Storm Warning (51 page)

By then, though, the lands around the area would be the next thing to uninhabitable. There would be no possibility of anyone leading a normal life, not when your crop plants were suddenly warping into things that could kill you with flung thorns or poison, and the beasts of your fields had turned into rabid killers.

Karal had the latest maps spread out on the table in front of the fireplace and was studying them while he waited for Ulrich to return for lunch. These were the maps predicting the areas of effect from the next disruption-wave. It would come exactly one and one-half days short of a fortnight, and the circles of “change” would be twenty hands across—enough that now a large animal
could
conceivably be caught inside one.

A Shin’a’in horse, for instance. Or a Valdemaran bull.

Or a wild deer; it didn’t matter. The “rabbit” had nearly taken off someone’s hand; anything larger would be deadly to whatever was within its range of movement.

Karal shivered at the thought. With luck, and the help of all the Heralds out on circuit, they could warn people to keep their livestock at home that day, or confine them away from danger zones. That was in Valdemar, and it still left the possibility that some large game animal would be caught in a change. Altra had taken a copy of the map this morning as soon as he had made one, and had vanished with it; evidently now the Firecat had no problems acting as a messenger to Solaris. That took care of Karse—again, except for wild animals, and they would just have to chance that.

Presumably Fireword could send the information to the Hawkbrothers by magic—and they in turn would pass it to the Kaled‘a in and the Shin’a’in.

Prince Daren had sent a Herald off last night to Rethwellan, but there were no Priests or Heralds in Rethwellan to distribute the warning. There were none in Hardorn either, nor in the icy wilderness up above the Forest of Sorrows, nor in Iftel. There was no way to tell anyone farther south than Rethwellan, except if the Shin’a’in got around to it, nor were there any ways to distribute warnings there.
Their
only hope was that the wave centering on Evendim would be so weak by the time it got that far, that the combined effect with the one centered on the Plain would be negligible.

It wouldn’t remain that way for long, though. Sooner or later the waves would be strong enough that the warping effect would be felt even farther away than Ceejay, and at that point, the waves would be coming more often, too.

Somehow, someone had to spread the word. Somehow,
they
had to find the answer to stopping this thing.

Nothing could be done about the Pelagirs or the northern mountains. What would happen when the beasts that were already strange and deadly, out in the Uncleansed Lands, encountered these warping forces a second time? One wag of a student had suggested that they
might
just go back to being rabbits, mice and tree-hares. That was an amusing thought, but unlikely.

And what about the Empire? There was still an army out there. What if whoever was in command decided that Valdemar, Karse, or both were the cause of all this?
They
had command of far more magic than either land did, and an unlimited supply of troops, or so it seemed. What if they decided this was an attack, and decided that it was worth carrying the battle to the enemy?

As if that thought had been a cue, the door opened, and Ulrich stepped in.

The sound of his limping footstep made Karal turn, with a frown of worry on his face. Ulrich should not be limping, not unless he was so exhausted that even walking was an effort.

His frown deepened when he saw the pale, translucent skin above Ulrich’s beard, and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“You’ve been overworking again,” he accused.

“I’ve been undersleeping,” Ulrich corrected. “I had troubling dreams last night, and this morning I urged that our work consist of sending out warnings, maps, and the formulae to calculate the schedules, not only to the Tayledras, Shin’a’in shaman, and Kaled’a’in, but to every mage-school any of us knew of. It occurred to me that in the schools there is
always
someone teaching or practicing a scrying spell, and we needed only to ”interrupt” what was already in place. The Blue Mountain and White Winds mages were particularly helpful there.” He smiled wanly. “We covered quite a bit of ground, so to speak.”

“That’s all very well and good, but—” Karal stopped himself in midscold, shaking his head at himself. “I’m sorry. I sound like your mother, or at least a nagging son, and I’m only your protégé and secretary. Forgive me, Master Ulrich.”

