won’t tell anyone.”
“Even Brede?”
“Dorrin.” The lilt leaves her voice.
“Sorry…but Brede…”
“Brede is a good person. He’d never say anything. It’s not as though I’d tell him anyway. He feels everyone should do what they want as long as no one gets hurt.” Her stride lengthens as the paved stone walk steepens. “But don’t ask me to keep things from him.”
“I’m sorry.” Dorrin takes a deep breath. “It’s just that Lortren…well, she’s not very happy about my toys.”
“Toys?”
“That’s what she calls them.”
“Hmmmm…I hadn’t thought of that.”
Dorrin has to stretch his legs to keep up with Kadara, though she is only slightly taller than he is. “Thought of what?”
“Why don’t you just make toys?”
“I don’t want to make toys.”
Kadara stops. “You’re not only stubborn, Dorrin. You’re slow. You make models of machines. What’s the difference between toys and models except the name?”
“But that’s not honest.”
“Your toys, models, machines—even I know they’re not chaotic or evil. So call them something else if it will make Lortren happy.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Dorrin purses his lips.
“I promised Brede I’d spar with him. You want to join us?”
“All right. It probably won’t be much of a challenge, though. You’re both a lot better.”
“Maybe we’ll try staffs. Gelisel has started us with them.”
“Why?”
“She says that you should learn something about all the other weapons.”
“Kadara!”
Both Dorrin and Kadara look up at the sound of Brede’s voice.
XIV
Jeslek walks along the edge of the hot springs, wrinkling his nose at the faint odor of sulfur. Finally, he brushes the snow from a small boulder and seats himself less than a dozen cubits from the springs.
The White Wizard frowns as he sends his perceptions into the water, tracing the warmth and the fire of chaos that feeds the springs. His thoughts flow ever deeper into the rock and heat beneath.
From under a pine that has been twisted and buffeted by the mountain winds until only the limbs on the southern side have retained needles, two White guards survey the cloudy afternoon.
The gray-bearded one glances from the rocky hillside behind the ice- and snow-strewn expanse back along the road leading down to the plains of Gallos. “This one’s a great one, light take him!” His voice is barely above a whisper.
The woman, her hair under the cold cap shorter than the man’s, smiles. “You don’t like the great wizards much, do you?”
“Demon’s flame, no. They do great deeds, and most everyone else gets scorched. We’re still paying for the great deeds of Creslin and Jenred the Traitor.”
As if to underscore his words, the ground trembles.
Both guards look toward Jeslek, who stands beside the boulder. Steam rises from the spring, yet the heat wells away from the figure in white, circling upward into a funnel that spreads into a white cloud.
Jeslek smiles, and his eyes flash.
The two guards exchange glances. The man takes a deep breath and shrugs; the woman smiles a smile of resignation.
XV
“There’s the Ryessa ,” announces Gelisel, her long legs slowing.
The harbor spreads out beneath them—the stone piers, the round-sided ship, and the dark green swells beyond the breakwater, swells that surge over the rough stones with alarming frequency. The ship seems toylike against the unending expanse of the ocean beyond the northern tip of Recluce.
While he has certainly been to Land’s End before, even eaten in the old tavern reputedly built by the Founders, he had not come before with the idea that he would be leaving Recluce. “It’s rather small.”
“Nonsense,” snaps the arms-master. “You should see the paintings of the old Montgren sloops the Founders used. Or what the Hydlen free-traders use.”
Brede pulls at his longish chin.
Kadara looks from her tall and muscular blond companion to the shorter and wiry
“Even Brede?”
“Dorrin.” The lilt leaves her voice.
“Sorry…but Brede…”
“Brede is a good person. He’d never say anything. It’s not as though I’d tell him anyway. He feels everyone should do what they want as long as no one gets hurt.” Her stride lengthens as the paved stone walk steepens. “But don’t ask me to keep things from him.”
“I’m sorry.” Dorrin takes a deep breath. “It’s just that Lortren…well, she’s not very happy about my toys.”
“Toys?”
“That’s what she calls them.”
“Hmmmm…I hadn’t thought of that.”
Dorrin has to stretch his legs to keep up with Kadara, though she is only slightly taller than he is. “Thought of what?”
“Why don’t you just make toys?”
“I don’t want to make toys.”
Kadara stops. “You’re not only stubborn, Dorrin. You’re slow. You make models of machines. What’s the difference between toys and models except the name?”
“But that’s not honest.”
“Your toys, models, machines—even I know they’re not chaotic or evil. So call them something else if it will make Lortren happy.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Dorrin purses his lips.
“I promised Brede I’d spar with him. You want to join us?”
“All right. It probably won’t be much of a challenge, though. You’re both a lot better.”
“Maybe we’ll try staffs. Gelisel has started us with them.”
“Why?”
“She says that you should learn something about all the other weapons.”
“Kadara!”
Both Dorrin and Kadara look up at the sound of Brede’s voice.
XIV
Jeslek walks along the edge of the hot springs, wrinkling his nose at the faint odor of sulfur. Finally, he brushes the snow from a small boulder and seats himself less than a dozen cubits from the springs.
The White Wizard frowns as he sends his perceptions into the water, tracing the warmth and the fire of chaos that feeds the springs. His thoughts flow ever deeper into the rock and heat beneath.
From under a pine that has been twisted and buffeted by the mountain winds until only the limbs on the southern side have retained needles, two White guards survey the cloudy afternoon.
The gray-bearded one glances from the rocky hillside behind the ice- and snow-strewn expanse back along the road leading down to the plains of Gallos. “This one’s a great one, light take him!” His voice is barely above a whisper.
The woman, her hair under the cold cap shorter than the man’s, smiles. “You don’t like the great wizards much, do you?”
“Demon’s flame, no. They do great deeds, and most everyone else gets scorched. We’re still paying for the great deeds of Creslin and Jenred the Traitor.”
As if to underscore his words, the ground trembles.
Both guards look toward Jeslek, who stands beside the boulder. Steam rises from the spring, yet the heat wells away from the figure in white, circling upward into a funnel that spreads into a white cloud.
Jeslek smiles, and his eyes flash.
The two guards exchange glances. The man takes a deep breath and shrugs; the woman smiles a smile of resignation.
XV
“There’s the Ryessa ,” announces Gelisel, her long legs slowing.
The harbor spreads out beneath them—the stone piers, the round-sided ship, and the dark green swells beyond the breakwater, swells that surge over the rough stones with alarming frequency. The ship seems toylike against the unending expanse of the ocean beyond the northern tip of Recluce.
While he has certainly been to Land’s End before, even eaten in the old tavern reputedly built by the Founders, he had not come before with the idea that he would be leaving Recluce. “It’s rather small.”
“Nonsense,” snaps the arms-master. “You should see the paintings of the old Montgren sloops the Founders used. Or what the Hydlen free-traders use.”
Brede pulls at his longish chin.
Kadara looks from her tall and muscular blond companion to the shorter and wiry
Similar Books
