Mercedes Lackey - Kerowyn's Ride

The tiny man peered up at Kero out of the depths of the bowl. “Looks like she takes after the Shin’a’in side,” he said, with what Kero assumed was a smile of approval. “Kero, if you are ever in Great Harsey, look us up. The school is just above the town, on the only hill within miles. We’re not hard to find, there’re only about forty of us here, but the town itself doesn’t number above two hundred.”

She swallowed, with some difficulty. “Uh—thank you. I—uh—I’ll be sure to do that.”

The man laughed merrily, and Kero saw then that he had his mother’s emerald-green eyes. “Just like every other fighter I’ve ever met—show her magic, and she curls up and wilts.”

“Yes, and what do you do when someone has a sword point at your throat?” Kethry retorted with a hint of tired good humor.

“I do my best to make sure I’m never in that particular situation, Mother dear,” he replied. “So far that strategy has worked quite well. Kero, child, if magic bothers you, I suggest you try Valdemar. They seem to have some kind of prohibition against it up there. In fact,” he continued thoughtfully, “I seem to have one demon of a time even mentioning magic to them. Don’t know why. It might be interesting to see what happens to Mother’s nag of a sword north of the border.”

“That’s an experiment I’d rather not see tried,” Kethry told him. “Is that all you have for us?”

“That’s all for now,” Jendar said, dropping back into a serious mode. “I’ll contact you the usual way if anything more comes up. I know they’ll want the young man here as soon as possible; get him on the road tomorrow, if you can. You might tell him, if he seems interested, that his brother is definitely assigning him to the retinue of the Lord Martial with a view to making him Lord Martial in a few years. I’d guess three years at the most; the poor old warhorse is on his last legs, and losing Jad has done something to him. He was looking particularly tottery this morning. Tarma, I hope the young man is up to the challenge.”

“He’s up to it,” she said firmly. “I wouldn’t turn him loose if he wasn’t. Remember, I held him back when Thanel went north because he wasn’t ready.”

“Good enough, I’ll let the word leak into the Council. Take care, Mother.” The man bowed once, and the light in the bowl winked out.

Kethry raised her head, slowly, as if it felt very heavy. “Thank the Windlady I’m an Adept,” she said feelingly. “The Pool of Imaging took it out of me when I was young . I hate to think what I’d be feeling like these days.”

What—oh, right. Adepts can pull on energy outside themselves to work magic, Kero remembered. Learning the capabilities of the various levels of mages was something both Kethry and Tarma had insisted she and Daren learn. “ Knowing what your enemy’s mages can and can’t do may help you win a fight with a minimum of shed blood, “ Tarma had stressed. “ Daren, that blood should be as precious to you as your own, if only because each fighter lost is a subject lost—Kero, you’re talking about the fighters to whom you are obligated in every way, and they in turn are your livelihood, so a fighter lost may well represent next year’s income lost. Sounds cold, I know, but you have to keep all of that in mind. ”

“What was that?” Kero asked carefully.

“It’s a spell only Masters and Adepts can use,” Kethry said, pulling her hair off her forehead and confining it with a comb. She looked terribly tired, and her eyes were as red as Daren’s had been. “It’s basically a peacetime communication spell—it’s draining, it’s as obvious as setting off fireworks, and it leaves both parties open to attack. But the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages to my way of thinking.”

“You can talk to the other person as easily as if you were face-to-face,” Kero said wonderingly. “I had no idea that was possible.”

“Like a great many spells, it’s one we tend to keep quiet about,” Kethry told her with a wry twist to her lips. “There are a fair number of war-leaders out there who wouldn’t care how dangerous the spell was to the caster, if that was the kind of communication they could get.”

“I can see that—was that really my uncle?”

“In the flesh—so to speak—and kicking,” Tarma said. “He’s the one that took over your mother’s White Winds school and moved it up near the capital. He’s got a fair number of friends on the Rethwellan Grand Council, so as soon as anything happens, he knows about it. Useful sort of relative.”

“I just wish he was a little less interested in politics, and more in the school,” Kethry said a bit sharply. “One of these days he’s going to back the wrong man.”

“Maybe,” Tarma replied evenly. “Maybe not. He has unholy luck, your son. And he’s twice as clever as you and me put together. Besides, you know as well as I do that to keep the school neutral the head has to play politics with the best of them. The only reason you survived down there was because you were protected by the crown, and if that wasn’t playing politics, what is?”

“I yield,” Kethry sighed. “You’re right, as usual. It’s just that I hate politics.”

“Hate them all you want, so long as you play them right,” Tarma replied. “All right, little hawk,” she continued, turning to Kero, “Now you know as much as we do. Need anything else?”

Tarma hadn’t said anything, nor had Kethry, but Kero sensed that they wanted to be alone. She had no idea how well they had known the King, but he had been Tarma’s pupil, and they had known his father very well. All things considered, it was probably time for a delicate withdrawal.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Thank you.”

“How’s the lad?” Tarma asked as she turned to leave.

“He’s probably fallen asleep by now,” she said, recalling that she’d left him sprawled over his bed in a state of exhausted numbness. “I think he’ll do a little better knowing Faram wants him. From what he’s said, he’s a lot closer to his brother than he was to his father.”

“Not surprising,” Tarma said cryptically. “Well, I’ll let him know the news when he wakes up.”

That was a definite dismissal, and Kero left as quickly as she could without actually hurrying. It was with a certain relief that she closed the door on Kethry’s workroom. She walked slowly toward the fireplace, feeling at something of a loss for what to do next. She was the only person in the Tower—except, perhaps, for the seldom-seen servants—who was left entirely untouched by the King’s death. Untouched, though not unaffected, for this affected Daren—

She went up to her room, pulled a chair up to her window, and sat gazing out her window at the snow-covered meadow below the Tower, not really thinking, just letting her mind roam. She sat there the rest of the morning and on into the afternoon, before thoughts crystallized out of her musings. Uncomfortable thoughts.

The King was calling in his brother, and Daren would be leaving in the morning, which left her the only student at the Tower. There wasn’t much more that Tarma could teach her now that she wouldn’t learn just as quickly through experience. There were things she needed to learn now that only experience and making her own mistakes would teach her.

In short, it was time for her to leave as well.

Leaving. Going out on my own. The thought was frightening. Paralyzing.

At that moment, someone tapped on her door, shaking her out of her trance. “Yes?” she said still partially caught in her web of thoughts, and the visitor opened the door slowly and cautiously.

“Kero?” Daren said softly, shaking her the rest of the way out of her inertia.