“I certainly hope you don’t include good and evil in your Balance—either that, or I’ll do the cooking from now on.” Lyran laughed.
“No Mage-lady, for how could one weigh ‘good’ and ‘evil’? Assuredly, it was ‘good’ that this one slew your foes, but was it not ‘evil’ to them? Sometimes things are plainly one or the other, but too often it depends upon where one stands one’s own self. A primary tenet of our Way is to do no harm when at all possible—to wound, rather than kill, subdue rather than wound, reason rather than subdue, and recall when reasoning that the other may have the right of it.”
“Simple to state, but—”
“Ai, difficult to live by. It would seem that most things worth having are wrapped in difficulty. Have you not spent your life in magecraft, and yet still learn? And does this not set you farther apart from others—sacrificing knowledge for the common ties of life?”
Martis scrutinized her companion across the flames. Not so young, after all. Not nearly so young as she had thought—nor so simple. It was only the slight build, the guileless eyes, the innocence of the heart-shaped face that made you think “child.” And attractive too. Damned attractive . . . “Don’t be a fool,” she scolded herself, “You haven’t the time or energy to waste—besides, he’s young enough to be your son. Well, maybe not your son. But too damned young for the likes of you! Hellfires! You have more to think about than a sweet-faced hireling! Get your mind back to business.”
“Before we sleep, I’m intending to gather power as I was doing on the road,” she stretched a little. “I want you to rouse me when the moon rises.”
“Mage-lady—would quiet chanting disturb you?” Lyran asked anxiously. “This one would offer words for those slain.”
“Whatever for? They wouldn’t have mourned you!” Once again, Lyran had surprised her.
“That is their Way, not this one’s. If one does not mourn that one has slain, the heart soon dies. Under other circumstances, might they not have been comrades?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Martis replied thoughtfully. “No, chanting isn’t going to disturb me any. Just make sure you also keep a good watch out for any more surprises.”
“Of a certainty, Mage-lady.” Lyran didn’t even seem annoyed at the needless admonition, a fact that made Martis even more thoughtful. Professional mercenaries she’d known in the past tended to get a bit touchy about mages giving them “orders” like she’d just given him. Nothing much seemed to ruffle that serene exterior. How long, she wondered, had it taken him to achieve that kind of mind-set? And what kind of discipline had produced it? A puzzle; truly a puzzle.
The next day brought them to a ring of standing stones—the Gate-site. The inherent magic residing in this place made it possible to use it as a kind of bridge to almost any other place on the earth’s surface. Martis had been to Kelven’s tower once, and with mage-habit had memorized the lay of the land surrounding it. They would be able to ride straight from here to there once the proper spell was set into motion. This would have another benefit, besides saving them a long and tiring journey; Kelven would ‘lose’ them if he had been tracking them, and without knowing exactly where to look for them, would not know how many of them had survived his attack. They rested undisturbed that evening, with Martis quickly regaining from the place the energy she spent in shielding their presence there.
The Gate spell took the better part of the next morning to set up. Martis had no intentions of bringing them in very near, for she had other notions as to how she wanted this confrontation to be played out. After a light noon meal, she activated the Gate.
The standing stones began to glow, not from within, but as if an unquenchable fire burned along their surfaces. The fire from each reached out to join with the fires of the stones on either side. Before an hour had passed, the ring was a near-solid thing of pulsating orange light.
Martis waited until the power-flux built to an internal drawing that was well-nigh unendurable—then led them at a gallop between two of the stones. They rode in through one side—but not out the other.
They emerged in the vicinity of Kelven’s tower—and the confrontation Martis had been dreading was at hand.
She wasn’t sure whether the fact that there had been no attempt to block them at the Gate was good or bad. It could be that Kelven was having second thoughts about the situation, and would be ready to be persuaded to amend his ways. It also could be that he was taking no further chances on the skills of underlings or working at a distance, and was planning to eliminate her himself in a sorcerers’ duel.
They rode through country that was fairly wild and heavily wooded, but Kelven’s tower lay beyond where the woods ended, at the edge of a grass-plain. Martis described the situation to Lyran, who listened attentively, then fell silent. Martis was not inclined to break that silence, lost in her own contemplations.
“Mage-lady—” Lyran broke into Martis’ thoughts not long before they were to reach Kelven’s stronghold. “—is it possible that the Mage-lord may not know about the continued survival of this one?”
“It’s more than possible, it’s likely,” Martis told him. “I’ve been shielding our movements ever since the attack.”
“But would you have gone on if this one had fallen? Would it not have been more likely that you would return to the Guild Hall to seek other guards?”
They had stopped on the crest of a ridge. Below them lay grasslands and scrub forest that stretched for furlongs in all directions but the one they had come.
Kelven’s tower was easily seen from here, and about an hour’s distance away. The sun beat down on their heads, and insects droned lazily. The scene seemed ridiculously incongruous as a site of imminent conflict.
Martis laughed—a sound that held no trace of humor. “Anybody else but me would do just that. But I’m stubborn, and I’ve got a rotten temper. Kelven knows that. He watched me drag myself and two pupils—he was one of them—through a stinking, bug-infested bog once, with no guides and no bodyguards. The guides had been killed and the guards were in no shape to follow us, y’see; we’d been attacked by a Nightmare. I was by-Zaila not going to let it get away back to its Lair! By the time we found it I was so mad that I fried the entire herd at the Lair by myself. If you’d been killed back there, I’d be out for blood—or at least a damn convincing show of repentance. And I wouldn’t let a little thing like having no other guard stand in my way.”
“Then let this one propose a plan, Mage-lady. The land below is much like this one’s homeland. It would be possible to slip away from you and make one’s way hidden in the tall grass—and this one has another weapon than a sling.” From his saddlebag Lyran took a small, but obviously strong bow, unstrung, and a quiverful of short arrows. “The weapon is too powerful to use for hunting, Mage-lady, unless one were hunting larger creatures than rabbits and birds. This one could remain within bow-shot, but unknown to the Mage-lord, if you wished.”
“I’m glad you thought of that, and I think it’s more than a good idea,” Martis said, gazing at the tower. Several new thoughts had occurred to her, none of them pleasant. It was entirely possible that Kelven wanted her here, had allowed them to walk into a trap. “If nothing else—this is an order. If Kelven takes me captive—shoot me. Shoot to kill. Get him too, if you can, but make sure you kill me. There’s too many ways he could use me, and anyone can be broken, if the mage has time enough. I can bind my own death-energy before he can use it—I think.”