Children of Prophecy (13 page)

“It wasn’t just one vision,” Brea said slowly. “It was several; I’m not even sure how many anymore. They seemed to revolve around two men – but they kept switching who they were.”

Kish looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“In one vision, one seems to be a Battlemage, and my friend,” she explained. “He’s helping me. Then, in the next, the other seems to be in the same place in the world and my life, but he’s a different person – and the other man is evil, a Chaos Mage. It was confusing as hell.”

“Understandably,” the Life Mage said quietly, then paused. “I take it there was a specific reason these visions were bothering you?”

“Yeah,” Brea said, and looked away from her teacher to glance out the window. “I met him.”

“You
met
one of the men from your dream?” Kish demanded.

“Yeah, but he isn’t a man,” Brea said softly. “Not yet. No more than I am the woman I see in those visions. He’s a boy, an Initiate like myself.”

“Car’s apprentice, Tal’raen,” Kish said with a quiet nod. “Am I right?”

Brea turned her gaze back to her teacher. “How did you know?” she demanded.

The old man smiled at her. “When the two of you saw each other earlier,” he observed, “you both changed where you were going to avoid the other.”

“I did not!” she snapped.

Kish shook his head and closed the last of the books. “I think lessons are over for today. If I were you,” he continued, “I wouldn’t worry about these visions. If you like the boy, talk with him. Be friends. At a guess you saw two possible futures, and how
you
act may be – from the nature of the visions, actually, almost certainly
is
– critical to which one of them we have.” He passed the books to her. “Don’t forget to keep up with your studies, however. Now be off with you.”

Tal sat cross-legged in the main hall of the Hawk Manse, focusing on the fire in front of him. The room was immense, designed to hold banquets with hundreds of guests. The fireplace reflected that, starting from a four-meter wide base and rising up the wall in an imposing edifice of black stone, backlit by the leaping flames.

He heard footsteps behind him, and sensed Car’s presence. “Evening, master,” he said quietly.

Car sighed. A moment later, a hand settled on Tal’s shoulder. “How are you liking the High City?” he asked.

“It isn’t home,” Tal replied with a shrug, “but it’s not too bad for that.”

“Good,” Car said softly as he sat down next to his student. “You may have to live here for a while.”

Tal turned to face Car. “What do you mean?” he demanded. There was something in Car’s voice that he didn’t like.

The Hawk met Tal’s eyes. “I have to go, Tal,” he said bluntly. “There are so many things I’ve let slide since I took you in… I could, then. I can’t anymore.”

“Take me with you,” Tal suggested.

“I can’t,” Car said gently. “You are powerful, and skilled, but you are not yet ready. If you could come, I would bring you without a second thought, you know that.” Tal nodded involuntarily. He did know. “But I can’t. I have to move quickly, and do many things. I have to go alone.”

Tal reached up to touch the hand on his shoulder. “How long?” For a moment, the silence seemed to swallow everything, and he turned to face his adopted father. “
How long?
” he demanded again.

Car sighed and nodded. “At least nine months,” he said softly. “Possibly a year.”

“A
year
?”

Car nodded again. “I’ll introduce you to Battle Lord Shej’mahi in the morning,” he continued. “He will be your instructor while I am gone.”

Tal hesitated. He didn’t
want
Shej’mahi, the sole living Hawk Mage other than his master, to be his teacher. He
wanted
Car’raen, his father and mentor. To say so would sound like a petty child. He did it anyway. “I don’t want to be taught by Shej’mahi,” he objected. “I’d rather be with you, no matter how dangerous.”

“I know, my son.” Car’s casual use of the phrase caused Tal’s breath to catch in his throat. “But we can only rarely have what we want in this world. Do you understand me?”

Tal nodded. He didn’t speak for fear his voice would catch with the tears only eight years of training prevented him from shedding.

“I’m sorry, Tal,” Car said softly. “By the Gods, I wish you could come, but I have to go alone.” He squeezed Tal’s shoulder, and then stood. “Go to bed, Tal. Sleep, and we will arrange things in the morning.” His footsteps slowly faded away down the hall.

The next evening, Tal once more sat in the alcove where he’d met Brea’ahrn. He sat cross-legged, facing the city below. The sun slowly sank towards the horizon, but Tal had no eyes for its beauty, seeing only the single figure riding towards the gates.

His day had passed in a whirlwind, as Car prepared to leave, and Tal met his new teacher. He hadn’t had time to really form an opinion of Shej’mahi. All he knew was that the man was the Battle Lord, Master of the Battlemagi.

He would learn more of the man tomorrow he guessed, but that was for tomorrow. Right now, his eyes were only for the rider. Car’raen was leaving. For eight years, Tal had never been far from Car. They’d been teacher and student, father and son. Now Tal was alone.

The sound of a foot shuffling behind him made him realize he’d allowed his warning net to drop. It snapped back into place as he spoke. “I know you’re there,” he snapped into the darkness.

A quiet laugh came from behind him. “I’ve been here for five minutes, Tal’raen,” a voice said behind him. A fur robe swished by him as Brea’ahrn settled down facing him. She nodded out towards the city. “Watching the Hawk leave?”

Tal nodded wordlessly.

“I didn’t expect him to leave this soon,” she said quietly. “I guess I might have, after he spent all day closeted with my parents and Earl Yet’won.” Tal caught her glancing at him before she added, “He’s my father’s closest advisor. The only one of the Earls he really trusts.”

Tal said nothing, his gaze still on the city even after Car had left. He heard Brea sigh. “Tal’raen, I guess we got off to the wrong foot yesterday,” she said quietly. “Thing is, I don’t get along with most people my age here. The nobles are a bunch of arrogant lordlings, and the Mage Initiates… well…”

“They’re a bunch of arrogant magelings,” Tal finished.

