“For love of you,” I said.
Tears welled in her eyes, but when I moved again to touch her, still she held me back with a gesture. “This is no easy burden you lay on me, Daviot,” she murmured.
I said, “I cannot help that, Rwyan. I love you, and for you I’d forsake my College. Anything!”
Softly, she whispered, “So much. Oh, Daviot …”
I thought her persuaded; that I should be allowed to travel with her at least as far as Durbrecht. But then she shook her head and said, “No. I cannot agree to that. I cannot let you destroy yourself.”
“You don’t,” I said earnestly, “save you turn me away. This duty that holds us apart-that’s what destroys me.”
She took my hands then, her face so sad, I must fight the urge to hold her close. I thought she would not then welcome that. She said, “Daviot, Daviot, what are we if we renege our duty? Our talents are gifts-”
I interrupted, fierce: “Or curses, that they deny us what we want.”
“Are we children, then?” she asked me. “To stamp and fret when we may not have exactly what we wish?”
“Not children,” I replied. “Children don’t fall in love.”
She closed her eyes again, head bowed a moment. “You do not make this easy,” she murmured.
“I cannot,” I said. “You name my talent a gift? My talent blazons your face on my memory. I close my eyes, and I see you. I remember every moment we had together, all we said; like a blade turned in my heart. I’d thought to live with that, but when I saw you again, I knew I could not. I knew I could not let you go.”
“What choice have we?” Her hands squeezed tight; there was pain in her voice and on her face. “Oh, Daviot, perhaps it were better had we never met.”
“No!” I said loud.
“What else can we do?” she asked me. “I must bring Tezdal to Durbrecht-my duty-”
“Then do your duty,” I said. “But when it’s done, why should we not be together?”
“Storyman and sorcerer?” She shook her head vigorously, hair tossing in red-gold waves. “Durbrecht would not allow it.”
“Durbrecht be damned then!” I cried. “Must I choose betwixt my College and you, Rwyan, it’s you I choose.”
She “looked” at me with something akin to awe in her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, almost fearful. “Do you know what should be done, were you to say that in Durbrecht?”
I shook my head.
Rwyan hesitated a moment. Then said, “What I tell you now is forbidden knowledge. None save we sorcerers and the masters of your College know it. I break trust in telling you.”
She paused. I said, “Tell me, if you will.” I felt afraid.
She said slowly, “When I was sent away, then you might have quit your calling without reproof. But now-oh, Daviot, you chose that staff, chose the Storyman’s road, and now you’ve been abroad too long. Do you choose now to turn your back-in the Sorcerous College there is a crystal; it empowers magic. You’d be taken there, and the crystal used to destroy your memory. All you’ve learned, all you’ve seen and done, would be taken from you.”
The sweat that cloaked me was suddenly cold. I shivered; my mouth felt dry, but still I wanted to spit. I felt a chill lump curdle in my belly. I said, each word thick, “My choice is made, Rwyan. I’d have you.”
She made a small strange noise. Tears flowed ignored down her cheeks. I longed to kiss them away, but she held my hands still, very tight now. She said, “Can you truly love me so much?”
I said, “Yes.”
She said, “We fear the Great Coming. There’s a need of Storymen.”
I said, “I’m not the only one. There are others.” She said, “And sorcerers? Think you there are sufficient of my kind?”
Before I could reply, she tossed her head, indicating the cloudless sky, the placid sea, the absence of wind, the heat, and said, “The Sky Lords command great magic, Daviot, and we’ve not the answer to it. How much of this can Dharbek take? How long before the Great Coming? Daviot, I am needed. My talent is needed, to defend our land.”
I said, hearing my own voice come hollow with dread, “What do you say, Rwyan?”
She wept openly now, tears glittering in silver tracks down her face. Her voice was clogged with grief. “That I cannot give up my calling, my love. Not even for you.”
In that awful moment when I saw all my mad hopes dashed, my pain became anger, entirely selfish. I snatched my hands from her grasp, took a single backward step, staring at her with disbelieving eyes.
“Do I mean so little to you?” I asked, low-voiced.
“You mean everything to me,” she said.
“How so?” I raised my hands, clenched in frustration.
I had forgotten Tezdal until I felt my wrists gripped from behind, a foot land hard against an ankle, tangling my legs so that I fell. I had not forgotten my training. I went limp, bringing him down with me, and twisted as I fell. One hand broke loose. I drove an elbow against his ribs and turned, about to drive my knuckles into his face, at that point between the eyes where the bone can be broken and smashed back into the brain. I was consumed with grief, and it made me mad.
I heard Rwyan scream, “No!” and was gripped by a terrible force.
I had never felt magic before. It was as if ice filled my veins, freezing my arm before my blow could land. It was as if every meal I’d eaten turned sour in my belly. It was as if all my muscles cramped together in knots of sudden pain. I groaned, my eyes awash with tears. I am not sure if her magic put them there or only my grief. I was dimly aware of the Sky Lord contorted in the same painful posture.
Then it ended. It was simply gone, as swift as she’d delivered it. I pushed to hands and knees, head hanging as my body remembered. Then I climbed to my feet.
Rwyan said, “Tezdal! Daviot intended me no harm. Do you leave him be.”
Tezdal rose and ducked his head in acceptance. “As you wish, Rwyan.” And to me, “Forgive me, Daviot. I thought you meant to strike her.”
I shook my head. He offered me that curious, curt bow and moved away to the farther bulwark. I turned to Rwyan.
Softly, she said, “You take leave of your senses.”
I shrugged.
She said, “I love you, Daviot.” I said, “But not enough.”
She made that little whimpering sound again, and through my anger and my grief, my selfish pride, I felt remorse. I loved her, no matter she’d surrender me.
“What should you do?” she asked. “Were you no longer Mnemonikos?”
“Go home,” I said surly. “Be a fisherman again; or join a warband.”
“That should be sad loss.” She moved toward me and took my hands again. I did not withdraw: I felt an awful lassitude, as if waning hope drained out my energy. I stood dumb as she spoke, her voice gentle and earnest. “I cannot forswear my duty; not when Dharbek stands in such need. Nor should you, but rather go on.”