Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight (8 page)

Now with its waters warmed, it would serve as the water source for the first of the outdoor bathing pools. It wouldn't take the
hertasi
long to notice the change, and within days they would cap the new flow and be building great pools to receive the hot waters. By the end of the month, there would be Tayledras soaking in the soothing waters under the stars, and there would be room for anyone who needed a hot soak to come and take one. The current hot pools were all inside one of the first buildings to be constructed here, and there wasn't enough room to accommodate everyone at the same time.

:A fine choice of gifts to your Vale, Master Dar'ian.:
Firesong's mind-voice held a smile of approval, and Darian blushed a little.

Just as carefully as he had taken control of Heartstone and ley-lines, he released them, but not before he replenished the power he had used to create his hot spring. He opened his eyes on Firesong's little workroom to see his mentor's eyes full of warmth and congratulations.

Then he took a deep breath, and sat down carefully, right there on the floor, as exhaustion hammered him with a blow that made his legs go weak. He put out his hand and caught the river stone squarely in his right palm, as it dropped.

“Put it all back, did you?” Firesong asked rhetorically. “Well, that's proper, but you didn't have to put all the energy back at one time. You could have ‘borrowed' some of it.”

“I didn't?” he asked. “But with all the preparations for the celebrations, we're going to be strengthening the Veil for a few days, and I thought we'd need every bit of energy now.”

“Hmm. A kind thought. Never mind, you'll recover by this evening,” Firesong interrupted, helping him up and keeping him on his feet with a hand beneath his elbow. He dismissed his shields, and Darian recaptured his own, feeling a little better as he took the power he'd expended on them back into himself again. Firesong didn't take him far, only past the door and into one of Silverfox's consultation rooms.

This was a very small room, used only for counseling. It had both a large window and a skylight, but the furniture was minimal. There was a soft, dark-green sling couch there, though, and Darian was very happy to lie down on it, dropping onto the silk-covered, down-stuffed cushions with his head spinning a little.

“Just lie there, and don't move,” Firesong cautioned. He needn't have bothered, as Darian had no intention whatsoever of moving. He felt as if he'd run all the way to Errold's Grove and back.

Maybe a few magical fireworks would have been a better idea,
he thought as he closed his eyes.

He woke again, suddenly, sweating, out of a dream that, like the one last night, he could not recall. His heart pounded in alarm, his hands were clenched on the fabric of the couch. An irrational feeling of dread hung over him, and he opened all of his senses in an effort to discover if there was anything wrong in the Vale at all.

But there was nothing. The Vale was as it had been; crafters working at their tasks,
hertasi
scuttling about, gryphons dozing in the sun. His heart slowed, the sweat dried, and he was too weary to maintain his state of alarm. Gradually he relaxed, and slept again.

The next time he opened them, he was feeling much better, and both the skylight above him and the open window beside him were dark. Someone had come in and covered him with a light blanket, then left a sweetly scented candle burning in a blue glass holder mounted on the wall. He felt better—but he didn't much feel like moving.

There didn't seem any real reason to move, either; Firesong knew where he was, and had presumably told anyone else who needed or wanted to know. Silverfox wouldn't mind him taking over the consultation room. And since Keisha wasn't going to be home, there was no great urgency to get back to his own ground-bound
ekele.
He was perfectly content at the moment to lie surrounded by warmth and softness, let his thoughts drift, and listen to the night noises outside.

Keisha's going to be surprised.
Pleasantly, he hoped. This would put him on an equal footing with her, rankwise, though he very much doubted that would change anything in their relationship.
She'll be happy for me, that much I know for sure.
All the other honors that had been planned for him were really nothing more than titles to impress other people; reaching the rank of Master meant a real achievement of his own, felt in his heart.

“And how is our new Master Mage doing?” Firesong asked from the doorway, and Darian let out a little
yip
of startlement.

Firesong chuckled, and moved out of the shadows of the hallway and into the dim light from the candle.

“Serves you right for all the times you've sent me out of my skin,” Firesong said. “Especially that time you shaved a year off my life when you managed to sneak up on me in my own
ekele.
How are you feeling?”

“Tired and hungry,” Darian replied, suddenly feeling that hunger rise up and growl in his gut. “Very hungry, actually.”

“No headache? Nausea? Dizziness?” As Darian shook his head at each question, Firesong smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Then you not only pass, you pass with all honors. And
tired
is easily fixed—find a ley-line.”

“Now? Without shields?” Darian asked dubiously.

“You'd already integrated your shields into a coherent whole once you became a Journeyman; now you don't need to protect anyone from your mistakes anymore, because you aren't going to
make
any.” Firesong sounded more confident in Darian's ability than Darian was, and he looked impatient for the first time as Darian wavered. “Look now, do you bother with special shields anymore when you use OverSight? Or gather low-level energy?”

“Well, no...” Darian took himself in hand without any further prodding. Firesong was right; by now, everything he'd learned was as familiar to him as the act of speaking or reading. Drawing on that confidence he'd had this afternoon, he closed his eyes, invoked Mage-Sight, and reached for the nearest ley-line, then opened himself. As thirsty earth drank in rain, his power-depleted self soaked in the raw strength of the line, and when he opened his eyes and released it again, he felt as good as he had when he'd awakened this morning.

