the Council has voted to create the position of high defender. The model is this very Council. 1 am the head of the Council of Three, as would the high defender be to the occupants of Bastion.'
Par-Salian paused for effect. 'Justarius has recommended you for that position.'
'So I would be in charge of two mages who've been there for some time?' Guerrand asked.
Par-Salian nodded, but held up a blue-veined hand for Guerrand to allow him to finish. 'You must also know that the work is lonely and tedious, requiring constant vigilance for something that is likely never to happen.'
Guerrand squinted one eye suspiciously. 'Why did the previous mage resign?'
'Vilar… was unstable,' Justarius said, picking his words carefully. 'Bastion is very isolated, particularly if you don't get along with its other occupants.' The red mage sighed. 'He was not the first, but the second to resign; Ezius of the White Robes is the only original representative. You will be the fifth sentinel and the first high defender… should you accept the position.'
Overwhelmed, Guerrand ran a hand through his mop of dark hair. '1–1 can't give you an answer right now. 1 need time to go home and think, and-'
'There isn't time for a trip,' interrupted LaDonna a bit peevishly. 'Surely you can understand the need to fill this position immediately. You have until sunrise to decide.'
'Your old room in the north tower has been prepared for your comfort,' Justarius added more kindly. 'Of course, Zagarus is welcome. I'll take you there now.'
Guerrand stood weakly, holding fast to the arm of the chair. He nodded briskly to Par-Salian and LaDonna, then walked from the Hall of Mages at Justarius's side. The red archmage seemed to be limping more than Guerrand remembered, favoring the leg that had been twisted by his own Test. Their footsteps, Justarius's irregular, echoed against the cold, circular walls. The two mages crossed the small foretower where once Guerrand had waited with other hopeful apprentices, then entered the north tower.
Both men knew there was no need for Justarius to show Guerrand the way to the sleeping chamber some five levels above Par-Salian's study. He'd stayed there for several days before and after his Test, then during the planning of Bastion. Guerrand couldn't decide if Justarius was acting as jailor or host now. Neither spoke as they climbed the narrow flights of stairs to the sixth level. The exercise brought warmth to feet that had grown cold in the foreboding ceremonial hall.
Guerrand automatically took a sharp left at the top of the stairs, passed the first room, and turned the marble knob on the second. Squeezing through the door to the triangular room, he mumbled, 'Thank you,' and made to shut the door behind him.
Justarius's good leg shot out to place his foot between the door and its frame. 'I know you well enough to see when something is troubling you, Guerrand. Do you care to tell me what it is?'
Guerrand looked at his feet. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'You don't do coy at all well,' Justarius remarked. 'That was always Esme's specialty.'
Guerrand's head jerked up at the mention of Esme's name, as Justarius had obviously intended.
'She's doing well, by the way,' Justarius said conversationally. 'She's still living in Fangoth.' The archmage managed to steer them into the small, triangular
room. Thin light filtered through a tiny window, more an arrow loop, on the far wall. 'Her father died several years back, and she's working toward restoring the locals' faith in magic after her father's reign of terror. But you would know about that.'
'I–I knew her father died, but not the rest,' confessed Guerrand. 'I haven't heard from her in years.'
With pursed lips that raised his mustache, Justarius acknowledged the admission. 'I meant, you would know about raising the morale of a village with your magic. From what I've observed, you've accomplished near miracles in Harrowdown-on-the-Schallsea.'
' 'From what you've observed?' You mean you've been watching me?'
'I make it a point to follow the progress of all my students.' Justarius's eyes alone held the warmth of the confession.
Guerrand sank with a sigh into the deep chair by the hearth on the curved, outside wall. 'I didn't know.'
Justarius let out a breath as he closed the door. 'Why do you think I recommended you for the position at Bastion?'
'Frankly,' chuckled Guerrand, 'I haven't had time to consider your reasoning. Your missive revealed nothing about the nature of the meeting.'
'What made you answer the summons?'
Guerrand considered the question honestly. 'Mainly curiosity,' he admitted at last. 'Besides, I wasn't sure I had the option of ignoring a summons by the Council.'
Justarius raised one brow. 'I believe I told you once, when you wanted to return to Thonvil to help your family, that you always have a choice.'
Guerrand acknowledged the memory with a small nod.
Justarius moved by the fire and crossed his arms expectantly. 'So now that you've had your curiosity
satisfied, are you interested in the position?'
'I… don't know,' Guerrand admitted. 'There's just so much to consider. The people of Harrowdown depend on me, and-'
'They'll survive without you,' Justarius broke in. 'Every master must let his students fly or fall one day. You've given them the tools to succeed on their own.'
Guerrand gave a self-deprecating chuckle. 'But will I survive without them? What if I'm no more suited to the job at Bastion than the previous red mage?'
'I have not succeeded at a great many things,' Justarius said soberly 'The only thing I have not failed at is trying. Failure is an integral part of the life cycle.'
'But I am a rousing success in Harrowdown,' said Guerrand. 'There's a great deal of comfort in knowing that.'
Justarius cocked his head in question. 'Is comfort the achievement that you seek?'
Guerrand frowned, discomfited with the introspection, but unable to deny Justarius his answers. 'At one time, I didn't think so. After the battle at Stonecliff with Belize, then the creation of Bastion, I believed I was destined to follow in your footsteps to becoming an arch- mage. But when that didn't happen, I began to suspect I wasn't suited to more than I had in Harrowdown.'
'If you feel shorted of opportunities,' Justarius observed, 'it's because you haven't sought them out.' He gave an ironic chuckle. 'Just how many times did you expect to save the world, anyway? You've already been given more opportunities than most. Life is tedious, life is dirty, life is stimulating, life is ordinary for all of us. There are good days and bad days, and there will be no less of each at Bastion if you accept the position.'
Guerrand set his chin firmly. 'But I've resigned myself to my small success in Harrowdown. That's enough for me now.'
'Now, today, perhaps, but will it be sufficient three years hence? Or fifteen?' demanded Justarius. He tapped a finger to his chin as he seemed to recall something. 'This conflict of expectations, exacerbated by fear of failure, was the source of your conflict with Esme, wasn't it?'
Guerrand winced, nodding. It still hurt to think of it, let alone speak of his separation from the young woman. She had never understood his conflicting emotions. 'Be happy with what you are, whatever it is, and you'll be a success,' she'd say. He understood now that she had been right, but it didn't erase the conflict from his mind. That conflict had been the springboard of their friendship, since she, too, had suffered from confused expectations. The difference was, she had conquered her demons sufficiently to return to help her taskmaster father, while Guerrand had never been able to return to Thonvil, even for a visit.
Justarius watched the interplay of Guerrand's emotions on the young man's face. Shaking his head sadly, the archmage turned to leave. 'I have things 1 must attend to while I'm here at Wayreth.' He eased his crippled leg to the door and placed his hand on the knob. 'Let me just say this, Guerrand. If public adoration or the trappings of comfort represent success to you, then turn down the job. But if you seek the opportunity to use your skill for something important, you'll jump at this chance.' The archmage squinted through one eye at his former apprentice. 'You'll probably never get another.' Justarius wrapped his cloak more tightly about himself and stepped from the room.
Guerrand was staring, unseeing, at the closed door when he became aware of something moving about on the small, thick window ledge. Turning, he spied Zagarus. He'd not even heard the bird arrive. Zagarus merely stood
