— 37 —

It was Tharin who sent word to Arkoniel of the princess’ miscarriage. Tobin and Ki had been closest to the events, but didn’t have the heart to write of it.

“It was just as well,” Tharin wrote, touching on the child’s deformities.

“It’s Illior’s will,” Nari muttered. It was a bitter midwinter night and the two of them sat by the kitchen fire bundled in cloaks with their feet on the hearth bricks. “The king never sired a healthy child after his little ones died. Now the curse has fallen on his son. Before Iya brought me to Rhius’ house, I never thought of the Lightbearer as cruel.”

Arkoniel stared into the flames. Even after all these years, the memories had not dimmed. “Knowledge and madness.”

“How’s that?”

“Iya once told me that only wizards see the true face of Illior; that only we feel the full touch of the god’s power. The same power that gives knowledge can also bring madness. There’s a purpose in all that’s happened, all that will happen, but it does seem cruel at times.”

Nari sighed and pulled her cloak closer around her. “Still, no crueler than the king and his Harriers killing all those girls, eh? I still see the duke’s face in my dreams, the look in his eyes as they stood over poor Ariani, with all those soldiers downstairs. That witch did her job well that night. What do you suppose ever happened to her?”

Arkoniel shook his head slightly, and kept his gaze on the flames.

“Just between you and me, I always wondered if Iya didn’t do away with her. She’s my kin and I mean no disrespect, but I wouldn’t have put anything past her that night.”

“She didn’t kill her. Even if she’d wanted to, I doubt she could have.”

“You don’t say? Well, I’m glad to hear it. One less death on her conscience, anyway.”

“And mine,” Arkoniel said softly.

“You’re a different sort than Iya.”

“Am I?”

“Of course. I saw it from the start. And has it ever occurred to you that the demon never touched you after that first time when he broke your wrist?”

“He scared my horse and it threw me. He never touched me.”

“Well, there you go. Yet he attacks Iya every time she shows her face near him.”

“He spoke to me once. He said he tasted my tears.” Nari gave him a questioning look and he shrugged. “I wept as I buried him. My tears fell on the body. That meant something to him, apparently.”

Nari was quiet a moment. “Except for his poor mother, I think you were the only one who did weep for him. Rhius’ tears were all for his wife. You’re the one who came back to care for Tobin, too. And now you’ve got all these others to look after. You don’t see her doing that, do you?”

“They wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for her,” he reminded her. “This vision she and the rest of them had? I never saw it. I never have.”

More wizards found their way to the keep, arriving by ones and pairs. By the time word came of Korin’s marriage and Aliya’s miscarriage, six new refugees had arrived, together with a handful of servants. A small herd of horses and donkeys grazed in a forest clearing, hidden from the prying eyes of tradesmen.

Cerana, an old friend of Iya’s, was the first to come that autumn. Lyan and Vornus rode in together soon after, a grey old pair in their fourth age, accompanied only by a burly manservant named Cymeus. The wizards spoke as fondly to one another as if they were husband and wife; Arkoniel suspected they had not been bothered with celibacy in their youth, either.

Melissandra, a southern sorceress, soon followed, arriving like a storm-battered bird one night. Dark-eyed and quiet, fear made her seem younger than her hundred-odd years. She’d been wealthy before the Harriers had come for her; her servingwoman, Dar, had charge of a money chest.

Hain arrived with the first snowfall. A thickset, ordinary youth with a patchy beard, he’d been an apprentice when last Arkoniel had seen him. But, like the old wizards, he gave off the aura of real power, despite his poverty and inexperience.

Lord Malkanus and his small entourage made it to the keep just before snow closed the roads. Only a few decades older than Arkoniel, his talents were middling, but he’d enjoyed the patronage and bed of a wealthy widow in Ylani, and arrived with three manservants, a chest of gold, and a very high opinion of himself. Arkoniel could have done without this one. Malkanus had always been disdainful, holding him and probably Iya, too, as little better than scruffy wanderers. Neither time nor circumstance had done much to mend his manners. Arkoniel was sorry to see Iya leave him one of her tokens, and still couldn’t fathom why the Lightbearer would speak to such a man.

