Heart of the Exiled Read online

  Southfæld had cost Jharan a great deal, more than Turisan had realized until now. What might it cost him someday when Jharan stepped down and he assumed the governance of the realm?

  He walked beside his father, their footsteps masked by the whisper of the fountains below. Pausing outside his chambers, Jharan turned to him.

  “Thank you for bringing me this news.”

  “I am sorry the tidings are ill.”

  Jharan shook his head, half smiling. “In this alone, you and Eliani have already given great service. Tell her to be careful.”

  Turisan laughed softly. “I tell her that every day.”

  With a fleeting smile, Jharan held out his arm. Turisan clasped it, then watched his father return to his guest. He saw Lady Rheneri look up as Jharan went in, just before the door closed.

  Turisan stood for a moment, frowning in thought. The slaughter of the second envoy made him feel the need to act, though he could not help Eliani in dealing with it. He had his own preparations to make and little enough time in which to make them.

  Briefly he wished that Eliani were not engaged upon her mission. If she were free, they both could join the army at Midrange, offering Ehranan the advantage of mindspeakers on the field, which had led to victory in the Bitter Wars.

  Perhaps it was a less important advantage when the enemy was kobalen, not alben. The ælven were unlikely to have need of coordinating complicated maneuvers against the kobalen. What would truly be of use at Midrange was a gift, like Rephanin’s, that would enable the commander to speak to all the army at once.

  Turisan drew a breath as a tingle of realization went through him. Why not have Rephanin upon the field?

  It had not occurred to him before because Rephanin was not a warrior. He need not be, though. He could remain behind the lines …

  Turisan hastened along the colonnade and crossed the arcing span that joined Hallowhall to the magehall. Rephanin would likely be at work with his circle, but Turisan could leave a message for him. He sought the hall attendant’s chamber and was surprised to find Rephanin there, talking with Tivhari.

  The magelord glanced up, and Turisan made a slight bow. “I am glad to find you. I thought you would be closeted with your circle.”

  “The high circle has not yet convened. I have just finished instructing the new circle.”

  “More mages for more blessings?”

  Rephanin nodded. “How may I serve you?”

  Turisan paused, pressing his lips together. “Will you come with me to the garrison, briefly? It will not take long. Lord Ehranan is there, and I wish you to speak to him.”

  “We are acquainted.”

  Turisan hesitated. “I mean, I wish you to—if you will—”

  “Ah.” Rephanin’s brows drew together. “Why?”

  “I have an idea. I will explain as we walk.”

  Rephanin did not answer immediately, and Turisan feared he would refuse. His attendant knew better, apparently; she slipped away and returned a moment later with the magelord’s cloak. As she handed it to him, he stirred as if roused from a trance.

  “Thank you, Tivhari. Please tell the circle I will return shortly.”

  Turisan smiled his thanks to her as he hastened the magelord out into the night.

  Rephanin felt acutely uncomfortable in the warden’s hall, facing the stares of several captains gathered around a table scattered with maps and tallies. Berephan’s stiff bow of welcome did nought to ease him.

  Turisan crossed at once to Ehranan. The Ælvanen warrior looked up, his gaze slightly skeptical as it fell upon Rephanin. He was dressed in tunic and legs of a serviceable cloth dyed a dark gold, with his black hair bound back in an unadorned hunter’s braid. His face made Rephanin remember Hollirued, long ago.

  Ehranan had fought in the Bitter Wars. He had been quite young then—as had Rephanin—but had acquitted himself well. More recently, Ehranan had led Eastfæld’s hastily assembled force in the Midrange War. The memory of those battles had stamped itself into the lines of his face, and his blue eyes were coolly watchful.

  Berephan picked up an ewer from a side table, offering to pour wine. Rephanin glanced at Ehranan and politely declined. Turisan accepted a goblet, then turned to Ehranan.

  “Recently Lord Rephanin used his gift to allow me to speak to the assembled Guard.”

  Ehranan nodded, eyes narrowing. “Berephan told me.”

  “Have you considered the possible advantage of having such a gift on a battlefield?”

