The Mage of Trelian (14 page)

It also said that he had to send the bird back to Serek and Anders, not to Meg this time. It didn’t say why, though. He thought about whether to follow those instructions or not. He liked the idea of Meg being the one to receive the crow. He liked feeling like he was talking to her rather than to Serek and Anders. But they must have put that in there for a reason. Maybe it was too dangerous for the bird to seek out Meg right now. He had no idea what was going on there, after all.

It’s not because she doesn’t want the birds to come to her,
he assured himself. She helped the first time. She would still be helping if there wasn’t a good reason not to. Just because he didn’t know the reason didn’t mean it wasn’t a good one.

He stayed out on the balcony the whole time the bird was there. He didn’t know why, but somehow it seemed safer in the open air. He thought there was more of a chance of Krelig sensing something if he talked to the bird inside. He hoped that it was safer outside, anyway. He didn’t really have any other options.

He gave his new message to the bird, then fed it some of the bread he’d saved from his bird-treat stockpile. “More where that came from,” he told it. “Lots more, if you get me back in one piece, my friend.”

The bird cawed quietly at him in its own voice and then lumbered off into the dark sky.

Calen’s days began to fall into a new kind of rhythm. They still always started with his morning lessons, which he now looked forward to without reservation. He couldn’t help it. Every day, every single day, he learned something new. Something significant. Some whole new way of looking and thinking and working with magic. He told himself it was all right to love the learning. He deserved to get something good out of being here, didn’t he? After everything he was enduring, everything he had sacrificed? And the stronger he got, the better his chances were of being able to help Serek and the others defeat Mage Krelig. It was all part of the plan. It didn’t change anything that he happened to like this part.

It helped that Krelig didn’t punish him very often anymore. He was just as interested as Calen in finding out how deep those new reserves of power were.

And the power itself was . . . incredible. Easy spells were easier; harder spells were easier. He was casting things now that he’d never even imagined being able to cast before.

One morning Krelig showed him how to stop a mage from being able to cast. It was the same spell Sen Eva had used on him on the day Mage Krelig had returned. It was ridiculously simple, or at least, it seemed so now. The only trick was that once someone cast it on you, you needed help to remove it. Krelig had removed the one Sen Eva had cast somewhere during their long, terrible journey to wherever they were now, but Calen had been too distracted by betraying his friends to even notice until much later.

Krelig wouldn’t allow Calen to practice on him, of course. But he encouraged him to use it on one of the others during their next group lesson. He also taught Calen how to prevent someone else from using it on him. These moments, when Krelig conspired with him against the other mages, were always . . . confusing. Calen didn’t ever want to feel like he and Krelig were on the same side. But he didn’t want to be on the traitor mages’ side, either. And of course he wasn’t on either of those sides, not really. But he had to do so much pretending; sometimes it took him a minute to remember what the truth was.

The group lessons were educational in other ways. The other mages had learned to be wary of him; they knew that he tended to show up with new tricks up his sleeve. And they were beginning to understand how powerful he really was. Sometimes when they looked at him, he could see the fear in their eyes, and he was glad. They should be afraid. A day would come when he could stop pretending, and then they’d find out exactly what they had to be afraid of.

But not yet,
he reminded himself regularly. He’d never really come close to losing control during a lesson. He’d just had occasional moments of wishing he could. He hated them so much.

Except for Helena.

That had been hard to accept at first, but he knew that it was true. She and Calen had fallen into a pattern as well. After group lessons, they would discuss what they’d seen and learned, and practice some of the spells they’d watched the others craft, or think of new ways to defend against attacks. He still didn’t
like
her, but he couldn’t deny that he didn’t quite hate her, either.

Evenings varied: if Krelig was there, there might be additional lessons; if not, there might be more free time to practice on their own.

And every night, Calen sat on his balcony, watching for crows.

One evening, practicing with Helena again after the group lesson had ended, Calen noticed the colors around her hands before she cast, as he had that time with Lestern. Just for a second, maybe two. But . . . early. Earlier than should have been possible.

He paid closer attention for the rest of their practice session. Not every time, but often, he could see the colors gather before she raised her hands to cast. She was like most mages in that she used her hands to direct the magic once she’d crafted the spell. Krelig was the only one Calen had ever seen who hardly ever needed to use his hands. Even he still did sometimes, although most often only when it didn’t matter. Calen thought about how he’d struck him across the dining hall table without moving a muscle, but had gestured to summon his glass of wine.

They practiced attacking each other — just with harmless tag spells, nothing that would hurt beyond a tiny pinch — as they often did; Krelig loved to make his mages attack one another, and perfecting their abilities to cast and defend at the same time was probably the most important part of their training. It made sense. When they fought the other mages, the ones who opposed Krelig (
the good mages,
as Calen always thought of them), that’s primarily what they would be doing, after all.

Usually Calen and Helena were almost evenly matched in terms of speed when it was just the two of them. Helena got flustered sometimes when she had to fend off multiple attackers at once, but one-on-one, she was often as fast as Calen. Not as strong, not anymore, but just as fast. Sometimes even faster. But tonight was different. He kept seeing the colors seconds before she actually cast something at him. Which gave him a few extra seconds to prepare.

“All right, stop!” she said after he had intercepted her latest attack as soon as she released it. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Calen asked. They were both breathing hard at this point. Physically they were just standing there, facing each other on opposite sides of the room, but the constant casting and concentration was hard work.

