that even someone several years older struggles with the lessons and with mastering their Gift. I also hope that, having a bit more life experience, I bring some additional insight into the classes.”

  Master Adrun nodded. “I’m not certain any of her other classmates could have helped Lyssa with her problem. Your perception and thoughtfulness has not gone unnoticed.”

  Tarek breathed a silent sigh of relief and felt his shoulders relax. So far, it didn’t seem as though they were planning to kick him out of the Collegium.

  Master Adrun glanced at the window, where rain streaked the glass, and frowned.

  “Very well—I suppose I’ll quiz you on your herbal studies now.” He sounded resigned, as though he’d been hoping to avoid doing so.

  The questions started out easy enough, but they soon moved to more advanced properties of medicinal plants. Tarek was sweating over a query concerning the toxicity of pain-killing barks when a knock sounded on the study door.

  Master Adrun leaned back in his chair, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Yes?” he called.

  “It’s Shandara. May I come in?”

  “By all means.”

  The door opened, and Shan stepped inside. Her hair was damp from the rain, and moisture darkened her shoulders, turning her formal Scarlets a deep red.

  “Hello, Tarek.” She grinned at him. “How are you surviving the evaluation?”

  “Er, well enough.” Confused, he glanced from her to Master Adrun. Instead of being an annoyance, it seemed as though the teacher had been expecting her interruption.

  “It took you long enough,” the Master Healer said, confirming Tarek’s suspicions. “Poor Tarek had to answer over two dozen questions.”

  “I’m sorry—the rain delayed me.” Shandara gestured to the window. “Along with everything else that could go wrong, of course. But we’re finally ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Tarek said, his confusion mingling with a sudden, irrational hope. His heartbeat sped, and the room suddenly felt much warmer. Could it be? No. Certainly not.

  “For this.” Master Adrun reached beneath his desk and brought forth a stack of emerald-dyed cloth. “Tarek Strand, it’s my great pleasure to present you with your first set of Greens. Welcome to the ranks of Healer. You are now an official graduate of the Collegium.”

  With a whoop of delight, Shandara bent and gave Tarek a warm hug. He returned it, blinking back the moisture pricking his eyelids.

  “High time!” she said.

  “I . . .” Tarek swallowed, still trying to believe it. He glanced at the pile of folded Greens in his lap. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Healer Tarek,” the Master said. “You have faced a difficult path with grace and maturity, and the Healer’s Collegium is richer for it. Now go change. I believe the party is waiting on your presence to begin.”

  “The party?” Tarek turned to Shandara.

  “Of course.” She smiled him. “The planning was a bit complicated, but we managed to get everything together, despite one thing after another.”

  “Ending with the rain,” Master Adrun said. “I didn’t mean to test you quite so thoroughly on your herbal knowledge, Tarek, but Shandara needed time to move the preparations from outside into the Herald’s Collegium. I understand it was rather an undertaking.”

  “Just how big is this party?” Tarek asked, his suspicions prickling. At last, everything was starting to make sense—Shandara and Lyssa’s preoccupation, the other students’ strange behavior, Master Adrun’s surprise “evaluation.”

  “Originally, we were going to have a small gathering here in Master Adrun’s office,” Shandara said. “But then some of your classmates got wind of it, as did your old instructors when you were a Blue, and, well, it turned out that practically the entire Collegium wanted to come and celebrate with you. We’d planned to set up tents in Companion’s Field to accommodate everyone.”

  “That’s . . . quite an event.” Tarek was stunned. That many people wanted to congratulate him?

  “There is one more thing,” the Master Healer said. “Although you are now a full Healer, we’d like you to remain at the Collegium for a few more years, to make sure we fill in any knowledge gaps. However, myself and the rest of the Healer’s Collegium agree that, at this point, experience is by far your best teacher. Is that acceptable?”

  Unable to keep from smiling, Tarek glanced at Shandara. She grinned back at him, her eyes twinkling.

  Stay at the Collegium, as her peer and friend? His heart expanded at the thought.

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  Master Adrun let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Excellent. Now, you’d best go don your new Greens, Healer Tarek. You have a celebration to attend.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Attired in his emerald-green finery, Tarek strode into the Herald’s Hall to cheers and applause. Part of him wanted to blush and stammer, but his border-lord blood kept his chin high, his smile wide. Besides, Shandara walked at his side. The knowledge of her support made him feel as though he could tackle any challenge, solve any problem that life threw in his path.

  His surprise and delight doubled when his old friend Ro stepped forward, his fiancée on his arm. And it tripled when he saw his mother and little sister waiting. Shandara pressed his arm.

  “Go make your greetings,” she said softly. “I have music to provide. I’ll find you later.”