“In a way, I guess,” Brea admitted with a shrug. “You’re not, not really. You don’t disregard anything not magic as worthless.” She gestured at his sword. “Plus, I think my mother is going to almost adopt you.” She smiled, her face seeming to light like the sun, and offered her hand. “We’re going to be stuck with each other anyway, so… friends?”

Tal hesitated a moment, then took her hand and shook. “Yeah, why not?” he agreed. “It looks like I’m stuck here for a while.”

She smiled at him again, and this time he returned a smile of his own. “Now, to the other reason I came here,” she told him. “My illustrious mother told me that if I saw you, I was to request – translate that as request and
require
– that you join us for a private supper.”

“She figured you’d be seeing me, did she?” Tal asked, unable to stop himself arching his eyebrow in question.

“Well, no…” Brea admitted with a shrug, “she didn’t address that to me, but to a couple of Kingsmen. However,
unlike
them, I figured I knew where you’d be. So here I am.”

“So here you are,” Tal agreed. “I guess I shall accede to your mother’s Royal Command.” He stood, unfolding his form with only a hint of stiffness. He offered his hand to help Brea to her feet. “Shall we?”

Brea walked through the cold stone corridors of the High Citadel with a smile upon her face. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was happy, but she had no objection at all to the feeling.

The halls of the High Citadel were ancient, magically carved granite polished to the shine of marble – and frozen at that shine. Despite the odd beauty of the walls, it was still clear that the Citadel had been built as a fortress against all enemies. It had been built during the rise of the Four, before they had built the
shek’maji’hil
, creating the Waste and the Great Swarm to buy them immortality.

Brea’s thoughts of ancient history were interrupted by a group of flashily dressed nobles. She stepped aside politely to let them pass, but they stopped.

She felt her smile fade to a tight-lipped grimace as she recognized Shel’nart.
What does he want?
she wondered.

He gave her an exaggerated bow, and she quashed her irritation. Mostly. “What is it, Nart?” she asked, her lips moving into what might have been called a smile. To address someone solely by their patronym was a rather nasty insult, implying they had no real identity of their own.

She saw Shel’s smile flicker, then return. Obviously he thought he had something to return her insult with. He stood up from his bow.

“My lady Brea’ahrn,” he greeted her. “I have wonderful news.”

Brea simply glared at him, but it simply slid off the armor of whatever it was that was cheering him up. “And what makes you think I care about anything
you
know?” she asked pointedly.

“Well, it
does
involve you, milady,” Shel said, his smile smoothly changing to a grin. “My father has informed me that the negotiations between him and your father appear to be reaching a conclusion.”

Negoations
?
What sort of negotiations
? Then Brea felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as his grin turned feral.

“They will be announcing the plans for our betrothal within the week,” Shel said simply, grinning at her.

Brea snapped. She took three steps forward and hit him across the side of the head. She’d been trained as a
Jelt’nar
, and only barely managed to pull the lethality of the blow. Shel still went stumbling across the room, blinking his eyes against the blow.

“You
dared
, you miserable little
louse
?” she snapped.

Shel managed to pull himself to his feet and touched the side of his face, which would most likely be sporting an impressive bruise later. “I would watch that little arrogant streak if I were you, Brea,” he told her. “If you don’t get rid of it before we are married, I’ll have to beat it out of you.” His feral grin returned. “Of course, I refuse to have my betrothed playing with magic. You might hurt someone.”

Brea took one step towards him before regaining control, breathing deeply. Shel took several steps backward, and laid his hand on his swordhilt. She felt the anger boiling under her careful control. “I think you will be surprised at how
little
authority even
my
father has over a Mage Initiate,” she told the little slime coldly. “I would rather
die
than marry a louse like you, but I am a Mage. Only I choose my husband, which means
you
should probably return to beating up tavern wenches. After all,
they’re more likely to marry you, and unlike me, you
can
beat them.” With that, she turned and stormed away.

The Kingsman guard stopped Brea in the tapestry-decorated corridor outside the upstairs conference room’s heavy wooden door. “Your father left orders not to be disturbed,” he told her gently.

She fixed him with her coldest glare. “Let me through, Kingsman,” she commanded.

“I’m sorry, milady Brea,” he said with a shake of his head, “but I can’t.”

Brea switched her eyes from the soldier to the wooden door behind him. The door seemed to twitch, and then burst into growth. Branches of the suddenly resurrected tree wrapped themselves around the soldier, pulling him to one side as the door shattered.

She stalked past the immobilized guard and over the scattered remnants of the heavy door, each piece trying desperately to grow roots into the stone. Her father faced the shattered door, half-risen from his chair. Three other men, the two High King’s Generals and Earl Yet’won, shared the table with him.

“You
dared
!” she hissed at her father, ignoring the other men. “You
dare
try to dictate
this
to me?!”

Kelt’ahrn, High King of Vishni, slowly rose to his feet. “Gentlemen,” he said quietly, “if you would give me and my daughter some privacy.” His tone was quiet, but the men acceded to his request wordlessly. As the men left, as quickly as they could, he turned back to his daughter.

“What, exactly, have I ‘dared’ to do?” he asked.

“You know damned well what you dared,” Brea snapped. “What makes you think you have the right to dictate
my
marriage to me?”

“Ah,” her father replied, his tone still quiet and calm. “Have a seat, Brea.” He waited a moment, but Brea simply glared at him. He sighed. “Brea, you are my daughter. Arranging your marriage is my right, indeed, it is my
responsibility
. You have grown too bold, too far from what a lady should be.”