They didn't talk. Even on earlier flights, the only words spoken in the air had been Gast's instructions or Alemar's questions, but now the younger man had mastered the art of the glider well enough that they had no need to converse. They paid silent obeisance to the wind.
Now I'm a dragon, Alemar thought, not missing the irony.
Alemar stared wistfully at their campfire, watching scarlet cinders rise into the night sky. Their gliders lay at the edge of the shadows. They themselves had to maintain a substantial distance from the flame; the dry brush burned fiercely and quickly. Strangely, they had had no trouble finding the fuel. Desolate as the land seemed, it supported a wide variety of life. They knew where to obtain what they needed.
"What do you see in the sparks?" Gast asked.
Alemar shrugged. Gast had a blunt way of asking questions, though he rarely asked. Alemar wasn't sure he was prepared to analyze his state of mind.
"She's been in your thoughts a great deal."
"I miss her. Is there something wrong with that?"
Gast didn't say it, but Alemar could tell that the answer was partly yes. It made him angry.
"Master – we've been out here for months, and all we've done is wander about, or fly, or eat and sleep. I came with you to learn to heal."
"The first step is to heal yourself."
The answer puzzled Alemar. "I'm healthy," he protested.
"Are you?" the Hab-no-ken answered, a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, of course."
"Is there nothing that troubles you?"
Their campfire popped. Alemar stared back at Gast, unable to read the healer's expression. The latter wore his straw hat, though it was night, and the shadow concealed his face.
"Naturally, I'm troubled, now and then. Does that mean I'm not healthy?"
"Exactly."
Alemar frowned. "Then how is any man healthy? Name someone who is perfectly content."
The glitter of teeth from Gast's smile was visible within the shadow. "I am not talking about any man. I am talking about Hab-no-ken. You may be a vigorous individual with no sign of infirmity. That is fine if you are to be a warrior, a shepherd, a merchant. To be a healer you must rethink your concept of health. You cannot give to another what you do not have yourself."
Gast threw a chip of dung on the fire. "The power to heal is like fire. When it is blazing, it is awesome. But when nothing is left but embers, it must be banked and nurtured, or it will expire. Think of the wounded you have healed – could you have helped them if you had been injured at the same time?
"Do you imagine that magic falls out of the sky for us to toy with? That is a myth. The only magic is the sorcery within. For example, consider this trinket." Gast lifted the chain of Alemar's amulet. "You think it gives you strange abilities. That is not accurate. The wizard who made it created it as a means of focusing powers he had within himself. Around another man's throat, it is only a necklace. It works for you because you have the same abilities as the maker, and because the pattern of your energies matches his closely enough to trigger the device. I might suspect he was your ancestor."
Alemar said nothing.
"Men like to wrap their magic in talismans. It saves them from searching within themselves each time they weave a spell. But the sorcery itself does not come from the object. Once the creator has died, the device loses its power. Ultimately, an adept needs only inspiration and practice to allow him to focus his gift. Dragons are said to know this – they use no talismans. Neither do Hab-no-ken.
"Your talent can be affected by what would otherwise be minor factors. Right now, one of the things standing in your way is your guilt at having abandoned your sibling."
"Isn't a certain amount of that natural?" Alemar asked defensively.
"Of course. But nevertheless, your ability is going to be affected by it, and by anything else that causes you stress. You have to be able to measure the degree to which you are hindered and take that into account. You've seen for yourself what may happen if a Hab-no-ken tries to stretch himself too far. I let my curiosity get the better of me when you arrived. I nearly killed your son because I ignored the fatigue that sent me into Retreat.
"Your talent has been allowed to stagnate. The sorcery within you has been directed in other ways for most of your life. In time there would have been no chance to awaken the Greater Art. The energies would have been sapped to other purposes. You must realize how fragile your internal magic is, and give it succor.
"There are good reasons why Hab-no-ken observe the ritual of Retreat. It may seem that I am teaching you in reverse, but you need to understand how vital this time of recuperation is. Before you come into your power, you must know how to preserve it. If you can't cope with the concerns you have now, then you will be lost, because they are nothing compared to those you'll have after you become Hab-no-ken. What will happen when you face a situation when you have three people badly in need of healing, and you have only the strength to save one of them? You can try to help them all, and fail – perhaps at the cost of your own life. Or you can help the one you can and leave the others to fate, and be grateful that you made a difference. In the end, you must still be able to live with yourself.
"This is why Hab-no-ken have the authority to refuse to heal. If they exhaust themselves, they may never aid anyone again. The power needs a clear, unworried mind. If need be, we go on Retreat every year, sometimes for two months, sometimes as much as five, and during that time we forget the world and its tensions.
"This is your first step. We will stay here in the badlands for as long as necessary. We will fly, we will sleep, we will stare at rocks. There is plenty of time. Once you realize that, you will be ready to start learning."
It bothered Alemar to realize how hard a labor it would be, simply to do nothing at all.
XXIX
THE FORT ATZYRAII-NI-ZYRAII,which the traders called Xurosh, straddled the gorge through which the trade route flowed. The main structure had been erected on the northern cliff, accessible only via a small side road that branched off from the highway a mile to the west, where the grade was not as vertical. The smaller building, across the chasm to the south, could be reached only by the bridge that connected it to the main fort. The small keep commanded a site where arrows could easily be fired through archery slits at the highway, or great stones, already prepared, dropped. Boiling oil could be poured through machicolations in the bridge battlements. The barracks could hold a small battalion.
"Give me your opinion, war-second," Lonal requested.
"Formidable," Elenya answered.
They had come, alone, to a hilltop where they could get a clear view of the fort without being themselves noticeable. She scanned farther. There were no alternate courses through the pass other than the road and the riverbed next to it, and these were equally vulnerable to attack from above. Cargo could only travel via the road. Even unburdened, oeikani would have difficulty negotiating the ridges. To get to their present vantage point, Lonal and Elenya had climbed like goats. The next good pass was a hundred leagues away.
"It's a perfect ambush point," she said.
"This was true even before the fort was built," Lonal said, "and the traders have made sure to secure their advantage. The only way to gain control of this spot now is never to have lost it."
He pointed to the small keep. "That was where my father died. The merchant's army trapped him there with about two dozen men of the T'lil and the Olot. They wanted the spot because that's where the spring is, the only permanent source of water in this region. They starved him for a fortnight, and when they feared to wait any longer, they stormed the summit. They must have lost hundreds of men in the attempt, but they took it. They built the keep on his bones."