Nature's Servant (13 page)

The cart came to a juddering halt, jolting him from his daydream.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking at Hephistole questioningly.

With a nod of his head, Hephistole indicated that Gaspi should look ahead, but when Gaspi followed his gaze he couldn
’t see anything special. They had travelled well off the beaten track and their road had turned into a path just wide enough for the cart to travel down. Ahead of them it was completely overgrown, and he couldn’t see how they could travel any further. Hephistole was looking at a thick grove of trees, a wall of old growth trailing an impressive tangle of creepers.

Gaspi still couldn
’t see anything of particular note.  He opened his mouth to speak, but the chancellor held up a hand for silence, and slowly climbed down from the cart. Gaspi watched in bewildered silence as he walked slowly towards the thick copse of trees, his palms open as if in greeting. As if appearing from nowhere, a figure stepped out from among the trees. Gaspi took a sharp breath. He was sure no-one had been there previously, but all of a sudden someone that could only be Heath was standing right in front of him.

The druid was an intimidating person to look at. He was tall - a bit taller than Taurnil - and his arms were knotted with corded, ropey muscle. He didn
’t have the bulky look Gaspi had seen in some of Helioport’s guards, but he looked rangy and tough. His hair fell in wild dreadlocks around a face obscured by a beard that had clearly never seen a comb. He wore layers of animal skins and leather boots, and an enormous knife scabbarded at his waist. In his right hand he carried a thick wooden staff, festooned with knots and whorls, which looked like it could deal a heavy blow. Hephistole walked up to him and extended his hand. Heath just stood there, but Hephistole was persistent, and after a moment, the druid offered his own and shook hands in the manner of someone picking up a long disused habit. Hephistole said a few words that Gaspi couldn’t make out and Heath turned to look at him, indicating that he should approach with a curt gesture of his hand.

Feeling nervous, Gaspi climbed down to the ground and walked on over. Heath eyed him up and down wordlessly before giving a single nod of his head.

“Right,” Hephistole said as if a matter had been decided. “I’ll be leaving you here Gaspi.” He rested a hand on Gaspi’s shoulder, meeting his gaze with his own, his green eyes twinkling with a curious kind of intensity. “Learn well, and make the most of this experience. It is a very rare opportunity.” He winked, returning to the cart with sprightly steps and springing up the steps into the carriage. As he flicked the reins, Gaspi couldn’t help thinking that for the next three months he was going to regret not getting right back in the cart with Hephistole and driving away.

Emea sat at her desk, staring glumly out of the window. It was a sunny day, but she didn’t have the heart to go outside and enjoy it. She was missing Gaspi. They’d never really been apart since the night they’d first kissed in the Moot Hall in Aemon’s Reach, and she hadn’t realised just how painful the separation would be. Sure, she’d sometimes gone a day or two without seeing him properly, but that had been fine because she’d known it wouldn’t be long until they were together again. Now that he’d left, and there was no chance of seeing him at all, it was unbearable – all she wanted to do was to be with him, and she knew that she couldn’t for another three months. It made her ache.

Three months!
It seemed like an eternity. Looking out the window, Emmy could feel the minutes becoming bulky and sticky, passing by as slowly as molasses drips. Overwhelmed by frustration, she felt the tension building in her until she was sure she was going to burst. Blinking back sudden tears, she made a snap decision - if she wanted to avoid wallowing in misery, she simply couldn’t allow herself to think about him at all. She had to get as busy as possible, and the three months would hopefully pass by without her noticing. Her mind made up, she pushed herself determinedly out of the chair and went out looking for something to do.

She went looking for Lydia first of all, but her friend wasn’t in her room. Lydia wasn’t much company at the moment anyway. If she wasn’t trying to seduce Taurnil then she was talking about it. Emmy didn’t understand why she was in so much of a rush. Sex would probably be a great thing once you were married, but before then there was kissing, and cuddling, and holding hands, which were all wonderful too. Married women had sex; unmarried girls didn’t - well that’s how it worked in
her
mind anyway. All this thought of kissing and cuddling was making her think of Gaspi again, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Pushing him out of her mind once more, she walked through the corridors of the Warren, looking for anything that would serve as a distraction.