But to his shock and delight, Ulrich not only did not take offense, but he smiled again, this time with real warmth. Wan sunlight relected from the white plaster-adorned mantel fell on him, accentuating his pallor. “You have every right, and if I had a nagging son, or any kind of son, I would hope he would be precisely like you. You are a never-ending delight to me, Karal. I had thought when I first took you as my protégé that I would always be a little disappointed in you because you were not a mage. I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Karal replied vaguely, more than a little stunned by the sudden turn this conversation had taken.

“Very wrong.” Ulrich limped across the floor to him and hesitantly put one hand on his shoulder. “You are something more important than a mage, and much rarer, my son. You are a warrior of the spirit and a healer of the soul. You have more compassion than I can begin to understand, and you are already showing the beginnings of true wisdom. People trust you instinctively, and instinctively you sense that and try to help them, even as you do your best not to betray that trust. You will be a great Priest in the purest sense one day, the sense that has nothing to do with magic, power, or politics; that, I think, is why Altra was sent to you.”

Karal trembled under Ulrich’s hand; this was
not
anything he had ever expected to hear, and he plainly didn’t know what to think.

“Yours will not be an easy path, I fear,” Ulrich continued. “But I can tell you one that you should make the time to speak to. Herald Talia is one who is very like you; her abilities differ in that she is a healer of the heart, rather than the soul, but otherwise she will understand you better than anyone else you are ever likely to meet.”

“B-but—Solaris—” he faltered, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.
Why is he talking like this? He sounds as if he thinks he might not be here while I still need him—

Ulrich shook his head. “Solaris is something else entirely; the Prophet and the Leader are concerned with the needs of the people as a whole, and not with the needs of individuals. Solaris will not be able to help you—although you may be called upon one day to help her.”

Karal dropped his gaze to the floor, a lump in his throat, confusion in his heart. Ulrich put a finger under Karal’s chin, and raised his face so that Karal was forced to look into his eyes. “In one thing, Talia will not be able to help you, and you will have to find your own way. The way of the true Priest is often solitary; he can sometimes tread a parallel road with another, but sooner or later, their ways must part, and they may not come together again. Your life belongs to others, and I think you already understand and accept that, although you have not put it into words for yourself. If you are very lucky, you may find a partner who can understand or accept that. If you are not, there will be heartache. If the heartache comes,
remember
what you are, and that if you may not be the lover of one, you
will
be beloved by many.”

Karal blinked up into Ulrich’s eyes, trying his best to understand what his master was saying, and not quite grasping it. Ulrich looked down at him for another heartbeat or two, then released him with a dry chuckle.

“Ah, my dreams have made me fey, a little mad, or both,” he said lightly. “Either that, or I am so hungered that I am seeing shadows of a future that may never happen. Did you bespeak lunch?”

Karal released a sigh of relief and nodded. “And it’s odd that you should have mentioned Herald Talia; she wanted to talk to both of us about An’desha. She says that he is all knotted up over something, and she thinks we can help him.”

“Well, perhaps we can,” Ulrich began, just as a light tap signaled someone at the door.

“Come!” Ulrich said immediately; the door opened and the Lady Talia herself stepped inside, followed by the page with their lunch. For a moment, there was a little confusion, as Karal quickly cleaned the papers off the table, the boy maneuvered the tray onto the waiting surface, and everyone sorted themselves out. The boy bowed quickly and left, Talia and Ulrich exchanged greetings, and Karal
started
into the other room to fetch a third chair.

He never even got as far as the door.

Something
—some strange sound, or maybe not a sound at all, just a feeling—made him whirl around, every nerve afire with the certain knowledge of
danger,
deadly and imminent.

The fireplace was decorated with plaster ornaments much like the Council rooms and most of the other suites in the Palace. They were set into the wall on either side and above the mantel, a series of whorls and scrollwork, with four larger whorls, one just off each corner of the mantelpiece.

