Heart of the Exiled (25 page)

I am Rephanin, master of Glenhallow’s magehall. Pray do not answer, but listen. I bring you greeting from Lord Ehranan of Eastfæld, who is given command of the defense of Midrange
.

He turned his head to look at Ehranan and nodded. The warrior’s throat moved in a swallow, then he straightened in the saddle.

Fellow guardians—

Ehranan paused, seeming surprised at his own voice. The attention of the Guard shifted to him, the change palpable in the thin morning air.

You have pledged yourselves to the defense of Midrange. What you learn in the next few days may save your life or the life of the guardian beside you. Display your weapons!

The force of the command surprised Rephanin. He laid a hand on the withers of his mount as the Guard suddenly moved as one, drawing swords or raising bows.

Sunlight glinted off metal in the farthest ranks, and a sudden chill chased down Rephanin’s spine. He glanced toward Ehranan, saw him exchanging a look with Berephan.

Rephanin swallowed. Yes, that was most effective. Proof also that his voice had reached every guardian on the field.

Be at ease
.

The guardians lowered their arms. Rephanin found that he was breathing rather swiftly and shallowly, and made an effort to be calm. He felt as if the earth had shifted subtly beneath him, as if the sun’s angle had suddenly altered.

Midrange. I am bound for Midrange. How soon?

A hundred tasks and obligations sprang to Rephanin’s
mind. He would have to confer with Jholóran, find out whether he would accept charge of the magehall and both circles temporarily—indefinitely, perhaps. Jholóran must also be introduced to Jharan, for the governor would need access to the master of the magehall—

“Lord Rephanin?”

He looked up at Ehranan, startled by the warrior’s physical voice. Ehranan’s face was alight with suppressed excitement.

“Will you break bread with me this evening? I am housed at Hallowhall.”

Rephanin bowed in the saddle. “You honor me.”

“The honor is mine.”

There was no longer any sign of doubt in Ehranan’s face. Instead, smiling speculation.

This trial had changed everything. Ehranan would seize on it—had already seized on it—and would spare no application of mindspeech to better wield his army.

Rephanin turned his horse toward the city, ignoring Turisan’s triumphant glance. If this was the path meant for him, he felt no enthusiasm for it.

Returning to the magehall, he at once addressed himself to his outstanding obligations, pausing only to ask Tivhari to carry a message for him. He did not stop to rest, knowing he would find no peace until he had arranged the magehall’s future to his satisfaction.

Late in the afternoon, Tivhari ushered a visitor into his sitting room. Rephanin looked up from the tally book he had been perusing.

“Thank you for coming, Jholóran. Have you broken fast?”

Jholóran shook his head as he handed Rephanin his
cloak. “I came as soon as I arose and read your message. Did you wish to hear about the circle’s work last night?”

“Yes, briefly. I trust all went well?”

Rephanin hung the cloak on a peg, then led Jholóran to the hearth and invited him to sit. He picked up an ewer of tea—Heléri’s blend, fragrant with flowers—and poured for Jholóran, who settled himself and reached his hands toward the fire.

“There were several questions about the difficulty of laying khi into metal. It might be of benefit for you to demonstrate again—”

Lord Rephanin?

Rephanin sat up suddenly, spilling a drop of tea on his robe. With a gesture he silenced Jholóran. He half thought he had imagined what he had heard and was cautious in response.

Thorian?

Yes, my lord
.

The answer was faint, but real. Rephanin felt his chest grow tense. He scarcely dared to breathe.

Where are you?

At the garrison. I have just been dismissed for the day. Shall I come to the magehall?

The garrison. Not the public circle just outside the magehall but fully as far as the city’s inner gates. Rephanin glanced at the closed door of his chambers, his throat tightening.

Yes. Please do
.

Jholóran looked at him, one brow raised in curiosity. “Are you all right?”

Exhilaration sang through Rephanin’s veins. He drew a deep breath.

“Yes. Please forgive me. You were saying?”

“Laying focus into metal. I think you should give the circle another demonstration.”

“Of course. Tell me, how did they respond to your guidance?”

“Well enough.” Jholóran picked up a slice of bread thick with nuts and currants from a plate Tivhari had left on the table between their chairs and broke it in half with his fingers. “They spared no effort and accomplished a good deal. Everyone seems to work harder of late. I think they are anxious to please you.”

“Their concern should be for the quality of their work, not for my opinion.”

“So it should.”

The mage calmly chewed his bread as he returned Rephanin’s regard. Though reluctant to yield the place he had held for so many centuries, Rephanin knew he must not delay.

“Jholóran, I have a boon to ask of you. I expect to be called away from Glenhallow soon. Will you oversee the magehall in my absence? Guide the circles in their learning and their work?”

Jholóran looked surprised and somewhat alarmed. “Called away? Where?”

“To Midrange.”

Rephanin explained briefly what had passed on the field that morning. Jholóran listened, frowning at the coals on the hearth.

“You are more than capable of guiding the work of this hall. Will you take my burdens for a while?”

Jholóran looked up to meet his gaze. “For how long?”

“I cannot say.”

The dark eyes regarded him for a long moment. Unspoken understanding passed between them. There
was a chance that this change would be permanent if any ill befell Rephanin at Midrange. Jholóran nodded slowly.

“Of course I will, if you ask it.”

“Thank you. There are a few small matters of which you should be aware. Tivhari does an excellent job managing the magehall—”

A quiet knock on the door interrupted him. Rephanin rose to answer it and found Tivhari and Thorian outside.

A pang of excitement smote him at the sight of the guardian. Thorian smiled, an answering spark in his eye. Out in the corridor beyond, Rephanin heard voices. The new circle was gathering.

