"And why did he not turn to his Avatars?" Jarim demanded. "Why did They not teach him? Would that not have been more fitting?"
"Perhaps because the Avatars saw that he had mortal teachers?" An'desha countered. "They did not come, and in his fear he thought that this was his fault; perhaps his fear kept Them away, or They felt that this lesson was better in the hands of mortals. Perhaps this was one of those times when She leaves mortals to choose their own paths, as She so often does. I do not make judgments upon what She directs Her servants to do."
Since this was precisely what any shaman of the Clans would have said, Jarim was again left without an answer.
"So, it was thanks to this brave young priest—who risked his life to show An'desha that he was not and would not be twisted into evil by having been touched by the hand of Falconsbane—that An'desha became a mage in truth, and wholly himself." Now they were at a particular small plot, one with four holders for greenery and a single bronze plaque that held Ulrich's name, rank, title, and the years of his birth and death in both Valdemaran and Karsite. An'desha added his handful of holly and autumn leaves to the other greenery there. Jarim looked puzzled, although he knew what this place was. The Shin'a'in burned their dead and scattered the ashes; the Karsites also burned their dead, but interred the ashes. Solaris had directed that Ulrich's be interred here, as a sign that the Alliance had been bound up the tighter by Ulrich's death.
"Now, here is what An'desha saw, when he observed that young priest and his master." An'desha described in great detail the fatherly relationship between Karal and Ulrich, the affection, trust, and honesty between the two. He also described in great detail all that the two of them had done for him. And he sent a silent prayer to the spirit of that brave Sun-priest to help him choose the right words.
I will not bring up Altra. I do not know that Jarim is open-minded enough to believe in an Avatar of any other deity but ours.
"It was during this time that the mage-storms began, and An'desha knew that these were the terrible dangers his premonitions and visions foretold. Then it was even more important that An'desha learn not to fear the dreadful memories he carried, for it was within those memories that keys to stopping the mage-storms lay."
"Of course," Jarim nodded. "That is obvious even to me. If Falconsbane was Ma'ar, and the mage-storms are echoing back from the Cataclysm, then within Ma'ar's mind might be the secret to stopping them."
"So. And just so." An'desha took a deep breath. "There was another complication; the presence of the Empire. It is thought that they believe that the storms were sent by the Alliance; at any rate, they told their agent in the Valdemaran Court to act, murdering by magic as many of the members of the Alliance that they could, in order to destroy it."
Jarim was not stupid, he glanced suddenly down at the plaque, read the name again, and looked up, his eyes wide. "This is the Karsite envoy!" he cried, "The one slain along with Querna!"
"And the young priest is Karal," An'desha said calmly. "And never in all my life have I seen such grief as Karal bore. It was my turn then to comfort him, and I truly think if he had not been burdened with the responsibilities of his office, if he had been left alone with his sorrow, he would have gone mad with it, and taken a knife and joined his master in death. He and his are much like our own shaman; they do not often show their feelings. To me he showed his grief, and it was terrible."
"But—" Jarim began.
"There was one thing that he could do to both avenge his beloved teacher and our own Querna, and to give himself an outlet for his sorrows. He made of himself the bait in a trap to catch the killer. He very nearly died in that trap." An'desha made certain that his expression was a grim one. "It was luck and the skill of a Herald trained by Herald Captain Kerowyn alone that saved him, and you may verify this yourself from those who were there, beginning with that redoubtable lady herself."
Jarim's expression was an interesting mix; so complicated that An'desha could not even begin to read it.
"As for the rest of the tale, I shall make this short as well. Although he is no mage, he apparently has some powers that permit him to channel magic. These were needed to create the defense against the mage-storms; further, the Iftel border would allow only him to cross into it in order to set that protection up, and so once again he risked his life and sanity to help provide the protection for us all." An'desha raised an eyebrow himself. "This, I can verify, for I was there, acting as the mage in the north and east with him. I can promise you that the experience was painful and maddening, and it was worse for him than for me."
He spread his hands. "So, now you have the end of the tales."
"But—" Jarim shook his head, as if he was trying to settle all the contradictory things he had heard into an order that made sense. "With all of this—why is he urging peace with the very people that slew his master? If he is so brave, why is he speaking the words of a coward?"
"He is no coward," An'desha replied severely. "And as for his words—Jarim, he is a priest. He cannot speak only for himself, nor can he think only for himself. He must think and speak for the greater good. How often has She allowed things to happen that seemed ill, yet later proved to be the salvation of our People? Think of the First Sacrifice above the Plains! And I ask myself—which is the greater danger to the folk of the Alliance, the mage-storms, or an army which has dug itself in and cowers in its lair because it has lost touch with the Empire? The mage-storms, which increase in fury and frequency with every passing day, or fools who rely so on magic that they are desperate for a way to keep themselves warm this winter?"
Jarim shook his head again, but now his expression was easier to read. He was a greatly troubled man.
"Let me add one thing more," An'desha said. "Have you ever heard of a shaman being permitted to take Sword-Sworn black to avenge a wrong?"
Jarim's expression became blank as he searched his memory and finally shook his head. "Never in my knowledge," he admitted. "The oath of the shaman is too important for him to become Sword-Sworn for the sake of revenge."
"So why do you expect Karal to pursue revenge rather than the path of his priesthood?" An'desha countered. "Why do you expect him to seek a personal goal rather than that of his god?
He gestured down at the small plaque. "This much I can tell you; if he chose to take such a path, I think that his own master would rise in spirit and scold him for it!"
And I hope you forgive me for putting words in your mouth, friend Ulrich.
Jarim pulled at his lip, and finally closed his eyes. "I must think about this," he muttered. "You have told me almost too much to take in."
"Well and well," An'desha replied. "Now, if you will forgive me, I shall return to the path I was taking when you asked to speak with me." He glanced about at the thin sun, the dead grasses waving in a chill breeze, and shivered. "I would prefer to put my feet on the path that leads me to my warm hearth and a welcoming fire."