  Ehranan’s black brows twitched together in a frown. “You are suggesting that both yourself and Lord Rephanin be risked in battle?”

  Turisan shook his head. “No, for my presence would not be needed. Rephanin can enable you to speak to every guardian on the field. Or you, Lord Berephan.”

  The two warriors exchanged a glance. Rephanin folded his hands together inside the long sleeves of his robe, clasping them tightly to keep himself still. He had not realized this was Turisan’s intention; perhaps he had not listened carefully as they walked hither. He had assumed Turisan merely wanted more help with the advance force he was training.

  Turisan’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Imagine giving an order and having it instantly understood. Having immediate response from every guardian under your command.”

  Ehranan lifted his chin, then turned a sharp glance toward Rephanin. “Assuming the order was correctly passed. Forgive me, Lord Rephanin, but you have little experience of a guardian’s work.”

  Rephanin coughed slightly. “It would not be a matter of my understanding what you say. You yourself would give the order. I would merely enable the guardians to hear you.”

  The Ælvanen’s gaze narrowed. “Berephan said you spoke to the Guard.”

  “So I did, but I need not do so beyond establishing contact, as I did for Lord Turisan.”

  Rephanin glanced at Turisan, uncomfortable in having assumed the role of explaining what was, after all, Turisan’s plan. Turisan merely nodded, however, with a slight encouraging smile. Rephanin began to wish that he had not refused the wine.

  Berephan shook his head. “It would distract the guardians. Too many things can go wrong on a battlefield.”

  Turisan turned to him. “All the more need for the means to communicate swiftly. If things go badly, an order to retreat would have an instant response.”

  “Or one might shift the position of companies more quickly.” Ehranan nodded slowly. “But Rephanin would have to leave the magehall for this, and I doubt that would please Jharan. Nor would it be wise to risk the injury of such a gifted mage.”

  “He could remain behind the lines, and guardians could be assigned to protect him.”

  Berephan’s frown deepened, then all at once he crossed the space between himself and Rephanin in two swift steps, frowning at him face to face. Rephanin drew back.

  “Why do you wish this? Guardians’ work is no part of your magecraft!”

  Hostility and fear shivered through the warden’s khi. Rephanin answered with careful calm.

  “In truth, until I came here, I had no notion of what Turisan intended to suggest. I am willing to serve, but the plan is not of my making.”

  “What brought you here, then?”

  Berephan’s hostility was easy to understand. He feared the mindspeech he had inadvertently tasted and wanted no more of it. Rephanin stood his gaze for a long moment, then decided to lay his hopes bare. He glanced down, deliberately yielding to Berephan, and answered in a quiet voice.

  “Setting aside Lord Turisan’s suggestion, consider this: If I can find a partner with whom I am able to speak at distance, you would have another pair of mindspeakers at your service.”

  Berephan looked surprised, caught off guard by the change of subject. Ehranan seemed intrigued. Encouraged by his interest, Rephanin continued.

  “Turisan and Eliani must remain as they are until she has reached Fireshore and told us how matters lie there. If you had another pair of distance speakers, you cou
ld place them as you wished. One here, one in Hollirued, perhaps.”

  Ehranan sipped his wine. “Is it not highly unlikely that you will find such a one? Mindspeakers are extraordinarily rare.”

  “It is unlikely, yes. But if I do not search, unlikelihood becomes impossibility.”

  “And what has this to do with us?”

  Rephanin turned to face Berephan. “You have many new recruits for the Guard. Let me speak to them, as I did a few days ago. I may find one who is gifted.”

  Berephan frowned. “Why the Guard? You could ask Jharan to call the citizens out to the circle.”

  “I could, yes. Mayhap I will, but as your guardians will assemble anyway, why not take advantage of the opportunity?”

  Berephan glared at him. “What of your mages? Are they not gifted?”

  “For magecraft, yes, but I have found no mindspeakers among them. Believe me, I have sought in earnest.”

  Ehranan’s eyes narrowed. “And will you wish to seek among the forces of Eastfæld? Of Alpinon and the Steppes?”

