Owlsight

“How did you know?” he asked. “How could you remember after all this time?”

Firesong shrugged. “I can’t help it; I almost never forget a face or a name, but I can’t remember where I left my boots. Well, at least I won’t have to disabuse you of any grandiose schemes for becoming a Wizard-King; that’s a relief anyway. Tales notwithstanding, I’m afraid there aren’t many kingdoms going without claimants. What have you done and learned while you were with Adept Starfall and Mage Firefrost? How have they been educating you?”

Darian told him as succinctly as he could; it really wasn’t difficult since he and Firesong shared the same kind of magical education. Firesong listened, nodding from time to time, and said at the end, “You’ve had a good, solid education, but that’s to be expected with my father teaching you. You said that originally if you’d had the choice, you wouldn’t have chosen magic. What about now? If I could remove it from you, is that what you’d want?” Then he said something else that shocked Darian. “I can, you know. That’s one of the things a Healing Adept can still do, and I suspect that’s one of the reasons why Father wanted me here. If having this power really bothers you, still, I can take it away.”

Once again, Darian was caught off-guard by the unexpected question, and answered without thinking. “Ah - no, not now. It seems as if it’s something I should do.” He shook his head, unable to come up with anything that sounded right. “I guess I haven’t thought about it, about having a choice, I mean. There didn’t seem to be one.”

“There is a choice,” Firesong said somberly. “And I want to give you one. An informed choice. There’s something more I want to show you, before you make that choice.”

Before Darian had any idea of what the Adept was up to, Firesong had reached up - and removed his mask.

Darian blinked, but did not turn away or lower his eyes. In many ways, the scar-seamed face behind the mask was not as horrific as it could have been. It certainly wasn’t pretty, or rather, the fact that it was the ruin of something that had once been handsome was actually painful to think about. The silver eyes looked out of a randomly patterned set of shiny, tight patches divided by thick, red scars, something that was nearly another mask. It wouldn’t give nightmares to children -

Not screaming nightmares, anyway. Maybe bad dreams, though.

“There is often a price to wielding great magic, Darian,” the scar-twisted lips said. “This was mine. Envoy Karal paid with his sight. Two more of our party paid with their lives. I was very, very lucky, when it came down to cases. I could easily have died as well, had I not been protected by one of those who did. I had - thanks to the gods, who sent Silverfox - learned that there were far more important things than having a pretty face, and losing it didn’t destroy me. I was beautiful.” The scarred lips smiled. “I still am. I don’t wear masks for my own sake, but the sake of others, so that they need not feel pain that I myself no longer experience. But, Darian, had I not learned things about what is important by then, this minor price could have been a very major one. Have you thought about that, the possibility that you, too, might be asked to pay a great price for power?”

While Darian sat in silence, Firesong put his mask back on again.

“What about not using it?” he asked finally. “There’s a price for inaction, too. The trouble is, usually other people get caught in paying it as much as you do. At least, if I keep this Gift and use whatever power I have, I’ll be making the choice to act instead of just standing by and wringing my hands.”

Behind the mask, the eyes closed for a moment. “That is a good answer - and, I might add, one I’ve not heard before. It should have been obvious you aren’t the kind of young man to choose inaction.”

The silver eyes opened again, and there was a smile in the voice. “Young Dar’ian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar, you have passed my test. I will be quite pleased to have you as my student and to teach you all I can, until you have achieved everything possible within the limits of your Gift, or you drop from exhaustion. Have I passed your test as well?”

Slowly, Darian nodded. “I think . . . you won’t be an easy teacher, but you’ll be a good one. I think. . . we can get along.”

Firesong chuckled. “You’d be surprised at how few people realize that is important for teacher and pupil! One more thing, before I let you go for the day. If ever there is something that you are afraid to tell me, do not hesitate to confide it in Silverfox. That - in part - is his profession, to be a trustworthy confidant,”

“I will, sir,” Darian replied, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up, and as he was about to leave the room, Firesong motioned to him to stay.

“Dar’ian, I have one request.” He sighed, and Darian wondered if he’d done something wrong already. “Do me the very great favor of never calling me’sir’ again. Don’t call me ‘Master’ either. Call me Firesong.” His eyes grew mournful. “Being called’sir’ makes me feel so old!”

“Yes, s - Firesong,” Darian replied quickly. “But I’ve come to respect those who are wiser than I am, and I only meant it as a compliment.”

“Hmm. Well, in that case, I’ll let it pass, once in a while.” Firesong replied.

Darian went out the door and down the covered stair, unable to tell if Firesong was serious or had been teasing him.