Glimpses (6 page)

“Perhaps that is the problem. And of course
magic works a bit differently with your people. Well, your clothing
will be dry by now. Change and I will show you the museum.”

When Seregil was dressed they wended their
way through the piles of documents stacked by the tower door, and
out to the mezzanine that overlooked the glass-domed atrium. From
here one could see the mosaic that covered the floor below; the
scarlet dragon of Illior crowned with a silver crescent, flying
above the harbor and walled city of Rhíminee.

“You have dragons in Skala?” asked Seregil,
peering over the railing.

“Not for a very long time. But it is still
one of the symbols of Illior.”

“Your god that’s like Aura?”

“Yes. We believe them to be one and the
same.”

Seregil looked doubtful as he followed
Nysander down the five flights of stairs and across the atrium to
the corridor leading to the museum.

It was a huge vaulted room filled with large
glass cases. A whale’s skeleton hung from the ceiling.

“There is a great deal to see here,” Nysander
said. “Let me show you a few of my favorites.”

For nearly an hour Seregil moved eagerly from
case to case, looking at the various artifacts as Nysander
explained their use or history. There were jewels and weapons, as
well as magical items that posed no threat. That sort were stored
in the maze of chambers under the House.

Seregil asked more questions and Nysander was
again impressed by the young man’s native curiosity and quick mind.
Some of the artifacts were Aurënfaie, and he seemed to take
particular delight in telling Nysander what he knew of them. One
case held a display of sen’gai, the distinctive head cloths each
clan wore.

“That one’s Khatme,” Seregil said, pointing
to a red and black weave. “And that’s Golinil, and Virésse. What
are they doing here?”

“Gifts to various wizards who traveled in
your land, before the Edict of Separation. Do you recognize the
green one?”

As he’d expected, a brief look of pain
betrayed the young man. “Yes. That’s Bôkthersa.” He moved on to a
case filled with Zengati seal rings and after a few minutes
Nysander noted that he was now avoiding any case that contained
Aurënfaie things.

“It would take weeks to see everything!”
Seregil exclaimed at last.

“Indeed. And you are welcome to come back any
time to you like to explore. We also have a very fine library.”

Seregil looked like he’d just been given his
heart’s desire. “Thank you, my lord!”

“Please, you must call me Nysander, if we are
friends now.”

Seregil smiled. “Thank you, Nysander. I
deeply appreciate all that you’ve done for me.” Just then his belly
gave a loud gurgle.

“Dinner time already?” Nysander laughed. The
afternoon had flown by. “Dine with me, Seregil, and then I’ll send
you back to the palace in a carriage.”

Seregil grinned. “Better than the way I got
here.”

Over dinner they talked of what they’d seen
in the museum, and a little about Seregil’s life at court.”

“I understand you are no longer a junior
scribe,” said Nysander, chancing a conversational dead end. “May I
ask why?”

Seregil gave him a rueful smile. “Emidas
slapped me, and I dumped an ink pot over his head.”

“Why would he slap you?”

“I hit one of the other junior scribes with a
book,” he replied with an almost crooked smile. “But only because
he insulted me.”

“I see. And what have you been doing,
since?”

“I was in the household honor guard.”

“Was,” Nysander noted. “Did you hit someone
else?”

It was as if a wall had come down between
them. “No,” Seregil replied, looking down at his plate.

Seregil had admitted so readily to his other
infractions; what in the world had he done? Something to do with
Phoria, judging by his outburst in the garden, and something that
had left Seregil furious rather than shamed. Nysander again
resisted the urge to touch the young man’s mind. He had other, more
scrupulous channels of inquiry, palace gossip being what it
was.

***

Within the week Nysander learned that
Seregil’s last offense had been his affair with Prince Korathan.
Apparently it was Princess Phoria who’d taken exception. She had
far too much hold over her brother, as far as Nysander was
concerned. The prince was old enough to make his own choices, and
why in the world would Phoria care, anyway? Seregil didn’t speak of
Korathan, and was evasive when Nysander tried to sound him out.
Apparently that relationship was truly over. That was regrettable;
as far as he knew, Seregil hadn’t made any other friends.

He kept this knowledge to himself, and
Seregil came to see him nearly every day, exploring the museum and
library. The boy seemed even more thrilled by the Orëska House’s
elaborate bath chamber, but that wasn’t all that surprising with an
Aurënfaie, the cleanest of people. Much of the science of the
indoor bath, including the piping of hot water under tiled floors
to warm them, had been learned from them.

Seregil began to be known around the House.
In fact, he seemed to be spending as much time as possible here,
even when Nysander was too busy to visit with him. The keepers of
the library and museum welcomed him, and Seregil began to make
friends. People seemed drawn to him, whether for his good looks or
sharp mind. He had winning ways, too, when he wanted to, and could
be very charming and humorous. He made friends readily, apparently,
and Nysander often found him talking or gaming with some of the
apprentices.

