Storm Rising (8 page)

It was actually quite easy to imagine just that, since Florian had never been a “horse” to him. He closed his eyes and stretched out an imaginary “hand” to his friend, and almost at once he had the uncanny sensation of having another “hand” enfold his. He opened his eyes, and for a moment experienced a very curious double image, the “Florian” he knew superimposed over a young man about his own age, thin, earnest, with dark hair and eyes, dressed in Herald’s Whites.

The second image faded quickly, but Karal had to wonder. Was that what Florian
had
been—before?

:That’s excellent!:
Florian applauded.
:Can you sense the difference?:

“Yes,” he answered at once. “Now it’s as if you’re standing right at my shoulder and whispering in my ear.”

:I’m seeing things through your eyes now. Mind you, I wouldn’t advise it for the inexperienced. It’s rather disorienting.:
Florian chuckled, and Karal “felt” the chuckle at the same time that he heard the whicker.

:You’re working so hard,:
Florian continued wistfully.
:I only wish I could do more to help you.:

“You help me a lot,” Karal replied with feeling. “Just knowing that I have a real friend here helps more than I can say.”

A light footstep at the door alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone with Florian in the stable.
“Only one?” An’desha asked as the Shin’a’ in Adept entered the stable. “If I didn’t know you didn’t mean that literally, I would be sorely hurt.” The teasing tone in his voice told Karal that he wasn’t particularly serious.

As An’desha neared, Karal noted that he looked better than he had in days. Both of them had participated in a magical ceremony at the Valdemar/Iftel border that had been much more powerful and traumatic than either of them had ever dreamed possible. The end result of that was a temporary “breakwater” running from the northernmost tip of Iftel to the southernmost end of Karse, a breakwater that disrupted the mage-storms as they moved across the face of the land, broke them up and dissipated their energies harmlessly. It wouldn’t last forever—for as the storms increased in power and frequency, they were tearing away at the new protections—but it bought them some time to come up with a better solution.

Of the two, An’desha had been the most exhausted, for he had been the one doing most of the work. Karal was not a mage; his mentor Ulrich had said once that he “had the potential to become a channel,” but no one here knew what Ulrich had meant, until he was needed at the Iftel border.

Channeling must be instinctive, rather than learned
. That was what other mages had said, once he described what had happened. He had recovered quickly, once they all returned to the capital of Haven and the expert care of the Healers. An’desha’s recovery had been much slower.

An ‘desha’s complexion was closer to the healthy golden tones of his Shin’a’ in ancestors now, rather than the pasty yellow he
had
been sporting. There was more silver at the roots of his hair, which was hardly surprising, considering how much magical power he’d been handling. Handling the extremes of mage-energy bleached the hair and eyes to silver and blue, so Karal had been told. That was why An’desha’s lover, the Tayledras Adept Firesong, had hair as white as snow before his eighteenth birthday, as it was to this day.

Karal had been told that An’desha had once been something called a “Changechild,” a creature with a body that seemed part-animal, part-human; changed into that form by the spirit of an evil Adept who had taken possession of An’desha’s body and twisted it into the form
he
chose, that of a cat-man. Mornelithe Falconsbane had eventually been driven out and destroyed, and by some miracle—literally a miracle, according to those who had been there at the time—An’desha’s body had been returned to the form it had once held. With one exception.

An’desha’s eyes were those of a cat’s, still: green-yellow, and slit-pupiled. Now, though, they were growing paler, more silvery blue than greenish yellow. Again, that was the effect of all the magic An’desha had handled in setting up the breakwater.

Those were the outward signs of change. There were other signs; a calm that had not been evident before, an air of relaxation.
Confidence
. An’desha knew what he was now, and was comfortable with the knowledge. He also knew what he was not.

He was
not
Falconsbane, though he shared that evil creature’s memories.

“I’m glad you know I did not mean to exclude you,” Karal said with a welcoming smile.

