The Silver Mage (12 page)

Rhodorix and Gerontos received their chance to swear to Ranadarix, as they called him, when the prince himself came to their chamber. His retinue, six men with spears, four with swords, marched in first. They all wore polished bronze breastplates, each inlaid with a red enamel rose, over their tunics.

The prince followed, unarmed, wearing no armor, though a glittering belt, inlaid with gems in a pattern of overlapping triangles and circles, clasped in his rich red tunic. Around his neck he wore an enormous sapphire, as blue as the winter sea, set into a gold pendant three fingers wide. He was a tall man, dark-haired, with lavender cat-slit eyes and the strange furled ears of his people. Behind him came a child, dressed in a simple white tunic, who looked so much like him that Rhodorix could assume him to be the prince’s son.

A swordsman picked up the white crystal and handed it to the prince. Rhodorix took the black, then knelt on the floor in front of the cadvridoc.

“I understand that you’ve chosen to join my warband,” Ranadarix said.

“We have, honored one,” Rhodorix said, “in gratitude for the aid your people have given my brother. We both can fight on foot with swords or on horseback with javelins.”

“On horseback?” The prince suddenly grinned. “Well, now, this is a welcome thing! None of my men can do that. Horses are new to me and my people.”

Rhodorix stared, his mouth slack, then remembered that he was talking to a cadvridoc and a rhix. “Forgive me, honored one. That surprised me, about the horses, I mean. We’ll be glad to show you what we know.”

“Splendid! Then you shall be weaponmasters and serve me doubly.” He turned and beckoned one of the swordsmen forward, a pale-haired man with deep-set green eyes. “This is Andariel, the leader of my personal guard. In the morning, he’ll fetch you, and he’ll show you what horses we have. Obviously your brother needs to rest.”

“So he does, honored one. If Andariel approves of my skill, then I’ll teach your men everything I know.”

Ranadarix repeated this to Andariel, who smiled and nodded Rhodorix’s way. Ranadarix set the white crystal down, then turned and walked out with his son and the guard following. Rhodorix got up from his kneel and sat on the edge of the bed to talk with Gerontos.

“What’s so surprising about the horses?” Gerontos said.

“He told me that they were new to his people.”

“New? That’s cursed strange!”

“So I thought, too. Well, it’s good luck for us, though. If we prove ourselves, we’ll be weaponmasters and have some standing here.”

“Splendid.” Gerontos abruptly yawned. “Ye gods, I tire so easily! But truly, Evandar’s brought us good fortune. This Ranadarix must be as rich as a Rhwmani propraetor!”

“And a lot less corrupt.”

“Huh! Who isn’t?”

They shared a laugh, interrupted by the boom and clang of gongs from the towers outside. When Rhodorix went to the window and looked out, he saw that the sun had reached zenith.

Servants appeared, carrying food, which they silently put on the table, then bowed their way out. While they ate, Rhodorix found himself thinking about Hwilli. If he and his brother became weaponmasters, he’d have the standing he needed to keep a woman. She appealed to him a great deal more than the long-eared people who ruled this dun. When he considered their cat-slit eyes, he wondered if they were truly human. He doubted it, but as long as they treated him and his brother so well, he would serve them as faithfully as he could.

S
ince they kept the herbroom locked, the scent of the phar macopeia lay heavy in the air. When Hwilli walked in, she could smell a hundred different tangs and spices. Master Jantalaber was standing by the marble-topped study table. He was turning the pages of a small, leather-bound book, but when he glanced up and saw her, he shut the book and shoved it to one side. Hwilli glanced at it but saw no name on the plain brown cover. Beside it on the table sat a basket of dried plants.

“A good morrow to you, child,” he said.

“I am not a child.” Hwilli drew herself up to her full height. “By your own reckoning, I’ve seen seventeen winters.”

“That’s true.” He smiled at her. “I call you ‘child’ out of affection, you see.”

“I—” Hwilli felt her anger spill and run like water from a broken glass vessel. “I’m sorry.”

“Come now, I know it must be hard on you, living here, so far from your own kind. But you have a mind, Hwilli, true wits, something I’ve not noticed much among your people, and you belong with us.”

Who has the leisure to grow their wits? We work too hard growing crops for your kind to gobble up.
Aloud, she said, “Thank you. I know I’m lucky to be here.”

“And someday, after you’ve passed over the great river and seen the black sun rise in the Otherworld, you’ll be reborn as one of us. I know that deep in my heart.”

Tears filled her eyes, hot tears of rage at a promise, oft repeated, that seemed utterly empty to her, but she mumbled another thank you. When the master turned his back to arrange the dried plants on the study table, she wiped the tears away before he noticed them. He set the empty basket down on the floor.

“Before we start our lesson, I want to ask you about those strangers.” Jantalaber said. “Have they ever told you where they came from?”

“Only that it’s very far away. Their name for the Meradan is ‘rhwmanes,’ though. Roseprince told me that much.”

“Roseprince? Is that truly his name?”

“Well, that’s how the crystals translate it. It sounds like ‘Rhodorix’ in his own tongue. His brother’s name is Oldman, or Gerontos.”

“Ah, I see. The crystals find the root meaning of words.”

