Jamie would never have let it show, but I had grown up with him and didn't need truespeech to know he was swearing inside. I knew that look. "Yes, that's what I was wondering. I think it'll do fine as a practice blade." He was watching Varien even more closely now.
Varien lowered the blade. "I thank you, Master Jameth. Now that you are assured that I can lift this weapon, when shall we begin my training? And what have I to offer you in return?"
Jamie bowed ever so slightly. "Only your diligence. Catch." He threw the scabbard to Varien, who again caught it easily. "We begin tomorrow. I'll need a little time to set up the pell—I'll come fetch you at midmorning, after the beasts are cared for, and we'll make a start."
"I thank you." Varien sheathed the sword and laid it carefully by the hearth.
"Mind if I join you?" I asked, teasing. "Maybe it'll take hotter this time—at least I'll be awake, for a change. You must admit, Jamie, I did the best I could at midnight and after."
I got the grin I had hoped for. "Aye, so you did, and worked hard too—but as dearly as I love you, my lass, you've just not got the speed. That's not something that can
be taught, I'm afraid. Oh, you're good enough to save your skin, granted, but whatever you are to do in this life it'll not be as a swordswoman."
I know he didn't mean it as a slap in the face but that's what it felt like. I was surprised at how painful those words were. I'd always known I wasn't very good with a blade, but I had held on to the hope that it was just a matter of practice, that someday I would be a fearsome warrior. I used to love the tales of the Warrior Women of Arlis and I think I had always hoped that my height and my strength would somehow be enough. I knew I had the soul of a warrior and I believed I could kill if I had to. I had so often been forced to restrain my strength when I was furious: surely that kind of rage would be useful if it were directed along a sword's edge!
The worst of it was that I knew the truth when I heard it, and it struck deep. Damn. Not a hearth-tender, not a warrior—what was to become of me? What in all the wide world would I ever be fit for?
My grief must have shown in my face, for Jamie leaned over to kiss my brow. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, and I know you're not happy to hear it, my girl, but I'm glad it's so." He gazed deep into my eyes and a strange passion took his voice. "Lanen, I've known women who were as good as I with a sword, and some who were better. They were strong and fast and hard of body and of mind, and they were suited to their lives and well content with them. And many of them died young, and some of them died badly, and I mourned more for each of them than I did for all the men who died beside them. Daft, perhaps, but true." He gently stroked my cheek in his callused hand and smiled. "I'd rather see you live to a good old age, my girl, and talk with every dragon who ever drew breath. It's a better life, believe me." He grinned then, and winked at me as he stood straight. "And for you, certainly a longer one. Nothing worse than trying to be something you're not. It's a good way to get yourself killed. Use the gifts you have and you'll change the world."
I yawned then, suddenly tired. "Right I'll do that. But do you mind if I start tomorrow morning? It's been a long day."
I stood and stretched as Jamie and Varien both laughed, and Varien came to me and with one swift movement picked me up in his arms.
I don't expect that sounds too strange; the idea of a man sweeping a girl up into his arms is nothing new. However, most girls that happens to aren't near six feet tall and broad of shoulder. At first I was astounded, and he took advantage of the fact to lean over and kiss me.
Then I got mad. Really mad, really fast. I struggled to get loose but his hold was solid as iron and just as likely to give out. "Put me down," I said, between my teeth.
He stopped smiling and let me down. I heard the door close and realised Jamie was leaving us to it. Wise man.
"What in the hells made you do that?" I asked him, walking away from him towards the door, shaking with anger. "I hate that feeling." I clenched my fist, turned my back to the door and hit it as hard as I could, putting my body into the blow. I just about noticed something splinter but I didn't care. "I hated it when I was a child and I hate it even more now. How would you like to be caught and held helpless by one stronger than you?"
"Forgive me, dearling," he said quietly. "I see now that it was ill-judged. I thought—" He stopped.
"You thought what?" I asked sourly, rubbing my hand. "Stupid bloody thing to do."
One corner of his mouth lifted. "As I was walking with Jamie around the stead today, one of the—hands, you call them? The men who work with the horses—I saw one of the workers do so with his lady when she brought him his midday meal. She laughed and seemed to enjoy it." I never thought I'd see such a thing, but it looked to me like Varien was blushing. "Jamie told me then that they were new-wed, just this month past. I thought perhaps this was a Gedri custom—"
I laughed then, my anger gone as fast as it had come, and held him tight. "You idiot," I murmured to his hair. His body was warm and strong against mine, and his arms encompassed me like every promise of home I had ever longed for.
"Please don't try to be like a human, my heart. Just be what you are. You are the one soul I love most in all the world. We'll find our own way." I drew back just long enough to look in his eyes. "I appreciate you trying, my dear one, but Jamie's right. There is nothing worse than trying to be something you aren't."
"Very well, then, I shall be what I am," he said with a smile, his hands moving sensuously across my back. "I am your beloved and your new-made husband. You are weary and I must think ever of your welfare. Come to bed with me, my dear one, my heart's own, and I shall see if I can banish your weariness for a while." He kissed me then, hard, his passion swift as fire awakening mine.
We only just made it to the bedroom.
III So Much to Know
I must be cautious a little time longer. As I was leaving the Great Hall of the College of Mages this morning, Magister Rikard looked long at me. "I still say you are ill-advised to leave the College just now, Magister Berys, but at least you are fit for the journey," he said sourly. He is always sour. He has been sour every moment of every day of all the years I have known him. "Indeed, I have never seen you look so well. It must be the morning light, I'd swear you look ten years younger."
I laughed and said it was the effect of the heavy mist. "If the ladies knew it smoothed out so many wrinkles, we could turn to weather-mastery to earn our keep," I said to him.
"It is no light matter," he replied nastily. He is very full of himself, Rikard, though he is but a kestrel in human form— small and skinny with a nose like a hawk. Suspicious bas-tard. "I am not the only one who knows what the essence of lansip can do, and it is known that you have lansip and to spare since you financed that poor mad Merchant to the Dragon Isle. You meddle with forbidden knowledge, Berys, though I am certain you would deny it."
"Deny it! There is nothing to deny. Rikard, I know your motives are of the best, but you make much of nothing. You know I have not been well lately. If the lansip I have had the luxury of taking for healing has restored a brief semblance of youth so much the better, but I am no fool. Youth once gone has gone forever."
He just looked at me. " 'Ware pride, Berys," he said at last. "It has brought down greater men than you."
I smiled at him, secure in the knowledge that sometime in the near future I would be able at last to plunge a dagger in his heart. I have known Rikard for the last twenty years, during which we have cordially hated each other. However, he comes perilously near the truth and I am not quite prepared to let all my secrets go. None have connected Malior the demon master of the Sixth Circle with Berys the Archimage of the College of Mages in Verfaren, and I do not wish that to be known just yet. Not long now and I will not care, but for the moment my respectable life as Berys is worth protecting. Rikard may have to be—well, accidents happen, and I begin to tire of Rikard. He is the only one of the Magistri who knows anything of demon lore, apart from me, and his knowledge is not convenient.