Owlsight

“I have well-insulated the ekele, Adept Firesong,” Ayshen said diffidently. “I do not think you will find any chills or drafts this winter.”

The Adept seemed charmed, pleased, and just a little surprised. “I am not sure what to say,” Firesong replied at length. “Except to thank you, thank you all. You have more than made us welcome.”

“Oh, I am certain that you will find plenty to complain of,” Starfall laughed. “But until you do, I hope you find your new ekele satisfactory! And on that note, we will leave you to settle in.”

As Darian was about to leave, Firesong turned to him and summoned him with a crooked finger. “Come up with us,” the Adept said. “I would like to talk with you a little.”

Darian swallowed, felt his mouth go dry as old snake-skin, and obediently followed the two into the ground- level of the structure. They paused long enough for a glance around the pool room; Firesong nodded as Silverfox exclaimed in pleasure.

“When the plantings get their full growth, this will be enchanting,” Firesong observed warmly.

“I cannot believe that they have gone to such trouble for us,” Silverfox replied, shaking his head, then he laughed. “Well, perhaps they have heard tales of your famous plaints when you lived in Valdemar, and had none of the niceties of a Vale at your disposal!”

“That could well be,” Firesong agreed, with as much humor as Silverfox. He found the staircase and began climbing it, with his partner and Darian close behind.

Darian had not seen the ekele since the furniture was moved in; as he entered behind the other two, he saw that not only had furnishings been put in place, but there were beautifully woven rugs on the floor and hangings on the walls.

Silverfox went briefly to the window, then looked back at Firesong. “I think I will see the chambers on the ground first. If there is a storm, I still do not care for being in the boughs of a tree.”

“Only one who was raised in a tree could, ashke, so if there is a storm, I can understand,” Firesong chuckled. “For that matter, if there is a storm, you may find me joining you below!”

Silverfox saluted them both and then descended the stairs noiselessly, and Firesong gestured to Darian to take a seat. Gingerly, Darian sat down on a chair woven of willow withes, and Firesong took another just like it, placed opposite him. The Adept leaned back in the chair, relaxing as the withes creaked, settling beneath his slight weight, but Darian remained sitting straight upright, back and shoulders staff-stiff. He had no idea what to expect, and wondered desperately what Firesong expected of him. He couldn’t look away from those silver eyes.

“So,” Firesong said, after he’d watched Darian carefully for a time. “Being a mage, becoming an Adept - was this your idea, or someone else’s?”

“If I’d had a choice, you mean?” Darian hazarded. “In the very beginning?”

Firesong nodded.

“If I’d had a choice originally, I’d just be a trapper, like my parents,” Darian said softly. “After my parents died, I was apprenticed without anyone asking me what I wanted. I’d rather have been apprenticed to the village woodcutter. I didn’t want to be a mage, I didn’t want anything to do with magic. I couldn’t see any use for it.”

To his great surprise, Firesong burst out laughing so hard that he started to cough and had to get control of himself before he could talk again. “You couldn’t see any use for it!” he rasped out at last, shaking his head, and dabbing at his eyes with a silken handkerchief. “Well, at least I won’t have to disabuse you of dreams of easy glory! But I forget. You never saw any really powerful magic, did you?”

“Not with my original master,” Darian replied truthfully. “Once the mage-storms began, I don’t think he could do much of anything; he certainly couldn’t change, steer, or even predict the weather, and that might have impressed me that magic had some uses. That was Wizard Justyn - ”

“Justyn, Justyn . . .” Firesong muttered, eyes intent as he concentrated. “I think I may have met him once. Name sticks in my mind.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I think I have it. It would be right after the end of the Ancar-Falconsbane debacle, I think. Mercenary-mage, got a head wound doing something ridiculously heroic, lost most of his powers and got talked into using what he had as a Healer out where they didn’t have one. Someplace in the middle of nowhere - very nice nowhere you have here, by the way. I love what you’ve done with the place. He was part of a group of similarly retrained folk, not a big group, though. Darkwind, Elspeth, and I met with them before they got sent out to new posts. Your Justyn wound up out here, obviously. Am I right?”

Darian’s mouth fell open; he couldn’t help it. Firesong had just told him more about his own master than he himself had known! He could only nod in astonished confirmation, and felt embarrassed that he had known so little about Justyn.

So he really did meet the people he claimed he had! And we never believed him.