fact that he was descended from those who had driven the Mageborn into exile, and that his presence here meant the Mageborn were no longer safely isolated from their former enemies; and the fact that Brenna, though not herself Mageborn, was the ward of one of the most powerful MageLords in the kingdom.
And then someone came into the breakfast nook from the hallway outside, and Anton suspected the ice had just given way.
Tall, thin, with a sharp-edged face and hair the color of frosted steel, the new arrival wore a gray tunic and trousers, boots so highly polished they might have been covered with glass, and a similarly polished belt into which a pair of black leather gloves were neatly tucked. Around his neck he wore a plain disk of gold on a fine-linked chain.
A cool draft seemed to follow him in from the hall, as though winter had accompanied him into the room. Brenna, seeing him, got to her feet at once. Anton didn’t know why, exactly, but he copied her a heartbeat later, though his leg twinged beneath him.
“Anton,” Brenna said, “Allow me to present my guardian, Lord Falk.”
Anton wondered if he should bow, but settled for raising his hand. “Hi,” he said, sounding incredibly lame, even to himself.
“Welcome to my home,” said Lord Falk. “And to the Kingdom of Evrenfels.”
“Um… thank you.”
“Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
Anton glanced at the all-but-empty table. “Very much,” he said truthfully.
“How is your leg?”
“Still a little sore, but I didn’t expect to be able to walk for a week, so I can’t really complain.”
“I’ve asked for another Healer to examine you. Not that Eddigar is not very good, but Mother Northwind has exceptional skills. Possibly she can relieve the pain you are still feeling.”
Anton glanced at Brenna, who wore a puzzled frown.
Falk indicated the door. “She’s waiting in my study, if you’d care to accompany me?”
“Uh… sure,” Anton said. He didn’t exactly feel he had a choice. He took his crutch from where it leaned against the breakfast table and limped out in the wake of the tall gray figure. Brenna started to follow, but Lord Falk stopped. “I don’t think you need to accompany us, Brenna,” he said. “Mother Northwind may want privacy for her examination.”
Brenna stopped. “I’ll talk to you again later,” she called after Anton, who gave her a quick wave with his free hand.
To Anton’s relief, Falk’s study was on the same floor as the breakfast nook, just inside and to the left of the big front doors. He’d managed to descend the stairs with his crutch, but he wasn’t looking forward to the return trip.
Dark wood panels covered those few parts of the study’s walls not hidden by locked, glass-fronted bookcases lined with tomes Anton would dearly have loved to get a good look at. He had not donned shoes that morning, and his stockinged feet sank into thick, dark-red carpet. That color repeated high above on the ceiling, showing between crisscrossing beams of dark wood, in the upholstery of the chair behind the desk… and in the armchair in the far corner, right beside one of the two tall, narrow windows, where a figure, half-hidden in shadow, awaited them.
Falk sat behind the gnarled desk. It appeared to have been carved out of a massive tree stump, the polished top revealing several centuries of rings. The only things on that desk were a stack of fresh white paper, a fountain pen, and a bottle of ink. Anton was relieved to see that not everything in this strange place was done by magic.
Falk gestured to the two armchairs, identical to the one in the corner by the window, facing him across the desk. “Please, be seated,” he said.
“Thank you… Lord Falk.” It felt odd and archaic to be calling someone “Lord,” but when in Evrenfels… With a glance at that shadowy figure in the corner, which had yet to speak or even move, he seated himself carefully, leaning the crutch against the arm of the chair.
“Allow me to present Mother Northwind,” Lord Falk said, nodding to the seated figure. For the first time it moved, raising its arms and pulling back the hood that had shrouded its face, then leaning forward to reveal…
… the kindly face of an old woman who could have been Anton’s grandmother.
Not that he knew who his grandmother was.
The reality was so much less ominous than the foreboding born of light and shadow that Anton almost laughed out loud.
“Good morning, young man,” said Mother Northwind. “Welcome to Evrenfels.”
“Thank you… um, Mother?” That felt even odder in his mouth than “Lord,” and he wondered if it was the correct greeting, but it seemed to be. Mother Northwind did not correct him.
The old woman got to her feet, joints audibly creaking. “Now, then, young man,” she said. “If you’ll just take off all your clothes
…”
Anton gaped, not knowing what to say, and Mother Northwind laughed a long, cackling laugh which for some reason earned a raised eyebrow from Lord Falk. “Well, it was worth a try,” she said. “Just joking, youngster. You can stay dressed.”
“Um… thank you,” Anton said. “I’m afraid I would get chilly, otherwise.” He hadn’t been around old people very much… well, not at all, really… and was a little shocked at her sense of humor, but he found himself liking Mother Northwind-even more so when she laughed again.
“All I need to do is touch you for a few minutes,” said Mother Northwind.
“Touch me where?” Anton said dryly.
Mother Northwind chuckled. “Your hands will do, young man… for now.”
“All right.”
Mother Northwind sat down in the other chair in front of the desk, then leaned toward Anton, holding out her hands, palms up. Anton placed his hands in hers, and her fingers, dry and bony, closed around them.
“Close your eyes,” Mother Northwind said. Anton did so. “Now…”
Something… happened. The sensations were sudden, disorienting. A feeling of pressure, then of dizziness; a rushing sound, a smell of burning; a sense of cold, then heat, then tingling; images, snatches of conversation; a moment’s heart-stopping pain, gone almost before he registered it…
Anton found himself slumped in his chair, bathed in sweat. He blinked and shakily straightened. “What-”
Mother Northwind stood over him, a strange expression on her face. “You’re perfectly healthy, young man,” she said. “Healer Eddigar has done his work well.” She glanced at Lord Falk.
“Thank you, Mother Northwind,” Lord Falk said. “If you’ll see Gannick, I’m sure he can find you some breakfast. I’ll talk with you a little later on.”
Mother Northwind nodded and went out without another word.
What just happened? Anton thought. He remembered the strange feeling he’d had when he’d awakened in the night to find Brenna in his room, that feeling of something outside himself pushing down at his consciousness. This had been similar, only far more intense-something from outside that had somehow found itself into his inner being. Magic! he thought. He was beginning to hate the stuff. No wonder his ancestors had revolted.
“I’m pleased Mother Northwind has found you healthy, Anton,” Lord Falk said. “I apologize if there was any discomfort.”
Anton still felt a little shaky, but the feeling was fading quickly. “I’m all right,” he said. “I’m just… unused to the way you do things here.”
“Ah, yes. Magic. Well.” Lord Falk leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of his desk. In anyone else it might have seemed casual, almost friendly; in Falk it was more intimidating than anything else. “We are equally unused to the way you do things outside the Kingdom, it seems. You flew into our Kingdom in a… machine. Something we have never seen before. So… I need reassurance from you. I need you to reassure me that you are not a scout for a planned aerial invasion of our Kingdom.”
Anton blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “I’m not, sir,” he said. “Uh, Lord Falk. In fact, most of the people back in Elkbone-the village the Professor and I launched from-thought we were crazy. They certainly weren’t preparing to follow us. They thought we were committing suicide.”
