The Dragon of Trelian (10 page)

Maerlie nodded, releasing Meg’s hand, and with visible effort set aside all the other things she clearly still wanted to say. Meg loved her intensely in that moment.

“Well,” Maerlie said, a weak but genuine smile tugging at her expression, “I hope you’ll at least agree to tell me about Wilem. There must be something to tell — you should see what your face looks like when you hear his name. You go all red and dreamy.”

Meg could feel herself blushing even now. It made Maerlie laugh, though — a real laugh — and that made it all right.

“He
is
very handsome, isn’t he?” Meg asked. She could see him clearly in her mind, the way he had looked last night in the garden, somehow managing to smile and look serious at the same time.

“So you do fancy him, then,” Maerlie said. “I saw the two of you walking together after dinner, and I had to wonder.”

“I’ve never met anyone like him before,” Meg admitted. “He makes it hard to think. Did anyone ever make you feel like that? Before your darling prince, I mean.”

Maerlie chuckled. “Well, almost — do you remember Cousin Frystan?”

“Oh, no!”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I don’t know what I was thinking. In my defense, this was before he grew the unfortunate beard. It was right after he did so well at the trials, and I was temporarily smitten. All the other girls were so jealous, and he danced with me for every dance at the feast . . . it was absolutely magical, until he tried to kiss me.”

“He tried to kiss you?”

“Well, I guess he did kiss me. For a second, I kind of wanted him to, but then . . . ugh. I had to wash my face afterward. He was so —
slobbery.
” She shuddered theatrically. Meg laughed.

“But let’s not dwell on such unpleasant memories. Tell me more about Wilem! I want to hear everything. Start from the beginning.”

“Well, there was no kissing, I’ll just say that straight away. Not
yet,
anyway,” Meg said, winking rakishly. Oh, the thought of Wilem kissing her . . . it was almost too exciting to even imagine. Almost.

At her sister’s continued prodding, Meg drifted delightfully back to the previous night, reliving each moment of their conversation and relaying it faithfully to Maerlie, who was the best audience imaginable. Her heart felt heavy and light at the same time, remembering, the effect of Wilem’s face and charm — and gods, that smile — temporarily overshadowing even Jakl’s faint warm presence. For a while she was free of thoughts of Calen and spirit cards and dragons and caves and secrets, entirely consumed by the memory of Wilem’s beautiful face, his sweet, sad eyes looking deep into her own.

THE STUDY WAS DIM AND SILENT,
but Calen wasn’t fooled. He stood in the doorway, squinting nervously into the confines of the room. Lyrimon was in there somewhere. Calen could feel the gyrcat’s fiery little eyes staring at him — the familiar malicious weight of them was unmistakable. Calen was not in the mood to be mauled by nearly invisible claws, but he needed to get through the study to reach the library. If he could just figure out where the little beast was hiding, he could probably stay far enough away to be safe. Lyrimon never attacked him openly; even Serek would draw the line at that. He merely waited for Calen to unknowingly wander too close, or sit down on him, or something, and used that as an excuse to lash out in “self-defense.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Calen muttered. He took a step into the room, wincing in anticipation, but nothing happened. He could still feel Lyrimon’s glaring eyes upon him, though. He took another step, waited, took another. The hall leading to the library still seemed very far away.

“What exactly are you doing?” Serek’s deep voice spoke suddenly from the doorway behind him.

Calen jumped with surprise, but at least managed to stay on his feet this time. Why did everyone insist on sneaking up on him like that? He turned around. Serek was leaning against the door frame, a small pile of books and papers tucked under one arm.

“I am looking for that stupid — uh, for Lyrimon,” Calen said. “I know he’s in here. I can feel him watching me.”

One corner of Serek’s mouth turned up slightly. “Oh, he’s watching you, all right.” He jerked his chin toward the window. Calen whipped his head around to look. Lyrimon was sunning himself idly on the stone wall that ran through the yard. He
was
watching, though. Even from this distance, Calen could see the evil glint in the gyrcat’s eyes.

“How do you
do
that?” Calen asked plaintively.

“Do what?”

“
Find
him like that. You always know where he is. You can see him even when he’s practically invisible. Why won’t you teach me how to do it?”

“Now, what fun would that be?” Serek strode forward into the room and dropped his pile carefully onto his desk.

Calen sighed. Serek was infuriating, but at least he didn’t seem angry anymore. The library would have to wait, now, obviously. Lyrimon had probably done him a service by slowing him down; he wouldn’t have wanted to try to explain what he was doing in the library if Serek had caught him nosing around in there.

Serek had perched on the edge of his desk and was now favoring Calen with a most disturbingly penetrative stare. Calen shifted but said nothing. Serek was hard to read, and this look could mean anything. Or nothing. He had learned early on that it was usually best to wait at times like these. He just wished he had a wall to lean against or something. He felt horribly exposed and vulnerable, standing in the middle of the room as he was.

“We have some things to discuss, I think,” Serek said finally.

“Oh?” Calen asked. He kept waiting.

Serek narrowed his eyes. Then, to Calen’s shock, he laughed — a short, harsh bark, but undeniably genuine. “I don’t know what it is you’re trying so hard to hide from me,” he said, “but let me put you at your ease: I don’t care. I imagine it has something to do with your friend the princess”— he chuckled —“which your face has just confirmed. But that’s not what I want to talk about.”

Calen struggled to control his features. How did Serek know about Meg? And on the heels of that, an even more alarming thought — what else did he know? Serek’s face gave away nothing. As usual.

“What — what do you want to talk about?” Calen asked.

“An excellent question. Come over here and sit down.” Serek indicated the chair on the far side of his desk. Calen walked around to the chair and sat. Serek continued to stare at him. Calen stared back defiantly. Or at least suspiciously. What was the man
looking
at?

