Sartor (14 page)

He got up, crossed the room, and pointed at a round mirror
thing on a side table. Time to give her some incentive for obedience. “Now.
Your first lesson. If you are diligent, I will teach you the command spell, and
you can amuse yourself spying on your kingdom from here—except within the
Loi boundaries, but there is nothing of interest for us there. I call this my
scope...”

o0o

That same morning, many days’ travel to the northeast,
Tsauderei sat in his little house high in the magic-protected Valley of
Delfina, staring out the windows onto the drifting snow.

The Valley was beautiful during all seasons, the deep
glacier-carved lake reflecting the silvery gray sky, against which snow etched
itself as if by a master hand. But Tsauderei was in no mood for aesthetics.

His brooding thoughts were interrupted by the internal
tingle of Warning magic: someone had crossed the border. With the ease of many
years’ practice he performed an adjunct spell, and knew from the
resultant echo of magic that the newcomers came by light magic transfer.

He sat back in his chair, and before long the flicker and
wind of transfer magic deposited two figures on the upper level of his one-room
cottage. The upper level functioned as a Destination.

He had time to survey his guests while they recovered from
what had obviously been a very long transfer indeed. Evend, his old friend from
their early days at Bereth Ferian’s Mage Guild, looked terrible. He’d
always been dressy in their youth, his beard braided with ribbon, his robes
edged with embroidery. Now his beard lay against his robes in disarray. His
hair, white with gray streaks, was shorn close in back.

We were once young, handsome, and powerful
, he
thought as Evend’s deeply lined eyes slowly regained their focus.
Now
only the power remains, and we have learned how little of worth it is.

The second guest had recovered first, as the young will do. Resilient,
their lives and hopes ahead, youth always recovered first—except from
acts of injustice.

Tsauderei liked the look of this boy. A year or two younger
than Atan, perhaps, light haired, light coloring and eyes, a serious face with
vaguely familiar features—

Ah. Vithya-Vadnais. Was this Erai-Yanya’s child, then?
Strange, that she’d had a boy. The Vithya-Vadnais mages had been women for
generations.

“Tsauderei,” Evend said, sounding hoarse.

“Come. Sit. I get about with difficulty these years,
so please overlook my lack of manners,” Tsauderei said to the youngster.

Evend and the boy came down to the circle of chairs before
the window. Evend looked out, his deep-set eyes narrowed. “Spring has
come again,” he said, and despite the wheeze in his voice, Tsauderei
heard the timbre of satisfaction, of triumph. Bereth Ferian had been bound
beyond time during winter for many, many years, until just last year.

Evend dropped into a chair, and said, “This is Irtur
Vithya-Vadnais. I have adopted him.”

Tsauderei nodded, thinking:
So you have picked an heir at
last?
Sadness suffused him. Evend was already foreseeing his own end.

“Welcome, young man,” Tsauderei said.

Irtur politely returned the greeting. Tsauderei liked his
voice, a quiet voice, with clear enunciation, and a straightforward assessment
to his gaze. Irtur was an observer.

It seemed that Evend was not yet ready to state his
business. “Is the Unnamed still contemplating a crossing?” Evend
made a gesture toward the west.

“She’s gone,” Tsauderei said.

The lines in Evend’s long face deepened. “You
permitted her to go?”

“It was her choice.” Tsauderei sat back. “We
have had this discussion at least twice.”

Evend shook his head, and sighed. “I did not believe
you would act.”

“I did not act. I stood aside. We’re going to
have to, you know,” Tsauderei said, smiling. “You said it yourself,
last spring, hard on Zydes’s defeat.”

“I said that this was no longer our world, the one we
watched over all our lives. I spoke perhaps out of defeat, out of the shock of
discovery of the changes that had taken place while I was hiding beyond time.”

Tsauderei said with deliberate emphasis, “Sartor has
faded from world consciousness. Everon is also a dream, as is Wnelder Vee. Imar
is mired in pettiness, Colend is ruled by a madman.”

In other words:
If there are any more world leaders who
know magic, they are you and I, my friend. And this boy’s mother, whose
magical knowledge is great, but who refuses to acknowledge the political world.

