Storm Breaking

'… so that is why this place was hallowed for us, even before we know there still were working weapons here,' Chagren finished. 'Mind, I said hallowed, not holy. We of the Plains do not count any human 'holy,' not even Her Avatars or the Kal'enedral. The Mage of Silence was a good man, a fine man, and flawed as all men are. What made him different from most other men was that he saw his weaknesses and spent all his life trying to keep them controlled, so as not to harm others with them; that he devoted a larger percentage of his life to the well-being of others than most ever even think of doing. What made him dangerous were the things he never troubled to control: his curiosity and his desire to meddle and change things for the sake of change itself.'

Karal digested that; it was interesting to hear the various versions, not only of the story of the Cataclysm, but the way the three cultures viewed Adept Urtho. To the gryphons, at least, Urtho was the ultimate Great Father, which was hardly surprising, since they knew he had created them; to Silverfox he was both a familiar figure of history and a figure of semi-veneration, less than a god but far more than human. To the Tayledras, he was a figure of the misty past, and they recalled very little of him; most did not even know his name, and called him only 'The Mage of Silence.' To most Shin'a'in he was not even that—

Except to the Kal'enedral. To them, he was a man; powerful, good of heart and soul, but one who could not resist meddling in things he should never have touched. Without a doubt. that was because their version was flavored with their own form of prejudice against magic. Even Chagren was not immune from that prejudice, though he suffered from it less than some.

The Shin'a'in had been assigned the guardianship of the Plains by their Goddess Herself, although most of them were not aware that there really was something here that needed to be guarded from interlopers. Certainly, being a Goddess, She could simply have removed the weapons and dangers entirely had She chosen, but deities work in ways that are often not obvious even after centuries of scrutiny. It must have taken a direct edict from the Shin'a'in Goddess to get her chief servants, the Kal'enedral, to open the Plains and this Tower at its heart to strangers. He could hardly imagine what their reaction must have been to learn that they would be opening the Tower to mages.

Their faith must be very great, he thought, with wonder. Look how long it took me to accept that Heralds and Companions were not demonic—they gave over their fears in a much shorter time.

Or if they had not given up their fear, they had certainly worked past it. He had encountered no hostility from these people, only the wariness he himself felt, faced with strangers from a strange people.

Then again, perhaps the Kal'enedral had been very careful about which of their folk were permitted to aid the foreigners.

'I could do with a little less change myself,' he said with a weak laugh. 'But the mage-storms aren't giving us much of a choice in that.'

Chagren grimaced, his aquiline features making the expression more pronounced. 'Yet another mischance that some would lay at Urtho's door. Had he not made the choices he did, some would say that none of this would be happening now.'

Interesting choice of words. Could it be that Chagren is taking a wider view of things? 'But not you?' Karal asked delicately.

Chagren looked for a moment as if he was not going to answer, then shrugged. 'But not me. I am not certain that Urtho's great enemy Ma'ar would not have unleashed worse upon the world; after all, look what havoc Falconsbane and Ancar wrought, who were lesser mages than Ma'ar. Then again, my leshy'a teachers had... experience with mages.'

Now that was a new word; he thought he vaguely recognized the root. Something about a soul. 'What kind of teachers?' he asked, to test his guess.

'I suppose you'd call them 'spirits' although they can be quite solidly real if She wishes,' Chagren replied matter-of-factly, as if he spoke with ghosts every day. Well, perhaps he did.

'At some point in the lives of most Swordsworn they encounter one or more leshy'a Kal'enedral. There have even—' He broke off his words, and stared past Karal for a moment, and half-choked. His eyes widened, and he gave a slight bow of his head. 'I believe, Outlander,' he said in an entirely different and very respectful voice, 'that you are about to find out for yourself.'

Karal turned, to find that another of the Swordsworn was standing in the doorway; this one was very clearly a woman, but also very clearly a warrior in every fiber. She was dressed entirely in black from head to toe, and wore a veil or scarf across the bottom half of her face. A sword and long knife hung from her belt, and she bore the weight easily, negligently. In two paces she had crossed the chamber and stood at the side of Karal's pallet, looking down at him.

She could have seemed frightening, intimidating from her clothing alone, and yet there was nothing menacing whatsoever about her. Competent, yes; certainly imposing—but Karal would have had no hesitation in trusting her. Her blue eyes above the black veil were both amused and kind, and he sensed that she was smiling.

'Forgive me that I can't rise to greet you properly, Lady,' he said with deepest respect.

'Oh, not at all,' she replied, and her voice had a very odd, hollow quality to it, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a very deep well. 'As I understand it, you're rather indisposed at the moment.'

He narrowed his eyes, as he began to see, or sense, that there was something unexpected about her. She