Konrad and Blaine were frowning from one to the other. "What are you two talking about?" Blaine asked.
Gersalius smiled. "If Master Ambrose will allow me to stay here, even in the little hut, I will do so. For such a student, I would leave my own snug home even in this snow."
"I'll speak with Tereza," Konrad said. "If anyone can convince Jonathan to say yes, it will be her."
"Do you think he will say yes?" Elaine asked. She leaned toward him, wanting to touch his folded hands, to touch his bare skin, and have it thrill him as it thrilled her.
Gersalius tapped her hand again. He shook his head ever so slightly. Elaine frowned at him. "I wasn't…"
"Untrained magic has a tendency to reach out for things desired," he said, so soft that perhaps no one else heard. Heat crept up her neck to her face. She found herself blushing furiously, angry that her emotions were so obvious. She glanced up at Konrad, but he seemed merely puzzled.
"Why is the magic coming now? Why not before?"
"It has been leaking round the edges for some time. I am here now and can tell you when it's happening, and what the power is trying to do. But it has been manifesting for some time."
Elaine thought about that-Wild magic floating around her body, reaching for what she desired. "Am I dangerous?"
"Mostly to yourself, right now. But that will change, Elaine. With or without training, that will change."
Fear chased over her skin like an icy wave. "I can't risk the people I care about, if Jonathan will not let you remain here, I will have to leave."
"And I'll go with you," Blaine said.
"No, Blaine, we can't both leave."
He had that stubborn set to his chin. "I won't let you go alone. You know that."
"No one is going anywhere," Konrad said. "I'll find Tereza. If you can wait until we get this settled, Master Gersalius?"
The mage bowed his head. "Gladly, if I can have some more of those excellent cookies."
Mala came forward with a newly filled plate. "We'll not lose our Elaine for Jonathan's stubbornness."
"No," Konrad said, "we won't." He turned and left the room in search of Tereza.
"I'd best go with him. You know Tereza has a hard time saying no to me." Blaine left with a grin and a wave, all confidence, at least on the outside.
Mala was stirring the big pot on the stove.
"Konrad would do it for any of us, wouldn't he?" Elaine asked softly."
"I fear so," Gersalius said.
"I'll be able to read his true feelings someday?"
The wizard's eyes held sadness, as if of some old, remembered pain. "In very short order, I'm afraid."
"Did you read his thoughts?"
"No, child, that is unethical unless it is another mage. If the person cannot read your own thoughts, then it is unfair, like reading a person's private letters."
"You don't think I'll like what I find, do you?"
"Truth between us from the very first, Elaine Claim. Mo, I don't think you'll like it."
Elaine looked away from his kind eyes. The fire glistened in unshed tears until the room danced in orange shadow. She closed her eyes, and a single tear trailed down each cheek. There were more pitfalls to learning magic than she had thought. She would learn how to read thoughts and feelings, and no matter how Gersalius cautioned her, Elaine knew someday she would read Konrad. She would not be able to resist. There would be no more guessing, no more hope, or fear, just the truth. And her heart would break, just like that.
FIVE
Jonathan Ambrose sat alone in his study. His window looked down into the inner courtyard of the fort. He could see the shed that the mage had been given. Strange lights danced over the snow, spilling from the shed's windows and open door. Dust flew in gray plumes out the door to dirty the snow. A neat pile of debris magically marched itself outside to be stacked by invisible hands on one side of the door.
There was a golden radiance that shone from the small, dirty windows. Not lamplight, but magelight. How had he let them talk him into this? How? He knew better than to let a magic-user inside his walls. They were weak creatures, easily turned to evil. All of them craved power, and darkness offered easier paths to power than did light. Not more power, but less effort. Jonathan had never met a mage yet that could resist the temptation.
Which brought him to Elaine. Little Elaine. All this time, he had been harboring a mage under his roof. Jonathan sighed and leaned back in his chair. A broken table levitated through the shed door, turning itself effortlessly to fit through the narrow opening. Would Elaine be able to do that, someday?
He had known deep inside that she possessed power, but he had pretended. He had not wanted to know the truth. She had nearly died today. When he touched her, she had been icy, like the long dead. It had not been Tereza's words that had decided it for Jonathan. It had been Elaine's ghost-pale face. Her immobile hand like death in his warm one. The memory of her lying in the snow had decided it for him. If her magic could kill her, she had to be trained. He would not risk her dying because of his prejudices.
A circle of sparks like multicolored fireflies danced against the shed's windows. The question was, could Jonathan stand a mage under his roof? A trained, powerful mage in his household? He had never had children, and never regretted it. What he had not admitted, even to himself, was that Elaine, Blame, even Konrad-they were his children. Or, at least, his family.
Tereza had lost two babies in childbirth. The doctors said another might kill her, and the baby would most likely die. Thordin told of healers in his own land, those who could heal with a touch-could bring life, true life, back to the dead. Jonathan would have given much to have such a healer bring life to his dead children. To heal the pain he saw in Tereza's eyes, and in his own.
A whirlwind danced out through the shed door. In and among the swirling dirt and debris, magic lights whirled, so fast that the individual lights became stripes of glowing color. Snow blew upward in white plumes, reflecting the colors. Dirt mixed with the blowing snow, obscuring the bright lights. All that whiteness and the rainbow lights turned dark. The whirlwind rose above the snow, leaving its load of trash behind, then floated back in the open door.
Magic was like that. Pretty, even beautiful, but it dirtied what it touched. Then it floated away, untouched.
With a sigh, Jonathan turned away from the window. He scooted his chair up to his desk. The top was surprisingly clean. Tereza had recently made him go through all his papers. There had been something comforting about the familiar stacks of papers, and now the bare desktop looked somehow intimidating.
A letter lay in the center of that smooth, dark surface. The heavy velum bore only a few scrawled words. Calum Songmaster's bold, theatrical hand was reduced to a wavering line. It was the handwriting of a sick man, an old man, a dying man. Jonathan slammed his hand on the chair arm, three hard blows. It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair.
He shook his head, a soft smile peeking through his beard. Jonathan Ambrose, mage-finder, bemoaned the Fact that the world was not fair. As if he hadn't known that for years. It was funny, and bitter. No matter how wise in the ways of the world, some things are too awful to understand or forgive. Calum's declining days in a sickbed was one of them.
Thordin claimed there were healers in his homeland who could save Calum, could make him whole again. Jonathan shook his head sharply, as if to clear such thoughts away. Brooding would not help. Answering the letter might.
The note said simply:
Dear Jonathan,
The village of Cortton has fallen under an evil spell. They have asked for the brotherhood's help. Please aid them.
Yours in Devotion, Calum Songmaster
Jonathan reread the letter. It said the same thing. No new information appeared. It was not like Calum
to be so brief, but if it was painful to write. . Still, it bothered Jonathan.
Calum was their contact, their only link to the rest of the brotherhood. It was he who passed to them assignments from the rest of the brotherhood. Jonathan had served with them for most of his adult life, but he knew none save Calum and a handful of others. That handful took its orders from Calum. The original intent had been to protect the brotherhood's leadership. If an operative were caught, tortured, he could reveal only a few names, and no one who was irreplaceable. The movement itself would not be hurt. Mow Jonathan chafed under the restriction. Calum was dying, and if he died without passing his own contacts to someone else, they would all be' cut off.