B00B15Z1P2 EBOK (13 page)

“Is it him?” Mik asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Charn. “She’s talking with someone. It looks like she’s kicking at something too.”

“I hope it’s help,” Isa breathed. “Adventure’s not for me. I’m through with exploring towers, too much climbing, too much danger, and the view is good from the Cannoneers’ Terrace. Let’s just go there like before!”

Fierda glanced over her shoulder. “It’s all right,” she said. She stepped aside, to reveal Hen sim Miran, holding a lantern and a staff. Fierda’s captor sprawled at his feet.

“What are you doing here?” Mik asked him.

Hen shrugged. “I overheard you talking about climbing the tower, and thought someone more advanced should be nearby in case you needed help. I heard a commotion up above, then someone running this way, so I turned down my lamp and waited. When this fellow came down the stairs, I challenged him. He attempted to call the wind, but it was weak because Fierda struck him with that bracer of magic-protection.”

“What did you do then?” Charn asked.

Hen hefted the staff. “I know a little about staff fighting.”

“Well done, then,” said Mik, giving him a nod. There was a little barn cat in the Northerner after all.

Hen gave him a thin smile. “And well done by you four, rescuing Fierda and fighting off this fool. We share the glory in this matter.” His smile widened. “We need not be friends, Mik Dragonrider. But we need not be rivals. If Fate wills it, you may also be a Protector some day—and then, we will have to work together.” He held out a fist, and Mik bumped it with his uninjured left hand. “Now let us deliver this rogue to the Protectors. The Healers will want to look over Fierda, and tend to you as well. Remember, you four: the Gathering is usually more sedate!”

They all laughed. Hen sim Miran took the rogue’s feet, Charn and Fierda his arms (Fierda where she could keep the bracer touching him), and they made their way down.

• • •

Mik snapped awake. His arm throbbed and his side itched.

“All finished,” said the Healer, offering him a water skin. “You need to drink fluids, but you can get up and move around if you feel well enough. Don’t scratch that!” He pulled away Mik’s hand, reaching for the bandage.

Mik sighed and sat up, fighting a dizzy spell. His mentor lay watching on the next cot.

“This has been an exciting year for some of our apprentices,” said Bailar. “And a tragic one for others.” He tipped his head toward the other cots. “At least everyone will recover.”

“What about Fierda?”

“The apprentice you rescued? Her hurts are not the kind the Healers can help. She has been reunited with her mentor. Did you recognize the rogue?”

“No, sir.” Then Mik remembered, and gasped. “The—” He waved his good arm for a moment. “On the barge?”

“The same. I feel somewhat responsible. Had I been more vigilant, he would not have broken free, and we would not be in this ward.”

“How did he get here?”

“One of his accomplices told the story. After he escaped, he made his way to Mosvil then used his Talent to free his partners, and several others. They stole a fishing boat and provisions, and came downriver to Queensport. Moving against the Conclave was not their original plan, but they happened upon the adventurous apprentices and thought to collect a ransom. How he obtained a bracer of magic-protection we still know not, but he may be the first to seize upon the idea of using one to hide a stolen apprentice under the very noses of the Conclave.”

“What will happen to him?”

“He has had his own bracer locked upon his arm. Tomorrow, he will be tried for his crimes in Queensport. His sentence will be served there, but under Conclave supervision. If he shows signs of changing his heart—and there are ways to catch out the pretender—the Protectors will remove the bracer and train him to use his Talent properly. Several of his accomplices are on the run, I suspect.”

Mik caught himself reaching to scratch his bandage. “So if we both have to be here, is there anything you can teach me from that cot?”

Bailar laughed. “They’ll let you go in the morning, once the Healers check their handiwork and tell you how to take care of your wounds. Listen carefully to their instructions.” He yawned and stretched. “Enforced idleness suits me,” he chuckled. “I find myself needing to sleep at the same time as always. You should get some sleep, too. You won’t notice the itching so much.”

“I just woke up from your magical sleep,” Mik grumbled. “I feel like I’ll be awake all night.”

“You could read for a while. I still have
An Account of Other Worlds
with me, if you want to borrow it.”

Mik nodded and took the volume to a settee along the wall. One of the Healers found him there later, slumped on the settee, still clutching the book.