Nysander watched and evaluated, and gave him
little magical tests now and then, though these seldom went as
planned. Seregil did have a way with animals, though and simple
tricks concerning them directly came more easily to him.

As they sat over tea one day, Nysander said,
“Seregil, I have a proposition for you, and I want you to consider
it very carefully before you answer.”

Seregil looked up in surprise. “All right.
What is it?”

“You still are not happy at the palace, are
you?”

“No.”

“Because of what happened with Prince
Korathan?”

Seregil blushed to the tips of his ears, but
his tone was slightly defiant as he replied, “No, because Phoria
made him stop seeing me. Korathan and I got along fine.”

“But not any more?”

Seregil said nothing.

“Are you are in love with him?”

He snorted at that. “Love is for fools. I
just liked him, that’s all.”

“I see. Thank you for being honest. I do hope
you change your stance on love someday, though.”

“Not likely! So, what is your proposition,
exactly, and what does that have to do with it?”

“Nothing, except it is important that I know
what sort of person you are before I make my offer.”

“Well, you already know I’m the sort who
whacks people with books and dumps ink on them. I’m no whore,
though, no matter what Phoria says.”

“Certainly not, dear boy! I was not thinking
anything of the sort, I assure you.”

“Then what is it?”

“I would like to take you on as my
apprentice.”

Seregil stared at him. “You—You’re
serious?”

“Very.”

“But why? I’ve hardly gotten a spell
right.”

“You have had a few successes and I find that
heartening. And you have a quick, inquiring mind, and a good
memory. Those are as important in a wizard as the magic. I also
enjoy your company. Given that we would work together for decades,
maybe even centuries, that is important, as well. So, would you
like to be my apprentice, and live here at the Orëska with me?”

“Yes!” Seregil exclaimed with no
hesitation.

The wizard wasn’t surprised to see tears
glisten in the young man’s eyes, even as he broke into the
brightest smile Nysander had seen. It had no doubt been a while
since anyone had told Seregil that he was wanted. Except, perhaps,
for Korathan. Nysander didn’t think much of how that had turned
out.

“So what is your condition?” Seregil
asked.

“That you tell me why you were exiled from
your homeland.”

In an instant Seregil’s expression changed to
one of pure betrayal and shame. He stood and headed for the
door.

Nysander cast a lock on it from where he sat.
“I will not give up on you so easily.”

“Let me go,” Seregil whispered, not looking
at him.

“Not until you tell me.”

“It doesn’t make any difference! Once you
know, you won’t want me.”

“I should like to be the judge of that.”

Seregil turned to him, voice trembling with
anger. “All this time—You being so nice to me. All so you ask me
that?”

“Certainly not. As I said, I simply need to
know what sort of person you really are.”

Seregil drew himself up, glaring at him. “All
right then. I killed a man. Can I go now?”

“Why did you kill him?”

“What does that matter?”

“It matters a great deal.”

Seregil bit his lip. “I was somewhere I
wasn’t supposed to be, and he surprised me in the dark and grabbed
me. I—I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to get away. But
that doesn’t change anything. So I was exiled.”

“I have one last question.”

“What?”

“Aside from killing that man, do you always
lash out at people the way you have here?”

Seregil sighed and shook his head, hand on
the door latch. “No. Can I go now?”

“That’s entirely up to you, dear boy. My
offer stands.”

“But—after what I just told you?”

“It is up to you whether you become my
apprentice or remain simply my friend who visits from a place where
you are miserable. Come have some more tea while you think it
over.”

Seregil slowly returned to his chair by the
fire, looking baffled. He took the mug and drank in silence. At
last he looked up. “Why?”

“Because you were honest.”

“That’s it?”

“I can see how badly you want to join me
here. Yet you told me the one thing that you believed would make me
reject you. That shows character. Besides, wizards are sometimes
called upon to kill.” He sipped his tea, letting that sink in.
“So?”

Seregil “Yes. I accept your offer, Nysander,
with all my heart. I will try to be worthy of your regard.”

Nysander leaned forward and extended his
hand. “Welcome to the Third Orëska, apprentice Seregil.”

Amasa knelt behind his little son in the
sun-dappled clearing, supporting his bow arm and showing him how to
pull the string back. “Keep your left arm straight, Alec. Don’t let
your elbow bend in or the string will hit it and it will hurt.”

“I can do it, Papa.”

Amasa watched proudly as Alec slowly pulled
the bowstring almost back to his ear. His left arm was shaking—the
bow was half Alec’s height, but Amasa had taken his measurements
carefully while making it and Alec managed to hold his stance for a
few seconds.