Sunlancer

Sunlancer

by Philip M. Austin and Mercedes Lackey

Philip Austin writes, 'Misty Lackey is the one who made this story come alive. She deserves the majority of the credit and all my thanks. [She] has been a good friend and mentor. She's been helpful in so many ways. Through her good offers, I've been able to dream of a future. A creative future. That dream is worth more than any monetary reward.'

Mercedes Lackey was born in Chicago, and has worked as a lab assistant, security guard, and computer programmer before turning to fiction writing. Her first book, Arrows of the Queen, the first hi the Valde-mar series, was published in 1985. She won the Lambda award for Magic's Price and Science Fiction Book Club Book of the Year for the The Elvenbane, co- authored with Andre Norton. Along with her husband, Larry Dixon, she is a Federally licensed bird rehabilitator, specializing in birds of prey. She shares her home with a menagerie of parrots, cats and a Schutzhund trained German shepherd.

Clarrin Mul-Par knelt below his open window and raised his face to the rising sun; he closed his eyes and felt the warmth of its rays against his cheeks, watched the inside of his eyelids turn as red as the robes of Vkandis' priests. The sun was a pressure against his skin, as real as the pressure against his heart.

Vkandis! Sunlord! he prayed. Hear me, and guide me in what I must do. Red-priestess Beakasi tells us we do your will and bidding — should I believe her? She tells me that it is your will that we take the young ones, that your miracles show her the ones to test for your service. Must I believe her? Sunlord, all life comes by your gift; to live in your light is the old teaching, passed from generation to generation. But is this what you meant? Vkandis! Sun-lord! What must I do? Give me a sign!

He lowered his outstretched arms, letting the rays of the sun bathe him. But although they warmed his body, they did not touch the cold in his heart, nor did they ease his worry and confusion.

For the first time in his life, he doubted.

No, he told himself firmly. No, I do not doubt the Sunlord. I doubt those who speak in His Name. I doubt that what they call upon me to do is truly His Will

And he knew exactly where to place the blame for that doubt — if 'blame'' was precisely the right thing to call it.

Squarely in the lap of that scholar-scribe with the terrible eyes: the guest of his grandfather, and as such, sacrosanct.

The man had been there when he arrived last night; they seemed to be old friends, and Grandfather had introduced him as such. Clarrin found the man to be a fascinating storyteller, and the three of them had conversed long into the night, in the garden pavilion, where — now that he thought about it — no one could creep up upon them to listen without being seen.

And it was the scholar's questions that had made him doubt....

'Captain Clarrin Mul-Par is a wise man, I have no doubt,' the scribe said in accentless, flowing Karaite that even a priest would envy. 'As well as a man trusted in the Temple's service. I value wisdom, and I seek answers, answers to questions a man such as the Captain may be able to give me.'

As he sat there, completely at ease in the low couch, boots crossed at the ankles and elbows resting on knees, his eyes never left the face of the Captain of the Temple Lancers. Clarrin wondered what in heaven or earth he was reading there. He never had learned to completely school his expression.

But he had tried not to betray his uneasiness. 'What are your questions, good sir?' he replied, forcing himself to return the scribe's direct gaze. 'Although you grant me more wisdom than I would claim, I will do my best to answer you.'

'My first question is this — and pray, do not take offense, for I am a foreigner, and I mean none,' the scholar said, with a smile that looked honest, leaning forward a little to speak. 'Are the miracles performed by your priests and priestesses true miracles, or are they actually magic?'

Clarrin licked his lips, and answered carefully. 'Vkandis forbids the practice of magic,' he replied sternly. 'It was by his will that magic was driven out of the land. His miracles ensure that we of Karse need no magic, and aid his holy ones to keep magic from our borders.'

The scribe did not seem particularly disturbed by the implied rebuke. He sipped at the pleasant, fruity wine with appreciation, examined the crystal goblet that contained it for a moment, then looked up through the latticework of the pavilion's roof at the stars. Only then did he look back at Clarrin.