  “Wherever I can.”

  Ehranan looked down at the table before him and shifted his empty goblet from the map to a tally. “So you would come to Midrange.”

  The full implications of Turisan’s plan suddenly rose in Rephanin’s mind. He would have to leave his circle—both circles—to another’s guidance. Jholóran was capable … yet Rephanin felt reluctant to leave his work and the magehall where he had dwelt almost since his arrival at Glenhallow.

  He swallowed. “If you think I might be of service. Perhaps you would like to try speaking to the army here to see if you think it worthwhile.”

  The Eastfæld warrior was still for a moment, then he nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow at dawn. Will that suit you?”

  Rephanin bowed his head in acknowledgment. He would tolerate daylight for the sake of his search, as he had done before.

  “Good. Now, to the matter of dispositions at Midrange …”

  Ehranan turned back to the table, bending over the maps and tallies once more. Thus dismissed, Rephanin turned to leave and found Turisan walking with him to the stair.

  Rephanin glanced back at the warriors and lowered his voice. “Turisan, may I ask a favor of you? The next time you form a plan that will completely disrupt my life, would you tell me of it before presenting it to others?”

  Turisan had the grace to color. “Forgive me. I had not considered all the implications.”

  “Nor I. Never mind. You are right; it would offer a great advantage to our forces in battle. I will not grudge the cost if Ehranan asks me to go to Midrange.”

  Turisan gazed at him for a long moment, a smile slowly spreading on his lips. “Midrange is but a day’s ride from Highstone.”

  Rephanin’s heart skipped, and he drew a sharp breath. Turisan’s smile widened into a grin, and with a nod of farewell he turned back to the warriors, leaving Rephanin to make his way home to the magehall in a state of bewildered anticipation.

  With the morning sun again stinging his eyes, Rephanin looked out at the guardians gathering on the plain east of Glenhallow. Many were new, and many had no weapons or cloaks. Rephanin felt a pang over that lack, but the magehall could not bless items that did not yet exist. He imagined furious activity in the weavers’ and sword-smiths’ halls.

  Today he had borrowed a horse from the palace stables, a sturdy brown mare that seemed to have no more regard for him than he for it. Never comfortable in the saddle, he made a conscious effort not to fidget while he waited beside Turisan for the guardians to assemble.

  Ehranan circled his horse around to face Rephanin and Turisan, the guardians at his back. He wore golden-hued leathers and a cloak whose snowy whiteness must owe something to magecraft. His black braid lay against it like a rope; that and the black coat of his mount made him look exotic amidst the fair colors of hundreds of Greenglens.

  “How is it done?” Ehranan’s voice was commanding, but a hint of uncertainty showed in his blue eyes.

  Rephanin glanced at the guardians. “When they are assembled, I will speak to all, beginning with a very quiet call that will only be heard by those with potential for mindspeech.”

  “Ah.” Turisan nodded. “I heard that before. I wondered what you were doing.”

  Rephanin gazed at him, somewhat surprised. It made sense, he supposed, that one attuned to mindspeech would hear his call. He felt a pang of regret that he had never tried speaking to Turisan before Eliani had entered his life but dismissed it as unworthy and turned back to Ehranan.

  “If none respond, I will then speak openly to all. You will hear me, after which you will be able to address them.”

  Ehranan’s eyebrows twitched, then he sat back in his saddle, looking thoughtful. A horn rang out, calling the assembled guardians to attention.

  Ranks upon ranks stood motionless on the plain. The shouts of the captains died down, leaving the sigh of the morning wind the only sound. Rephanin drew a deep breath, readying himself to speak with the quietest of thoughts.

  If any of you can hear me, answer now.

  I hear you.

  Rephanin’s heart leapt, instantly thundering as if he had just run a league. His horse reacted, sidling until his hands tightened on the reins to steady it. He looked at Turisan but knew it had not been his voice.

  Who spoke? Where are you?

  Here, my lord. Thorian.

  A hand was raised several ranks back in the midst of the Guard. Rephanin knew the name, and though he could not be certain at this distance, he thought the face familiar. One of the new circle of mage candidates, he suddenly recalled.

