What Falconsbane had done to her and with her just on an emotional basis was sick and demented by any normal standards. But just as intimate knowledge of the way that the body worked could be used to heal, as well as to kill and torture, could not Falconsbane's ability to manipulate minds and emotions be used for some other, benign purpose?
In some ways. wasn't that precisely what Ulrich and Karal had been doing to help him?
He chewed his lip thoughtfully. Did that make Falconsbane something like—like an evil priest?
Certainly on one level. A good priest is supposed to counsel and guide his followers to their betterment, and Falconsbane used similar tools of persuasion.
Bells at the Collegium rang, signaling the beginning of the dinner hour. That meant that both the Palace and Collegium libraries would be empty, and both libraries had comfortable reading areas with fireplaces—certainly much better places for continuing these introspections than the gardens, at this point! It wouldn't be long until dark, the gray light was fading into thick, gray-blue dusk, and the wind was getting colder with every passing moment. His nose and ears were getting numb, and the wind somehow managed to find every seam in his coat to blow through!
He turned his steps back toward the Palace, nodding at the guard at the garden door as he passed. One advantage of being who and what he was—he was instantly recognizable. Most guards let him by without a challenge, the way they let the Hawkbrothers and the gryphons pass.
The Palace library seemed the best choice, the reading area was smaller, and most of the people who used it were court functionaries. This was not a library filled with books of poetry, clever histories, and tales. The books here were dull chronicles for the most part, with a leavening of books on language, law, and custom. Meaty and informative, but as hard to digest as a stone and about as entertaining. It was tucked away between the room used for Valdemaran Council sessions and the office of the Seneschal, sharing a fireplace wall with the latter.
Only one or two lamps had been lit, but there was a bright fire going in the fireplace—and as An'desha had hoped, there was no one in the reading area. He chose a comfortably padded chair, draped his coat over the back, and sprawled sideways with one leg over an arm of the chair, staring into the fire.
So if Ma'ar and all his other 'selves' were able to control and persuade people—would it be wrong to use that same power to help people? To get them to compromise with each other, for instance—would that be wrong? I wish I had some help with this... I have a feeling I'm getting out of my depth. The trouble was that he was too close to those memories; seeing such abilities and powers in action made it very tempting to assume that such things could be used for good purposes.
Someone once told me that even the deadliest of poisons could be used to heal—with expertise and great care, in the minutest of doses. How tiny a dose of 'persuasion' was moral? He didn't know where the line should be drawn between 'trying to help people,' and 'manipulating people.'
Firesong would be no help at all, even though he was a Healing Adept. His powers were all concerned with the world of the material, not the world of the soul, heart, and spirit. He tended to get very impatient when An'desha strayed into the realms of what he considered to be 'mystical.' For all of his insistence on the intuitive nature of magic, he was bound up in the practical and had little use for mysticism.
I'd like to ask Karal, but he's already carrying so many burdens, I'm afraid to add one more to his load. It might be the one that breaks his back—or his spirit. Poor Karal, He was carrying far too much responsibility on those slim shoulders.
Perhaps that sweet lady, Talia? But—no, really, what he wanted wasn't comfort, it was a place to start figuring out ethical solutions.
This was the one place where his old nemesis, the shaman of his Clan, might have been useful. The old man was as rigid as dried rawhide, but he was enough in tune with the Star-Eyed that he never gave anyone bad spiritual advice that I ever heard of. And he knew his ethics.... The new Shin'a'in envoy was not a shaman; he was temporary, the brother of his Clan Chief, and An'desha really didn't like him any more than Karal did. If only Querna were still alive! He wouldn't have hesitated a moment in asking her help.
If only I had someone, anyone, to talk to! No, not 'anyone' A shaman, a priest. But I don't know which priests here to trust except Karal; I'd rather talk to someone who comes from the same background as me. How ironic! I got myself into trouble by running away from the shaman, and now I would give anything to be able to talk to one.
The fire gave a sudden flare, and he jumped as a deep, purely mental chuckle washed warmth through his mind.
:You had only to ask, little brother,: said a mind-voice he had thought never to hear again, as the Avatar of the Star-Eyed that he knew as Tre'valen appeared in the fire before him. The last time he had seen the Avatar had been when he was in Hardorn, and Falconsbane had control of his body. Although he was told that the Avatars appeared in Valdemar when they transformed him and Nyara from their feline Changechild forms to something more human, that was one appearance he did not remember. Mercifully, perhaps; the transformation had not been without a great deal of physical pain. Flesh was torn loose from its Adept-shaped form and resculpted, even the hairs of his body were altered in one massive rush of magical power. A gift from the Star-Eyed for his bravery, but no changes were without pain.
As Tre'valen had often before—though never in Valdemar—the Avatar took the
