They ran for the bridge. Kaulin and the boy disappeared through the main gate, while Arkoniel sprinted for the empty barracks. Inside he crossed to a window overlooking the road and peered out through a crack between the shutters. The rain had increased again and he could see no farther than the bridge, but he didn’t dare expose himself.
Presently he heard a heavy snort and the creak of harness. A brown-and-white ox appeared out of the storm, pulling a high-sided cart. Two people sat on the driver’s bench, wrapped in cloaks against the storm. The one next to the driver threw her hood back just then and Arkoniel’s heart leaped; it was Iya, baring her face to make herself known to anyone watching from the keep. The driver did the same, a fair-haired young man with vaguely ’faie features. It was Eyoli of Kes, the young mind clouder from Virishan’s orphan brood. Iya had brought at least one of them to safety. The fact that they’d come by cart gave him hope of others.
Though no great wizard herself, Virishan had earned Iya’s respect by gathering up neglected wizard-born children from among the poor, saving them from filthy seaports and backward border towns where their sort were too often abused, exploited, and killed by the ignorant. An outcast herself, Iya had been happy to give Virishan what support she could.
“Ah, there you are, and in this weather!” Iya called, as Arkoniel stepped out to greet them. Eyoli reined in the horse and held a hand down to him. Climbing up the muddy wheel spokes, Arkoniel glanced into the cart. There were only five children huddled there among the baggage and their protector was not with them.
“Where’s your mistress?” Arkoniel asked, as they rattled off again.
“Dead of a fever this past winter,” Eyoli told him. “It carried off twelve of the children, too. I’ve had the care of the rest since, but it’s hard to make a living with no more magic than any of us has. Your mistress found us begging in Kingsport and offered us sanctuary here.”
Arkoniel turned to the shivering children. The older three were all girls. The two little boys were no older than Wythnir.
“Welcome, all of you. We’ll have you warm and dry soon, and there’s lots to eat.”
“Thank you, Master Arkoniel. I’m glad to see you again,” one of the girls said, pushing her sodden hood back. She was nearly woman-grown, he saw, and very pretty, with wide blue eyes and a flaxen braid. He must have stared, for her smile faltered. “I’m Ethni, remember?”
“The little bird tamer?” She’d been young enough to sit on his knee the last time he’d seen her.
Ethni grinned and lifted a wicker cage to show him two brown doves. “You helped me with that, and now I’ve a few new tricks to show you,” she said proudly.
I’d like to see them! Arkoniel thought, wondering if she’d still sit on his knee. Catching himself, he quashed the thought with a guilty pang. The fact was, though, that this was the first pretty young girl he’d met since he’d broken celibacy with Lhel. That realization, and his body’s warm reaction, were rather disquieting.
“And us! Do you remember us?” the younger girls chided, turning up identical faces. Even their voices seemed the same.
“Rala and Ylina!” one reminded him.
“You made luck knots for us, and sang ballads,” her sister chimed in.
Arkoniel smiled at them, but was aware of Ethni’s gaze still on him. “And who are these fellows?”
“This is Danil,” one of the twins told him, hugging the dark-eyed boy.
“And this is Totmus,” said her sister, introducing the shy, pale one.
“Who else has arrived?” asked Iya.
“Kaulin and a little boy.”
She pulled her wet cloak closer around her, frowning. “That’s all, after all this time?”
“How many did you call?”
“Only a dozen or so since I last saw you. It wouldn’t do to have a crowd streaming down the Alestun road. But I’d expected more to be here by now.” One of the boys whimpered. “Don’t worry, Totmus, we’re nearly there.”
In the kitchen yard Nari and Cook hustled the shivering children to the kitchen hearth and wrapped them in dry blankets.
Later, when the children were all settled on pallets in the hall, Arkoniel and Iya carried their wine cups up to his bedchamber. The thunder had passed, but the storm raged on. As night fell the wind turned cold, pelting the keep with hailstones the size of hazelnuts. The wizards sipped their wine in silence for a while, listening to it clatter against the shutters.
“Our wizards aren’t much of a collection yet, are they?” Arkoniel said at last. “One old faker, a half-grown mind clouder, and a handful of children.”
“There’ll be more,” Iya assured him. “And don’t underestimate Eyoli. He may be limited, but he’s good at what he does. I think he might do to keep an eye on Tobin for us in the city. It’s risky, but he’ll attract far less attention than we would.”
Arkoniel rested his chin on one hand and sighed. “I miss Ero. And I miss traveling with you.”
“I know, but what you’re doing here is important. And surely Lhel isn’t letting you get too lonesome?” she added with a wink.
He blushed, unable to answer.
She chuckled, then pointed at his right hand, noticing the missing finger. “What happened there?”
“A happy accident, actually.” He held up his hand proudly; thanks to Cook, it had healed clean over the bone end. The new skin there was still a shiny pink and a bit tender, but he hardly noticed it anymore. “I’ve got wonderful news, but it’s easier to show you than explain it.”
Rummaging in his pocket, he found his wand and a coin. He wove the spell and made a black disk the size of his fist, its surface parallel to the floor. Iya sat forward, watching with interest as he flourished the coin like a conjurer and dropped it into the disk. It disappeared and the black aperture snapped out of existence. He grinned. “Look in your pocket.”
Iya reached in and pulled out the coin. A look of wonder slowly spread over her face. “By the Light,” she whispered. “By the Light! Arkoniel, I’ve never seen the like! Did Lhel teach you this?”
“No, it’s that spell I’ve been working on, remember? But I did start with one of her spells as a base.” He wove the sigil for the window spell on the air, and had Iya peek through at Nari and Cook knitting by the kitchen fire. “That was the start of it, but I added to it, and visualize it differently.”
“But your finger?”
Arkoniel went to his desk and took a taper from the candle box. Weaving the spell again, he thrust the taper partway in and showed her the resulting stump. Iya reached into her pocket and found the missing half.
He held up his finger again. “The one and only time I was careless. So far, anyway.”
“By the Four, do you realize how dangerous this is? How big can you make these—these—What do you call them?”
“Doorways. I’ve made some large enough for a dog to walk through, if that’s what you’re getting at, but it won’t work. I’ve tried it with rats, but they come through mangled on the other end. Small, solid objects go through just fine. Just imagine being able to send something all the way here from Ero in the blink of an eye! I haven’t tried anything that ambitious yet, but it should work.”
Iya looked down at the candle stub and coin. “You haven’t taught this to Kaulin or the boy, have you?”
“No. They’ve seen it work, but not how it’s cast.”
“That’s good. Can you imagine how dangerous this could be in the wrong hands?”
“I understand that. It’s not perfected yet, either.”
She took his damaged hand in hers. “Perhaps this was a blessing. You’ll have this before you as a reminder for the rest of your life. I am proud of you, though! Most of us go our whole lives simply learning the magic created by others, without ever making anything new.”
He sat down again and sipped his wine. “It’s thanks to Lhel, really. I’d never have figured it out without the things she’s taught me. She’s shown me a good deal about blood magic too. Wonderful things, Iya, and nothing like necromancy. Perhaps it’s time we stopped thinking that way about the hill folk and began to learn from them before they all die out.”