Nature's Servant (37 page)

She took this in slowly. “So you mean that if I stopped casting other spells, it might come back?”

“It might,” Professor Worrick said. “It’s just a theory. Personally I think that your gift will express itself again if it’s important that it do so, but don’t let me do your thinking for you. If that’s something you want to try, I won’t discourage you.”

Satisfied that she had something she could do, Lydia let Professor Worrick talk her through the known history of seers. It was an interesting tutorial, richly detailed and exposing her to all manner of fascinating historical figures that had shared her gift. Most notable was Ezmaldina, the warrior priestess of Kern, whose prophetic insights enabled their tiny nation to turn back the conquering armies of the Khaldean Empire. Bedazzled by the bewitching array of important historical figures paraded before her by the ever-erudite Professor Worrick, she didn’t even notice the time passing until the tutorial was over. It seemed like she’d only been there a few minutes! Disappointed, she shouldered her bag and stood up to leave.

“Would you wait just one more moment my dear?” Professor Worrick asked. She took her seat again, wondering what else he might have to say. “Thank you,” he said, tapping the arms of his chair thoughtfully. “I want to speak to you about a new pupil who’s soon to be arriving at the college. His name is Rimulth and he is from a remote mountainous region called Eagle’s Roost.”

“Okay,” Lydia said, unsure what this had to do with her.

“As you know, the new first year class hasn’t started yet, mostly because numbers are too low. There are a few young magicians waiting to be trained who’ve arrived over the last few months, and with Rimulth’s arrival, we feel there are enough pupils to start a new class.” Lydia nodded politely. It still didn’t seem relevant to her. “I want to ask you and your friends to take him under your collective wing.”

“But why, Sir?” she asked, not because she was against the idea but because it seemed odd. “I mean, wouldn’t he be better off making new friends from his class?”

“Normally I’d advise that, yes,” Professor Worrick responded. “But Rimulth’s case is a bit unusual. He is a tribal shaman, and has already begun to study magic in a limited form. The reason he’s come to us is because, apart from him, the shamans of his people have been completely wiped out. We think that they have been targeted by Shirukai Sestin’s demons.”

Lydia drew in a sharp breath. “So he’s the only shaman left?” she asked in hushed tones. She tried to imagine what that must feel like. What if Sestin’s demons had targeted gypsies, and all the seers had been killed except for her? What kind of burden would that place on her shoulders?

“Yes,” Professor Worrick said gravely. “Rimulth has been through a terrible ordeal and will need good friends. Not only is he the last shaman of his tribal group, but he watched the horrific death of his mentor. I felt that with your experience of demonic attacks, you and your friends could look after him better than most. Would you be willing to befriend him?”

“Of course,” Lydia said. “I’ll speak to the others later, but I know they won’t mind.”

“Thank you Lydia,” Professor Worrick said with a smile. “I knew I could count on you. Just remember, he has never left the mountains and will find life here…strange. It may take him some time to become comfortable with you.”

“I understand.”

…

She told the others at the Rest that evening. Jonn was there too, listening with interest to what she said.

“The same demons that attacked us last year?” Gaspi asked, sitting bolt upright. Loreill chirped in his ear, protesting at the sudden movement.

“That’s what Professor Worrick thinks,” Lydia answered.

“Sheesh,” Gaspi said with an explosion of breath. “Do you think Sestin sent them?”

“It makes sense,” Jonn said. “Well they target magic users don’t they? We don’t know why, but isn’t that why they attacked the college last year?”

“So this time they went for the shamans?” Emea asked quietly.

“Looks that way,” Lydia said.

“Then in a way, isn’t it our fault?” Emea asked.

“What do you mean?” Jonn responded.

“Well if they’d got what they wanted last year, they wouldn’t need to go after anyone else would they?”

“No Emmy,” Jonn said firmly. “The only one responsible for this evil is Shirukai Sestin. Put that nonsense out of your head okay?”

“Okay,” she said meekly.