Rooms were dusted out, bedsteads found, and soon everyone was settled in, more or less comfortably. Malkanus had made a fuss over sharing rooms, so Arkoniel gave him his old bedchamber on the third floor, neglecting to mention the other occupant of that part of the house. Much to his disappointment, Ariani paid no attention to the new lodger.

Cook and Nari were delighted to have more people in the house, and the servants fell in willingly with the household chores. The keep began to feel like a real home again, despite the odd nature of its occupants.

Arkoniel had never seen so many wizards in one place before, and it took some getting used to. He never knew when he’d bump into someone practicing invisibility or levitation spells in the hall, but he was grateful for their company. Lyan and Vornus were powerful, and Hain had potential. Melissandra, though more limited, was a master of wards, and soon had the meadow and roads ringed with signals. Arkoniel breathed a bit easier after that. She was kind with the children, too, and joined with Lyan and Vornus to help Arkoniel with their lessons. Little Wythnir fell in love with her at once and Arkoniel began to fear he’d lose his first apprentice.

At his insistence, all the wizards took a hand with the children, testing their abilities and offering their own special talents. Kaulin and Cerana practiced charms and simple household magic. Lyan, on the other hand, could send messages in colored points of light, a rare skill indeed. Vornus and Melissandra shared an interest in transformational spells and she had some skill with wards and locks. Eyoli’s mind-clouding skills, though simple in nature, were of considerable practical use but, as it soon proved, nearly impossible to teach. It was a natural ability, like being able to carry a tune or roll your tongue into a tube. Wythnir and Arkoniel could hold an illusion for a few seconds, but the rest had no luck with it.

These were all useful skills, but it was proud, foppish Malkanus who surprised them all with a dangerous talent for manipulating fire and lightning. The younger children were not allowed to learn these spells, but Arkoniel had him work closely with Ethni and the adults, telling them, “If the Harriers do decide to pay us a visit sometime, I’d like to give them a proper welcome.”

As the winter wore on, however, it became clear that many spells, especially the more difficult ones, could not be universally taught or learned.

As he’d expected, Virishan’s orphans were unable to learn more than the simplest of spells. But Wythnir’s potential showed itself. The boy thrived, having so many teachers, and by midwinter he could transform a chestnut into a silver thimble and had managed to set the stables on fire while trying to duplicate a spell he’d picked up from Malkanus when Arkoniel wasn’t looking. Arkoniel lectured him sternly but was secretly pleased.

The servants proved as useful as their masters. Noril and Semion, two who’d come in with Malkanus, had a knack with horses, and the third, Kiran, fashioned toys for the children from wood and scraps of rags. Vornus’ man Cymeus was a skilled carpenter and made it his business to keep the house in repair. Not content to fix where he could improve, he rigged a weighted wooden arm over the well so that even little Totmus could draw water with ease simply by pressing on the far end of the pole. He showed Cook how to irrigate her ever-expanding garden by means of a roof cistern and clay pipes, and installed a similar apparatus in the wooden washing tub in the kitchen, so that instead of dipping out the dirty water, she could simply remove a plug and let the water drain away through a pipe he’d laid into the garden.

“Isn’t that the cleverest thing!” she exclaimed as they all gathered to watch the water swirl away down the drain.

Cymeus, a tall, bearded bear of a man, blushed like a girl, and said gruffly, “Just something I picked up in our travels, is all.”

“You’re too modest as always, my friend,” Vornus said with a chuckle. “He’s a wizard, even without magic, this one is.”

Arkoniel was careful in revealing his own magic, for it was irrevocably mingled with Lhel’s. Spells he’d come to take for granted would have revealed his secret teacher. Yet it was she, rather than Arkoniel, who insisted on secrecy.