She walked over to him, rubbing a hand against her forehead, which was glistening with sweat. “It’s like you know what I’m going to cast before I do!” she said. “Am I giving myself away somehow, all of a sudden?”

Yes,
Calen thought.
Gods, that’s exactly what’s happening. I can see her spells before she casts them.
But he knew, without one shred of doubt, that this was something he should keep to himself.

“Maybe I’m just getting better at reading you,” Calen said. “You do sort of make a face before you cast certain things.”

She punched him in the arm. “I do not!”

Just like Meg,
he thought, with a strange mix of affection and annoyance and a sadness that seemed to pierce right through him. But he couldn’t dwell on that; he had to distract her.

He shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “You do. You sort of scrunch up your eyebrows. Especially when you’re casting something you think is going to hurt.” He paused. “Or, you know,
would
hurt, if you could ever land one on me.”

She gave a shocked laugh, raising her eyebrows. “I’ll land one on you right now!” she said, punching his arm again, and then the other one.

Calen started laughing, too, fending her off. Or trying to; it was harder to avoid her fists than her spells.

“Okay, okay!” he said. “I’m sorry!”

“Take it back!” she said, still swinging.

He hesitated, pretending to consider. “Well . . .”

She lunged at him suddenly, and then they were on the ground. Before he knew what was happening, she was sitting on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground. Gods, she was strong!

“Take it back,
apprentice
! Or I’ll make you sorry!”

She was still laughing, but something seemed different now. He didn’t think she was angry, not really. Just . . . different. He couldn’t quite figure out how, though.

“Okay,” Calen said. “I take it back. I do. You don’t scrunch up your eyebrows. Ever. They barely ever move at all. Not like your hands, which always twitch just a little before you —”

“Oh, that’s it,” she said, and started tickling him.

“Stop!” Calen cried through his laughter. It was somehow both excruciating and delightful; he couldn’t quite bear it, but at the same time he didn’t entirely want her to stop. “I’m sorry! I mean it! I was just teasing!”

“Promise you’ll never do it again.”

“I promise! I’m sorry!”

She tickled him for a few more seconds, then sat back and looked down at him. They were even more sweaty now.

“How — how did you learn to do that?” Calen had never been tackled and tickled within an inch of his life like that before. In fact, his tickling experience was decidedly on the small side.

“I had five brothers, growing up,” she said, smirking. “I know how to get boys to behave.”

“I’ll say,” Calen said. He pushed her off, but gently.

She let herself be pushed, and they sat there on the floor, recovering.

“I don’t really have a tell, do I?” she asked after a moment.

“No,” Calen said. “Really. I’m not sure why I was so fast before. Just having a good night, I guess.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”

She climbed to her feet and headed for the door.

Calen stayed where he was, wondering what she’d meant.

M
EG WAS AWAKE LONG BEFORE PELA
came to rouse her.

Both girls were quiet while Pela helped her dress. Meg was relieved to see that Pela had selected a very simple outfit — plain and practical riding clothes in a color similar to the soldiers’ uniforms. Meg smiled at Pela in the mirror as the younger girl finished tying Meg’s hair back in two sturdy braids and bound them together with a thick band that matched the rest of her clothing.

“Thank you, Pela. So much. For everything.”

Pela flushed, but she couldn’t quite hide her own smile. “Think nothing of it, Princess. And don’t speak to me as though you’re never going to see me again. You and Jakl will cow these Lourin soldiers and be back home before you know it.”

“Of course.”

After one last going-over to make sure Meg looked as well turned out as she could manage, Pela released her. Meg kissed Pela’s hands and turned toward the door. Then she turned back.

“Don’t forget what I said,” she told Pela.

“I won’t, Princess. If you’re not back in time, I’ll make sure they get Apprentice Calen back home safe.”

Meg nodded and then opened the door and walked out.

Jakl was waiting for her in his field, sitting up alertly under the still-dark sky. He was looking forward to getting to fight, she knew.

“Ready?” she asked him. Needlessly, of course. He was more than ready. Meg supposed she was really asking herself. But that was needless, too. She had to be ready, didn’t she? It was time to go.

She climbed up, and he flew them over to the soldiers’ barracks.

They were early; the rest of Varyn’s company hadn’t yet arrived. Captain Varyn was there, though, and he came out to meet her.

“You’re ready for this,” he said, watching as she slid from her dragon’s back. “The both of you. I know you’re going to make us proud.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

He looked at her a moment in silence. Then he said, “What the king said last night is correct, of course, Your Highness. It is essential that you keep Jakl in line. But at the same time, you must not forget that we are at war. The men you will face out there on the battlefield are our enemies. If given the chance, they would kill us all. You must not hold back more than necessary. Do you understand? I’ll need you and the dragon under control, but still at full ferocity. We
must
clear the way for Kragnir’s forces.”

“I — yes, sir.” Meg spoke with more confidence than she felt. She believed she’d made the situation clear to Jakl through the link last night before she fell asleep. As clear as it was to her, anyway. But it all still felt very . . . complicated. How would she know how far she could let him go? How would she be able to tell where the line was?
You’ll just figure it out,
she told herself.
You will do what you have to do. And you’ll help Jakl to do only what he must.

“All right, then.” Captain Varyn raised his head to gaze up at Jakl, who was sitting proudly on his haunches. “I hope your dragon is all rested up and ready for some heavy lifting.”

“He’s ready for whatever you need, Captain.”