Heart of the Exiled (13 page)

Turisan leaned over to murmur in his father’s ear. “I must depart soon. I am pledged to meet with Rephanin at sunset.”

Jharan turned a look of inquiry on him and answered quietly. “About equipping the Guard?”

Turisan gave a small shake of his head. “To ask his advice.”

A slight frown creased his father’s brow. Turisan stayed to listen a while longer, then quietly left his seat. He felt Jharan’s gaze follow him.

Stepping onto the colonnade, Turisan saw that the sun was nearing the snowy peaks to the west. He paused, looking out at the fountain court, inhaling the fountains’ moist breath, then followed colonnades to cross from the palace to the magehall.

Rephanin’s attendant greeted him and led him down a curving hallway lit by sparse torchlight. She stopped before a door and knocked softly.

“Lord Turisan is here to see you, my lord.”

“He may enter.”

The attendant opened the door and stepped aside. Turisan went in, glancing around a room he had never seen before as the door closed quietly behind him.

Rephanin’s taste seemed a combination of lavish
and spare. What ornaments he possessed were rich, but they were few: a pair of carved chairs with cushions covered in thick gold velvet, a small table between them of finest darkwood, a single tapestry that was plainly the work of Clan Ælvanen’s best weavers. The room was lit only by the freshly built fire upon the hearth.

Rephanin came forward, adjusting the fall of a tunic he had apparently just donned. He stepped to a set of shelves along one wall and picked up a flagon.

“Would you care for a cup of wine?”

“Thank you, yes. The Council was tiresome today.”

Rephanin’s lip curved in a smile as he handed Turisan a finely wrought silver cup. “Tell me.”

Turisan sighed, settling into his chair. “It would not interest you, I fear. An argument over whether to occupy High Holding.”

Rephanin took the other chair and sipped his own wine. “And the result?”

“It was left undecided.”

“Never let it be said that the Ælven Council makes decisions lightly.”

Turisan laughed. “Or swiftly.”

He took another mouthful of wine, enjoying its subtle flavors of fruit and wood. Looking up, he saw that the magelord was watching him. He swallowed, pondering how to raise the subject that had brought him there.

Rephanin spared him the trouble. “So you feel mindspeech is a dangerous distraction.”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“You are not the first to tell me so.”

Turisan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Rephanin placed his cup on the table, then leaned back and laced his fingers together. “You are distracted
when in company, sometimes embarrassingly so. When walking or otherwise moving, you may lose sense of where you are. At any time you may be taken off guard by physical sensations that are disorienting.”

“Yes.” Turisan nodded, impressed. “Can we avoid any of this?”

A small smile crossed Rephanin’s face. “Most of it. You and your lady must establish some customs between you.”

“What do you suggest?”

“The single most helpful thing is to agree upon a signal that you will use when you wish to make contact. It is far less distracting than beginning with speech, and gives your partner the opportunity to refuse or to find privacy.”

“What sort of signal?”

Rephanin hesitated, gazing down at his hands. “With your permission, it would be easier to demonstrate than to explain.”

Turisan felt an echo of past wariness, but with an effort he dismissed it. He had come for Rephanin’s help and had no cause to mistrust him.

“Very well.”

Are you ready?

Startled at the magelord’s voice, Turisan nearly spilled his wine. A cold tingle washed through him as he realized that what he had hitherto shared only with Eliani was no longer exclusively theirs.

It had never been that, he knew. Rephanin could speak with anyone in his presence, though Turisan had never heard him speak before. He set down his cup and drew a breath to steady himself.

Yes
.

Rephanin sat up straight in his chair, and his eyes closed. In a moment Turisan sensed a slight pressure
on his brow and a warmth, as if someone had rested a hand there. Behind the sensation he caught a whisper of Rephanin’s khi—powerful yet restrained—that struck him with awe.

The pressure vanished as the magelord opened his eyes. Turisan nodded slowly.

“I see. How is it done?”

Easiest to show you. Follow me
.

At once Turisan was again aware of Rephanin’s khi, but this time it was open to him, vast and potent, inviting him into a closeness he had shared only with Eliani. He hesitated, and immediately his attention was directed to a soft grayness, a barrier concealing part of the magelord’s khi from him, which he found reassuring.

Accepting the contact, he was drawn in and for a moment experienced the sort of double awareness that often disturbed him—his own body and Rephanin’s at once. He closed his eyes, and the feeling quickly passed.

He found his thoughts trailing the magelord’s, reaching through the khi of his body, finding the point of focus, and applying a gentle brightness of khi to it. The signal’s sensation returned, then faded in the next moment as Rephanin withdrew.

Turisan opened his eyes, inhaled, and reached for his cup, feeling slightly stunned. A sip of wine served to calm him.

“Thank you. That will help a great deal, I think.”

Rephanin leaned back in his chair. “Choose a different point to signal that you are not in a position to speak—the back of a hand, for example.”

“Would it not be as easy to speak?”

“When you are accustomed to it, you will find the signal is faster and less obtrusive.”

Turisan nodded. “What else?”

“You and Lady Eliani should agree upon when to avoid intruding upon each other. It may be difficult, given how swiftly she is traveling.”

“I will discuss it with her, thank you. I have another question. Last night two of her party were wounded, and Eliani blessed them with healing. I felt it through my ribbon.” He ran his hand along the woven ribbon and looked up at the magelord, who seemed astonished.

“A healing? I did not know Lady Eliani was a healer.”

“She is not. She tried only because the wounded requested it. Can you tell me why I felt it?”

Rephanin slowly shook his head, his expression unreadable. “You will have to ask Heléri. I have never heard of such an occurrence.”

“I will consult her, then.”