Jonn put a protective arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “So Professor Worrick wants you to make friends with this shaman?” he asked Lydia.

“Exactly,” Lydia responded. “I said we all would. Is that okay?”

“Of course we will!” Gaspi insisted, mirrored by earnest nods and murmurs from all the others.

“Are you alright Jonn?” Emmy asked, placing a concerned hand on his knee. Gaspi looked at him carefully and was surprised to see his eyes were swimming with moisture.

“I’m fine!” he blustered, wiping the moisture from his eyes, but more tears were forming, threatening to spill down his cheek. “Oh hang it!” he said, looking round at them with bright, shining eyes. “I’m just so proud of you all. You’re such good people!” They sat in shock for a moment, stunned by his unusual outburst. Emmy acted first, leaning over and kissing him lightly on the cheek. Gaspi reached out and clasped one of his hands tightly.

“Leave off Jonn!” Taurnil said light-heartedly. “You’re our guardian not our mother!” They all laughed, including Jonn, though his eyes still looked suspiciously moist. Though they’d made light of the situation, Gaspi couldn’t help wondering what was going on with Jonn. It was uncharacteristic of him to show his emotions like that, and he couldn’t help worrying about him. Feeling uneasy, he resolved to keep a close eye on his guardian.

…

Jonn was feeling pensive. It was halfway through third watch, and he was on patrol, pacing around the narrow walkway built into the top of the city wall. It was a cloudy night, the winter wind cutting right through his armour and chilling him to the bone. The winter in Helioport was nothing compared to Aemon’s Reach, but exposed on the wall, a bitter wind from the North still had the power to set you shivering.

The thought of Aemon’s Reach deepened his gloom. He stopped for a moment, trying to understand what was making him feel so bad. He hadn’t felt like this since they’d first left the village and come to Helioport. He’d been relatively content since joining up as a guard, and nothing had really changed since that time, so why was he feeling the way he was?

When he’d first come here it had been like getting a new lease on life. Instead of moping round the house he was kept busy guarding the city, living his life to a strict schedule. It had made him feel part of something again. Gaspi and his friends often came to talk to him when they needed a bit of advice, which made him feel needed. Well, they
used
to come and visit him. It was a much more infrequent occurrence these days.

Maybe that was it. They were young adults now, and no-one had arrived at the barracks in a state of anguish since they’d arrived back in the city after the summer break. He still saw them, of course, but they seemed able to resolve their own problems. Taurnil and Lydia had gone through a rough patch but they were on solid ground again, and even Gaspi and Emea seemed able to talk things through on their own. They just didn’t really need him anymore.

He was sure he’d hit on something, but he sensed it was only part of the truth. He continued his pacing, looking at his life in Helioport with critical eyes. Okay so he was a guard, but he kept pretty much to himself. He had the occasional beer with the other guards, but that was about it.

It came to him in a moment, as if scales had fallen from his eyes. He was building a solitary life here in the city, just as he had back in the village. To begin with, life in Helioport had been enough to satisfy him: the sense of duty he got from being a guard; the excitement of the tournament; helping to train Taurnil; and looking after his young charges when they needed his advice. But it wasn’t enough anymore. Taurnil was sufficiently skilled as a fighter and didn’t need his help, and the others didn’t need him in the same way either. In the absence of a greater sense of belonging, life had become humdrum, and he was doing exactly what he’d done in Aemon’s Reach – isolating himself into a life of quiet routine.

The solution came to him as clear as day - he needed to live his own life. Since Rhetta had died he had found some kind of purpose in helping other people, but he didn’t do anything just because he enjoyed it, and he never let people in far enough to become true friends. He felt confident he was onto something, but struggled to think of a way to change things. The most obvious thing he could do would be to try and spend a bit more time with people he got on with. His natural tendency to live a solitary life meant that he missed opportunities to develop friendships that could be much stronger. The two men he felt he could get along with best were Erik and Sabu. Erik already had a close circle of friends among the guards but Sabu tended to keep himself to himself. Maybe the blademaster was in need of a bit of company too. He wouldn’t tell Sabu why he was making an effort of course, but perhaps he could ask him to go for a beer sometimes after training. It wasn’t much but it seemed like a reasonable place to start.