“And I know what you meant—you are glad to have one
Valdemaran
friend. I am as much a foreigner and lost among these crazed folk as you.” An’desha winked at Florian and dragged a short bench over from beside the stove. He was wearing clothing that marked him as foreign as Karal’s Karsite robes, a cross between Hawkbrother garb and the quilted winter clothing of his own Shin’a’ in nomads. “Firesong is complaining of the cold and swearing he will freeze to death before the first snow. Darkwind reminded him that his home Vale has winters worse than any in Valdemar. Firesong, of course, retorted that
he
never had to go out into such barbaric weather, and Elspeth chose to point out that he showed up at Darkwind’s Vale riding
through
a snowstorm.
He
claimed it was because he represented his Vale and thus he
had
to
make a dramatic appearance, and Darkwind said he was just posing. This became a contest of exaggerations, and no one noticed when I left.” An’desha was laughing, so the “argument” must not have been that serious. “Firesong is looking for pity, and he is not going to find it from a Herald and a Tayledras scout, I fear.”

“Nor from you?” Karal teased.

“Nor from me.” An’desha stretched out his booted foot toward the stove. “If he seeks it, I shall only tell him what he told me so very often; too much sympathy makes one look for excuses, not answers. If he does not like the weather, perhaps he should consider making a Veil to cover Haven and turning it all into a Tayledras Vale.”

“Ouch! A hit, indeed.” Karal chuckled, and Florian whickered his own amusement. “Poor Firesong! All hands are raised against him today.”

“It is only the weather that makes him irritable,” An’desha said matter-of-factly. “In that, I cannot blame him too much. Grim, gray, gloomy, and chill! I hope that the farmers are able to get their harvests in, or we all shall be wearing tighter belts come spring.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard that things are any worse than previous years, but no farmer anywhere admits to a good yield,” Karal replied. “I
have
heard that things have improved, now that the breakwater is up.” That gave him an opening he’d been looking for. “An’desha—you were outside the Iftel border. Did you see anything when I went in?”

“How do you mean? I saw a great deal, both with Mage-Sight and my own two kitty-slit eyes.” An’desha pointed to them, then crossed his legs gracefully and leaned forward a little. The wood of his seat creaked as he moved.

Karal thought carefully and phrased his question as clearly as he could. “Did it seem to you that the magic barrier at the border actually …
recognized
me in some way?”

“Oh, there’s no doubt of that!” An’desha told him firmly. “It touched and tested you before it allowed
you to pass within. I Saw it myself. Short, then longer tendrils.” He frowned a little as he concentrated. “The area you were in brightened, and I Saw things—it is hard to describe—I saw the energies touching you, and I knew from some of—of Falconsbane’s memories that they were what he called ‘probes,’ ways to test someone. Though
what
, precisely, you were being tested for, I cannot say.”

“But why did it recognize me?” Karal blurted. “Altra was very firm about that, remember? He said the border would only recognize
me
of all of us. So why me?”

“It wouldn’t have been only you,” An’desha pointed out. “He said that it had to be a Karsite Sun-priest of a particular kind. Ulrich would have been the first choice. And obviously, Solaris would have served as well.”

“But what is the connection between the magic at the border of Iftel and a Karsite Sun-priest?” Karal asked, frustrated. “And just what
is
Iftel? No one can get in or out, except for a very few, all of them selected traders and Healers, and you couldn’t get one of them to talk if you tortured him, which is the point, I suppose. I’ve asked Altra—
when
he happens to show up, which isn’t often since we got back—and all he does is switch his tail and tell me that I’ll find out when the time is right.”

:I can’t help you; I’m as baffled as you are,:
Florian admitted.
:Sorry, but there it is. Neither Altra nor Vkandis Sunlord have bothered to confide in this insignificant Companion.:

“I suppose we’ll just have to be patient. Frankly, if your Vkandis is anything like the Star-Eyed, I’m afraid He’s probably going to insist that you figure it out for yourself.” An’desha shrugged. “Deities seem to be like that. If I were one, I’d have a little more pity on my poor, frustrated, thick-headed followers.”

Karal had to laugh at that, and reflected again how much he himself had changed. A year ago such a joke would have had him white with shock at the irreverence, not to say blasphemy.