Firesong gave him a lopsided grin. “Next time, don't wait to be reminded. I won't always be around, you know.” He stood up, and Darian finally noticed that he'd changed his clothing from this afternoon. Now he wore blue and green, a loose-sleeved, body-hugging tunic with a high, embroidered collar, and skin-tight trews with matching soft boots. And in one hand he carried one of his many masks, a delicate thing of green scales and wispy blue plumes, that dangled loosely in his long fingers.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, for Firesong seldom donned a mask unless he planned to leave the shelter of his
ekele.
He didn't wear his masks to spare himself—he did it to spare others the sight of the burn scars that pockmarked his face from scalp to chin, but for a strip across his eyes where his equally burned forearm had saved his vision. But there was also the very real possibility that he had another reason as well; if there was one thing that Firesong loved to cultivate, it was an aura of mystery, and the wearing of his masks was an integral part of that mystery.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Firesong replied. “I'm taking you to your party.” He grinned again. “You don't for a moment think we'd pass up such a fine excuse to have at least a
little
celebration, do you? It wouldn't be Tayledras!”

 

Firesong was inordinately proud of his pupil, though he wasn't about to let Darian know that. At least, he didn't want Darian to know
how
proud he was. One of the reasons he'd been contemplating giving up taking on pupils was because the last couple had, for one reason or another, never quite come up to his expectations of them. They were not bad people at all, nor stupid, just ... less than optimal. Perhaps part of that had been a failure to mesh their personalities, or that some of his pupils had been as interested in
him
as they had been in learning what he taught. Part of that, of course, might just have been that they were discouraged; it would be a very long time before anyone was able to casually work the kind of large-scale magics that had been possible before the Mage-Storms disrupted everything. His pupils would be very old before they had power available to them to duplicate Firesong's own feats as a young and headstrong Master. It was likely that it would take another generation before there was the abundant power on hand to duplicate the lesser feats of an Adept. Gating was out of the question for at least a hundred years—safe and reliable Gating, anyway. It was no wonder they saw no reason to acquire proficiency in skills it was unlikely they would ever be able to use.

But Darian had a touch as sure and skilled as a fine craftsman, and he
never
left loose ends, or a job unfinished. Firesong was not yet certain he would reach Adept status, but as careful a worker as he was, given the current state of things and barring disaster, he would become one of the best mages of this generation. Darian was willing to follow brusque or peremptory instruction without thinking of Firesong as a tyrant; he had confidence that when he had done what he was told, it would be explained to him.

Always provided, of course, that nothing happened that interfered with his continued learning.

So Firesong decided that it was time to do a little delicate prodding. Not
meddling-more
on the order of information gathering. He never called his meddling by that unflattering name. Unsolicited guidance, discreet help, a “nudge,” but never
meddling.

“So, how do you think Keisha will feel about this?” he asked, as he walked beside his protegé, past the outer door of Silverfox's workrooms and out into the cool half-light of the Vale at night. It wasn't dark beneath the trees; lanterns tended by the
hertasi
and set along the path at intervals saw to that. They tried to replicate the blue of twilight, just after the sun has set and the sky to the west is luminous with afterglow, and Firesong thought that they succeeded very well.

“She'll be pretty pleased, I think,” Darian replied. “She'll probably pretend to be annoyed that I don't have to wear uniforms, though. She's still awfully self-conscious about being in Greens.”

“Mmm.” Firesong made a noncommittal sound. “She did make rank before you did, though. There was an imbalance.”

“That's probably why she'll be pleased; she's not very comfortable with being at a higher rank than people around her.” Darian sounded as if he found that difficult to understand, but then, Darian was, beyond any doubt, a natural leader himself.
Which means he doesn't yet really understand Keisha's motivations. That could be a point of potential conflict, especially if she is put into a position where she has to make a leader's decisions.

Firesong continued to probe, interspersing his personal questions with those of a much more casual nature, and got the distinct impression that Darian was having some difficulty with the young Healer. It wasn't enough to break their pairing—yet—but any time that conflict didn't get resolved in one way or another, there was always the potential for it to happen. An unhappy Master Mage was a potentially reckless or careless one, and there was a long Hawkbrother tradition of taking good care of compatriot mages. More than that was the fact that Firesong genuinely liked young Darian on a friendly basis, and he did not want to see him troubled.

While he continued to exchange banter with his student, half of Firesong's mind was elsewhere, pondering what, if anything, could be done.
Goddess help me, I've turned into an inveterate matchmaker,
he thought with a mingling of amusement and dismay.
If I don't watch my step, I'm going to have anxious fathers coming to me yet. Well, I have before, actually, but daughters weren't involved....
Nevertheless—

I'll ask Silverfox to look into the matter and have a word with one or both of them,
he decided at last. Silverfox was infinitely more skilled at such things than he—as well he should be, since it was one of the duties of a
kestra'chern,
to keep all the interpersonal relationships running smoothly within the group to which he or she belonged, be it city or Vale, army or Clan.

Let Silverfox make what he can of it,
he decided. And at that point, it was past time to do any more thinking of his own—he stepped aside at a particular point in the path marked by a lamp-standard shaped like an elongated gryphon, holding the glass globe of the lamp in one extended claw. Darian paused when Firesong did, looking faintly puzzled, and Firesong drew aside the curtain of flowering vines that had hidden a clearing at the foot of a tree too small as yet to support an
ekele.
He gave Darian's shoulder a push, sending him into the center of the clearing, where he was surrounded by friends and well-wishers, all eager to congratulate him on his new status.
Hertasi
had been waiting for just this moment, and as soon as Darian was escorted to a seat of cushions piled up against the trunk of the tree, they swarmed him with offerings of food and drink.

Firesong stayed for a time, but kept his silence, as those who were mages monopolized the conversation. Those of Master rank and above—Starfall, Snowfire, and others—related their own Mastery Trials, as those who had not yet attained the rank of Master listened eagerly and a little enviously, then pelted the others with questions.

It was altogether too much like a gathering of scouts comparing the latest skills of their bondbirds. Each and every nuance and tactic was described and debated in staggering detail. When anyone asked Firesong a question directly, he answered it, but otherwise kept silent.