Nature's Servant (41 page)

“What’s going on Sir?” Lydia asked.

“What?” Professor Worrick asked absent-mindedly, unable to keep his eyes off the elementals. He’d seen them before but never this closely, and the curious academic’s attention was riveted.

“Professor!” Lydia said more firmly.

“Oh sorry,” he said, looking back and forth between Lydia and the dragon. “Marvellous,” he muttered, and then forced himself to look away fr
om the elemental and meet Lydia’s gaze. “Remember the young shaman I told you about weeks ago?” he asked. Lydia nodded. “Well he has arrived, and I think it’s important that you go and welcome him. All of you,” he said, looking at each of them to make sure they understood they were all included.

“What about Taurnil?” Lydia asked. “He’s not a magician but if we’re going to make friends with this shaman then he’ll be friends with Taurnil too.”

“Where is Taurnil?” Professor Worrick asked. “I thought your boyfriend was a guard.”

“He is but he plays koshta with us,” Lydia answered. “That’s him in goal.”

“Oh!” Professor Worrick said, squinting in Taurnil’s direction. “Well then, by all means, bring him along too.”

The teams had reshuffled, trying to even out the sides, but when Lydia called Taurnil off the ice the game was abandoned to the accompaniment of loud groans. Gaspi heard one of Everand’s team muttering as they walked past. He couldn’t quite make out what he said, but he was pretty sure he caught the word “unnatural.” Everand drew alongside the mutterer, conferring animatedly with him as they left the quad, and Gaspi felt certain they were talking about the spirits. He felt another surge of anger, stronger than the last. What had Loreill ever done to him? Forcing himself to remain calm, he shelved his annoyance. It was time to meet the shaman, and he deserved a friendly welcome.

Taurnil removed his ice-boots and gloves and the four of them left the quad. Professor Worrick led them back to the tower first so they could drop the elementals off. Emmy objected to being parted from Lilly, but the professor said that arriving in Helioport would be stressful enough for someone from a tribal background without introducing them to a trio of magical spirits at the same time. Emmy gave in, and they left the spirits in Lydia’s room before heading down to the college gates.

“What’s his name again?” Gaspi asked as they walked.

“Rimulth,” Professor Worrick said. They all tried it out a few times to make sure they had it right. “He’s had a terrible time of it, as Lydia’s no doubt told you, and I hope we can make him feel at home.”

“We’ll do our best,” Emmy said sweetly, earning her a warm smile from the professor. 

…

When they reached the gate, Gaspi spotted them straight away - two men standing alone at the side of the road, dressed in bulky furs and leathers and bristling with weapons. One was in his twenties and the other looked to be about his own age. They had tanned skin, strong noses, and hair as black as coal. The older one stared about him fiercely, as if all he saw were enemies, and although the younger one tried to mimic him, Gaspi saw in his face the bewildered vulnerability of someone totally out of their depth. So this was Rimulth.

Professor Worrick stepped out from the group, extending a hand to the older of the two strangers. “Welcome to the College of Collective Magicks,” he said slowly and carefully, as if his speech might be difficult to understand. “I am Professor Worrick, the Dean of Students.” The older of the two tribes-folk extended his hand in response. It was an awkward movement, and obviously not one he was accustomed to, performed under tightly knotted brows.

“My name is Younger Talmo,” he responded in accented but easily understandable speech. Gaspi was relieved to hear him speak in their language. Over two centuries ago, the entire continent had been forced to learn and speak a single language, known simply as “common,” but he hadn’t thought it was safe to assume the practice had reached the tribes-peo
ple of Eagle’s Roost.

“This is Rimulth,” Younger Talmo added, indicating his young companion.

“The pleasure is mine, Rimulth” Professor Worrick said, extending his hand to the second tribesman as well. Rimulth took the offered palm more comfortably than Younger Talmo had, shaking it as Professor Worrick demonstrated. Gaspi stepped forward and shook his hand next, introducing himself with the most welcoming smile he could summon up. The others crowded in, bustling around the tribesmen, and by the time they were done, Rimulth looked noticeably less nervous, though Gaspi thought Younger Talmo still looked pretty fierce.

