Mercedes Lackey - Lamma's Night (anthology)

The Great Workings can be lonely, a loneliness that can prove fatal if a mage must pause and wait between incantations.

I heard no footsteps, but I knew when he drew near. Wind blew, stirring, even within the circle, the grains of sand and earth I had so carefully poured out. It brought with it the scents of rain on lilacs and wood ash, the scents of the wizard's house and the flowers with which he had wooed me.

And was it all that unlikely? Even changed as I was, I was surely not that uncomely... was I? Just because one man, eager for power, had made me believe power was the only reason anyone could want me didn't mean someone had drawn a heated brand across my face and soul—did it? Or was it that my power was now mine , guarded against anyone who might coax me into yielding it? I was more than an instrument to gain power or glut desire: I was myself.

I saw him then, and that "myself" dwindled into a feeble, malformed thing. He was slender, with eyes as changeful as a troubled sea—with his troubles, or mine? He smiled at me, and his eyes flickered. Oh, he remembered too: the dreams, teasing at the edge of my mind and my body's awareness.

I had but to slash the circle with the Blade, hold out my hand, speak the Words, and bring him back to all he had lost. Before the rite, I had put lavender-scented linen sheets upon his bed (now mine). I had set out porridge and bacon (magecraft is hungry work) by the hearth I had swept. There was enough for two, not just for the meal, or for the winter, but for all our lives if I could trust him.

But if I chose wrong, ah, then he would own not just the bed and the food and the village that had welcomed me, not just me—body, heart, and prisoned soul—but all that he could seize and drain the life from.

Mages draw upon their souls in the Great Workings: the spell I had uttered tonight was neither wholly of sun nor shadow. Mages respect power itself; it had only been in my exile that I came to want the comfort of a sheltering god—as I did now.

Well, would I stand here forever until my strength failed and I was as trapped as he? A coward is not fit to be a mage. Not in arrogance or in folly, I hope I made my choice. I had to know. Always, always, a mage must know.

I slashed the circle with my silver Blade, opening a gate. His eyes brightened with such joy that my own eyes filled with tears. I raised the Blade, holding him off. Too easy, too easy by half to bring him into the Circle and have him, were he of the dark, seize possession of it.

I stepped outside my circle. A cord of silvery light followed me, binding me to my life and to my world. Unlike the cord that binds babe to mother, cut this cord, and body and soul go free.

Similar light, much diminished, circled him. So he still possessed some tie to our world.

"Lady, I beg of you." No suppliant he put out hands for the Cup, but did not fall to his knees. I offered it to him. A creature of the dark would recoil from the blessed wine. He sipped, his fingers brushing mine, his eyes hopeful, searching.

He raised the Cup again to his lips, but this time, it was my hands that he kissed. His lips were very warm; they moved with alarming speed to the scars upon my wrists. I jerked hands and Cup back so quickly that some of the blessed wine spilled. Never mind the dreams that had assuaged my loneliness, while arousing longing and far, far more. I would not be this easily won.

"My poor, wounded lady." It was the voice from my dreams, coaxing me so that, against my will, I smiled. "Will you not drink with me?"

Not he but maidcraft (though I had thrown maidenhood away too) made me flush, made my eyes fill and fall—that and the remembered lilac fragrance of my shadowy suitor's gifts. I brought the Cup to my lips, my eyes searching. His eyes lit: he would have life again, a mage's powers, tempered by this ordeal, human warmth—perhaps he would welcome my presence in this restored life.

Not only the pungent wine made my head spin...

Thunder rumbled out, and the earth shook. A high wind howled out from the sudden darkness of the sky. I reeled, knowing it had blotted out the circle I had so laboriously cast.

"So, I have me a pair of magelings now, sire and dam. You shall breed me more, teach me your crafts—or each watch the other writhe in torture till you submit!"

"Run!" cried the wizard. He seized my hand and dragged me from the clearing, from the ruined circle and my hopes of a swift return into the darkest reaches of the forest. Clutching the Blade, I ran, my heart pounding in my chest. Behind us, things howled and bellowed, their voices rising in pitch until I wanted no more than to clap hands over ears until the keening stopped drilling into my brain.

I staggered, and he flung an arm about my shoulder, drawing me along secret twists and turns in the forest until we drew up before a vast pine. Its lowest branches formed a canopy that brushed the ground. He pushed me through the branches, then toward the tree's massive trunk.

"Here," he gasped.

"Here" was a crack in the bark that turned out to be the entry to a tiny cave within the living tree. I sank down onto a carpet of needles. He leaned out, listening as the hunt raced past. The silver of our life force lit the cave.

"They do not see this?" I brushed my fingers through the light where it pooled together, then flushed at the gesture.

"The tree's life conceals us," said the other mage. He knelt and fumbled through bunched herbs. He tore off some leaves and arranged them at the portal, murmuring a warding spell.

"You seem to have learned to live here," I said, noting containers wrought of burl or leafy nets, some attempt to equip the woody cave with rudimentary comforts.

"I survive. When I first escaped the Master, all I could think of was surviving to return home. When you came..."

I raised a brow.

"I told myself I had found another reason to live." He fell silent, his shoulder brushing mine, his mind reaching out. We dared not exchange names, not in danger such as had found us, but I knew that if I met him elsewhere on the Planes, a hundred lifetimes from now, I should recognize the touch of his mind.

"You know the stories in our world of the Wild Hunt," he said. "This place has a Hunt of its own. Its Master—" he shuddered "—is not one whose hospitality I crave. He wanted a tame mage or, better yet, two from which to breed an army he can use to enter our world and upset its balance."

"How does he know about our world—or about its balance?" I asked.

He looked down. "Lady, you are not the only one of the Wise who has been a fool. I thought I was wise in appealing to you, but you have given me another cause for fear. Forgive me for dragging you after me into this world."

His shoulder flinched away from mine. Once, I had thought I had found a companion with whom I could stand side by side, neither mastering nor mastered. This man's voice had made me dream a second time. False dawns, both times.

I huddled in upon myself.

"How long do you think we can hide here?" I was proud that my voice did not shake.

"The days are very short in this place. One man, alone, could dodge the pack, but with you here and the Master aware of you, I fear those days are numbered." He knelt to rummage among his meager belongings. Then he turned back to me, holding a battered blanket, shaped to make a crude cape.

"You deserve far finer, but this is all I have," he said.

"I am your debtor in the other world," I made myself say. "Your house has been a refuge to me."

"Aye, and once I return, I shall never leave it—" he laughed. "That is what I say. But, lady, you tremble. I wish I had wine for you or a fire."

He spread the blanket over my shoulders, his hands pressing my shoulders briefly, his breath stirring my hair. A lump filled my throat.