She peered in all the open doors, hoping to find someone she knew, and eventually she found what she was looking for in Everand’s room. Looking in t
he doorway, she saw that Matthias and Temalia were in there too, playing a game of blag on a small table by the window. She knocked tentatively on the lintel, hoping they’d invite her to join them. They called out a chorus of greetings.

“Wanna play?” Matthias piped cheerfully. He was still very small for his age and, unlike his classmates, his voice showed no inclination towards breaking. Emmy suppressed a smile. It was funny to hear a fifteen year old boy speak with what was basically a child’s voice, but it wasn’t nice to laugh about it to his face.

Smiling back, she walked into the room. “Do you mind?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Everand responded, standing up and pulling another chair over to the table. He stayed standing, waiting until she sat down before retaking his own seat. Emmy suppressed another smile. Since he and Gaspi had made up, Everand was someone she was happy to spend time with, but he was still so painfully pompous.

“Good to see you Emea,” he announced roundly. “How are you today?” Temalia reddened, glancing at her defensively. Emmy had long suspected that Temalia had feelings for Everand, but the popular, athletic boy didn’t show that much interest in return.

“Bored,” she answered honestly. She smiled disarmingly at Temalia, who visibly relaxed and smiled back. She was really quite pretty when she smiled, and Emmy couldn’t understand why Everand didn’t fancy her. Last year he’d fancied Emea, but everyone knew she was with Gaspi, and Everand seemed to have accepted that some months ago, so there was no obvious reason why he wouldn’t go out with Temalia.

“You know how to play?” Matthias asked.             

“Taurnil showed me,” she responded. “But you might have to remind me of the rules as we go.

“Okay sure. Let’s play,” Matthias squeaked, and dealt out the cards.

…

The game ended two hours later, and Emmy was about to make her excuses and go looking for Lydia again when Temalia laid a slender-fingered hand on her arm.

“Why don’t you come with us to the Rest?” she asked in her gentle, breathy voice. Emea looked at the expectant faces, and found herself hesitating. Yes, Gaspi had made up with Everand, but they weren’t best friends or anything. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt, as if by hanging out with them she was being disloyal to him. She hesitated a moment longer, but then she shook off the feeling. All that was in the past now, and she really needed the company.

“I’d love to,” she answered. “Thanks for asking.”

“Good,” Temalia responded, sliding her hand into the crook of Emea’s elbow. “I bet you’re missing Gaspi,” she said, leading her out of the room.

…

By the time they reached the Rest, Emea had convinced Temalia that she was fine and had moved the conversation away from Gaspi. She separated herself from her and followed Everand into the pub’s dim, lamp-lit interior only to be hit by a wash of evocative smells. The oil lamps used to light the common room gave off a kind of smoky smell, which combined potently with the odour of floor polish and ale to remind her of Gaspi in a heady rush. She’d spent many memorable hours with him in here, and more than anything else so far, the unmis
takable smell of the Traveller’s Rest made her miss him. Her eyes swimming with tears, she made an excuse and went to the girls’ privy.

Closing the door behind her she wiped her eyes furiously. Why was she feeling so emotional? Gaspi was gone and she just needed to get on with things. Blinking rapidly until there was no evidence of her tears, she took a deep breath and went back out to join the others. They were falling about laughing at something, and she slipped in quietly without drawing attention to herself.

It took half an hour or so but eventually Emmy found herself distracted by the conversation, and even began to enjoy herself a bit. After that, the rest of the afternoon passed easily enough, and when they went back to the campus to eat, she was feeling much more like herself. Everand walked alongside her on the way back, making conversation about what he was learning and asking her about her studies. She was surprised at how pleasant his company was, and found herself enjoying the conversation. As they parted, Everand said he was going to use Gaspi’s enchanted device and create the koshta pitch in the morning, and all the boys were going to play. Genuinely excited, Emmy gave him a hug and walked back to her room, humming to herself. If she kept busy like this, maybe things wouldn’t be too bad after all.