An’desha smiled. “Good. Finally, I’ve made you laugh. You should be laughing more; you look as if haven’t had a good laugh in days. And why haven’t you been spending any time down at the Compass Rose with Natoli and the other students? I was down there last night. They’ve been missing you.”

“I’d like to,” Karal replied wistfully, “but I don’t have the time. I’m doing my old job and Ulrich’s, too. And having to learn all the things he knew about protocol without having the leisure to learn them over the course of a year or more.” He shook his head as Florian’s ears dropped sympathetically. “It started almost as soon as we got back from the border, and it hasn’t let up any. I can’t just be a place-holder, An’desha, I have to be a
real
envoy, whether I’m ready for it or not.”

:Too true.:
Florian nuzzled him, and he absently patted the Companion’s nose. And got another curious overlay of someone clasping his shoulder, and he patted the comforting spectral hand in thanks.

“Take today, for instance.
Please
take today,” Karal continued. “I hadn’t even finished my breakfast before a page brought me a message from our border. There’s a Herald down there trying to arbitrate a dispute between some Holderkin and a set of Karsites who style themselves ‘border-riders.’ Neither party would accept a Herald, so it got thrown back in
my
lap and it had to be answered immediately.”

“Did you?” An’desha asked with interest. “Could you?”

“In this case, at least, yes.” He made a sour face. “I happen to know more than I’d like about the border-riders. They aren’t much better than bandits; back in the old days, they had a habit of keeping two sets of clothing, Valdemaran and Karsite, and raiding farms on
both
sides of the border. Now that Karse is at peace with Valdemar, they can’t do that anymore, so they’ve settled down to the odd cattle theft, or helping themselves to everything in a house when the family is away at the Temple Fair.” He frowned, then took a deep breath and grinned a little. “They tried abducting
the odd Holderkin girl, but often as not they couldn’t tell the girls from the boys, and in either case they generally wished they’d stuck their hands in a wasps’ nest instead when the family came boiling out, looking for blood. With no protection from the guards on our side of the border, and a kidnapped brat screaming blue murder, they didn’t get away with
that
very often.”

“So what was the dispute this time?” An’desha asked.

“The usual; cattle the Holderkin swore were theirs. Knowing what I know, I pointed out that the Herald should check the ear-notches to see if they were fresh. Holderkin don’t notch the ears of their cattle because they hold them in common at each Holding; Karsites do, when the cattle are still calves, because cattle theft is in our blood, I’m afraid. If the notches were fresh, the cattle had been recently stolen, and there you have it.”

:Oh, do tell him the outcome, it’s rather funny,:
Florian prompted.

Karal chuckled. “I got word back that
most
of the cattle had freshly-notched ears, but on just about a third of them the notches were clearly done when the cattle were young. It seems that the Holderkin were not above trying to get a little revenge by claiming the
whole
herd instead of just the ones that had been stolen.”

An’desha laughed. “You should tell Talia; she’ll be amused, I think.”

“I shall; really, I think you’re right. She certainly has no great admiration for her own kin.” He sighed. “I just wish all the things I’m asked to settle were so easy to solve. Tomorrow I’m supposed to meet with the heads of nearly every sect and religion in Valdemar, and settle some disputes between the splinter sect of Vkandis that took root up here in Vanyel’s time and some Sun-priests that came up from Karse during the war with Hardorn. I’m afraid I’m not going to make anyone happy with my decisions this time.”

An’desha made sympathetic noises. “That is not something I would care to deal with. I remember—”
He paused. “I have noted that in matters of religion logic, facts, and reason bear little weight when measured against emotion. It does not matter what
is
, when people are convinced that the very opposite is
what should be
.”

“I wish that were less true. I could pile up a hundred facts in favor of a particular argument, and all would be dismissed in favor of ‘but that is not what I believe.’ I am afraid that my age is going to tell against me as well.” He eyed An’desha’s silvering hair enviously. “Perhaps I ought to have you impersonate me. Or better still, have Darkwind do it. They would respect silver hair more than black.”

“Oh, why not go the whole way and ask Firesong to do it?” An’desha laughed. “I can just see the faces of those stolid priests as Firesong sweeps in, wearing
his
version of a Sun-priest’s robes.”