Astryd's forehead crinkled thoughtfully. "Unless…" She dismissed the idea with a grin. "My turn to go insane."
Taziar leaped on the opening. "Unless?"
"Unless nothing. I made a mistake."
"Unless," Taziar repeated relentlessly. "I distinctly heard you say 'unless.' "
"All right." Astryd went defensive. I said 'unless.' I made a mistake. I had a thought, but I realized it would be impossib…" Astryd broke off suddenly, her expression pained; apparently she knew Taziar too well.
Excitement suffused Taziar. Despite the trials of his break-in and a day and a night without sleep, he felt suddenly wide awake. The lure of a task deemed impossible inspired him every bit as much as the chance to marry Astryd. "Explain. Let me decide if it's impossible."
Astryd sighed resignedly. "Very well. But only because I know you won't leave until I do. If you stay here much longer, we'll get caught and killed." She squeezed his fingers affectionately, which softened the reprimand. "In order for me to gain rank, I have to remain at the school. But the attainment of power and ability requires only practice, initiative, and guidance. I could leave the school and still reach my potential if a high ranking Dragonmage would accept me as an apprentice."
Taziar tapped his thumb on his knee as he considered. "You'd always be garnet-rank?"
"True. But that doesn't matter. The rank itself is only a symbol. A king without a crown is still a king. The color of the gem in my staff doesn't matter if I've gained the knowledge of a master."
It sounded too simple to Taziar. "So all I'd need to do is find a Dragonrank outside the school willing to train you? That doesn't sound impossible."
Astryd drifted to her back and stared at the ceiling. "It would have to be a sorcerer of ultimate advancement, a diamond-rank master or a sapphire-rank, at least. I know of only one of each, siblings locked in a bitter war who would have better things to do than concern themselves with a Dragonmage of comparatively insignificant experience. Bramin, the diamond-rank, would gleefully torture you to death for no cause. Silme might listen, but her powers and attention are stretched far enough trying to protect the world from Bramin's evil. Her assistant takes a dim view of anyone he considers incompetent."
"Assistant?" Taziar lay down beside Astryd. "If Silme can handle one assistant, why not another?"
Astryd snickered at a private joke. "He's not that type of assistant. Gaelinar's a ronin samurai and quite capable of taking care of himself."
Taziar shot bolt upright. "Gaelinar?" He whirled toward Astryd, catching her arm in an anxious grip. "Did you say Gaelinar?"
"Yes. Why? Do you know him?"
"Not yet." Astryd's words reminded Taziar of the real purpose of his visit. The challenges of his entrance and his love for Astryd had allowed him to forget. "I need to locate this Gaelinar as quickly as possible. This may sound ridiculous, but many lives depend on it. Can you do some sort of… 'Gaelinar-finding' spell?"
Astryd laughed, but stopped abruptly when she met Taziar's solemn gaze. "You're not joking."
Taziar shook his head.
"The location triangle is not in my regular repertoire. I haven't enough practice to try it with my life aura partially spent. I've drained it far too low healing you."
Taziar cursed himself ruthlessly. His delay in raising the most critical issue might have jeopardized matters far more crucial than his relationship with Astryd. "Save your strength. I'll be back, Astryd. I'll just have to handle whatever additional protections Ingharr takes. We have no choice." Before Astryd could protest, Taziar rose, retraced his steps to the outer doorway, and disappeared into the twilight.
CHAPTER 5: Schoolmaster
'Example is the school of mankind, and they will learn at no other.''
– Edmund Burke Letters on a Regicide Peace
Al Larson and Kensei Gaelinar emerged from the twilit depths of the pine forest to stand before the forbidding walls which enclosed the Dragonrank school. The first stray sun rays illuminated circles of quartz set in the stonework, making it appear to shimmer with magics. Larson stared at the twenty feet of cold granite which barred his entry into a world of secrecy and sorcery where, he knew, Silme had spent eleven months of every year for a decade and a half until she abandoned her training to protect innocents from Bramin's wrath. "Want to make camp?"
Gaelinar said nothing. His yellow-brown eyes probed the dawn.
"Gaelinar?"
The Kensei made a sharp, cutting motion with his hand.
Taking Gaelinar's gesture as a plea for silence, Larson stopped speaking. He tried to discern the cause of Gaelinar's concern but found only the ceaseless trill of insects and a blank stretch of wall.
Gaelinar crept forward, his movements calculated and quiet. His fingers rested on the brocade of his katana.
Larson's breathing went soft and rapid with anticipation. Cautiously, he followed Gaelinar. As his mentor's stalk became more directed, Larson glimpsed a blurred movement. His eyes traced the outline of a figure, soundlessly descending the wall stones. It was small, dressed from hood to boots in black. A woman or child, Larson guessed. The stranger moved with graceful ease. Each shaded stone seemed to conform itself to his or her position. The fading fragment of moon was not bright enough to reveal the climber as more than a shifting shadow.
Gaelinar waited, nearly touching the wall. Before Larson could think to stop the Kensei, his katana leaped from its sheath and cut a silver arc through the gray ness. The unsharpened side of its blade impacted the climber's knuckles with a painful slap. The black-cloaked form plummeted, twisted like a cat in midair, and struck the ground with bent knees. Larson caught a brief glimpse of a pale face, etched with surprise and horror.
The point of Gaelinar's katana poised, dangerously near the stranger's throat. "Prepare to die, worm."
The climber crouched, tensed to dodge. His voice was a masculine tenor. "What did I do?" His harsh, German accent mangled the thick melody of the Norwegian tongue.
Gaelinar remained alert and unmoving. "Your people have plagued me since I can remember. You're not a man. You're a disease." He raised his sword for a killing stroke.
Alarmed, Larson caught the Kensei's shoulder. "What the hell?"
Menaced from behind, Gaelinar spun, redirecting his strike. For an instant, the sword hovered threateningly above Larson's head. Then, sputtering curses in Japanese, Gaelinar whirled back to the stranger.
But the man was gone.
Gaelinar slammed his sword into its sheath and rounded on Larson, his olive-skinned face flushed pink with rage. "You had no right to interfere."
"No right to interfere!" Larson's features turned as dark as his mentor's. "You don't even know that man. You were going to kill him for no reason."
Gaelinar scanned the wall, apparently seeking the black-suited stranger. "Just because you don't see a reason, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. You've been hunted by that wolf for a couple of days, and I'm certain you wish it dead. I've been hunted for ten years."
Larson still found no logic to Gaelinar's motives. "You've been hunted by a German midget less than a third your age and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet? That man can't be more than twenty years old. How could he have stalked you ten of them? And what were you going to do? Sentence him to death for climbing a wall?"
Gaelinar's hands balled to angry fists. "Quiet! I've had enough of your insolence. You won't earn the right to speak to me again until you've learned the proper respect for your superior and your teacher."
Larson clenched his teeth, scarcely able to contain his indignation. "How dare…"
Quick as a cobra, Gaelinar caught Larson's sword arm with his left hand. His right pinched Larson's throat closed. His voice was a menacing rasp. "Don't you dare." As suddenly, he released his grip.