…

Ferast sat alone in his room, seething. He’d seen Emea with Everand earlier that day. He could see what was happening. As soon as the Nature Mage was out of the picture, Everand was making his move. Maybe she’d even fall for it! Everyone was always so impressed by Everand, but not him! He could see right through him. The pompous, strutting peacock had always been his inferior but had been too interested in his own reflection to know it. Ferast was more intelligent than him, quicker to learn than he was, and a more powerful magician than him. What’s more, he had ambition. Whatever it took, he was going to leave these half-talented children in his dust, and climb to unknown heights of power.

The bird-thin boy was self-aware enough to know that he would get there quicker with a bit of help, but who was going to guide him? Voltan seemed to favour Gaspi, and the chancellor had never shown him more than a moment’s recognition. They were probably jealous of his power, of who he could one day be. Emelda had passed him onto another healer for mentoring. The fat woman had never been comfortable with him, but that suited him fine. He could learn better from someone less sentimental. The problem was that his new mentor seemed to be suspicious of him too. He wouldn’t answer Ferast’s questions about using healing magic as a weapon, and would only teach him about cuts, bruises, and broken bones. The idiot lacked any kind of imagination.

For what must be the hundredth time, he thought back to the letter Hephistole had sent out to the students. According to the chancellor, the mastermind behind the attack on the college was a renegade magician called Shirukai Sestin. Once chancellor of the college, Sestin had been cast out from the magical community on account of some dark, neuromantic experiments he’d been caught conducting. He may well be the college’s enemy, but something about the renegade had caught Ferast’s imagination. To get a glimpse of his genius, all you had to do was count the number of magical inventions he seemed to have mastered: he had enhanced natural wolves, turning them into those terrifying wargs; he’d managed to find a way to transport people over vast distances; he could control demons. Most impressive of all, he seemed to have prolonged his own lifespan. Ferast thought hungrily of all those advances, of the power this rogue magician controlled. Now there was someone worth learning from! He wouldn’t refuse to answer Ferast’s questions, not when he’d been exiled from the magical community for experimenting in ways the college hadn’t the imagination to allow. And he had the exact same combination of magical strengths as Ferast – healing and neuromancy.

He followed his line of thought further. What if the restrictions at the college meant he no longer had a reason to be here? Maybe he should go and find a more worthy master. Maybe he should go and find Shirukai Sestin.

…

Rimulth felt self-conscious. It was the first time he’d been allowed in the men’s circle. Crossing his legs in imitation of the older men, he looked around at the faces of the tribesmen; iconic faces that had dominated his childhood, lit right now by the flickering light of the fire. He wondered if they had also felt like a pretender when they’d first joined the circle, and almost snorted out loud at the thought. There was no way Balkrist had ever felt the way he did now. The ageing warrior looked as comfortable squatting by the fire as a rock does on a mountainside. He glanced at Balkrist’s scarred face, the knotted bunches of the muscles on his forearms, folded over his broad chest. The warrior’s tattoo written across his face was faded, folding into natural creases along the expressive lines of his weathered cheeks.

Rimulth looked at the other silhouetted figures around the circle. Hesketh, the Clan Chief, his bear-skin cloak of office making him loom in the light of the fire. Younger Talmo, staring down his hooked nose into the flame, implacable as a mountain. And then there was the Dag-Mar. Of all the men in the circle, he was the one Rimulth was the most scared of. Every inch of his skin was marked with tattoos none of the other men could ever wear – the tattoos of a shaman. Each design represented a spell the shaman had mastered. Of all the shamans Rimulth had seen in his short lifetime, the Dag-Mar had by far the most. He was the principal shaman of all the tribes, a master spell-caster and the head of his order. Rimulth looked at the colourful glass beads woven into his grey, braided hair, and the many bracelets he wore around his stick-thin wrists and ankles, hearing in his mind the musical clack and rattle the shaman made as he moved.