Fiddler Fair (anthology)

you?”

“This one comes from far—a great distance to the west and south. It is not likely that you have ever heard of the People, Mage-lady. The Guard-serjant had not. As for why this one is the way he is—this one follows a Way.”

“The Way?”

“No, Mage-lady, A Way. The People believe that there are many such Ways, and ours is of no more merit than any other. Our way is the Way of Balance.”

“You said something about ‘balance’ before—” Now Martis’ curiosity was truly aroused. “Just what does this Way entail?”

“It is simplicity. One must strive to achieve Balance in all things in one’s life. This one—is on a kind of pilgrimage to find such Balance, to find a place where this one may fit within the pattern of All. Because this one’s nature is such that he does well to live by the sword, he must strive to counter this by using that sword in the service of peace—and to cultivate peace in other aspects of his life. And, in part, it must be admitted that this one fosters a helpless outer aspect,” Lyran smiled wryly. “The Mage-lady will agree that appearing ineffectual does much to throw the opponent off his guard. So—that is the what of this one. As to the why—the People believe that the better one achieves Balance, the better one will be reborn.”

“I certainly hope you don’t include good and evil in your Balance—either that, or I’ll do the cooking from now on.” Lyran laughed.

“No Mage-lady, for how could one weigh ‘good’ and ‘evil’? Assuredly, it was ‘good’ that this one slew your foes, but was it not ‘evil’ to them? Sometimes things are plainly one or the other, but too often it depends upon where one stands one’s own self. A primary tenet of our Way is to do no harm when at all possible—to wound, rather than kill, subdue rather than wound, reason rather than subdue, and recall when reasoning that the other may have the right of it.”

“Simple to state, but—”

“Ai, difficult to live by. It would seem that most things worth having are wrapped in difficulty. Have you not spent your life in magecraft, and yet still learn? And does this not set you farther apart from others—sacrificing knowledge for the common ties of life?”

Martis scrutinized her companion across the flames. Not so young, after all. Not nearly so young as she had thought—nor so simple. It was only the slight build, the guileless eyes, the innocence of the heart-shaped face that made you think “child.” And attractive too. Damned attractive . . . “Don’t be a fool,” she scolded herself, “You haven’t the time or energy to waste—besides, he’s young enough to be your son. Well, maybe not your son. But too damned young for the likes of you! Hellfires! You have more to think about than a sweet-faced hireling! Get your mind back to business.”

“Before we sleep, I’m intending to gather power as I was doing on the road,” she stretched a little. “I want you to rouse me when the moon rises.”

“Mage-lady—would quiet chanting disturb you?” Lyran asked anxiously. “This one would offer words for those slain.”

“Whatever for? They wouldn’t have mourned you!” Once again, Lyran had surprised her.

“That is their Way, not this one’s. If one does not mourn that one has slain, the heart soon dies. Under other circumstances, might they not have been comrades?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Martis replied thoughtfully. “No, chanting isn’t going to disturb me any. Just make sure you also keep a good watch out for any more surprises.”

“Of a certainty, Mage-lady.” Lyran didn’t even seem annoyed at the needless admonition, a fact that made Martis even more thoughtful. Professional mercenaries she’d known in the past tended to get a bit touchy about mages giving them “orders” like she’d just given him. Nothing much seemed to ruffle that serene exterior. How long, she wondered, had it taken him to achieve that kind of mind-set? And what kind of discipline had produced it? A puzzle; truly a puzzle.

The next day brought them to a ring of standing stones—the Gate-site. The inherent magic residing in this place made it possible to use it as a kind of bridge to almost any other place on the earth’s surface. Martis had been to Kelven’s tower once, and with mage-habit had memorized the lay of the land surrounding it. They would be able to ride straight from here to there once the proper spell was set into motion. This would have another benefit, besides saving them a long and tiring journey; Kelven would ‘lose’ them if he had been tracking them, and without knowing exactly where to look for them, would not know how many of them had survived his attack. They rested undisturbed that evening, with Martis quickly regaining from the place the energy she spent in shielding their presence there.

The Gate spell took the better part of the next morning to set up. Martis had no intentions of bringing them in very near, for she had other notions as to how she wanted this confrontation to be played out. After a light noon meal, she activated the Gate.

The standing stones began to glow, not from within, but as if an unquenchable fire burned along their surfaces. The fire from each reached out to join with the fires of the stones on either side. Before an hour had passed, the ring was a near-solid thing of pulsating orange light.

Martis waited until the power-flux built to an internal drawing that was well-nigh unendurable—then led them at a gallop between two of the stones. They rode in through one side—but not out the other.

They emerged in the vicinity of Kelven’s tower—and the confrontation Martis had been dreading was at hand.

She wasn’t sure whether the fact that there had been no attempt to block them at the Gate was good or bad. It could be that Kelven was having second thoughts about the situation, and would be ready to be persuaded to amend his ways. It also could be that he was taking no further chances on the skills of underlings or working at a distance, and was planning to eliminate her himself in a sorcerers’ duel.

They rode through country that was fairly wild and heavily wooded, but Kelven’s tower lay beyond where the woods ended, at the edge of a grass-plain. Martis described the situation to Lyran, who listened attentively, then fell silent. Martis was not inclined to break that silence, lost in her own contemplations.

“Mage-lady—” Lyran broke into Martis’ thoughts not long before they were to reach Kelven’s stronghold. “—is it possible that the Mage-lord may not know about the continued survival of this one?”