Evend passed his hand before his face, and pressed his
fingertips into his brow. “And those remaining allies have walled
themselves off in isolation,” Evend said. “But we’re still
bound by our old oaths.”

“When you start telling me things we both know, you’re
about to ask me something we both also know I’m going to—question.”
Hate
, Tsauderei once would have said. But Evend had taken more damage
while Detlev’s prisoner than Tsauderei had at first surmised. More, even,
than Evend seemed aware. “Let’s jump right to that part, shall we?”

“I believe that Norsunder’s defeat last year was
too easy. I know Detlev is going to come back. Himself, this time, and not send
one of his minions. I can face that prospect and prepare for it, if I know that
I have in some way secured our future.”

Tsauderei watched the boy drop his head forward and look
down at his hands.

“I want you to ward Irtur against what happened to me.
Until he is an adult,” he added with haste, avoiding Tsauderei’s
gaze.

Tsauderei thought:
I was right. I do hate it
. But he
was the stronger in knowledge of defensive magic.

He said, “Leave the boy here. We will discuss it.”

Evend looked from one to the other, then bowed his head. The
etiquette that deplored this type of magic was so ingrained that he would not
argue, though Tsauderei could see the anxiety goading the once-tranquil Evend. “You
will keep me apprised of Atan’s progress?” Evend asked.

“I will,” Tsauderei said. Now was not the time
to report the discovery he’d made.

And Evend transferred out, leaving Tsauderei and Irtur
studying one another. Tsauderei took in that high, thoughtful brow, the
question in the quirk of the boy’s light brows, and said, “Do you
know what Evend is asking?”

They spoke in the quaint, archaic form of Sartoran that had
been maintained without much alteration (mostly due to the age of the books that
they all grew up studying) since the days when the northern and southern mage
schools had allied.

“I think so,” Irtur said. “He wants some
kind of spell that will protect me if Norsunder comes again to Bereth Ferian.”

“Do you know what it means?” Tsauderei asked.

Irtur’s lips parted and his gaze lifted to the
horizon. “It means—to Evend—that he need never worry about my
safety. That I can spend my time learning magic, and not defense.”

“It means that you, unlike the people about you, will
never have to think about danger. If it came, you would instantly be
transferred to safety. It is very powerful magic, very involved magic. It takes
time, strength, and concentration, but I know how to do it, and I don’t
think Norsunder could break it, at least not currently.” He sat back. “It
also goes directly against the vows we made when we were confirmed masters at
the mage school in Bereth Ferian. It is deemed inappropriate for us to protect
ourselves when that kind of magic cannot be extended to those we are supposed
to be serving. But you have taken no vows.”

Irtur looked out the window at the falling snow. “We
are almost finished with winter, where we live,” he murmured. “It
is strange, transferring so far.”

Tsauderei lifted a hand then dropped it.

Irtur faced him. “I know Evend wants me to be safe.”
His lips pressed into a line.

To give the boy a chance to master the conflict of emotions
he couldn’t quite hide, Tsauderei said easily, “Evend’s magic
was always focused toward land interface. He is the best there is at the subtle
intricacies of weather protection, quake easement, and the flow of water.”

Irtur jerked his head in a nod. “He’s training
me to learn the same magic, along with other kinds.”

“It calls for tremendous patience, but you know that. Did
he tell you that, at least in the old days, you would have been required to
live as a hermit somewhere outside of reach of humans, for at least ten years,
just watching the seasons change? Perhaps what you have not yet perceived is
that Evend’s studies select for—and perhaps develop—a type of
horizon-to-horizon awareness of the changing seasons, the interconnection of
natural forces, that often precludes knowledge of human interaction.”

Irtur’s eyes rounded. “You know what happened to
my mother.”

Tsauderei recognized in himself an echo of old anger, and
older fear. “She was the only survivor of that particular attack, was she
not?”