  She hurried off to where two other Bards waited on a small stage. Soon the sound of harp and vielle and hand drum swirled through the room, brightening the already festive atmosphere. Long tables lined the walls, piled with food and drink, and it seemed that everyone Tarek had ever met at the Collegium was there.

  He joined his mother and sister, not surprised to find that his father had elected to stay home at Strand Keep. Although Lord Strand had come to grudgingly accept Tarek’s new skill, he did not entirely approve of the Gifts. Not that the Gifts needed a curmudgeonly lord to accept their existence—as Tarek’s own Healing Gift had more than demonstrated.

  Ro thumped him on the back and told everyone within earshot the tale of how Tarek had saved his life. Toasts were drunk, much food was consumed, and part of the hall was cleared for dancing.

  Through it all, Tarek was aware of Shandara, playing her harp and singing. Every t
ime he glanced her way, she was looking at him, a smile on her face.

  Lyssa grabbed his hand and pulled him into a lively reel.

  “You would not believe it,” she said. “Everything that could go wrong in planning your party, did. Word barely reached your family in time, and then so many people were invited, we were worried someone would let it slip. Then the kitchens made the pocket pies one day too early, and then the rain. Plus, we both felt terrible about keeping secrets from you.”

  “I forgive you,” he said.

  “Shan was afraid you’d think we didn’t like you anymore.” Lyssa made a face. “Wasn’t that silly of her?”

  “My feelings were a little hurt,” he admitted.

  “They were?” She looked at him in surprise. “But we’re family. We wouldn’t stop liking you, no matter what happened. Now you’re the one being silly.”

  “I suppose I am.” Tarek shook his head. In retrospect, he’d let fear and worry get the better of him. “It just shows there’s always another side to the story, doesn’t it?”

  “You’d better remember that.” Lyssa narrowed her eyes in a mock scolding. “Now that you’re a big Healer and all grown up.”

  That made him laugh, and he lifted her off her feet, spinning her around twice before setting her down.

  To no one’s surprise, the party lasted well into the evening. Tarek was certain Lyssa consumed at least a quarter of the pocket pies herself—though he did contribute to the effort. The group of musicians on the stage changed. True to her word, Shandara found him, and extracted him from the circle of Healers telling stories of their travels.

  “Let’s go outside,” he said to her. “This a grand party, but I wouldn’t mind a moment to catch my breath.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Maybe it’s even stopped raining.”

  They stepped out of the Herald’s Collegium to discover that, indeed, the sky had cleared. Twilight softened the air, and the golden curve of the full moon was just rising over the rooftops of Haven. He looked at it, and the shining silver river winding beyond, and sighed.

  “Are you sorry you’re confined to the Collegium for a few years yet?” Shandara asked, a solemn note in her voice.

  “Sorry?” He turned to face her. “Never. I have more to learn, the Masters are right about that. But even more . . .” His nerve failed him. “I was hoping that we can continue to be friends.”

  Her lips tilted up, the bright moon reflected in her eyes. “More than friends, perhaps?”

  “Yes.” Heart pounding, he reached out and took her hands. “If you’d like.”

  “I would.” She took a step forward, closing the space between them.

  Their lips met in a soft kiss, and Tarek’s pulse thumped, hard. Then settled into a new rhythm. This was where he belonged—in Haven, in the Collegium, his fingers entwined with Shandara Tem’s.

  “Hooray!” Lyssa barreled out the door. “I thought you two would never kiss.”

  Laughing, Tarek and Shandara opened their embrace and pulled her into their circle.

  “You don’t mind?” Shan asked. “I was worried it might make you feel left out.”

  Lyssa snorted. “Silly. The both of you. It’s obvious you’ve had feelings for each other for ages now.”

  “There’s a code of conduct between student and instructor,” Shandara said, somewhat primly. “I couldn’t break that.”

  “And I wouldn’t have wanted you to.” Tarek smiled at her. Her honor was one of the things that drew him to Shan. And her empathy, and her smile—

  “Come on.” Lyssa tugged at their hands. “You don’t want to miss the rest of your party, Tarek.”

  “This has been the best part.” His eyes met Shandara’s, and the warmth in her gaze made him feel ten feet tall.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “But there’s still dancing,” Lyssa said. “And pocket pies.”

  “Well then. Pies,” Tarek said. “We can’t let those go to waste.”

  Wearing his new Greens, his friends at his side, Tarek strode back into the light and music, back into the shining current of his life.

  Whatever happened next, he was ready.

  Confounding, Enduring, Perfect, and Strong

  Ron Collins

  A strange rustle of branches woke Nwah that next night, a sound that was clearly not the wind scratching through dry leaves but, instead, the hint of fabric scrubbing against bark.