A shrill trilling sound split the air just as the plaster of those whorls split and shattered, releasing
something
that sprang out into the room and hung, hovering, in the air.

Karal didn’t get a good look at them; they made his eyes hurt, and no matter how he concentrated, the very air blurred around them. He only had an impression of a diamond-shape of sharp blades, frightening and deadly.

He didn’t think, he acted, instinctively flinging himself in front of Talia, keeping his own body between her and them. If anyone in this room was in danger, surely it was Talia!

In the next instant, Altra was in front of
him.
Every hair on the Firecat’s body was on end, and the Cat howled a piercing battle cry that rivaled the whining trill of the devices.

The diamond-blades
moved;
the two nearest Karal flew at him as fast as a pair of glittering dragonflies. He flung himself backward, trying to knock Talia to the floor to shield her. He expected at any moment to feel one or more of those blades piercing his heart—

But there was a sharp
crack,
and two of the devices vanished altogether in a flash of fire, one that originated from Altra’s extended claws. The third went careening sideways, into the path of the fourth, deflecting it—

But not enough.

The device slammed into Ulrich’s chest with enough force to knock him to the floor, as the second device embedded itself in the wall.

The trilling stopped, leaving silence, and the sound of harsh, bubbling breathing.

“Ulrich!”
Karal screamed, as he scrambled to his feet and flung himself down beside the Priest. Talia was right behind him, and stopped him before he could pull the damnable device out of Ulrich’s chest. The Priest was still breathing, but he was unconscious, and a thin trickle of blood appeared at one comer of his mouth and ran down the side of his face.

“Don’t touch him,” Talia ordered. “I’ve called for help. I know some Healing, let me—”

Obediently, he moved aside and let
her
be the one to remove the device. Fearlessly, she pulled it out, and the wound whistled for a second until she slapped her hand over it, blocking it. “It’s a lung-hit, that’s bad,” she muttered under her breath, distractedly. “Very bad—where is that damned Healer?”

Karal hovered beside her, in an agony of helplessness, wanting to do something,
anything,
and unable to aid her at all. “Ulrich, Master,” he whispered, one hand on his mentor’s forehead, the other on his shoulder on the uninjured side. “Please, help is coming, don’t leave me, I need you,
don’t leave me.”

Time just did not feel like it was moving right.
Nothing
felt like it was moving right. This couldn’t really be happening, Karal thought through a mental sludge. The sounds of their voices and movements seemed truncated, as if they were down a well, and Ulrich’s halting, gasping breaths were too loud.

Then, finally, the door burst open, and a dozen or more people crowded into the room, at least two of them in the green robes that denoted a senior Healer in this land. They swarmed over Ulrich, shoving aside both Karal and Talia. A moment later, they carried the Priest away, leaving Karal and Talia behind, with one other person. Karal started to follow, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Let me go,” he spat, grabbing the hand to pull it off. But another hand grabbed his wrist and made him turn, and he found himself looking into Kerowyn’s sober green eyes.

“You can’t help Ulrich, and you’ll only get in the Healers’ way,” she said, bluntly telling him the truth that he didn’t want to hear.

“But—” He looked at her, and unexpectedly burst into tears.

Talia put her arms around him—and strangely enough, so did Kerowyn. Both of them held him while he sobbed hysterically.

“Why?” he wept.
“Why?
He never hurt anyone! He was an old man! He never
hurt
anyone!
Why?”

Neither of the women said anything to him, which was just as well, since he wouldn’t have been able to hear them or respond. They simply made soothing sounds at him and supported him as time wobbled and spun. After a moment, or a candlemark, Kerowyn detached herself and left him to bury his head in Talia’s shoulder while the Herald stroked his hair and swayed back and forth with him in her arms.

Terrible grief shook him; he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t even think. The only things in his mind were the dreadful sound of the blade-device thudding into Ulrich’s chest, never-ending, and the sight of Ulrich’s body hitting the floor....