Brightly Burning

Pol was flatly astonished. He had never had any pupil with one of the odder Gifts catch on so quickly before.

On the other hand, their problem was usually in accessing their power, not in controlling it.

Only young Malken has had the same problem as Lan, it occurred to him. And Malken is not ready to control it. Poor Malken had been so overwhelmed by his Foresight that Herald Evan had finally decided to shut it down altogether. It was a temporary measure, but until the child was older and stronger, there was no way he could understand what he was seeing and why he was seeing it so he could control it. 'I am not risking a child's sanity,' Evan had said flatly. 'Nothing is worth that.'

He'd gotten no argument from anyone on that score.

Pol lined up lint balls, directing Lan to ignite them in a specific sequence; after a bit of fumbling, Lan did just that. He made the piles of lint bigger, then smaller. Finally, he took the bucket of water, extinguished the tack-room fire, and had Lan relight it with the remainder of the lint as kindling. In order to get the now-wet wood going properly, Lan had to concentrate his force on the fire until the water had evaporated and the wood could burn.

'Enough!' Pol ordered when that exercise was over. Lan was pale, but triumphant; he looked eager to keep going, but Pol knew weariness when he saw it. 'That's enough for the first day, Lavan. Quite enough. We'll start on real targets and more distant targets tomorrow. How are you feeling?'

'Tired. And my stomach's in knots,' Lan said truthfully. 'I don't like having to get angry like this, but—but I don't think I have to get quite as angry now as I did when we started.'

'That's good.' Pol hoped he was right. 'Go on back to the Collegium and your classes; I'll clean up, and I'll see you here tomorrow.'

Lan turned to go, and Pol called after him, 'No practicing on your own, promise me!'

'I promise,' Lan called back over his shoulder. 'No fear.'

:I wish that was the only thing we had to worry about, Chosen,: Satiran said soberly.

Pol sighed. 'The sooner we can say he's fully trained, the more likely he is to be sent out—' He shook his head. 'Gods. Now I know how the Weaponsmaster feels.'

:I always did,: said Satiran, and left it at that.

SEVENTEEN

POL paused for a moment with one hand on the latch of his room, and the other massaging his own shoulder. The hallway was cold, and his room would be warm, but he was very nearly too tired even to open his own door. It had been a long day; a very, very long day. Why he should have been selected to be on the elite committee of Those Who Knew What Was Going On With Karse—

Bother. He knew why. Lavan Chitward—or Firestarter, as the King had begun to call him—was the reason why good old dependable Herald Pol should suddenly be counted among the important minds of this land. The boy was shaping up to be a very important player in the coming war, and Pol was his teacher, his mentor, and his friend. Pol's Companion was the sire to Lavan's Companion, giving him yet another source of insight into Lavan's young mind. If Pol and Satiran knew what was coming, they could prepare the boy to face it.

Pol was dancing on the edge of his energy, though; he was forced to juggle teaching, tutoring Lavan, and meetings with the Select Council, along with whatever incidental tasks came up. He wasn't young anymore, and his body reminded him of that sad fact rather frequently these days.

So, for that matter, did Satiran, who nagged him about slowing down at least once a day. Not that there was anything Pol could do about it. His body, mind, and spirit were not his to command.

At last he opened the door of his room, and stared in bewilderment to see his daughter Elenor in her mother's chair by the fire, waiting patiently for him, with a tray full of covered dishes beside her.

'Elenor! What are you—' He stopped himself in mid-sentence and shook his head in mingled disbelief and dismay. He couldn't have forgotten the weekly dinner they always shared, could he? 'It's not—I thought it was—'

'Yes, Father, you've lost track of time again,' Elenor sighed. 'When you didn't come to Healers', I knew you'd forgotten what day it was. I also thought that you'd probably forget you were supposed to have dinner at all, so I had one of the servants bring dinner here.'

The fire crackled cheerfully as Pol shook his head at his own forgetfulness, and took his chair across from hers. 'I'm glad you did. I'm so tired I probably would have just opted for some fruit and cheese.'

'Assuming you remembered to eat anything before you went to sleep.' Elenor began uncovering the platters and fixing a plate of food for him. 'I won't ask why they're running you out like this, but I hope it ends soon.'

He didn't say anything; he couldn't. He knew very well that the secret meetings wouldn't end until the entire Kingdom knew that Valdemar was at war with Karse—and then, it wouldn't just be meetings that she would be worrying about. The only thing he could do was something he already had done. He'd extracted a promise from Theran that Elenor would never have both parents on the front lines of the fighting at the same time. This was not to say that they wouldn't both be down near the Border, but they would never be near the fighting simultaneously.

Elenor had ordered a wonderful meal, and he gave it its due attention, although he didn't neglect conversation to do so. He told her what he could of the doings of Circle and Collegium, and she shared stories of the interesting or the funny from her end of the grounds. But when they reached the dessert, Elenor brought up a