But was it? The High Magick still cost somebody something, and sometimes the High Mages used their own power…
He thought.
'When we realized what they believed in Armethalieh, we sent them envoys and tried to reason with them, for we knew that the Wild Magic was the only defense against Shadow Mountain, and we could not learn its arts, having given up our part in the Greater Magics long ago. But the humans were afraid. They would not heed us. Fear can make people— anyone—think very strange things. Even Elves,' Jermayan finished softly. 'And now it may be too late.'
'Sleep now,' Shalkan said firmly, stepping into the lantern light. 'Both of you. I'll keep watch. I've had a much easier day than either of you. Sleep.'
It was hard to argue with such good advice. Exhausted by the events of the day—the battle and all that went with it, the spell he had cast, Kellen knew he couldn't possibly stay awake much longer, and Jermayan needed to sleep to finish the work of the Healing Spell. Getting to his feet, Kellen quickly washed their cups and bowls and snuffed the lanterns as Jermayan wrapped himself in his bedroll. A few moments later Kellen did the same.
As he looked up at the stars, he thought about what Jermayan had said. He had his answer at last, at least most of it. He thought about his own moment of weakness just this afternoon, how he'd hated the thought of incurring another Mageprice. But he'd accepted it anyway, because that was the cost of the Wild Magic. You paid for what you got, because in paying your Mageprice you were actually helping to tend the garden of the world, as Morusil said.
Only… somewhere in the distant past… there'd been Wildmages who hadn't wanted to pay, who'd wanted to do spells without incurring Magedebt, to use their power selfishly, for themselves alone. And they'd turned to the Demons to escape paying their price, to keep from repaying—
And so, out of that, had come the High Magick. But while the High Mages paid the price of their spells, they didn't pay it themselves…
It was precious little comfort to know that as a Knight-Mage, he had a little more immunity to Demonic entanglement than the average Wild-mage. 'The Knight-Mage, even more so than the Wildmage, must choose that path, knowingly, and with forethought …'It was like knowing you were a little more fire-resistant when you were planning to walk into a firing-kiln. Not a lot of real practical use.
And somehow, tangled up in everything else he'd learned about the history of the Wild Magic and the High Magick tonight—and bigger than all of that, really—was the War Jermayan had spoken of, the one the City'd ended up blaming on the Wildmages. Kellen stared at the sky through half-closed eyes, trying to imagine that long-ago war. Dragons… what must it have been like, to look up and see the sky filled with dragons in flight?
A few moments later he was asleep.
THE morning sun woke him, and Kellen realized he had slept far later than usual. He sat up quickly, relieved to note that the exhaustion of the day before had passed.
Jermayan was already up and moving about. The Elven Knight seemed to be almost back to his old self again, though he moved with a bit more care than usual. His surcoat and padded undertunic—and Kellen's surcoat as well—were spread out on the grass, damp from a recent washing.
'They should be dry enough to wear by the time we're ready to leave,' Jermayan said, noting the direction of Kellen's gaze. 'And fortunately, Elven armor doesn't rust. Tea?'
'Why did you let me sleep so late?' Kellen grumbled, feeling cross and guilty in equal measure, as he rolled out of his blankets. Despite the advanced hour, the air was still chilly, and he pulled one of the blankets around himself, groping for his cloak.
Jermayan tossed it to him, and Kellen pulled it on gratefully, then accepted the cup of tea—a different kind this morning.
'You needed the rest,' Jermayan answered inarguably. 'So did I. And there were tasks that needed doing. We have been careless and lucky. No longer.' He gestured, and Kellen saw that a bow and a large quiver of arrows stood beside Jermayan's armor now, unpacked from their place in the mule's load. 'Today we ride fully armored and weaponed, and woe betide the enemy who tries to take us unawares.'
Kellen saw that the round shield he'd taken from one of the bandits was piled with his own armor. He barely recognized it, for it had been scrubbed and polished until it gleamed.
'I would say that you have indeed earned your shield, Kellen Tavadon, and I only regret that it is not a more fitting one. Later I will teach you how to make the best use of it. For now it must suffice that you wear it.'
So there wasn't going to be a lesson this morning, either. Just as well, Kellen supposed, if they were starting this late, but he did regret it a little. He was wondering what it would be like to face Jermayan in the teaching circle again after having fought for real, and having killed. Would it make a difference? Could he still do it?
But the answers to those questions would have to wait.