“Come into the office,” Professor Worrick said, indicating a small room just inside the gate, but just as they were about to enter, a piercing cry from above froze them in their tracks. Gaspi craned his neck, searching the skies for the source of the sound. A bird of prey spiralled down from the skies above them. Its tapered wings were dazzling white, its beak cruelly curved for tearing flesh, opening once again to issue that harsh, haunting cry. Younger Talmo drew a bow from over his shoulder and reached back with his free hand for an arrow.

Gaspi, Emea and Lydia reached out towards him at once, uttering sharp protestations, and the tribesman stayed his hand. Rimulth was staring up at the hawk with a befuddled expression on his face, and when it descended to within twenty feet of them, he automatically lifted his arm. The hawk let out a triumphant cry, tucked in its wings and dipped towards him. At the last moment its wings snapped open, slowing its flight. It stretched out its legs and landed safely on his outstretched arm, flapping its wings a few more times to gain balance as sharp talons closed tightly around his thick furs.

Shuffling from one talon to the other, the hawk moved up his arm until it neared his head, holding his gaze all the while with its storm-grey eyes. With his free hand, Rimulth reached out in wonder and ran a knuckle over the back of its beak. The hawk seemed to like it, opening its beak a fraction and letting out a quiet cry.

“What’s going on?” Rimulth asked no-one in particular, his eyes wide with wonder and surprise.

“There’s no way we can answer that standing in the street,” Gaspi said with a grin.

“Let’s get you registered and we can talk about it once you’ve settled,” Professor Worrick said, ushering the tribes-folk into the office. “I’ll get the administration done and show Rimulth to his room. Gaspi, it’s the one next to yours. Will all of you stop by later and make sure he isn’t alone?”

“Of course,” he answered, stunned by what had just happened. The air spirit had finally chosen its bond-mate. Professor Worrick turned to follow the tribesmen into the office.

“Sir,” Lydia called after him, and he turned back. “Did you know?” she asked.

“I am a seer you know,” Professor Worrick answered with a wink, and went into the office.

When they knocked on Rimulth’s door later that day, the young tribesman let them in, looking completely out of place in the comfortable surroundings of his room. Younger Talmo looked even less comfortable than Rimulth, a seasoned tribal warrior, perched on a delicate white chair in the middle of the room. Rimulth’s bed was littered with weapons: two longbows, two small quivers of arrows, Talmo’s sword and Rimulth’s knife. The window was wide open despite the winter chill, its frame acting as a perch for the air spirit, which eyed them all with its fierce gaze as they closed the door behind them.

Taurnil had suggested introducing them to Jonn, and they all thought that was a good idea. Jonn was a warrior too, and meeting him might help them feel more at home, so he’d arranged for them to gather in the Rest for dinner. Gaspi greeted the tribesmen, smiling in what he hoped was a disarming manner, but although Rimulth smiled in return, Younger Talmo fixed him with an unfriendly stare.

Taurnil stepped past him and took over. “Younger Talmo, Rimulth. Will you share a meal with us and our guardian? He is a warrior and one of the guards here in the city.” Gaspi thought his friend’s manner was unnecessarily formal, and not even delivered with a smile, but strangely it seemed to relax both tribesmen. Taurnil was clearly better at this than he was.

“We will come,” Younger Talmo answered with a nod of his head. Taurnil waited while they picked up their weapons, and led them out of the room. The air spirit took to the skies as they departed, returning to its natural haunts with a bleak-sounding cry. Taurnil led them through the winding corridors of the Warren, until they reached the plinth. Younger Talmo looked distinctly unhappy at the prospect of being transported by magic, but Taurnil urged him to get on and the tribesman complied. His jaw was clenched and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Gaspi gave the command and they were magicked down to the Atrium. When they got off, Younger Talmo shuddered, patting himself all over as if to check he was still in one piece. Rimulth looked almost as disquieted, glancing nervously back at the transporter plinths until they were out of sight.