He sighed deeply. The realisation that he was dissatisfied with his solitary lifestyle gave him a tiny bit of hope, but in some ways it made things worse, considering the scale of the mountain he had to climb. Why was it always so hard? Unable to shake his pensive mood, he continued his rounds shrouded in a cloud of self-doubt.

Gaspi dropped the dagger, yelping in pain and clutching his forearm. “Easy!” he cried, giving Taurnil a wounded look.

“Sorry Gasp,” Taurnil said, but Gaspi didn’t think he looked like he meant it. “It’s hard to ignore my training. You left an opening; I took it.”

“Yeah but I leave openings all the time,” Gaspi said, exasperated. “I’m terrible at this.”

“True,” Taurnil said flatly. Giving in to a fit of pique, Gaspi summoned a thread of power and stamped on the hard-packed dirt of the arena floor. A wave of force shot out from his foot, rippling through the ground towards Taurnil, throwing the large boy from his feet as it passed under him. He landed on his backside with a loud thump, his breath rushing from his lungs at the impact. He held up a hand defensively.

“Okay, Okay I get your point,” he said quickly. “I’ll go easy on you if you don’t use magic.”

Gaspi walked over and reached out a hand, helping him to his feet. “You weigh a ton!” he said as he hauled Taurnil’s well-muscled bulk upright.

Taurnil harrumphed. “And you’re a scrawny bag of skin and bones.”

“Seriously,” Gaspi said, ignoring the insult. “Why do I have to learn how to fight again?”

Taurnil’s jocular air disappeared in a flash. “You heard what Voltan said. The best teams competing in the Measure don’t pit magician against magician and fighter against fighter. They find a way to combine both and work together.”

“I can see how enchanting your armour would help, and your knives too,” Gaspi responded. Taurnil had become really serious about knife skills over the last few months. What he lacked in natural swordsmanship he made up for with the shorter blades. He carried two heavy, wickedly serrated knives on his person all the time now, their scabbards strapped around his waist on a broad leather belt.  “I guess I just can’t see the point in trying to make me into a fighter,” he continued. “I’m terrible.”

“You’re not actually that bad,” Taurnil said. Gaspi looked at him incredulously. “Seriously,” Taurnil explained. “Much as it pains me to admit it, you’re actually okay. You react pretty quickly and hold your weapons properly. You don’t have to become a real warrior, but just learn the basic skills. No-one will be expecting a magician to pull out a knife and stick them with it.”

“I’m not going to “
stick
” anyone Taurn!” Gaspi said incredulously.

Taurnil’s nostrils flared. “When are you going to start taking this seriously?” he demanded. “This isn’t about winning the stupid Measure. Voltan wants us to enter so we can learn to fight as a team. I’m not talking about sticking a knife in someone in the blooming tournament. I’m talking about when it really matters and we’re fighting for our lives. It’s my job to protect you and I’m damn well gonna make sure we’re ready for that when it happens.”

Gaspi stood in stunned silence for a moment, shocked by Taurnil’s angry tone, but any defensiveness he felt melted away moments later as he realised that his friend was speaking the truth.

“You’re right Taurn,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’re just better at keeping sight of the big picture than me. I was just thinking about winning the Measure.”

“I want to win too,” Taurnil said, a smile cracking his serious expression. “But we have to remember the real reason we’re doing it.”

“As if you’d ever let me forget!” Gaspi said. “Can we quit for today though? I think you broke my wrist.”

Taurnil guffawed. “I didn’t, but okay. Let’s quit for now and talk about how you’re going to enchant my armour.”

Gaspi bent down and picked up his knife. It was smaller than Taurnil’s two blades and it had almost no crosspiece. “I’m still not sure what use this thing is going to be.”