Elkan stood again. Gevan gaped at him. Surely the young wizard wasn’t going to speak in Tharan’s defense? Even with Gevan’s limited skill at politics, he could clearly see that any hint on Elkan’s part of leniency toward the hated murder would weaken his position. Surely the wizard realized that.
If he did, it didn’t deter him. Elkan inclined his head to Hanion. The mountain cat had risen to stand beside him; Elkan’s hand rested on her head. “I acknowledge that what this man has done is worthy of death. But I ask that we grant him the Mother’s mercy. In their final moments, Master Dabiel and Buttons acted to rid the man of the poison he sought to use to take his own life. The Guildmaster warned us not to allow him to try again. She charged us to keep him alive so that we might learn who sent him and why. We haven’t yet discovered this information. I propose that we set aside his sentence, instead keeping him confined and questioning him further, until such time as he confides in us, or we come by the knowledge some other way.”
A discontented grumble rose while he spoke. By the end he had to raise his voice to be heard. Hanion eyed him grimly. “Do you think it likely he’ll divulge that information if questioned further? Considering that we will, of course, continue to refrain from practices contrary to the Mother’s will?”
“Not likely, no. But possible.” Elkan ignored the crowd’s agitated rumble and continued to fix his gaze on Hanion.
Hanion looked around the room. He glanced down to his side, where the brindle bulldog that was his familiar perched on a wide stool. The animal returned his gaze with the intelligence that Gevan still found disconcerting.
After a moment Hanion snorted and looked back at Elkan. “Very well. Let his sentence be set aside until after the Council of Masters meets. Then the new Guildmaster and their familiar can carry it out.” He stared challengingly at Elkan.
Elkan returned his gaze levelly. “I concur in this decision.” He sat down.
Hanion’s eyes swept the room. “Does anyone else wish to voice an objection?”
The crowd rumbled and stirred, but no one else rose. Master Hanion waited a long time, his eyes going to several individuals seated around the room, but none of them responded. At last he scowled and put his hand back on the bulldog’s head. “In the Mother’s name, I declare this matter closed. Watchers, return this man to prison.”
The red-cloaked watchers ushered Tharan down the center aisle and out the main doors of the Hall. He went without resistance.
Gevan clenched his fists. This was one more demonstration of how unfit for leadership Elkan was. He’d antagonized his fellow wizards for no purpose. Gevan was certain he’d never get information from Tharan, no matter how long he tried. Not if he confined himself to the exquisitely polite and ineffectual questioning Gevan had seen him use so far. It was probably all Tharan could do not to laugh aloud at his interrogator.
Gevan waited until most of the crowd dispersed before making his way toward the door and heading upstairs to the guest rooms. He hoped he’d find Kevessa in hers, but he feared he wouldn’t. After she and that boy had given their testimonies, Hanion had dismissed them from the room without giving Gevan a chance to speak to Kevessa and make sure she’d be suitably occupied while he was busy with the remainder of the trial. After she’d snuck off with Josiah to the chapel, nearly ruining the window-glass in the process, he’d forbidden her to be alone with the wizard apprentice. She’d meekly agreed, but he still had to keep a sharp watch on her, because she constantly found seemingly innocent excuses to seek out Josiah’s company. Always suitably chaperoned, never a hint of any impropriety, but still…
Sure enough, Kevessa wasn’t in her room. After questioning the few wizards who hadn’t been occupied with the trial, he found one who’d seen her—with Josiah, of course. She directed him to a section of the Mother’s Hall where he’d not previously had reason to venture.
The room he entered was open and airy, brightly lit by windows in two walls. A few couches and comfortable chairs were arranged in a loose square to one side of the door, but the rest of the room looked like a cross between a barn and a botanical garden. Piles of hay and troughs of water were interspersed between banks of potted plants, some of which held good-sized trees. In one corner a big mound of dirt was riddled with holes. Gevan ducked as a large brown bird swooped past his head and arrowed out a window.
“Don’t mind Amber. She came in day before yesterday, and she’s still a little shy around people.” The older woman in one of the armchairs gestured after the bird before returning her attention to the book she held. Gevan wondered that she didn’t seem concerned at the animal’s escape. He glanced around. A handful of other animals were scattered around the room. A big yellow dog sprawled in a patch of sunshine. A deer and a sheep stood side by side, munching hay. Another bird, this one small and red, perched in one of the trees and kept up a stream of twittering song.