Gaspi made an attempt at small talk as they walked, asking about the tribesmen’s journey to Helioport, but after a couple of single word responses from Rimulth and no response at all from Younger Talmo, he gave up altogether. Emmy put a hand on his arm, offering a sympathetic glance, and after that, they walked in silence. Freezing gusts of air made him shiver. Winter was well under way, and although it hadn’t snowed, the wind was icy and cut through even the warmest clothing. Emmy had complained about the cold so much he’d lent her his enchanted cloak on what was probably a permanent basis, and he hadn’t got around to attempting the enchantment on another cloak yet, so he just had to put up with being cold.

When they reached the Rest, Taurnil pushed the door open and they stepped into the familiar warm, smoky environment. The door closed behind them, shutting out the chill winter wind. They didn’t stop to get a drink, passing through one room into the next, where Jonn was waiting for them at a large table. He stood up as they entered, extending a hand to Younger Talmo.

“You must be Younger Talmo,” Jonn said. “I’m Jonn, guardian to these young people.”

Younger Talmo nodded, grasping his hand and shaking it. “Call me Talmo,” he said. “Elder Talmo isn’t here, so he is unlikely to object.”

“Talmo it is,” Jonn said. “And you must be Rimulth,” he said, turning to the younger of the two tribesmen. Rimulth nodded and shook his hand without saying anything in response.

“Please, take a seat,” Jonn urged, indicating the chairs around the table. “I’ll go and get everyone a drink. What will you have Talmo? I’m really sorry but I have no idea what you drink in the mountains. Beer? Wine?”

Talmo’s face broke into the tiniest of smiles, the first Gaspi had seen from him. “We make beer from ferns. Whisky too but that’s for the men’s circle. Beer is fine.”

“And for you Rimulth?” Jonn asked.

“The same,” he answered, and Jonn left to go to the bar. There was no need to ask the others - it was always the same. Gaspi and Taurnil would have beer, Emmy would have watered wine and Lydia would have her wine un-watered.

While Jonn was getting the drinks, conversation dried up around the table, making Gaspi feel increasingly awkward. Embarrassed by the prolonged silence, he opened his mouth to speak, but Taurnil trod on his foot, clearly telling him to stay quiet. What was with these close-mouthed mountain people? How was he supposed to make friends with them if they never spoke and didn’t respond when he made the effort. It was like being with Heath all over again, only worse!

“I see you’re an archer,” Taurnil said, eyeing the ash longbow strapped to Talmo’s back. “May I see your bow?”

Talmo’s stern mask relaxed a little as he reached over his shoulder and drew his longbow out of its harness. He handed it to Taurnil, who took it with exaggerated care, running his thumb along the light, attractive grain of the wood.

“Beautifully crafted,” he said.

“I carved it myself,” Talmo said with obvious pride. He drew a hand back over his shoulder, pulling an arrow out of its quiver. “I fletched these too,” he added. Gaspi thought the feathers were beautiful. They were a light golden colour, tipped with flaming amber. Talmo must have caught him looking at them. “Firehawk,” he said, holding Gaspi’s gaze with light hazel eyes that contrasted with his dark complexion.

“I like the colours,” Gaspi said, sounding stupid in his own ears, but thankfully Talmo was distracted by Jonn, returning with the drinks. He put the beers down in front of the two tribesmen and went back to the bar for the rest.

“Are you a warrior Taurnil?” Rimulth asked, watching the way he ran his hands reverently over the bow.

“I suppose so,” Taurnil answered. “I’m a guard. So’s Jonn, but he’s a better fighter than me.”

“You have the look of a warrior,” Talmo said as if that was all that needed saying. “So does Jonn,” he added as Jonn sat down.

“So does Jonn what?” Jonn asked.

“You have the look of a warrior,” Talmo answered.

“Oh, thanks,” Jonn said. Gaspi tried to shrink into the background. He was clearly the only male in the room who didn’t look like a warrior in any way whatsoever.

“What do you do here…Gaspi?” Rimulth asked, fishing his name out from memory.

“I’m a magician,” he answered, “but I can use a knife!” He winced inwardly at his stupid statement, but thankfully, Rimulth didn’t let the conversation linger there.