The Sword of the South - eARC (30 page)

Her small smile grew. She’d lived a sorceress and a baroness; she would die that way, if die she must, but for today life was good.

* * *

The sun shone bravely in Belhadan. Despite that, the spring shadows remained cool, but the red-haired little girl seemed unaware of the chill. She sat motionless in the shade of the Belhadan Mage Academy’s wall, studying a bed of flowers as if their fragile blooms were the most precious things in the universe, and Trayn Aldarfro leaned against the frame of Lentos’ window and watched her. He’d watched her almost as long as
she’d
watched the flowers, for she posed questions he couldn’t answer. Questions no one in the Academy could answer, and that was both unacceptable and dangerous.

He sighed.

“Problems, Trayn?”

Lentos had entered the office behind him, and Trayn turned.

“Only one, Lentos. Only one.”

“Gwynna?” Lentos sat calmly as he asked the question. His expression was serene, but Trayn had no need of his Talent to sense the other mage’s disquiet.

“Of course! Lentos, whatever’s happening is even stranger than we’d thought.”

Trayn awaited the Chancellor’s response curiously, for his discoveries had stunned him, and he felt a perverse sort of anticipation as he prepared to shatter Lentos’ famed, monumental calm.

“There are no strange talents; only unusual ones,” Lentos said.

“You don’t need to quote the coda to me, Lentos. Perhaps I should say the
situation
is stranger than we’d thought. Although I also think ‘unusual’ is far too weak an adjective to describe what’s going on inside Gwynna’s head.”

“I see you’re bursting with new observations.” Lentos leaned back and raised his feet, propping his heels on his desk. “I suppose you’d better tell me, but if you disturb my dreams again tonight you’ll regret it, my friend.”

“Ha!” Trayn looked back at Gwynna. “All right, let’s take it in order.

“First, she should have died in crisis. Something broke her barriers at the last moment, but she was so far gone that just breaking them wasn’t enough. Whoever got in had to give her a reason to live, which is a job for a trained empath. But the only trained empath available—me—couldn’t do it.

“So far, the only answer I can see is Wencit. I don’t know how, but I do know none of
us
could’ve done it. I’m not the best mage who ever lived, but I’m not exactly the worst, either. I know my job, and saving Gwynna was impossible using mage talent. Ergo, whoever did it didn’t
use
mage talent, which leaves only magic, and we
know
wand wizardry and the talent can’t meld. We
thought
we knew the wild magic couldn’t, either, but since we have proof wand wizardry can’t, this had to be done with wild wizardry. And the only living wild wizard just happens to be her second father. However you slice it, it had to be Wencit.”

Trayn leaned back expectantly, but Lentos merely nodded and waved for his junior to continue.

“Well,” Trayn was a little nettled by Lentos’ composure, “let’s take it as a given Wencit saved her, then. Forget that he’s lied to us by telling us wild magic can’t do such a thing and look at Gwynna herself.

“She should have slept for at least three days after so severe a crisis; she slept less than thirty hours. She should’ve awakened disoriented; she was quiet, but she knew exactly where she was and why. New magi can neither shield nor avoid broadcasting before they’re trained; she hasn’t broadcast a single peep, and I
still
can’t get past her outer shields. She either can’t—or won’t—let me in. She just sits and stares at those flowers without showing any more curiosity about her talents than a rock!” Trayn’s voice had risen, and he almost glared at Lentos as he finished. “And if
that
doesn’t qualify as strange, then what the bloody hell
does?!
” he demanded.

Lentos was silent for several seconds, and when he spoke again, his words took Trayn by surprise.

“Did you know the elders raised the barriers this morning?”

“What?” Trayn blinked. “No. But what about it? Aren’t we about due for a drill?”

“Just about.” Lentos nodded. “You know the barriers around the academies and imperial fortresses are maintained against the possibility of Kontovar developing mage talents of its own. Of course, we’ve carried out our drills for nine centuries without any indication that there
are
any magi in Kontovar. You know that, too, of course.”

“So?” Trayn was baffled by the turn of the conversation.

“What you may not know, since we very carefully never discuss it, is that the barriers are also impervious to all known scrying spells.”

