The Last of the Wilds

feel like an actor, anticipating and delivering lines.

With Danjin, however, she was able to relax. Her adviser accepted her mind-reading as part of what she was and did not take offense if she reacted to his thoughts as if he had spoken them aloud. For that she was grateful.

Danjin moved to a chair and sat down. He looked at the letter in her hands.

“Have you finished?” he asked.

“No.” She looked down and forced herself to continue reading. When she had finished she looked up at Danjin again. His gaze was distant and she smiled as she saw the direction his thoughts had taken.

I can’t believe it’s been a year already, he mused. A year since I became an Adviser to the White. As he noticed her watching him his eyes brightened.

“How will you be celebrating the end of your first year as White tomorrow?” he asked.

“I suppose we’ll get together for dinner,” Auraya replied. “And we will be meeting in the Altar, too.”

His eyebrows rose. “Perhaps the gods will congratulate you in person.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps it will just be us White.” She leaned back in her chair. “Juran will probably want to review the year’s events.”

“Then he has a lot to review.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I hope not every year of my life as a White is that exciting. First the Somreyan alliance, then living in Si, then the war. I wouldn’t mind visiting other lands, or returning to Somrey and Si, but I would prefer it if I never had to go to war again.”

He grimaced in agreement. “I wish I could say with certainty that it was unlikely in my lifetime.” But I can’t, he finished silently.

She nodded. “So do I.” We can only trust that the gods had good reason to order us to let the Pentadrian sorcerers live. With their strongest sorcerer dead, the Pentadrians are weaker than the Circlian forces - for now. They have only to find another to replace him to become a threat to Northern Ithania again.

Once she would have been unconcerned. Sorcerers as powerful as the leaders of the Pentadrians were not born often - perhaps once every hundred years. That five had risen to power in Southern Ithania in the same generation was extraordinary. The White couldn’t risk hoping that another hundred years would pass before the Pentadrians found a sorcerer strong enough to replace Kuar.

We should have killed the four that survived, Auraya thought. But the battle was over. It would have seemed like murder. I have to admit, I would rather we White were known for our compassion than for ruthlessness. Perhaps that is the gods’ intention, too.

She looked down at the ring on her hand. Through it the gods heightened her natural magical strength and gave her Gifts that few sorcerers had ever possessed. It was a plain white band - nothing extraordinary - and her hand looked just as it had the year before. Many years would pass before it became apparent that she hadn’t aged a day since she had put it on.

Her fellow White had lived far longer. Juran had been the first to be chosen over a hundred years before. He had seen everyone he had known before his Choosing grow old and the. She could not imagine what that must be like.

Dyara had been next, then Mairae and Rian, each chosen at twenty-five-year intervals. Even Rian had been immortal long enough that people who remembered him from before his Choosing must notice that he had not aged a day since.

“I have heard rumors that the Sennon emperor tore up the alliance he signed with the Pentadrians within hours of their defeat,” Danjin said. “Do you know if it is true?”

Auraya looked up at him and chuckled. “So the rumor is spreading. We’re not sure if it is true yet. The emperor sent all of our priests and priestesses out of Sennon after signing it, so none were there to witness if he tore it up.”

“Apparently a Dreamweaver was,” Danjin said. “Have you spoken to Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli lately?”

“Not since we returned.” Since the war, she felt like someone had touched a healing wound whenever anyone mentioned Dreamweavers. Thinking of them always turned her mind to Leiard.

She looked away as a flood of memories overwhelmed her. Some were of the white-haired and bearded man who had lived in the forest near her home village - the man who had taught her so much of cures, the world and magic. Some memories were more recent, and were of the man she had made her adviser in Dreamweaver matters, defying the general prejudice of Circlians against those who followed the cult. Her mind then teased her with glimpses of more intimate moments: the night before she had left for Si when they had become lovers, the dream links in which they had communicated their desires, and the secret meetings in his tent as they both travelled separately to battle: her to fight; him to heal the wounded.

Finally she felt a chill as the memory of the brothel camp came. She had found Leiard there after Juran had discovered their affair and sent him away. She could still see it in her mind’s eye, viewed from above, the tents bathed in gold morning light.

The thought she had read from his mind repeated in her own. It isn’t that I don’t think Auraya’s attractive or smart or good-natured. She’s just not worth all this trouble.

He had been right, in a way. Their affair was bound to cause scandal and strife if it became publicly known. It was selfish to pursue their own pleasure when people might suffer if it were discovered.

Knowing that hadn’t lessened the shock of seeing no love or regret in his mind that day. The love she had sensed in him so many times, that she had risked so much for, had died, killed all too easily by fear. I should thank Juran for that, she told herself. If Leiard was so easily frightened out of love, then something or someone else would have killed it sooner or later anyway. Anyone who loves a White has to be more resilient than that. I will know to avoid such weaknesses in a man next time, and the sooner I forget Leiard the sooner I will find a... a...

What? She shook her head. It was too soon to be thinking of new lovers. If she fell in love again would it drive her into more irresponsible, shameful acts? No, she was better occupied with work.

Danjin was watching her patiently, and his suspicions about her thoughts were far too accurate. She straightened and met his eyes.

“Have you spoken to Raeli?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Once or twice in passing, but not on this subject. Would you like me to ask her about it?”

“Yes, but not before tomorrow’s meeting at the Altar. We’re sure to discuss Sennon, and the other White may know the truth already.” She looked at the trader’s letter. “I will be suggesting we send priests and priestesses to Si.”

Danjin did not look surprised. “As an extra defense?”

“Yes. The Siyee suffered such terrible losses during the war. Even with their new hunting harnesses they will never be able to repel an invader. We should at least ensure that they can contact us quickly if they need our assistance.”

Thinking of the Siyee filled her with a different sort of longing and pain. The months she had spent in Si had been all too short. She wished she had a reason to return. Next to their honest, uncomplicated way of life her own people’s demands and concerns seemed ridiculous or unnecessarily mean and selfish.

Her place was here, however. The gods may have given her the Gift of flight so that she might travel over the mountains and persuade the Siyee to become allies of the White, but that did not mean she should favor one people over others.

Yet I must not abandon the Siyee either. I led them to war and death. I must ensure they don’t suffer any more losses because of their alliance to us.

“Most of their land is near impassable to landwalkers,” Danjin pointed out. “That will slow down invaders and give them time to summon help.”

She smiled at his use of the Siyee term for ordinary humans. “Don’t forget the sorceress who entered Si last year and those savage birds she keeps. Even a few minor sorcerers could do a lot of harm if they slip into the country unnoticed.”

“Even so, if the Pentadrians wanted to strike at us again, I doubt they’d bother with Si.”