“Because she had one of those wards on her,” he
said. “It—it makes a difference. You can be alone, if you like, and
study whatever you want, because you don’t have to worry. It was she who
rescued Evend from Detlev’s enchantment. And kept him hidden.” Irtur
turned that desperate gaze outside again. The snow continued to fall, white,
neutral. Indifferent. “And you live with mages, away from your family and
friends, so you won’t get drawn into politics at home. I’ve been
reading all the records and reasons. I listen to the older people talk—”

“And?” Tsauderei prompted.

“And you cease to worry about people,” Irtur
offered in a tentative voice. “In the same way that you would if you
lived among them, and shared their dangers. That’s why the vow, isn’t
it?”

“This is why we agreed never to perform that ward upon
ourselves,” Tsauderei stated. And, lest the boy think him accusing Evend
even indirectly, he added, “Evend never thought to ward himself. Not even
after Bereth Ferian’s defeat. He wants to protect you, and thereby
protect the future.”

“But if I’m not strong enough to protect myself,
what good will I be?” Irtur asked. He ran his thumb absently along the
carving on the chair arm, then said in a quick voice, “You know we were
rescued by two boys and a girl. It was the girl who knew the magic. Younger
than I am. No wards on
them
. They came all the way north from some tiny
little kingdom no one has ever heard of—”

“Mearsies Heili.” Tsauderei smiled. “I’ve
done some research since Evend told me about them.”

“Well, those two seem to be the kind of leaders Evend
wants me to be. I want to meet them,” Irtur said. “I want to find
out how they did it. And why. What makes them the way they are.”

“That’s a good goal,” Tsauderei said.

Irtur said, “Was there a ward on the Unnamed?”

“No. She refused to have it,” Tsauderei said. “She
could not have entered the kingdom with that ward on her, for there are
Norsundrian wards against that type of magic all along the border. Dark magic
is very good at defense,” he added. “You have to remember that. Its
purpose is control, not protection.”

Irtur frowned. “So she went under those Norsundrian
wards with no protection at all, only her wits?”

“I gave her a ring that had belonged to one of her
ancestors. It has limited use,” Tsauderei said. “It also has a
tracer ward on it, one that will go undetected by the Norsundrians.”
And
the ring is now at the Norsunder base
.

Irtur said, “I don’t want any wards on me. I never
did, but I have not been able to convince Evend.” He drew in a breath. “If
those people my age from tiny, insignificant Mearsies Heili can do what they’ve
done without being warded, or hidden away for their own safety, so can I.”
He gave Tsauderei a tense smile. “I don’t think I’m strong
enough yet to hold the transport spell all the way to Bereth Ferian. Would you
please send me home?”

“So you will not be warded?”

“No. I will tell Evend why.”

“Very well,” Tsauderei said. “I expect we’ll
see more of one another by and bye. You can tell Evend that I approve his
choice of heir.” He smiled, and before the boy could frame an answer,
transferred him.

When the reaction had dissipated, he closed his eyes,
whispered another spell, and—as he expected—found that the ring had
not moved.

Atan is at the Norsunder Base
.

He turned his gaze back to the window, and the soft and
steady snowfall beyond. He had chosen not to add yet another burden to Evend’s
load. This watch he would have to suffer alone.

Lilah’s skin prickled with terror sweat. She wished
she could claw off that sturdy woolen tunic, but of course she did not dare,
for it was black, and as she ghosted down the silent hallway from her room to Zydes’s,
she hoped that the black clothing would keep her from being easily seen.

In one hand she gripped her lock pick, and in the other, her
thief tools. Outside Zydes’s office door, she paused just long enough to
send fearful glances in both directions.

Lilah had left the office after her first long interview
with Zydes knowing that she had to escape before he started experimenting with
spells on her, or she might not be able to. She walked away knowing two things:
that she had to get away
right now
, but before she could escape, she had
to get rid of that scope thing, because otherwise he’d find her wherever
she ran.

The torchlit halls were empty, the ruddy light beating on
the stone, making shadows leap and quiver.

She listened at the door.

Kessler had said that Zydes would be gone for most the night—a
supply run all the way to the other side of the world—but she listened
just in case.

Nothing.

She fingered her lock pick. Wiped her sweating palm. Gripped
the lock pick again, eased it into the old lock, pressed the mechanisms into
line, and pulled the latch.