“What?” Trayn straightened. “Lentos, I’m as upset by Wencit’s…
duplicity
, I suppose, as you are, but that’s no cause to block him out! If,” he added thoughtfully, “you really can, that is, assuming he can tamper with mage talent at all.”

“You miss my point. We’re not blocking
him
; we’re blocking all
other
wizards. Specifically, the Council of Carnadosa.”

“Why? I don’t like being spied on either, but you can’t maintain the barriers forever without draining the Academy.”

“True. But sit down, Trayn. There are things I have to tell you, and I want your word that you’ll seal them.”

Trayn settled into one of the office’s straight-backed chairs automatically, staring at the Belhadan Academy’s Chancellor in shock. “Seal” had only one meaning for a mage: mind-blocked. Lentos wanted him to block the part of his mind dealing with whatever he was about to hear, which would bar him from sharing it with anyone but an elder of the academies. He could never let it slip voluntarily, and if it was forced from him under duress, the first syllable would kill him instantly and painlessly. Only the most potent secrets were sealed, and Trayn wanted no more suicide triggers in his brain than he could help. But Lentos hadn’t been made Chancellor of the Belhadan Academy on a whim. If he requested it, he had a reason, and after a brief hesitation, the master empath nodded slowly.

“Thank you.” Lentos smiled warmly at the proof of his trust, then went on. “First, the elders and I have reviewed the records carefully in the last two days. It seems Wencit never actually said he couldn’t do what your admirable logic proves he did for Gwynna.”

“But it’s in every training text! Every mage knows it’s impossible!”

“True, but he never said that. He simply never corrected us when we misunderstood him. That’s why I advanced the barrier drill so we could discuss this privately.

“We see only two possibilities. Either he didn’t know he could do it, or else he
did
know and wanted to hide the possibility. We don’t believe he could’ve been ignorant, so we conclude that he chose to hide his ability to touch the mage talent directly.

“Obviously, the next question was why. Not knowing hasn’t cost us anything, but it’s kept him from getting all the help from us he might have. We see no reason he would’ve needed to hide that from us, so we think he was hiding it from someone else—someone with ears so sharp that he could hide it only by telling
no one
, including us.”

“Wizards,” Trayn said, and nodded. “I follow your logic, but would it really have mattered if the Carnadosans had known?”

“It might have,” Lentos said. “Because of Gwynna.”

“Gwynna?” Trayn shook his head. “Why Gwynna?”

“Really, Trayn! What did you just call him? Her ‘second father’? She has the mage talent; magi experience crises when their powers wake; and Wencit loves her. If hers was a severe crisis—which everyone knew it would be—would
you
expect him simply to let her die? Of course not! And the Carnadosans are no less perceptive than we are. They’d’ve watched her like a hawk, and when her convulsions started, they’d’ve been waiting. I imagine he protected himself well, but would it have been enough
if they’d known ahead of time?
”

“So he hid it to keep them from knowing? That’s the mystery?”

“That’s why he hid it, but it definitely isn’t the whole mystery.”

“I guess not,” Trayn said slowly. “They must know now that he can do it, so there’s no point pretending he can’t. But you raised the barriers, so you think something about it is still worth hiding. I can get that far; I just don’t see what it could be.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re a technician, a teacher. That’s all you’ve really wanted to be from the day Mistress Zarantha first started your training. You don’t deal with the Council or politics, so you’re not devious. But you have to
become
devious, Trayn, because unless I miss my guess, you’re about to find yourself involved with Gwynna and Wencit right up to your neck.”

“Eh? I’m afraid you’ll have to spell that out,” Trayn said surprisingly.

“Certainly. If we’re right, he showed excellent foresight by hiding his ability so as to avoid the Carnadosans’ attack, didn’t he?”

“Well, of course he did—”

“Foresight so good,” Lentos interrupted, “that he began exercising it nine hundred years ago when he told the first academy no ‘
sorcerer
’ could touch the mage talent.”

“But that would mean—” Trayn paused as confusion became consternation. “That’s ridiculous! Wizards can’t pre-cog, Lentos, and not even a mage could pre-cog that far ahead! Or are you saying he fooled us about that, too?”