• • •

Bailar was unable to come to the Final Gathering, but insisted that his apprentices attend. Sura and Charn flanked Mik to keep people from bumping him, and they sat together comfortably in the Great Hall. The attendants were invited in as well; they entertained themselves with chatter and games, ignoring the scowls of apprentices.

“This sounds like it’ll be boring,” Mik whispered.

“It’s not so bad,” Sura reassured him. “They recognize the new sorcerers, invoke the blessing of the elements, and that’s about all. Then we go—we go back to the infirmary to wait until Father can walk.”

“I wish it was Charn and me staying,” Isa whispered across Charn. “Not that I’d want either of our mentors hurt, but having the entire Keep to ourselves! That would be nice. Or if all four of us could stay, we could explore the laboratories and study in the library…”

The torrent of words washed over Mik, but he hardly heard them. Ever since Bailar had loaned him that old book, Mik had found it hard to concentrate on local matters. Entire other worlds, each with their own wonders and stories! It made Mik realize how little he’d seen of Termag, despite having seen more of it than nearly anyone at home in Lacota. He found himself longing to see his family and old friends, then leaving them far behind and seeing even more of the world. And the idea of riding a rainbow to those other worlds would not leave him. But even Bailar had not ventured far east or west of the banks of the Wide. What chance did Mik have?

The First Protector walked out, stepped to the dais, and thumped his staff. “Sorcerers, apprentices, attendants,” he began, “this has been an unusual Gathering. Not in our lifetimes has there been the kind of excitement that we have seen this year. In years to come, those who remained at home will say they were in this place, at this time!” He waited for the laughter to fade. “In keeping with the unusual, we begin this Final Gathering by recognizing the five apprentices who rescued one of their own, and brought her captor to justice. Please, come forward.”

Mik, Sura, Charn, and Isa all looked at each other for a moment, then Sura smiled and got them on their feet. Hen sim Miran was already moving, and they met near the steps. Hen started forward, then chuckled and waved the four younger apprentices ahead of him. They mounted the dais, all but Hen feeling a little uncertain, as the Conclave applauded with enthusiasm. The First Protector gestured to Fierda sam Ashean as well, and she joined them and embraced each in turn.

“These four,” the First Protector continued, “I must point out, are among the youngest of our apprentices. Three of them are first-year! If all of you are as resourceful and as quick-thinking as those who stand before you here, then the future of our profession is bright indeed.” He gave them an open smile. “I must also point out: no dragons were summoned in the rescue!” Everyone laughed, even Mik, and they returned to their seats to even greater applause than before.

Poling and sailing against the current, the return trip took over twice as long as the trip downriver. Nearly six weeks after they left home, porters carried their baggage onto the Exidy docks, while Mik and Sura helped their mentor debark. Bailar’s hip still pained him, mostly when climbing stairs or sitting straight. Mik’s wounds, however, were nearly healed; they would soon visit the local Healer to take out the stitches. Sura checked them every day and scolded Mik when he overtaxed his arm.

“We’ll be busy for a while,” Sura told Mik as a hired boat carried them across the Wide to their landing. “The needs of folk don’t go away for six weeks when their sorcerer does.”

“At least I now have two apprentices to help with much of it,” said Bailar. “Much of what you two will learn, in the coming months, will address the tasks folk bring to us. Perhaps we’ll catch up on correspondence before the equinox.”

The boatman hopped onto the landing and secured his craft. “Home at last,” Bailar continued. “We bring with us a little more knowledge. And, I hope, a little more wisdom.” He grinned. “Not to mention, some battle scars.”

“You had better not bring home any more battle scars,” Sura growled. “Either one of you!”

Mik laughed, slipping into Low Speech. “A right Striker you were. Took charge there in the tower, you did!”

“Well, now I have to march my men up the riverbank, then start supper. Father, you’ll need to rest your hip once we finish the climb. Mik, that means you’ll have to come back down to get the rest of the baggage. Mind your arm, eh?” She shouldered a pack and took her place at Bailar’s side.

“Yes, my love!” Mik chuckled, shouldered his own pack with his good arm, and stood on his mentor’s right.

Sura pretended to scowl. “Is that any way to talk to your Striker?” she growled.

