Mercedes Lackey - Lamma's Night (anthology)

I smiled coldly. "Jesamen, you know what?"

Fear flowered higher in his eyes, and I saw the realizations clicking into place there.

"This is the second time you've messed with something you couldn't control."

And then I opened my hands, sent my wish to the well, and released the light upon us.

The clatter of dishes snapped Maakus out of whatever spell he had fallen into. He blinked, staring at the wall behind Benzamin until his sight cleared. Only then did he allow himself to look at the magus, who was smiling congenially at the young girl, busy at clearing away the dishes.

Maakus stared at her for a while, the flickering at the edge of his mind growing stronger. His glance flashed from Benzamin, to the scroll and the journal, to the girl—

To the necklace with the silver locket around the girl's neck—

'The child," he said abruptly. "Where did she get that locket?"

The High Lord smiled at him, and the madrigal felt a familiar chill. "It's her, isn't it?" Maakus asked as the child silently left the room. "She's actually—"

"Madrigal, listen to me. Did Aloren ever state in her journal why she went to the war?"

Maakus shook his head.

Benzamin closed his eyes. "She was... of all the kioko magi, she was the most powerful to be born in nearly a hundred years. When she went to the. war, the High Lords found her to be an excellent weapon." The magus sighed. "She fought on the lines for nearly a year and a half, and killed fifty of the enemy ni'ochi magi single-handed."

"So why was she discharged?"

The High Lord's lips flattened. "What she told me was that one night, after watching yet another wave of the enemy sweep over her friends, her partners, her associates, and kill so many, she decided to end the war herself. And the next day, she brought down a flood of Light that blasted trees in a half-league long circle. It was then the High Lords decided she was too dangerous to use anymore, and had her transferred as far away as we could send her. To the east. She was expected to walk a circuit or settle in a village for a year. Those were her options."

Benzamin swallowed. "The High Lords had plans for her. They said that all she needed was rest, and then they would bring her back until she broke again. Even as it stands now, the war still is in no sight of ending. Students used to take twelve years to learn our craft, and now we rush them through in five. So long as they are at least sixteen, we send them,"

"But the King and High Lords must see what they are doing is draining—"

"Draining? Only to the magi. We use a minimum of troops since most of the battles are magic-wrought. It is of almost no consequence to the majority of the realm. Just to the magi. And the kioko magi are all that we have to fight the ni'ochi . At this time."

The bard swallowed this silently. "And if they knew she lived...?"

Benzamin sat, staring at the plate of food that neither man had touched. "I was the one who trained her. I was the one who told the High Lords she would make an ideal soldier. I am the reason she became dead inside. I will be the reason she will learn, in silence, from me. And by the time I finish teaching her, hopefully this war will be over."

"But what happened to her that she is so young?"

"Gods only know. It was what she asked for, I think. Aloren's greatest flaw was she was too forgiving at times. Perhaps she took pity on Jesamen...."

Maakus shook his head. "What was... how did you make me see that vision?" The last thing he remembered seeing before the... memory hit him was the magus opening his hand at him, and then an explosion of Light.

"She left you a journal, and left me that," Benzamin said softly. "The pieces of this puzzle are now together. The riddle is solved. And now you have to do me a favor."

"What is that?'

"Leave the song as it is."

Maakus swallowed. "But it has no ending."

"Yes, but if the High Lords learn that she is alive, that she has not died but become a child without the memories of her past and all the power..."

The madrigal nodded. "I can think of several consequences." He stood quietly, and heard the door to the west open. The child peeked in again.

"Benzamin... if they were bound together... what happened to... him ?"

"I'm not sure." Benzamin called softly to the girl, who walked to her mentor, eyes still on the madrigal.

Gray , Maakus thought, holding her gaze. Now I know .

"I must leave, sir," he said. "I thank you for your time."

"Maakus."

The madrigal turned back, brow raised. "Yes?"

"What of your song?" Benzamin asked. "And the kioko magus Aloren?"

Maakus glanced at the child, who stared back.

"The kioko magus Aloren? She learned that the spirit was one of evil, and died bravely in the process of destroying it." He swallowed a bit, and cracked a shaky smile.

"Indeed," Benzamin said.

"Long life, High Lord."

"Long life, madrigal."

Maakus never looked back.

Benzamin sighed as the door shut, turning to smile down at the child Allaya. It had been too dangerous to keep her original name.

"I'm gonna go study my books, sir," she said.

"Do that, dear." He thought for a moment. "Bring your friend in, will you?"

She nodded and ran out. Not a minute later, the door reopened and a boy entered. Green eyes met Benzamin's own, his young face solemn.

Benzamin sighed again. He had made so many mistakes in his life. Aloren had only been one of them.

"Is there something you wanted, sir?" the initiate asked.

Benzamin stared long and hard at the child, thanking the gods for the gift he had been given.

"No," Benzamin told the boy. "I just wanted to make sure you'd taken your bath. Dismissed."

Jesamen bobbed his head once, turned, and left.

Susan Shwartz

I forced out the last words of the invocation with the last breath in my aching lungs and stood panting. My hands were shaking, and sweat dripped down my ribs beneath my robe. The circle I cast glowed about me. Sweeter than the wine in the Cup, keener than the edge of the Blade I held was the awareness that my time of silence, of exile, of helplessness had passed. Even though the spell from the strange book I had found—or that had been found for me—was gray, and a darkish hue at that, I had not been blasted.

Not yet.

The fumes of herbs and incense burning at the cardinal points did little to ease my need for air, and other Words—either of Welcome or of Banishment— remained for me to utter—I had only to choose.

The months I had spent in the house of the wizard who was supposed to be dead, or lost, or borne off on dragon's back (depending on whom I asked) had completed my healing. It was not my strength to complete a Great Workings I feared: it was my judgment.

Would I compound an old folly with a new? Bad enough I had accepted the village's offer to bide here. Worse that I had not fled the first time I heard that voice whispering to me as I studied or swept or, worst of all, just before I slept—in the vanished wizard's very bed. I might have recoiled when the bittersweet fragrance of lilacs I had not cut wafted from my plate.

At least, see where you have journeyed . Curiosity, as much a besetting sin of mages as pride, stirred in me as it had when I first read the spell and a prickling along my spine told me this was a ritual I could survive performing.

Again, I raised my arms. The sleeves of my robe fell back, exposing the scars, paler now, that braceleted my wrists. Let them be a caution to me—please!

The mists outside my glowing circle wreathed up, then faded. I stood in a clearing surrounded by dark trees. A sickle of silver moon gleamed barely above the treetops; other light seemed to rise from the land to greet it. The circle was not of this world at all, until I slashed it with my sword.