The other rider, in his way, was just as striking as the first. His long hair, also braided, was a shining black with a single silver streak running from the temple. The cut of his riding gear was unmistakably Kaled’a’in. After several months in k’Vala, Darian knew the difference between Tayledras and Kaled’a’in styles at once. He was amazingly handsome, but there was nothing about him that suggested that he was either a warrior or a mage - or vain. Whatever his craft, it seemed likely that his only reason for being there was as company for the mage. Was this the so-called entourage?
Darian’s thoughts had come to a complete standstill, and he could only stay where he was, staring. The two riders completed their leisurely approach, and the first dismounted directly in front of Starfall.
“Well, Father, here I am,” the rider said, in a voice rich with amusement. “You have managed to drag me here entirely against my own better judgment, and if I did not know you as well as I do, I might be asking you what made you think this youngster was worth the effort of hauling me up from the south.” He cast a sidelong glance at Darian, and behind the mask, one silver eye winked broadly. “However, since I know you, I shan’t ask that particular question. This, I take it, is young Dar’ian?”
“It is, indeed,” Starfall replied, in a voice so like the rider’s that it was obvious they were related. “Dar’ian, this is your new teacher, Adept Firesong k’Treva, and his mate, kestra’chern Silverfox k’Leshya.” Only then did he step forward, and he and his son embraced with much hugging and back pounding.
Darian managed to scramble enough wits together to step forward and make a deeply formal bow. “This is - beyond an honor - sir - ” he began, searching frantically for appropriate words, feeling heat rising in his face and ears. I must be blushing as red as a scarlet jay, he thought, increasing his embarrassment.
“You won’t say that when you come to know me, youngster,” Firesong said, with a voice so solemn that Darian would have been tempted to believe him, had he not seen the wicked amusement in the eyes behind the mask. “I am a notorious taskmaster, and I have every intention of working you until you drop, then reviving you and putting you through the mill all over again.”
“Yes, sir, whatever you wish, sir,” Darian replied automatically, and quickly stepped back, hoping that the other folk would forget about him for a while. He suddenly felt as awkward as an elk-calf, and only thirteen years old again.
Dear gods! How did this happen? How could I be the student of one of the greatest Adepts in a dozen countries?
He slowly regained a little composure as people did appear to forget him; father and son embraced again, Starfall introduced Firesong and Silverfox to everyone else present, and the entire group drifted toward the interior of the Vale. Darian followed quietly behind, listening, but not saying anything.
“Oh, I didn’t bring all that much up with me,” Firesong was saying, in answer to a gentle jibe by his father. “We’ve got some wardrobe, and the more portable of Silverfox’s kit. The rest is relatively light, but bulky, and the k’Vala gryphons will be bringing it along at some point. After all your emphasis on speed, I didn’t want to slow things down bringing baggage by dyheli.”
“We have prepared your ekele as you requested, Firesong,” Ayshen put in, showing deference, but not servility. “I hope that you and Silverfox are both pleased.”
Silverfox, who until that moment, had not said a word, laughed softly and clapped Ayshen on the back. “I remember your talent at design and construction from White Gryphon, Ayshen. I have no doubt that you have not only granted our every wish, but anticipated needs we had not even thought of.”
Darian, meanwhile, felt his mind slowly coming back to him. No wonder no one would tell him who his teacher was supposed to be! He’d have been so terrified he probably would have run all the way back to k’Vala, or even farther.
And Starfall was Firesong’s father. Well, that explained a few things. How Starfall had managed to get someone as famous - or infamous, depending on your point of view - as Firesong k’Treva to come be the teacher of poor, lowly little Darian, for one. Gods save me, how can I ever manage to be worthy of this kind of attention? he thought in a haze of confusion that bordered on panic.
Just as he began to seriously consider that run to k’Vala, Firesong’s companion dropped back from the rest.
“He mumbles in his sleep, you know,” Silverfox said conversationally.
“He what?” Darian replied, baffled. Where did that come from?
“He mumbles in his sleep, he has a terrible weakness for candied yams, and he can never remember where he leaves things. He’s human, Dar’ian. He’s not a superior being, he’s as fallible as anyone. I know that at this point, this doesn’t seem likely to you, but I assure you, it’s true.” Silverfox placed his hand gently on Darian’s shoulder, and Darian felt himself relax, despite his anxieties. “I can also promise you that in spite of all of his protests to the contrary, he was quite eager to come here and teach his father’s cherished protege. Firesong just likes to be coaxed.”
“I - I’d think that after everything he’s gone through, he deserves coaxing, sir,” Darian replied shyly and was rewarded by Silverfox’s dazzling smile.
“And I agree with you entirely.” Silverfox chuckled, patting Darian’s shoulder. “I would agree with you even if I were not understandably prejudiced on his part. Don’t fear him, Dar’ian. Listen to him, learn from him, but do not fear him.”
The strange white bird floated down to land on Firesong’s shoulder; he reached up absently to scratch its crest, and it climbed down from its perch to nestle in his arms, head tucked blissfully under his chin, crooning. A firebird - Darian now recalled. Firesong’s bondbird is a firebird. The horrid painting that had been on Justyn’s wall flashed into his mind, and the blob on the painted Firesong’s shoulder that everyone in Errold’s Grove had thought was a chicken or a goose.
A good many things now made perfect sense - the special arrangement of heated pools, for instance. Everyone knew that the reason Firesong wore masks was because he had been terribly scarred at the end of the mage-storms. Presumably, he was shy about exposing those scars to anyone but the closest of companions - and you couldn’t wear a mask to soak in the pools, you’d ruin it. Silverfox might well feel more comfortable in a ground dwelling, especially in a storm when the tree would sway and toss - hence the extra rooms below.
And both of them were giving up a considerable level of luxury to come here, only for the purpose of teaching Darian. Under other circumstances, it would have been perfectly reasonable for Firesong to insist that Darian be sent to him. No wonder so much effort had been spent on building his ekele!
And of course, who wouldn’t want to impress the fabled Adept Firesong with the finest ekele it was possible to build? No matter how poor it was, compared to what he had left, at least it would be clear that they had tried.
But when Firesong came to the new ekele, he stopped, and turned to his father. “Surely this is not ours - ” he began.