Storm Warning (56 page)

But he wasn’t angry enough yet, and Karal kept right at him.

“You don’t hear Darkwind whining about how put-upon he is, even though his shoulder still isn’t healed and he is working night and day with the other mages! It’s time to stop whining and start doing something, An’desha—or go find someone else to whine at, because
we
are all tired of
you!”

An’desha’s face was contorted out of all recognition, but Karal continued the verbal abuse, continuing to attack him for being cowardly, selfish, and spoiled.

An’desha’s hands were clenched at his sides, and he stood as rigidly as a tent pole—

—and there were colors swirling around those clenched fists; brilliant scarlets and explosive yellows, mage energies that, if they were visible to
him,
were probably quite potent enough to flatten an entire building.

He’d seen Ulrich strike down something by magic once, and the powers gathering around An’desha’s hands right now were twice, perhaps three times as bright.

He wanted to run. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn and flee. Every hair on his head felt as if it was standing straight on end from the power in this little space.

But instead of fleeing, he did the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life; harder than facing Celandine, harder than coming to this strange land in the first place.

He stepped back a pace, spread his hands, and
sneered.

“Well?” he taunted. “I’m right, aren’t I? I’m right, and you’re too spineless even to admit it!”

And he waited for An’desha to strike, still holding that merciless sneer on his face.

The air
hummed
with power; he’d read of such things, but he’d never experienced it. Now every hair on his head did stand straight on end—

And An’desha’s control finally exploded.

“Damn you!”
An’desha screamed.
“Damn you!”

There was a flash of orange and white, and the energy dissipated, draining away into the ground so quickly that in one breath it was completely gone.

An‘desha collapsed down onto his pallet, folding up as if he was completely exhausted, his face pale and pained. “Damn you,” he repeated dully, as Karal dropped down to his side in concern and a fear that he’d managed somehow to make An’desha burn himself out. “Damn you, Priest, you’re right.”

He looked up, as Karal tentatively touched his shoulder, eyes bleak. “You’ve been coddling me, and I’ve been unforgivably selfish.”

Karal grinned, which obviously astonished him, for An‘desha gaped at him. “I’m right twice,” he pointed out. “I
told
you that you were underestimating yourself, believing that because you have the memories of a Falconsbane or a Ma’ar, you also have their ways. You thought that if you ‘lost control’ of an emotion, you’d lose control of everything. Well. You lost control of your temper, didn’t you? You were afraid to learn everything that lay in your old memories, because you were afraid that if you got too angry with someone, you’d use it. You just got angry, and there you are, after doing nothing more than curse me—and here I am, unsinged, unflattened. Falconsbane would have sent me through a wall, or incinerated me.
You
are sitting there, back in control again, and your own man. Right?”

An’desha stared at him. “You mean—all that was just to prove to me that—” He reddened again. “Why, I should—I—”

Karal raised an eyebrow at him. “And?” he said impudently. “Why don’t you,
Adept?”

“Because
you
aren’t worth the effort it would take to blow you through the wall,
Priest,”
An’desha retorted, a ghost of a smile lurking around his eyes. “And because it’s not worth taking on your vengeful god as an enemy just so I can get some satisfaction! Damn you! Why do you have to be so
right?”

“It’s not my fault!” Karal protested. “I can’t help it!”

“Pah!” The young mage mock-hit his shoulder. “You revel in it, and you damn well know you do! One of these days you’ll be wrong, and I’ll be there to gloat!” The ghost of a smile had become a grin. “Just wait and see!”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Karal replied, and he meant every word. A moment later, Firesong looked in on them both, with a small but loving smile on his handsome face.

 

After all that, though, he felt an obligation to be there along with Firesong when An‘desha worked up his own courage and took the plunge into those old, dangerous memories. It became something of a vigil for the two of them; An’desha lay in a self-imposed trance, looking much like a figure on a tomb, while the two of them watched, waited, and wondered if they
might
have been wrong in urging him to this. Firesong hadn’t expected it to take more than a mark or two, but the afternoon crawled by, then most of the evening, and still the trance showed no signs of ending.