“Do you feel it?” Serek asked finally. “The change?”

What change?
Calen almost asked. But he thought he knew. He nodded instead.

Serek eyed him silently for another few seconds, then went on. “I must admit that in recent years I began to fear I had made a mistake about you. Oh, you showed moderate ability, but nothing out of the ordinary,
nothing
like what I’d sensed — or thought I’d sensed — in the beginning, and you lacked the focus and drive required for any kind of serious advancement. I had resigned myself to the probability that you would remain a mediocre student and grow into a mediocre mage, and eventually go off to serve in a minor household somewhere. Nothing to be ashamed of, I suppose, but certainly nothing to be especially proud of, either. I confess that I . . . relaxed somewhat with regard to your training, believing any additional effort would likely be wasted and preferring to focus my energy on my own studies instead.

“In the last day or so, however, I’ve been forced to reconsider yet again. Something began to seem different about you, and you showed that surprising skill with divination . . . and now, as of this moment, the spark is there — I can sense it strongly, as I haven’t since the very beginning. It’s as though it’s been hidden, or in slumber, and only now has reawakened.” He shook his head distractedly. “I don’t entirely understand it. I would swear to you that yesterday morning it wasn’t there at all.”

Calen stared, unsure whether to feel insulted or hopeful or angry or something else entirely. His jaw worked soundlessly, waiting for his brain to supply some sort of intelligent response. Finally he managed, “But —”

Serek silenced him with a glare. “Don’t interrupt. I’m not finished. Spark or no spark, I’m not going to waste my time. You’ve never demonstrated that you can apply yourself consistently and fully to your studies. Perhaps this is my own fault, in part, since I’ve stopped expecting or requiring the necessary level of dedication from you. But that ends now.

“You have a choice to make. You will swear to me that you will fully commit yourself to the path before you, working to the absolute best of your ability, pushing yourself to learn and excel and master every challenge I set before you from this moment forward. Or you will acknowledge that you are not willing to commit the amount of energy and dedication required, and we will set about finding you another apprenticeship more suitable to your personality and temperament. You would always bear the marks you already have, of course, and there would be safeguards put in place to prevent you from continuing to practice magic. You would not be the first apprentice to leave the order; it’s rare, but it does happen. The mage’s life is not for everyone.”

Serek pulled out his chair and sat down, facing Calen across the desk. His voice was low and serious, his gaze level and direct. “The choice is yours, Calen. I will not bear you any resentment if you choose to leave, but if you choose to stay, I will not accept anything less than your full dedication. Think, now, and decide whether you truly wish to follow this path.”

Calen tried to recapture his whirling thoughts, tried to ignore Serek’s heavy gaze and direct his mind where he wanted it to go. This was crazy. Since the day Serek had pulled him from the kitchens six years ago, he had never anticipated any other future than that which lay before him as a mage’s apprentice. A second choice was not something usually granted. His hand strayed up to trace the small initiate’s tattoo under his left eye, given when Serek brought him before the Magistratum to recite the vows of training. He had never bothered to consider whether he
wanted
to be a mage or not; he was a mage’s apprentice, and that was that.

He tried to consider it now.
Was
this truly the life he wanted for himself? A mage’s life was not an easy life, by any means. A mage in service could have any number of masters during the course of his years, and he would be expected to serve each one faithfully and fully, using his abilities without hesitation in whatever manner required, barring certain forbidden practices no mage would willingly engage in.

There could be a whole new life waiting for him, a future not bound by the walls of a dark study or years of secret tradition or the solitary practice of the difficult mage’s arts. No more memorizing useless information, cataloging trivial names and dates and formulas. No more running off on pointless errands or tiptoeing around trying to avoid Lyrimon. No more living with Serek’s constant disapproval. Maybe he really wasn’t meant for the mage’s path; if so, there was no shame in owning up to that fact.

For a second, it was tempting. The dark walls of the room, the weight of Serek’s eyes (and Lyrimon’s,
still,
curse him), and the endless years of study that lay before him — all of it seemed to press down relentlessly until the thought of breaking free was infinitely appealing.

But then he thought of the way it felt when he successfully mastered a spell — the way he had felt when reading the spirit cards, the energy flowing through him, the clarity of mind, the rush of power and purpose. He thought of the Erylun book, its countless pages filled with the mysteries of the universe. He thought of all the other books in the library, all the other books that must exist in the world, everything there must be to learn and see and explore and find out — he didn’t want to walk away from that, he realized. He wanted to know, wanted to understand. He wanted to learn to control the power he’d had only fleeting glimpses of, wanted to find out what else he could do, how far he could go.

He thought of Meg, and Jakl, and his promise to help her. And he knew he didn’t want to walk away from that, either.

He looked up at Serek, meeting that level gaze squarely across the desk. He could feel his spark brightening, even now, feel it burning within him, waiting for him to help it grow into a blazing fire of knowledge and power.

“I’m staying,” Calen said quietly.

“Good,” said Serek. “Then let’s begin.”

“Right now?” Calen asked, surprised. Serek merely looked at him, and Calen nodded. “I’m ready.”

Serek rose from the desk and began to pace slowly around the room. Calen waited. Rorgson’s yellowing skull was back in its usual place at the edge of the desk. It grinned at him silently.

“When I said I had relaxed with regard to your training,” Serek said after a minute, “I did not mean to imply that I had neglected it entirely. Everything you’ve learned so far has been part of the essential grouping of basic skills necessary to any sort of more advanced practice. These must be mastered before one can even attempt anything more serious. So, right now we need to discover which of these you have indeed mastered and which you have not.”