“Thank you, Tivhari. Jholóran, will you guide the new circle in their practice tonight? Thorian and I have a matter to discuss.”

Jholóran raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Thorian. “Of course.”

He left with Tivhari, and Rephanin looked at Thorian. One unassuming, rather inexperienced guardian. A small vessel to hold Rephanin’s centuries-old hopes.

“Please, be at home.” Rephanin gestured toward the hearth. “May I take your cloak?”

Thorian undid the clasp on his guardian’s cloak and handed it to Rephanin with a shy smile. Rephanin found himself checking the quality of the blessings in the garment as he hung it up. Strong habit, born of the recent intensity of work in the magehall.

The focuses in the cloak were well laid. Jholóran’s work, he thought.

Thorian sat down rather gingerly in one of the chairs near the hearth, as if he felt out of place. Rephanin regarded him for a moment, thinking he must not be older than a century or two. He showed
little of the reserve that came of a long lifetime of disappointments.

Rephanin fought against the urge to question him through mindspeech. Thorian must be given the opportunity to choose this path himself, and he must first understand the consequences of that choice.

Setting aside Jholóran’s cup, Rephanin took down a fresh one for Thorian. “I was surprised to hear you answer this morning. How long have you been in the Guard?”

Thorian shifted in his chair. “I joined only recently, when the call for volunteers went out. I was one of the last to receive a cloak.” He glanced toward the pale garment now hanging by the door.

Rephanin handed Thorian a cup of tea and drew his chair around to face his guest. “You have done well today. You heard me when no other did this morning, and you spoke to me from the garrison. I believe that you possess the gift of mindspeech, that you may possibly be a distance speaker.”

Thorian blinked once. His hands gripped the carved arms of the chair, and his brown eyes opened rather wide.

“What do you know of mindspeech, Thorian?”

“Only what you have shown us in the circle. I have heard stories of Dejharin and Dironen.”

“They were distance speakers. My gift differs from theirs. Do you understand how?”

“I think so. Distance speakers can speak only to their partners, but across any distance. You can speak to anyone, but they must be in your presence.”

“Yes. Physical barriers in particular interfere with my gift. Your being able to speak to me from the garrison is cause for hope that you are a distance speaker. If we work together to develop your ability, you and I
may be able to speak regardless of barriers or distance.”

Rephanin leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on its arms and folding his hands lightly as he watched Thorian’s face. The guardian seemed both excited and slightly apprehensive.

“Before we pursue this, you should know that it will mean our becoming quite familiar with one another.”

Thorian looked bewildered. “You mean we will know each other’s secrets?”

“Not quite that. Mindspeech is … intimate. Those who use it to any great extent cannot help becoming close. You might not know what I am thinking, but it is possible you will know my feelings at times, and I yours.”

“Oh.”

Thorian gazed at the hearth, absorbing this. Rephanin watched traces of doubt flicker across his features. Classic Greenglen features: the high cheekbones, the long jaw. Already Rephanin felt drawn to him. He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“Take some time to think on this. If you decide not to pursue this path, I will understand.”

Those had been hard words to say, and Rephanin was glad his voice had not wavered. He wanted, quite intently, to develop Thorian’s gift.

The guardian looked up at him, his face serious. “If we do pursue it, will we be like Turisan and Eliani?”

“Perhaps. We must determine whether your gift is limited by distance. We know that mine is.”

A fire of excitement lit Thorian’s eyes, and he leaned forward in his chair. “I need no time to consider.”

Rephanin could not help smiling but made an effort
to subdue the answering emotion in his heart. He wanted nothing more than to speak to Thorian in thought at once, to embrace his khi. He drew a steadying breath.

“Still, I ask you to do so. Go home tonight, talk of this with your family and friends. They may raise concerns that have not occurred to you.”

And some may remember a time when I was less discriminating with mindspeech. A time when I ignored its risks or at least imperfectly understood them.

A pang of remorse struck Rephanin as he thought of Soshari’s conce by the river. She had stumbled unwary into the seductive intimacy of mindspeech. He would never allow that to happen again. Thorian must understand the implications of this path before he chose to walk it.

“If we do this, we will be opening our hearts to each other. Do you see?”

The guardian blinked, and a swallow moved the long muscles of his throat. He nodded slowly.

“Yes. I will think on it.”

“Take as long as you wish.”

They sat in silence until Rephanin realized he was reluctant to see Thorian leave. He stood abruptly, breaking the moment, and went to fetch Thorian’s cloak. Thorian followed, frowning in abstraction as he accepted the garment.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“You need not be so formal, Thorian. Call me by my name.”

Thorian’s eyes widened, as if this were a great responsibility. His voice fell to a hushed whisper. “Rephanin.”

Khi burned in the air between them. Rephanin nodded, then opened the door.

“Good night, Thorian. Take good counsel and rest well.”

“Good night.”

He watched the guardian go down the corridor, at first with slow steps, then faster. The Greenglen cloak swirled about his shoulders just before the curve of the corridor hid him from view.

It occurred to Rephanin only now that Thorian might have a lover and that she might be the one with the greatest objection to his pursuit of mindspeech. It would not be the first time Rephanin had been seen as a threat to such a relationship.

He closed the door and returned to the hearth. The choice was Thorian’s, and he would have to make his own peace with it.

Heléri
.

She could not hear him; no one was near to hear him. How he wished he could share this news with her! He would have to wait. Another reason to look forward to his journey to Midrange.

Turisan lay upon his bed, watching swirls of snow through the glass dome overhead. The dome was fashioned with magecraft and did not admit the winter’s cold. Heavy tapestries were drawn tight along the balustrades of the Star Tower, and fires burned in all the hearths, yet despite all, he felt chilled.