“What I’m saying is even more disturbing. He never outright lied about his ability to touch the mage talent, but he
did
say—and I quote from the records—‘not even a wild wizard has the power of precognition.’ Pre-cog and prophecy aren’t the same thing, of course, and several wizards produced the latter, but the ability to see future events is quite different from the ambiguities of prophecy.

“Yet Wencit clearly spent centuries preparing for exactly what happened three days ago, which requires something very like pre-cog. He had specific information, and what does that indicate, Trayn?”

Trayn struggled with new data and confusion, and when he spoke his voice was hesitant.

“He knew about Gwynna, but wizards can’t pre-cog. He took steps to protect them both long before she was born, which implies that he started taking those steps long before he knew love alone might compel him to run such a risk, so he must’ve had another motive, as well. But that means…”

“I have hopes for you, Trayn,” Lentos said softly as the younger mage’s voice trailed off. “It means he’s moved even more carefully than we thought. He has a plan based on knowledge to which we aren’t—and probably can’t be—privy. It means he’s spent
at least
a thousand years waiting for something which is happening right now, and that your pupil is somehow critical to the success of whatever he plans.”

* * *

Gwynna glanced up, but Master Trayn was no longer in the window, and she looked away, wondering if he and she could work together as they must. It would be hard for both of them, she knew, just as she knew she dared not reveal what she’d learned from Wencit in that searing moment of fusion.

She looked back at the flowers. She couldn’t understand all she’d seen, but she knew she’d seen too much. She was simply too young to understand what it all meant.

Many things about what was happening worried her. She couldn’t understand how she’d held Master Trayn out of her mind, but she knew
why
she’d done it. Before he could help her learn, she had to convince him that certain knowledge couldn’t be shared. But how had she stopped him? All she’d done was push at him with her thoughts, and she shouldn’t be able to keep a master mage out that way. The one thing she did know was that Wencit hadn’t shown her how to do it. He was no mage, and he hadn’t taught her to be one, either.

Yet the ability came from somewhere. And how did the gryphon fit in? For that matter, how did she know the magnificent creature of her vision
was
a gryphon? And where did the harp music come from? It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard, but it frightened her to know she’d never really
heard
it at all. And whose were the yellow, catlike eyes? They weren’t like Blanchrach’s, for they were cold and dead. And what was the huge crown? Whose was the big silver horse? What was the recurring image of the sword with the broken hilt? Why did she feel so frightened whenever she thought of her father?

She didn’t think Wencit knew all she’d seen, which only made her problem worse. And whatever he’d shown her, it wasn’t enough. There was too much in her mind, now. Too many new abilities, too much knowledge she hadn’t found yet, hadn’t laid mental hands upon. She needed to master those abilities, to discover the secrets hidden in that knowledge, and understand what it meant, why all of it had poured into her and what she was supposed to
do
with it all. And somehow, for any of that to happen, she had to get Master Trayn to help her without showing him what she knew.

The little girl with bottomless blue eyes and a heart of harp music watched the flowers and longed to tell someone all she knew or suspected. But she couldn’t. They probably wouldn’t believe her even if she did—she wasn’t certain she believed it all herself—yet she knew she couldn’t tell anyone.

She’d never before been aware of how young she truly was. There was too much she’d never been told, too much she’d taken for granted. The mage crisis was enough to destroy any childhood, but hers had been further ravished by a brief, magnificently terrible melding with a personality thousands of years old. Now she saw herself through two sets of eyes, two minds. One was young, confused, and terrified; the other was ancient, recognizing her youth with a sort of tender, implacable compassion.

Her inexperience could be deadly, and to far more than just her. She knew she’d seen into Wencit’s deepest plans…and that he’d never meant for it to happen. If she made a single mistake, she might destroy everything he’d ever tried to do, and she lacked the training to know what
not
to do.

She only knew it scared her. It scared her very, very badly.

* * *

Bahzell jogged through the late morning, setting an easy pace compared to the last three days. Kenhodan was grateful, and though he was concerned lest they be overtaken short of Bahzell’s goal, he felt surprisingly at ease.