Rephanin reached for his wine and took a deep swallow, turning the cup around in his hands as he stared into the fire. Turisan waited, not wishing to intrude on his thoughts. At last Rephanin stirred and glanced up at him.

“You have further questions?”

“Only one. Did Dejharin and Dironen have such difficulties?”

Rephanin gave a soft laugh. “I do not know. I was acquainted with them, but only slightly. I was fairly young at that time and not nearly as important as they.”

Turisan nodded and took another sip of wine. “Like me, compared with you.”

“Oh, no.”

The magelord’s gray eyes fixed on him intently. Turisan shifted in his chair, uncomfortable under that gaze.

Rephanin spoke softly. “You are far more important than I. You are a distance speaker; you and your lady are the only such partners we have at present.”

Turisan paused before answering. “And your gift of speaking with anyone nearby is the only such we have had in all ælven history. Is that not so?”

Rephanin’s gaze dropped. “In recorded history, yes. I am—a curiosity.” A corner of his mouth curved wryly.

Turisan frowned, surprised that Rephanin, who by all reports was well aware of his worth, would so underrate himself. He gazed thoughtfully at the magelord.

“And all the mages you have trained, all the work you have done—that adds nothing to your importance?”

Rephanin’s expression hardened as he stared into the fire. “If someday it can be said that I did more good than harm, I will have lived a useful life.”

He drew a breath, then seemed to cast off the somber mood, favoring Turisan with a smile as he rose from his chair. “And now it is time for me to meet with my circle. I hope you will find my suggestions helpful.”

Turisan stood as well, leaving his cup on the table. “Most helpful. Thank you again.”

Without thinking, he extended an arm, and after a slight hesitation the magelord clasped it. Turisan felt again the hint of controlled power in Rephanin’s khi.

They parted, Rephanin going to his circle and Turisan returning across the colonnade to Hallowhall. The sun had set, and the blue of twilight was fast deepening under a quarter moon.

Turisan paused at the balustrade overlooking the fountain court. Another formal banquet awaited him—one he dared not miss if he wished to escape his father’s displeasure—but he was not ready to face the
councillors yet and allowed the fountains’ whisper to lure him into the courtyard.

The evening was chill enough that he found himself alone in the gardens. He strolled along the paths, listening to the water’s music and thinking over his encounter with Rephanin.

All his life he had held the magelord in awe. Since childhood Rephanin had been to him a figure of mystery and undetermined threat. Now that he had shared khi with the magelord, he wondered why he had felt so intimidated. He had not felt threatened, save when the strange hunger touched the magelord’s gaze. He was beginning to think it was merely envy, though why Rephanin should envy him he could not guess.

Eliani. He envies the gift.

A stray breeze blew a fountain’s mist into his face. He blinked, recalling that until today he had known of Rephanin’s gift only by report. Indeed, until today he had seen no proof of the magelord’s mindspeech nor heard of any who claimed to have experienced it. Something had changed.

Turisan?

Distracted by Eliani’s voice, he smiled.
Yes, my heart?

We are coming into Highstone. We will spend the night, replenish our supplies, and set out in the morning
.

Enjoy your rest. I must go and feast with the councillors
.

Speak to me when you are finished
.

I will do better than that. Harken to this
.

Drawing a breath, he closed his eyes and reached out to send her the signal Rephanin had taught him. He sensed her surprise.

What is that?

A gentle request for your attention. Rephanin showed me how
.

Rephanin!

Yes—he had good advice for us. I will explain it to you when we both have leisure
.

He sensed her skepticism.
Very well. Enjoy your feast
.

Turisan smiled, sending his love to enfold her, catching his breath at her swift, fierce response. She slipped away, and he opened his eyes, staying for a moment in the courtyard before returning to the palace and his duty.

Luruthin watched the white-gold rays of the sun’s farewell stretch upward from the peaks of the Ebons as the party entered Highstone’s public circle. They were greeted with joy by the citizens, who instantly surrounded Eliani, pelting her with questions. Luruthin dismounted and gratefully gave his reins over to a groom who hurried out from the stables.

Gharinan, who was serving as temporary governor in Felisan and Eliani’s absence, came to greet them, and Eliani at once led him back to the Hall, talking intently of supplies, horses, and riders. Ten of the Southfæld Guard who had ridden this far were to be replaced by ten from Alpinon’s Guard, the Southfælders to return to reinforce the outpost at Midrange.

Luruthin shouldered his saddle packs and turned gratefully to the warm lights burning in Highstone’s windows. The door of the public lodge stood wide, revealing a large fire on the welcoming hearth and the lodge keeper chattering brightly to the guardians who were already crowding inside the house. Guessing that it would take some while to settle twenty guardians, Luruthin turned to Vanorin.

“There will likely be a vacant bed in the theyns’ lodge, if that would suit you.”

Vanorin’s brows rose. “Must one be a theyn to stop there?”

“A theyn or a theyn’s guest. I hereby invite you.”

The Greenglen returned a weary smile. “Is it very far? I should stay near my guardians.”

Luruthin grinned and gestured toward the lodge. “Nothing is far from anything in Highstone. It is just the other side of the circle.”

Vanorin shouldered his packs. “Lead on, then.”

The theyns’ lodge was smaller than the public lodge, and the fire in its hearthroom was banked. Strains of hesitant lute music came from deep within the house. Luruthin rang the guest chime, smiling an apology to Vanorin.

“Bithanan is sometimes slow to answer. Never fear; his table makes up for it.”

The music ceased, and the lodge keeper appeared after a few more moments. Slender almost to thinness, with his russet hair caught back in a simple clasp, he blinked at them in surprise.

“Theyn Luruthin! Has the Council ended?”

“Not nearly. Eliani and I are riding northward on an errand at their behest and will only be stopping the night. This is Vanorin of the Southfæld Guard. I trust you can accommodate him?”