It's a good thing I never tried mucking around with it when it was like this. It probably would have swatted me like a fly.
He wondered how he could have missed it when they were riding in; it must have been like a beacon. And how the mages at Faram's Court could have missed it-he had his answer, as it simply-stopped what it was doing. It went back to being the simple sword he had known; magical, yes, if you looked at it closely enough, but you had to look very closely and know what you were looking for.
Did it put on that show for my benefit? he wondered. Somehow that idea was a little chilling. No one he knew could detect Mage-Sight in action; it was a passive spell, not an active one.
No one he knew. That didn't mean it couldn't be done. That notion was even more awe-inspiring than the display of power had been. Need was old; perhaps the ancient ways of magic it was made with harbored spells he couldn't even dream of.
The creature she was riding-not a horse at all, even if it chose to appear as one-rivaled both the young woman and the sword, but in a way few would have recognized. The aura enveloping it was congruent with the creature's skin, as if controlled power was actually shining through the skin. Which was very much the case... Although few mages would have known it for what it was, Quenten recognized it as a Guardian Spirit of the highest order. And from the colors of its aura, it was superior even to the Ethereal Spirits he had once, very briefly, had conversation with when some of the Shin'a'in relatives came to Bolthaven for the annual horse-fair-the ones Kero's other uncle called " spirit-Kal'enedral," that served the Shin'a'in Goddess. The "veiled ones," shaman Kra'heera had called them; the unspoken implication being that only the spirit- Kal'enedral went veiled. They were to this "horse" what an eating knife is to a perfectly balanced rapier.
One blow after another, all within a heartbeat. He practically swallowed his tongue with shock and dropped his arms numbly to his sides.
For a moment, he felt like an apprentice again, faced with his Master, and the vision of what that Master had become after years and years of work in developing his Talent to its highest pinnacle placed before him.
All that power-all that potential-and he hadn't the slightest idea what to do with it.
His mind completely froze for a moment as he stared at her. I can't take her on! his thoughts babbled in panic. One slip-and she wouldn't just blow up the workshop, she could-she could-and that Guardian-and the sword-and-and-Only years of self-discipline, combined with more years of learning to think on his feet with the Skybolts, enabled him to get his mind working again so that he could stop reacting and start acting like a mage and a competent Master, instead of a dumbfounded apprentice.
And the first thing he did was to turn away from the window. With her out of his sight and Sight, he was able to take a deep breath, run his hand through his sweat-damp hair, and think. Quickly. He had to come up with an answer and a solution.
One thing was certain; it wasn't a question of whether she could be trained or not; she had to be trained. One day, she might be tempted to try to manipulate some of the energies she could sense all around her, and then-No telling what would happen. Depends on what she touched, and how hard she pulled.
It could be even worse if she were in a desperate situation and she simply reacted instinctively, trying to save herself or others. With the thrust of fear driving her-Gods.
And the very first thing we are taught is never, ever, act in fear or anger.
She would be easy prey for anyone who saw her, and wanted to use her. There were blood-path Masters and even Adepts out there who wouldn't hesitate to lure her into their territory with promises of training, and then exploit her ruthlessly, willing or not. Anyone could be broken, and no mage had gotten to the Master level without learning the patience it took to break someone and subvert them, even if it took a year or more.
No, she had to be trained. Now the question was, by whom?
Kero said if I couldn't handle her to send her on to old Jendar, her uncle.
He's an Adept; hellfires, he taught me, he ought to be able to handle anyone.
He can deal with her. I don't have to.
That burden off his hands, he sighed and relaxed. Gradually the sweat of panic dried, his heart went back to its sedate pace, his muscles unknotted. The problem was solved, but he wasn't going to have to be the one to solve it. He was glad now that he'd delegated one of the teachers-a very discreet young lady, who was, bless the gods, an Herbalist-Healer earth-witch with no Mage-Sight worth speaking of-to greet them when they arrived, just in case he suddenly found himself with his hands full.
God only knows what I'd have been like if I'd met them at the gate.
Babbling, Probably. Hardly one to inspire confidence. By the time word reached him that they had arrived, he was back to being the calm, unruffled image of a school-Master, completely in control of everything around him.
"Yes?" he said; the child poked his head inside, cautiously. All the apprentices were cautious when the Master was in his office. Quenten had been known to have odd things loose in the room on occasion, just to keep people from interrupting him. The legend of the constable's scorched backside was told in the dormitory even yet, and that had happened the first year the school had been founded.
"Sir, the people you expected are here. The lady's name's Elspeth, the gen'man is Skif, Eirodie says. If you're able, sir, you should come down, Elrodie says." The child looked the way he must have a few moments ago; it wasn't often an apprentice got to see the inside of the Master's office. Usually he met the youngsters on their own ground, and when he wasn't actually in the office, he kept it mage-locked, for his office also served as his secondary workroom. There were things in here no apprentice should ever get his hands on.
"I'll be right there," he said. The child vanished. He waited a few moments more to be certain his stomach had settled, then turned, and started down the stairs.
By the time he reached the ground, he felt close to normal, and was able to absorb the shock of his visitors' appearance without turning a hair. Outwardly, anyway. The sword was "quiet"-but the girl and her so-called horse weren't.
So long as they don't do anything...
He turned first to greet the young lady, as her companion held back a little, diffidently, confirming his guess that she was much higher-ranked than he was. And given her strong family resemblance to King Faram, she was undoubtedly the "Elspeth" that was Heir to the Valdemar throne. She took after the dark side of the family, rather than the blond, but the resemblance was there beyond a doubt.
To all outward appearances, she was no different than any other young, well-born woman of his acquaintance. Wavy brown hair was confined in a braid that trailed down her back, though bits of it escaped to form little tendrils at her ears. Her square face was not beautiful or even conventionally pretty and doll-like-it was a face that was so full of character and personality that beauty would have been superfluous and mere "prettiness" eclipsed. Like Kero, she was handsome and vividly alive. Her brown eyes sparkled when she talked; her generous mouth smiled often. If he hadn't had Mage-Sight, he would have guessed that she had Mage-Talent in abundance; she had that kind of energy about her.