Kellanved's Reach

Her head was hung so low he could not see her face, but in the silence he carefully raised his Warren and studied her. Her strong aura told of talent – but of a strange sort. Not drawn from any of the Warrens he was familiar with. Yet it was there. Old. And wild.

No wonder she’d avoided detection for so long – this aspect was completely unknown to him.

After they’d sat in silence for some time he asked, ‘And what will you do?’

She hugged herself. ‘I will go away.’

He nodded at this, peered round. Bird feathers lay everywhere yet not one bird was in evidence. Now he remembered hearing stories of some sort of bird-tamer in town. ‘Where are your pets?’ he asked.

‘I sent them away,’ she whispered, pain in her voice. ‘People were throwing rocks at them.’

He nodded again. ‘Ah. They’ll do that.’

‘They threw them at me, too.’

‘I’m sorry. They’re just frightened. Ignorant and frightened.’

‘At first it was fine,’ she said, almost dreamily. ‘I made money for Father healing and taming animals.’ Her voice hardened. ‘But then people began to whisper against me. Claimed I’d made pacts with demons or some such stupid thing.’

‘And the disappearing animals?’

She made an airy gesture. ‘Hunters must hunt.’

‘I see. Well … best you go soon.’

She nodded. ‘Tonight. Father will give me a cart and a mule.’

‘And where will you go? There are schools in Unta or Kan that may take you in. Help train you.’

She gently shook her head at his suggestion. ‘No. There are none who can train me. I will go north.’

Silk was surprised. ‘North? There’s nothing to the north.’

‘There are the mountains.’

‘You will not survive, child.’

Her head remained lowered, but at one cheek he thought he discerned the hint of a secretive smile. ‘Yes I will.’

He pressed his hands to his thighs. ‘Well … that is your business, of course. Mine is done. Remain, and we of the Five will see you out – understood?’

She jerked a nod.

‘Very well.’ He stood and stared down at the young girl for a time. So tiny and frail-looking. Dare he say, bird-like? ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, at length, and headed for the trapdoor. Descending, he paused, peering back, and asked, ‘Why north – if I may?’

Her back to him, she answered, ‘I have a promise to keep to an old friend.’

At midnight of that very evening the guards of the Westward Gate of the Dusk were shaken out of their lazy dozing by the arrival of a cloaked city mage who ordered one leaf of the broad double gate opened. Shortly thereafter they eyed one another in puzzlement as a battered cart drawn by a single mule came clattering through the gate and continued onward up the Grand Trader Road.

The sleepy guards, Silk knew, did not notice the dark shapes passing overhead, but he did. An enormous flock of knife-winged silhouettes: birds of prey, and damned large ones, wafting westward high above the cart. He cocked a brow in acknowledgement – yes, this one would survive.

While he watched from the wall the cart lurched off the road and headed north along a track. The shapes lazily circling above shifted to follow.

*   *   *

Tayschrenn had called a meeting of the mages who to date had enlisted with the formal mage cadre, as distinguished from the minor talents who served as battle mages. Gathered here atop a grassed hill outside Malaz were he, the short and burly Hairlock, the youthful-appearing Calot, and the woman Nightchill, who he speculated must be some type of sorceress. She no longer walked with a cane, but still held an arm pressed across her front.

He mused that a troubadour might name such a meeting a ‘fell gathering’; a less generous observer might call them a troop of fools. Eyeing his reluctant, mismatched collection, he was tempted to name it a cavalcade of clowns.

He did not want this task; this was Kellanved’s duty, surely. However, he had – in a moment of weakness, and much to his annoyance – agreed to stand in the man’s absence. And so he nodded a subdued greeting to all and cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he began.

‘Where’s the little feller?’ Hairlock interrupted. ‘Shouldn’t he be here?’

‘He is travelling,’ Tayschrenn answered tersely.

‘Travelling? What for?’

Tayschrenn drew breath to subdue his annoyance. ‘I believe he is currently pursuing a mystery.’

Calot raised a hand. ‘Mystery, you say? What sort of mystery?’

Tayschrenn clasped his hands tightly behind his back; gods, could anything be worth such aggravation? What must he answer? A mysterious mystery? ‘One that he no doubt believes will lead to power.’

Hairlock grunted at this, satisfied. ‘So, what do you want?’

Tayschrenn let a breath out between clenched teeth. A rising wind from the south cooled his back and sent errant loose lengths of his hair blowing. He drew the hair from his face. ‘What we must do is organize ourselves.’

‘In what manner?’ Nightchill asked.

Tayschrenn nodded, acknowledging the directness and perceptiveness of the question. ‘Indeed. That is what we are here to discuss.’