  Volunteers had flocked to the magehall in recent days, seeking training, seeking to help. Thorian had been among them and must have become accustomed enough to mindspeech to be sensitive to his call. Rephanin was somewhat disappointed at this realization, but still it bespoke promise on the guardian’s part.

  Well done, Thorian. We will talk of this before tonight’s circle.

  Yes, my lord. He seemed pleased.

  I want you to try something. Before you come into the magehall, try speaking to me like this from outside. Do you understand?

  Yes, my lord. Of course.

  Good.

  Rephanin glanced at Ehranan, who was watching him with an expression of curiosity. Facing the guardians, Rephanin opened his voice.

  Greetings, guardians of Southfæld.

  As it had before, the mindspeech caused a stir among the Guard. Rephanin continued quickly before they could begin to talk among themselves.

  I am Rephanin, master of Glenhallow’s magehall. Pray do not answer, but listen. I bring you greeting from Lord Ehranan of Eastfæld, who is given command of the defense of Midrange.

  He turned his head to look at Ehranan and nodded. The warrior’s throat moved in a swallow, then he straightened in the saddle.

  Fellow guardians—

  Ehranan paused, seeming surprised at his own voice. The attention of the Guard shifted to him, the change palpable in the thin morning air.

  You have pledged yourselves to the defense of Midrange. What you learn in the next few days may save your life or the life of the guardian beside you. Display your weapons!

  The force of the command surprised Rephanin. He laid a hand on the withers of his mount as the Guard suddenly moved as one, drawing swords or raising bows.

  Sunlight glinted off metal in the farthest ranks, and a sudden chill chased down Rephanin’s spine. He glanced toward Ehranan, saw him exchanging a look with Berephan.

  Rephanin swallowed. Yes, that was most effective. Proof also that his voice had reached every guardian on the field.

  Be at ease.

  The guardians lowered their arms. Rephanin found that he was breathing rather swiftly and shallowly, and made an effort to be calm. He felt as if the earth had shifted subtly beneath him, as if the sun’s angle had suddenly altered.

  Midrange. I am bound for Midrange. How soon?

  A hundred tasks and obligation
s sprang to Rephanin’s mind. He would have to confer with Jholóran, find out whether he would accept charge of the magehall and both circles temporarily—indefinitely, perhaps. Jholóran must also be introduced to Jharan, for the governor would need access to the master of the magehall—

  “Lord Rephanin?”

  He looked up at Ehranan, startled by the warrior’s physical voice. Ehranan’s face was alight with suppressed excitement.

  “Will you break bread with me this evening? I am housed at Hallowhall.”

  Rephanin bowed in the saddle. “You honor me.”

  “The honor is mine.”

  There was no longer any sign of doubt in Ehranan’s face. Instead, smiling speculation.

  This trial had changed everything. Ehranan would seize on it—had already seized on it—and would spare no application of mindspeech to better wield his army.

  Rephanin turned his horse toward the city, ignoring Turisan’s triumphant glance. If this was the path meant for him, he felt no enthusiasm for it.

  Returning to the magehall, he at once addressed himself to his outstanding obligations, pausing only to ask Tivhari to carry a message for him. He did not stop to rest, knowing he would find no peace until he had arranged the magehall’s future to his satisfaction.

  Late in the afternoon, Tivhari ushered a visitor into his sitting room. Rephanin looked up from the tally book he had been perusing.

  “Thank you for coming, Jholóran. Have you broken fast?”

  Jholóran shook his head as he handed Rephanin his cloak. “I came as soon as I arose and read your message. Did you wish to hear about the circle’s work last night?”

  “Yes, briefly. I trust all went well?”

  Rephanin hung the cloak on a peg, then led Jholóran to the hearth and invited him to sit. He picked up an ewer of tea—Heléri’s blend, fragrant with flowers—and poured for Jholóran, who settled himself and reached his hands toward the fire.

  “There were several questions about the difficulty of laying khi into metal. It might be of benefit for you to demonstrate again—”