The Door Into Fire

'Good evening to you,' he said, propping himself up on one elbow and then frowning — he had forgotten how sore he was. 'I'm sorry I missed your name when we were on the way out—' 'You were hardly in a condition to remember it if you'd heard it,' she said, reaching out to touch hands with him. 'Segnbora, Welcaen's daughter.'

'Herewiss, Hearn's son,' he said, touching her hand, and then flinching. No matter how fordone he might be, there was no mistaking the feel of Flame. And she was full of it, spilling over with it. It had sparked between their hands, faint blue like dry- lightning, as if trying to fill the empty place in him. Something very like envy whirled through Herewiss's mind, to be replaced immediately by confusion. With power like that, what was she doing here?

She was rubbing her hands together thoughtfully, and still looking at him, her curiosity more open. But at the same time she read the look in his eyes, and her expression was rueful. 'You felt right,' she said softly. 'The funny thing is, I think I did too . . .'

For a few moments more they regarded each other. Then Segnbora dropped her eyes, reaching down with one hand to play with the peace-strings of her sword, sheathed on the ground beside her.

'That was some sorcery you worked,' she said, and looked up again. Her face was all admiration, masking whatever else was in her mind. 'You were out for two days.'

'Where are we now?'

'About fifteen miles from the border of the Waste. We only have to cross the Stel. Freelorn will be glad you're awake. He was worried about you.'

'Don't know why,' Herewiss said, and sat himself up with a little effort. 'He knows I always take the backlash hard.'

'I'm sure. But he never saw anything like that display before. Some of the effects were—'

'Unexpected.'

'Yes. Especially that business with the fire.' 'Where is he?' Herewiss said hurriedly.

'Out hunting. They left me here to watch you. This is safe country, too empty for Fyrd, I think. They'll be lucky to find anything. Dritt is here too.'

He looked around and located Dritt sitting atop a boulder, a big stocky silhouette against the sunset. He was munching something, and Herewiss became immediately aware of the emptiness of his stomach.

Segnbora was rummaging in a pouch. 'Here,' she said, handing him an undistinguished-looking lump of something crumbly.

'Waybread?'

'Yes.'

It looked terrible, like a lump of pale dirt with rocks in it. He bit into it, and almost broke a tooth.

'Goddess above,' he said, after managing to get the first bite down, 'this is awful.'

'And what waybread isn't?'

'Worse than most, I mean.'

'It's also more sustaining than most.'

'I think I'd rather eat sagebrush.'

'You may, if they don't find anything out there. Eat up.'

She took a piece too, and they sat for a few minutes in silence, passing Segnbora's waterskin back and forth at intervals.

'The fire,' Segnbora said suddenly. 'And your messengers — the hawk, that ball of flame that met us when we came out — those really interested me. Those were no illusions — those were real.'

He studied her uneasily, not responding, trying to understand what she was up to. She was looking thoughtfully over his shoulder at something fairly close by. Herewiss put his mind out behind him and felt around. Sunspark was some yards behind him with the other horses, once again a vague blunt warmth wrapped in the stallion- form, grazing unconcernedly.

(Yes?) it said.

(Our friend here—) Herewiss indicated Segnbora. (So?)

(I think she sees you for what you are.)

Sunspark waved its tail, making a feeling like a shrug. (That's well for her. I am worth seeing . . .)

Herewiss returned his attention to Segnbora. She continued to gaze past him for a moment. Remotely he could sense Sunspark lifting its head, returning her look.

(Another relative,) it said. (This world seems to be full of my second cousins.)

'An elemental?' Segnbora said, turning her eyes back to Herewiss. 'Yes. Why?'

'You have no sword.' She gestured at his empty scabbard. 'I beg your pardon?' Herewiss said, shocked.

'I'm sorry -I didn't mean to change the subject. But I'd been meaning to ask you about that.'

Herewiss felt outrage beginning to grow in him, and a voice spoke up in his memory, the scornful voice of some Darthene regular way back during the war. ('Spears and arrows are a boy's weapon! Afraid to get up close to a Reaver? ... A man isn't a boar to be hunted with a lance. A man takes on another man blade to blade . . . Earn's blood must be running thin in the Wood . . .')

Oh, Dark, I thought I got over this a long time ago! Herewiss took a deep breath and pushed the anger down. 'It may be none of your business,' he told Segnbora, as gently as he could.

'Then why are you so obvious about it? You wouldn't be wearing that around if you didn't want to attract attention to it. Freelorn's people think it's something to do with a family feud and they won't mention it for fear you'll take offense. But there's something else there—'

'Freelorn knows. And he doesn't speak of it either,' Herewiss said, trying to frighten her away from the subject with a sudden knife-edge of anger in his voice.

'Maybe someone should,' she said, so very softly that he sat back in confusion. 'I saw how he looks at that scabbard. He looks at it, but he doesn't look at it — as if it was a maimed limb. He hurts so much for you. I didn't know why — but now — It's a matter of Flame, isn't it?'

'Listen,' Herewiss said, 'why should I discuss it with you? We've barely met.'

Segnbora smiled at him, that dry, rueful smile again. 'Fair enough,' she said. 'Let me tell you who I am, and perhaps you'll understand. I come of fey stock from a long way back — generations of Rodmistresses and sorcerers. The male line has descent from Gereth Dragonheart, who was Marchwarder with M'athwinn d'Dhariss when the Dragons were fighting for the Eorlhowe. The female line comes down from Enra the Queen's sister of Darthen. Two terribly eminent families . . . and I'm something of an embarrassment to both of them.'

She chuckled softly. 'We usually come into our Power early, if it's there. They took me to be tested when I was three years old, and they weren't disappointed. The Flame that was in me shattered all the rods and rings and broke the blocks that they gave me to hold, and the testers got really excited. They said to my mother and father, "This one is a great power, or will be when she grows up — you should have her trained by the best people you can find. Anything less would be a terrible waste." So they did. And I studied with Harandh, and Saris Elerik's daughter, and the people at the Nhairedi Institute in Darthis, and I did a year with Eilen—'

That old prune?'

'You know her. Yes. And others too numerous to mention. I hardly spent more than a year or two in the same place.'

'It's not very good policy to change teachers so often,' Herewiss said. 'I wouldn't think there would be time to build up a good relationship—'

'You're right, it's not, and there wasn't,' Segnbora said. 'There was this little problem, you see. I had too much Flame. I kept breaking the Rods they gave me to work with; they would just blow right up, boom, like that—' She waved her arms in the air — 'any time I tried to channel through them. And all my teachers said, "It's all right, you'll grow out of it, it's just adolescent surge." Or, "Well, it's puberty, it'll be all right after your breasts grow."' She chuckled. 'Well, they grew all right, but that wasn't the problem. I began wondering after a while why each teacher kept referring me to another one, supposedly more experienced or more advanced — once or twice I made so bold as to ask, and got long lectures on why I should let older and wiser heads decide what was best for me. Or else I got these short shamefaced speeches on how I needed more theory, but everything would be all right eventually.'