“How would you explain my presence here, eh?” she asked as he lay with her one winter night.

“I don’t know. Couldn’t we just say that you came down from the hills and settled here?”

She stroked his cheek fondly. “You’ve been with me so long, you’ve forgotten the ways of your own people. And speaking of your people, have you taken the pretty little bird caller to your bed?”

“Once,” he admitted, guessing she already knew.

“Only once? And what did you learn?”

“The reason for the vow wizards take.” Lhel might not be beautiful, or young, but her power had drawn him as nothing else did, both to her hearth and her bed. Joining with her was like being filled with lightning. With Ethni, he was dark inside. His power flowed away into her but there was no return except a little affection. The physical spasm was nothing, compared to the joining of power. He’d tried to hide his feelings, but Ethni had sensed it and not come to his bed again.

“Your Lightbearer sets you a narrow path,” Lhel said when he tried to explain.

“Is it different with your people? You can bear children, even with your magic.”

“Our people are very different. You’ve forgotten, knowing me as you have. I’ll be no better than a necromancer in the eyes of your new friends. That haughty young fire thrower would burn me to a cinder as soon as look at me.”

“He’d have to go through me first,” Arkoniel assured her, but he knew she was right. “It won’t always be so,” he promised. “Because of you, Skala will have her queen again.”

Lhel gazed up into the shadows above them. “Yes, it will be soon. It’s time I kept my promise.”

“What promise?” he asked.

“I must show you how to separate Tobin from Brother.”

Arkoniel sat up. He’d waited years for this. “Is it difficult? Will it take long to learn?”

Lhel leaned over and whispered in his ear.

Arkoniel stared at her. “That’s it? That’s all? But—why all the mystery? You could have told us that years ago and spared yourself this exile!”

“It is not only for that that the Mother bade me stay. The unbinding may be simple, but who would have woven the new binding when it was needed? And perhaps you’d still have your entire finger, for not creating the magic you have. The Mother foresaw and I have been where I must be.”

“Forgive me. I spoke without thinking.”

“As for the simplicity of the unbinding, all the more reason to keep it secret. Would you trust that unhappy child with such knowledge?”

“No.”

“And do not be deceived,” she said, settling down in the blankets. “The deed may be simple, but the doing of it will take all the courage she possesses.”

Lhel’s words haunted Arkoniel, but there were other concerns closer to home.

“Only the other day the butcher’s boy remarked on how much more meat I’m ordering,” Cook warned one night as they sat down to a noisy supper in the hall. “And with the snow so deep in the meadow, we’ll soon have to buy fodder for the horses. I don’t think your mistress foresaw that; it’s only going to get worse if more arrive. And that’s not even thinking of spies, if there are any.”

Arkoniel sighed. “What can we do?”

“Good thing for you I was a soldier before I was a cook,” she replied, shaking her head. “First off, we have to stop buying so much in Alestun. The men can hunt, but that won’t do for vegetables. I didn’t have enough of a garden this year, so we’ll have to go farther afield. Two Crow Ford is only a day’s journey by wagon, and none of us are known there. Send a couple of the men this time, posing as traders or traveling merchants, and different ones the next. Tobin’s grandfather used that strategy one winter when we had to go into winter camp near Plenimar.”

“There’s the difference between wizards and soldiers. I’d never think of such things. Consider yourself our quartermaster.” As she turned to go back to the kitchen, a thought struck him and he laid a hand on her chapped red forearm. “All these years I’ve known you, but never asked your true name.”

She laughed. “You mean to tell me you don’t know what every tradesman in Alestun knows?” She raised an eyebrow at him, but she was smiling. “It’s Catilan. I was Sergeant Cat in my day, of the Queen’s Archers. I’m a bit past it for swordplay, but I can still pull a bow. I keep in practice when I can find the time.”

“How did you ever end up a cook?” he asked without thinking.

She snorted. “How d’you suppose?”