  Her feline ears rotated to catch the sigh of human breath. :Kade?: she whispered through a groggy haze.

  She was haggard from the effort of calling forward the animal horde the day before. Her body ached, and her thoughts were fading almost before she had them. The ley line she searched for was buried in the remains of a ghostlike dream.

  Without moving, she opened her eyes.

  Kade’s bedroll was across the clearing, the blanket now raised with two lumps rather than one—Kade with Winnie, his new bedmate who had left her military father behind in Tau and who, despite Nwah’s natural distrust, seemed sincere in her desire to learn Kade’s healing arts.

  The rasp of their breathing came from under the blanket. Nwah imagined them spooned together, Kade’s arm over Winnie’s midriff, and felt a jealousy she didn’t want to admit. It made her feel separate and alone.

  The rustling came again.

  Was it a marauder?

  She flared her nostrils in hopes of sensing something, but the odor of the fire at the clearing’s center was still overpowering, despite the coals having faded to embers hours earlier. Her lips pressed against the sharpness of her teeth. Muscles around her eyes grew tight, and she flexed her claws. Her shoulders and hindquarters ached with the strain of recent abuse.

  She should have known better than to send the pack away.

  Maakdal and the rest of the kyree had answered her call to save Kade. They would have stayed for as long as she needed them, but she was embarrassed at her helplessness, and Maakdal, the pack’s alpha male, had been preening and presenting in the ways alpha males do when they have things in mind beyond purely protecting their dens.

  The memory of his maleness made fur raise around her neck.

  She imagined the flat weight of his body on top of hers, the hardness of his fangs against the back of her neck. For a moment she forgot how much it would hurt to move.

  Even before sending them away, she felt the sway she held over Maakdal—the power she held over them all, really. Was she their queen? Their prophet, perhaps? No. Neither of those seemed right, but Nwah couldn’t pretend the animal horde had not treated her like some sort of royalty—and she couldn’t pretend that the idea made her uncomfortable.

  When she sent them away, she had explained to Kade that the power of the nearby ley line would protect them, that even as empty as she was, Nwah could use it against any danger that might come from the woods.

  She could manage, she told him as the horde retreated.

  Now she knew better.

  The truth was that she had sent them away simply because the weight of expectation had been too great. The pressure of a thousand eyes had made her feel exposed, and the strength of Maakdal’s desire had felt dangerous in ways she didn’t like, and in ways she didn’t trust herself to deal with.

  Now, while her body was weak, her mind was apparently worse.

  Try as she might, Nwah couldn’t find a handle strong enough to grapple the ley line.

  More rustling came, and again she sensed nothing beyond odor of the campfire. Damnation.

  :Kade?: she said too softly.

  She looked to the bedroll again.

  Her heart pounded.

  She would never forgive herself if her stupid pride caused them trouble, but waking Kade for no reason would be embarrassing, too.

  From five points around the clearing, the woods erupted.

&nb
sp; :Kade!: she screamed, yowling against pain as she rose up.

  Kade woke, groggily flinging his blanket to the side, but tangling himself in a mass of legs and feet and elbows.

  Voices rose as dark figures burst into the clearing.

  Hawkbrothers?

  Brigands?

  At first Nwah couldn’t say, but then it registered that these raiders wore a sigil—crossed swords and a boar’s head. They were no rogue raiders.

  She growled from deep inside as she flung herself at the dark silhouette of a man preparing to club Kade over the head. Sinking her claws into his shoulder, she bit the fleshy back part of the man’s arm. He cried out, and, as his blow missed, the two of them fell into the woods with an impact that knocked Nwah’s breath away.

  Bootsteps thudded around the clearing. Heavy blows landed.

  The man elbowed Nwah in the ribs as he stood to run. Her lungs ached as she drew an empty breath and tried to get her body to work.

  Her vision watered, and she sucked in harder as she willed herself to stand, but instead she stumbled and crashed headfirst into a rough mound of dry peat.

  Harsh grunts and the clamoring of struggle rang in her ears.

  Winnie screamed in a manner that made Nwah imagine her defending Kade.

  The sound of the fight grew more rugged.

  Nwah steadied herself, whining in pain and blinking her wavering vision away, still trying to breathe.

  “Here!” a muffled voice called.

  “Got her,” said another.

  “Go!” called a third.

  Hurried boot fall echoed through the woods.

  Finally, she could draw a full breath. A moment later she could stand without her knees buckling too much. A careful series of strides brought her back to the camp to find Kade standing alone in the now silent clearing, the side of his face running with blood that glistened in the darkness, his arm held at an angle.