“Is this getting dangerous?” Karal asked in a whisper, as Firesong soberly lit mage-lights and returned to his seat beside An’desha’s pallet.

“No—or not yet, anyway,” the Adept replied, although he sounded uncertain to Karal. “I have been in trances longer; for two or three days, even.”

But those were not trances in which you pursued the memories of power-hungry sadists,
Karal added, but only to himself. Still, nothing had gone overtly wrong yet. There was no point in conjuring trouble.

He wished that Altra was here, though. The Firecat had waited just long enough to be sure that he had survived An’desha’s anger, then had vanished without an explanation. He could have used Altra’s view on this; if Solaris’ behavior was anything to go by, a former Son of the Sun should be much more familiar with trances and their effects than he was.

A hint of movement riveted his attention back on An’desha. Had his eyelids moved? If the lights had been candles, he would have put it down to the flickering shadows, but mage-lights were as steady as sunlight. Yes! There it was again, the barest flutter of eyelids as the sleeper slowly, gently awakened.

A moment later, and An‘desha opened his eyes and blinked in temporary confusion; Firesong poured the tea that had been steeping all this while, and helped him to sit up, then offered him the cup. An’desha took it, his hands shaking only slightly, and drank it down in a single swallow.

“How late is it?” he asked, as he gave the cup back to Karal, who poured more tea for him.

“Evening. Not quite midnight,” Firesong told him.

An‘desha nodded. Karal watched him covertly, and was relieved to see nothing in his expression or manner that was not entirely in keeping with the An’desha that he knew. “I discovered that we have been laboring under a misconception,” he said, finally. “Before Ma’ar died, there
was
a time when he had to deal with the kind of situation we have now, although the initial destruction was of a single Gate and the spells of the area around it, and nowhere near so cataclysmic as what came later.”

Firesong nodded with excitement in his eyes, and Karal leaned forward. “So what did he do?”

An‘desha sipped his tea before replying. “It isn’t so much what he did, as what his enemy did,” he said. “He wasn’t concerned with the effect of the waves outside his domain, so
he
simply built the sort of shield that I
think
we’ve been assuming we’d need all along.” An’desha shook his head. “That would be a dreadful mistake,” he continued. “A shield wall alone would simply reflect the waves again, and the reflected waves have the potential for causing more harm than the original waves!”

Karal sat back for a moment, and pictured the physical model that the engineers had constructed, a large basin filled with water, the bottom covered with a contour map of Valdemar and most of the surrounding area. He thought about the experiments that Master Levy had been making, dropping large stones into the basin over “Evendim” and “Dhorisha Plains” and watching the wave-patterns, seeing how those patterns interacted.

“I see it,” he replied, “but—”

“But it was what Ma‘ar’s enemy did that was interesting—and more importantly, appropriate,” An’desha interrupted. “Instead of making a flat shieldwall he literally created a breakwater, exactly what Master Norten has been talking about; something that not only stops the waves, but absorbs their force. Ma‘ar studied it and knew how to recreate it, but he considered it a waste of his time and resources.” He paused. “Because
he
knew how to recreate this, so do I. What’s more, I also know how to recreate his ’shieldwall.’ If we combined both—we can absorb the waves coming at us,
and
we can reflect the rest back at the Empire!”

Firesong sucked in his breath, and Karal sat back on his heels.

“I don’t know if we ought to do that,” Karal said at last, troubled by the implications. “Does the Empire deserve that?”

Firesong shot him an incredulous look. “You say that after what they’ve done to you?” he exclaimed.