“Yes. The strangers’ word for prince seems to be rhix, but I have the feeling it doesn’t mean quite the same thing as our word.” Hwilli considered for a moment. “The words that come from the crystals have odd echoes to them. I’m afraid I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“The whole thing is very odd, but then what else would one expect from the Guardians?”

They shared a smile.

“Every now and then,” Hwilli continued, “Rhodorix uses a word that sounds familiar to me, one that my own kind would use, I mean.”

“I see. No doubt his people are related to yours somehow, then. You see, that’s what I mean about your wits. You observe things, you’re precise.”

“Thank you.” Hwilli could barely speak. The master rarely praised any of his apprentices. He smiled as if he understood her confusion.

“Now, you’ve studied very hard, and you’ve learned remarkably fast. I’m going to put you in charge of healing Gerontos’ broken leg. You can always ask me for advice, of course, but the decisions will be yours.”

“Do you truly think I’m ready?”

“Yes, I do. In a bit, you can go to his chamber and take a look at him. See if he’s feverish or ill in any way beyond the pain of the break. Report back to me when you’ve finished. Now, however, let’s look at our plants. These five are all vulneraries.”

When Hwilli returned to the sickroom, she found Gerontos sitting up. His color looked normal; his forehead felt cool; the skin on his thigh above the cast looked normal as well.

“You’re doing as well as we can expect,” she said through the crystals. “The Rhwmanes smashed the bone, I’m afraid, and there are chips.”

Gerontos blinked at her, then spoke to his brother. Rhodorix laughed and took the black crystal from him.

“The Rhwmanes aren’t the white savages,” Rhodorix said. “Our homeland’s across the great ocean. The Rhwmanes conquered it, so we left with Evandar’s help. We wanted to be free, you see, not their subjects.”

“I do see,” Hwilli said. “Now.”

Rhodorix grinned at her. He had an open, engaging smile that made her feel pleasantly warm. His dark blue eyes, so different than the ice-blue common to her people, intrigued her. She liked the way he moved, too, with the muscular grace of a wolf or a stallion.
One of my own kind,
she thought.
It’s a relief, to see a man of my own kind after living here so long.

“So,” Hwilli said, “your homeland lies to the west, then?”

“Well—” He hesitated, and his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “It must. Except, when we left, we sailed west, you see, toward the setting sun. But then when we arrived at the harbor up north, we were sailing east, toward the rising sun.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know. That’s why I’m puzzled.” He frowned at the floor for a long moment, then dismissed the problem with a shrug and looked up. “But here we are.”

“Indeed. I didn’t know there was a harbor up north.”

“I think it was north. The way everything changes direction around here, who knows?”

They shared a laugh.

“The white savages,” he continued, “had some villages near the harbor, anyway. What do you call them?”

“Meradan.”

“Very well. Meradan it is.”

Hwilli was tempted to linger, chatting with him, for a while more, but the master had asked her to return to the herbroom when she’d finished with her patient.

“I’ll be coming back often,” Hwilli said, “to keep an eye on your brother’s progress. But if he shows the least sign of fever, call for a servant and have them come tell me immediately.”

“I will. A thousand thanks.”

When she walked to the door of the chamber, Rhodorix hurried to join her out in the corridor. She waited for him to speak, but he merely smiled, studying her face, then held out the white crystal. She took it.

“Um,” she said, “is there something you want to ask me?”

“A great many things, but since we’ve just met, it would be rude of me.” He winked at her. “May you have a pleasant evening, fair one.”

Hwilli felt her face burning from a blush. She handed back the crystal, turned on her heel, and strode away as fast as she could whilst still retaining her dignity. Yet she had to admit to herself how deeply his teasing had pleased her.

Later it occurred to her that she should tell Master Jantalaber about the actual meaning of the name Rhwmanes. To her surprise she realized that she disliked the idea of doing so, even though she knew that the master would find the information interesting and even, perhaps, important. She decided to keep it as her secret, a scrap of knowledge that the ever-so-learned People didn’t know and wouldn’t know if she never told them, something that she shared with Rhodorix alone.

I
n the morning Rhodorix went with Andariel to examine the herd of forty-two horses, mostly roans and grays, which they kept in a paddock behind the fortress, all of them captured in the various battles with the white savages. Some had been wounded; they trembled at the approach of the two-legged beings. Others came right up to the fence to nose the men’s tunics in the hope of a bit of extra food. All of them showed good breeding with their long legs and deep chests.

Two white cows with rusty-red ears stood against the back fence. Rhodorix had never seen that particular bovine variety before. Since Rhodorix had brought the pair of crystals with him, he could talk with the captain.

“Those cows?” Rhodorix pointed to them. “What are they doing in here?”

“Oh, they belong to the priests. They’ll be the midwinter sacrifice,” Andariel said, grinning. “We do know the difference between a cow and these new beasts.”

That’s why they’re white,
Rhodorix thought.
That’s always best for the sacrifices.

Not far from the cows stood the golden warhorse with the silver mane and tail that Rhodorix had seen on his first day at Garangbeltangim.

“Has anyone spoken for that horse?” He gestured at the golden gelding.

“No one’s spoken for any of them,” Andariel said.

“Very well. I’ll take him, then.”

“Um, should each man have a particular horse?”

“He should, truly. And he should be caring for it as well, not leaving it to the servants. It makes a bond, like, twixt horse and rider.”