“Excuse me.” Gevan stepped toward the woman, who looked up from her book again. “I was told my daughter might be here?”
“Oh, Kevessa. Yes, she and Josiah are over there, behind those bushes. He’s brought her by a few times, now. The unbonded ones do love attention.” She waved toward a thick cluster of plants.
Gevan scowled and stalked in the direction she’d indicated. If he caught that boy so much as holding Kevessa’s hand he’d confine her to her room for the duration of their stay.
But they were a perfectly proper distance apart. Josiah reclined against his donkey, who lay with his legs tucked under him, his eyes half closed. Kevessa sat opposite him, her skirts spread around her on the floor. A grey squirrel perched on her shoulder. While Gevan watched, it whisked around to scamper down her arm and up the other, pausing to chitter in her ear before it whisked down again.
“See, she likes you. I haven’t seen her this playful since—” Josiah faltered, and shrugged. “Anyway, see if she’ll take another.”
Kevessa extended a nut toward the squirrel. The creature seized it and held it daintily in its paws, gnawing at the shell. Bits showered onto Kevessa’s skirt. She laughed.
Gevan cleared his throat. Both of them looked up, Josiah guiltily, Kevessa with relaxed pleasure. “Father! Come see. This is Nina. She’s a familiar who isn’t bonded to a wizard right now. See this darker bit of fur on her back? That’s where the Mother touched her.”
Despite himself, Gevan was curious. Somehow the wizards’ animals were the source of their powers. He’d seen enough strange behavior from them to be convinced they weren’t ordinary animals, but he was eager to learn more. Did the wizards breed them for their special characteristics? Or did they do something to alter them? What mysterious alchemy happened when they touched? What did this bonding they talked about consist of, and how was it accomplished? He stepped closer to Kevessa and crouched, peering at the squirrel. It did indeed have an oval patch of black fur on its back, just the size and shape of a fingerprint.
“See, there’s Sar’s.” Josiah gestured to the donkey’s chest. The beast rolled cooperatively to one side, displaying a white marking in the same shape. “I bet you’ve seen Tobi’s, too. It’s in her ear.”
Now that Gevan thought about it, he remembered something of the sort, an irregular spot marring the symmetry of the great cat’s face. But he put his curiosity aside. He’d have to investigate further another time. Right now he had more important responsibilities.
“Kevessa, come with me. The trial is over. I want to spend the time until the evening meal working on your mathematics. I think you’re almost ready to begin advanced trigonometric calculations.” He held out a hand to her, pointedly excluding Josiah from his attention.
Without any visible sign of disappointment, she lifted the squirrel from her lap to the floor, depositing the last few nuts she’d been holding in front of it. “Good-bye, Nina. I hope to visit you again later.” She rose gracefully to her feet, accepting Gevan’s hand. “Josiah tells me that Nina and the others will most likely bond with the third-year apprentices at Springtide. Have you met Dadael? She and several of the other third-years were here with us the day before yesterday. A falcon flew in through the window and landed on her shoulder. Master Jenion says they’ll probably become bondmates. She even let Dadael pick her name.”
“That’s very interesting.” He must find some way to supervise Kevessa more closely. If only he weren’t so busy trying to sway the election in Elkan’s favor. He’d spoken to several of the wizards that seemed most trustworthy, but none of them saw any harm in Kevessa socializing with the apprentices, so they were disinclined to discourage it. He hoped the rest of the masters would arrive soon so this whole business could be concluded. He’d expected to be sailing back to Ramunna by now.
“Do you think we might return to Tevenar with the ships that bring the food? Then we could attend the Springtide celebrations. I’m sure you’d find it fascinating to observe a bonding ceremony.”
Actually, he would. It might even be worth another tedious trip across the ocean. Assuming, of course, that ships ever did return with food. Much as he hated to admit it, that was looking less and less likely. “Only if the Matriarch wishes us to.” He stepped aside for Kevessa to precede him out the door.
“Of course.” Kevessa maneuvered her wide skirts through the door which had not been designed to accommodate them. Gevan followed her out. Hooves clopped behind them as the boy and his donkey tagged along, but Gevan continued to ignore them. He extended his elbow, and Kevessa took his arm.
“Excuse me, Ambassador Gevan?” The boy had the temerity to tug at the sleeve of his jerkin. “You said the trial was over. What was the verdict?”