But Karal shook his head.
“They
didn’t do anything. There are two, perhaps three people who are responsible; Celandine, who got what he deserved, this Grand Duke Tremane, whoever he is, and possibly the Emperor.
They,
the whole of the Empire, is very large, and composed mostly of people who aren’t even aware of the existence of Karse.” He sighed. “Firesong, don’t make the mistake that we of Karse did for so long with Valdemar. Don’t make the Empire into a vast conspiracy of faceless enemies who are all personally responsible for what the leaders do and do not do. There are thousands of perfectly innocent people in the Empire, who do not deserve to have their chickens turns into child-eating monsters just because a few ruthless people caused us harm.”

Firesong shrugged, but Karal could tell by the troubled look in his eyes that he
had
listened to what Karal had said.

“And don’t make another mistake,” he continued. “Don’t assume that because a leader ordered something be done, that he had any idea what the consequences were going to be. Unless you have someone like a Herald or Solaris, who has a—” he grinned wanly, for he sensed Altra padding in the door just at that moment, “—a rather insistent and altogether meddling four-legged conscience always at his side, leaders are just people, and they frequently forget to think before they act.”

:Indeed,:
Altra said sardonically.
:A very nice speech. Meddling, am I?:

He only reached out and scratched Altra’s ears, a caress that the Firecat “submitted to” quite readily.

“That’s all very well, but we still need to do something about the next wave coming in, don’t we?” An’desha replied pragmatically. “Once I can think properly again, we need to get all the mages together. I can explain this once, and get the questions over with.”

“Should I bring over Master Levy and Master Norten as well?” Karal asked, assuming that it would be his task to find everyone and notify them that their presence was needed.

An’desha considered that for a moment. “I believe so,” he said finally. “They can find the key points where we can place our defenses to do the most good; I think their formulas will be useful there.”

Karal was struck, suddenly, by the fact that An’desha sounded different somehow; it was nothing very obvious, and he wasn’t saying things that he wouldn’t have said before, but it was the way he said them that had changed.

He’s—by the Sunlord, he sounds older, that’s what it is! He doesn’t sound like a half-child anymore! He sounds-yes, and he acts
—
his true age!
Karal didn’t say anything, but the change delighted him; so far as he was concerned, this was
all
to the good.

:One wonders what Firesong is going to make of an independent An’desha,:
Altra remarked, as if to himself. The same thought had occurred to Karal, just as Altra made the comment.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it. Firesong was just going to have to cope. Whether the Adept liked it or not, Karal was certain that this change in An’desha was not going to be temporary. Firesong should be allowed a little time to recognize it and deal with it in private.

:Or not,:
said Altra. Karal aimed a sharp thought-jab at the Firecat; once in a while it
would
be nice to have a private thought or two!

“I’ll go tell the others that we’ll have a meeting in the morning,” he said, getting to his feet. “And I’ll be back only when I find them all. Don’t bother to wait for me.”

He trotted off down the hall and down the stairs without giving either of them a chance to reply.

But was it his imagination, or did he actually hear An‘desha say “We won’t,” and chuckle?

 

By the time the morning was half over, the Master Craftsmen had narrowed down the “necessary” key points for the new shields from several dozen to the absolute minimum. There would be three major, essential points of blockage, and several minor points. The minor points could all be handled by sets of Master Mages, and all of them were within a few days’ ride of Valdemar.

“We have enough mages here, between Herald-Mages and the envoys, that we can post people to each of those minor points,” Elspeth said, pursing her lips over her list of available personnel. “This shouldn’t be a problem.”

“But here, here, and here—” An’desha pointed on the map to the three major points—north, in the heart of the Forest of Sorrows—south, at the border of Karse—and east, at the place where the borders of Iftel, Hardorn, and Valdemar all met. “These are problems. The breakwaters are unstable in their first stage; they actually require the energy from a wave to stabilize them and make them self-supporting. You will
have
to have either two Adepts or one Adept and two Masters to create them, join them to the two others, and hold them until the wave comes.” He studied the map, and put his finger on the third point. “This one will be the easiest, but the most vulnerable; it’s like the keystone of an arch. It will need less power, and more craft. And the mages will have to be at the site in order to create the breakwater and join it into a whole.”