“Yes, my love!” The three of them laughed. Together, they walked up the path.

Epilogue

“Relax,” said Sura, focusing on the ball floating before her. “You’re trying too hard.”

“I swear,” said Mik, “I’m going to get this right.” His own ball, a little larger than his fist, twirled and darted this way and that.

“Try using your hands to focus. Like this.” Sura cupped her hands under her floating ball.

“I shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Well, it can help at first. Other side of Necessity, right?”

Mik took a few deep breaths and copied her pose. The ball slid and tilted, but not as much as before. “Better,” he said. “But maybe I’m not too good with Air magic. Back at the Conclave, Charn lifted that bed right off the floor and I couldn’t even see it tip!”

Sura’s ball dropped into her cupped hands. “You know that it’s up to Father to say where your talents lie,” she said. “And Charn’s a year older than either of us. After a year of practice, you’ll be able to do that too. I’d bet on it.”

“What would you bet?” Mik grinned and raised his eyebrows.

“Whatever you’d want to give me. Because I’m pretty sure I’d win!”

Mik’s ball popped into the air with his laughter; he took a step forward and caught it one-handed. “You’re right. Of course!”

Her laughter echoed his own. “Maybe you need an incentive,” said said. “Pretend the ball is me. Lift me gently.”

Mik laughed and caressed the ball, whispering to it, then hugged it tight.

“Stop that!” she laughed, falling to the ground and crossing her legs. “Pretend I’m the ball, and you’re Lifting me out of a well. Focus, but don’t overdo it. If I wobble a little, I’ll be all right.”

Mik nodded and held the ball in cupped hands. It rose—and this time, it hovered almost still before him, rocking gently. Then the ball dropped into his hands, and Sura herself rose from the ground.

“Hey!” she protested. “What are—”

Mik grinned as she floated to him, then leaned forward and kissed her before lowering her.

Sura put her feet down. “I should…” then she Lifted Mik. She kissed him, then laughed and give him a push, letting him tumble to a gentle landing on his seat.

“Apprentices!” Bailar called from the top of the low tower. “Show me what you have learned!”

Mik picked up his ball and looked at Sura, then glanced up at their mentor. “Want to try this?”

She raised her eyebrows, but smiled. “Why not?”

They joined hands, then rose together, watching their mentor’s amused look as they approached. At last, they crested the parapet and touched down before him. They bowed, still holding hands.

“Showy,” said Bailar. “But you gave more than requested, and that is always good. When it works, of course. Mik, you especially made a great deal of progress today.”

“Thank you, sir, but Sura deserves the credit. She helped me find what I was doing wrong.”

“I just helped you like you helped me with that candle-lighting exercise,” she protested.

“When apprentices help each other, it helps the mentor even more!” Bailar laughed. “But now it’s time to see to more mundane duties, like preparing supper.”

“I hope those fish taste as good as they look,” said Mik.

“I’ve never bought bad fish at the market!” Sura poked him. “But we need to get them roasting.”

“Fish, potatoes, and leeks,” said Mik. “With a good end-piece of bread. In Lacota, we called that a ‘lucky man’s supper’.”

“Then we’re lucky!” Sura took his hand again. “Or we will be, once we get it ready.”

Bailar watched them go, still smiling. Despite the complications, it
was
helpful to have two apprentices helping each other.

“I’m curious,” said Bailar over supper. “Why do your folk call this a ‘lucky man’s supper’?”

Mik laughed. “Because someone who brought both fish and leeks home from the river was thought to be lucky, I suppose.”

“And if you weren’t lucky?” asked Sura.

“Then it was whatever meat was for sale at the market, with potatoes. Everyone has a potato patch. Just like we do here!”

Bailar and Sura laughed. “Well, your—” Bailar paused and frowned. “Odd. Someone just tripped the ward at the landing. A little late in the day for a visitor.” He stood. “Let us see who it is.”

They left the table; Mik broke off a hunk of bread to eat on the way. He was hungry all the time these days.

Their visitor, standing before the house, appeared to be a soldier of fortune. He wore no insignia, but carried a sword and wore a leather vest covered with overlapping bronze scales. A large grey medallion hung around his neck.