“Guilty, of course.” Gevan kept his words as curt as possible. “He’ll be executed. Although your master persuaded them to delay that until after the election.”
“Oh.” Josiah’s voice was subdued.
Gevan hurried his steps, hoping to leave the boy behind, but before they reached the stairs Josiah caught up again. “Do you know when the other masters will get here?”
“No.” Gevan refused to encourage him with a glance. But his worries broke through his determination to keep the boy at bay. “Soon, I hope.”
“Yeah.” For a moment the boy was quiet. Gevan hoped he’d given up. But as they reached the bottom of the broad stairs, he bounded to Gevan’s side. At least Kevessa didn’t smile at him. She only shot him a quick glance, then looked away. “They will choose Elkan, won’t they? They have to. Master Dabiel named him. If they pick Master Hanion, and he doesn’t let a wizard go to Ramunna, they know what will happen. That can’t be what the Mother wants. They’re wizards. They have to do what the Mother wants. Don’t they?”
Gevan stopped and looked at Josiah. The boy was so earnest, and so worried, and so young. Gevan felt ancient, weighed down with centuries of bitter cynicism. “Don’t count on it, boy. Don’t count on it.”
He swung away and pulled Kevessa with him toward his room. Josiah didn’t follow.
* * *
Four days later, the last party of wizards, from Thedan, finally arrived. The Wizards’ Guild welcomed its far-flung members with a feast, which consisted of a few dumplings in the soup and meager servings of sliced fruit for desert. The council would commence first thing in the morning. The masters would retire to the largest courtroom and remain sequestered until they came to a decision. The journeymen and apprentices would carry on the normal business of the guild, healing and judging. Gevan expected very little actual work would be done until the matter was settled.
He persuaded Elkan to meet with him for one final discussion of strategy. Maybe this time he could convince the young wizard to reconsider his honorable but doomed intentions and go along with Gevan’s plan.
Elkan ushered Gevan into his room hospitably enough, showing him to a seat in a comfortable armchair and bringing him a glass of the red wine that was the pride of the area of southeastern Tevenar where Elkan had grown up. It was quite good, actually, perfectly drinkable, if lacking the complex nuances of the better Ramunnan vintages. Gevan sipped and watched Elkan as he settled in the facing chair, Tobi collapsing into an extravagant sprawl at his feet.
“Let me guess, Ambassador Gevan. You’re going to ask me to lie to my fellow wizards again.” Elkan tilted his head and regarded Gevan with a wry smile, half amused, half annoyed.
“Not lie, Elkan. Just be more circumspect with the truth. I still don’t understand why you remain so adamant that you must reveal every nuance of your intentions. Surely that isn’t required by your customs.”
Elkan swirled the wine in his glass, the ruby liquid sparkling in the lamplight. “According to our customs, Gevan, the meeting tomorrow should be only a formality, to seal a decision that was settled long since.”
“But this sort of thing has happened before, hasn’t it? Don’t tell me no other Guildmaster has ever died without a chosen successor in place.”
“It’s happened, but not for centuries. The last occasion was more than three hundred years ago, when Guildmaster Nibir and his familiar perished in a shipwreck. And no crisis forced the masters of that day to choose between candidates based on the actions they would take if elected. They were free to select the person they believed most suited by experience and ability and temperament to the position.”
Gevan stared at Elkan. He could hardly wrap his imagination around a history so uneventful. “For three hundred years, every one of your Guildmasters has died of peaceful old age?”
Elkan snorted. “Is that so strange a concept to you? Why should it be any different? The Mother’s power protects us. It can cure most illnesses, ameliorate the effects of most others, and stave off nearly any accident. It’s very hard to kill a wizard, as long as we’re with our familiars. Even as weakened as they were by their fast, Master Dabiel and Buttons could have stopped the assassin easily if he hadn’t caught them by surprise and separated them.” As much as he’d talked about the incident in the intervening time, Elkan’s voice still roughened at the mention.
Gevan looked away, shaking his head. He supposed he understood Elkan’s point. But it was still hard to grasp the idea that these people didn’t fear disease, either the sort that struck suddenly or the sort that caused gradual and inexorable deterioration. That their society was so stable, or so stagnant, that it faced neither invasion from without nor uprising from within. That only a rare and freakish accident ever disturbed the orderly progression of one generation succeeding another in power. “Even so, you’ve been very fortunate.”