The Exile and the Sorcerer (26 page)

“They said they didn’t want me to.” Only as the sentence left her mouth did Jemeryl consider how it might sound.

A long silence followed, during which Jemeryl could hear her heart pounding.

At last, Iralin leaned back and steepled her fingers. “Why don’t you tell me, in your own words, from the beginning, just how this situation has arisen between you and the people entrusted to your care?”

The emphasis on the last four words made Jemeryl flinch. “I’m not quite sure.”

“Make some intelligent guesses.” It was an order.

Jemeryl took a couple of deep breaths to clear her thoughts—not that they helped. “Um...when I first came to the valley, they offered me a cottage in the village. I think it belonged to the previous witch. But I wanted to work on my research, and it wouldn’t be safe with lots of people around. There was this abandoned castle, so I moved here instead...just me and Dorin.”

Jemeryl’s face brightened. “Yes, of course. Dorin. He’d be the source of anything you’ve heard. The villagers insisted I had someone to wait on me. It wasn’t necessary, but I think Dorin was the village simpleton, and they wanted an excuse to get him off their hands. It was ridiculous. He couldn’t cope. The mere sound of Klara talking would terrify him. He only stayed a month. He spread some daft rumours back in the village. It’s understandable. For the first time in his life, people wanted to listen to what he had to say. I know he made up things. Stories about me calling up the dead, turning people into frogs, even sacrificing babies to the full moon, for all I know.”

“Do you think we’d pay any attention to stories like that?” Iralin said curtly.

I can’t imagine what else you’ve got the arse-ache about.
The words nearly escaped Jemeryl’s lips. Fortunately, she managed to phrase it more diplomatically. “Then I’m afraid I don’t know what stories you have heard, ma’am.”

“How about stories concerning two children lured to your castle? The lucky one left in a coma; the other was dead.”

“They weren’t my fault, ma’am, neither of them,” Jemeryl said quickly.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Jemeryl frowned. What had people been saying? But at least she now knew what Iralin was after. “The coma...that would be a girl called Shiral. She came here after Dorin left, and I think she had some of his stupid stories stuck in her head. One day when I was out, she went poking through my things. I’d told her not to. Perhaps that was the attraction. She found an old shadow mirror. I’m not sure what she saw in it, but we both know the visions can be nasty. The fright sent her into shock. It wasn’t a coma. I took Shiral back to her parents. I thought a home atmosphere would do her good while I helped her recover, but her parents wouldn’t let me near her. There was nothing else I could do.”

“And the child who died?”

Jemeryl would rather not recall the incident that had caused her anguish at the time and still intruded into nightmares, but there was no avoiding the question. “About a year ago, a man brought his daughter to the castle. She was only a toddler. She’d had an accident. Gangrene had set in, but they’d left it too long before coming to me. I fought to save her life; I really did. A day earlier, and I might have done it. I know her parents were upset and blamed me, but it was their fault. They should have brought her here sooner.”

“Has it occurred to you, that if you’d performed your duties properly and talked to your citizens, you might have heard about the child’s injury in time?”

“They wouldn’t talk to me. Even when I made the effort to see them, they hid things from me.”

“They were frightened of you.”

“I suppose so,” Jemeryl conceded.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“So if you haven’t been performing your duties, what have you been doing?” Iralin’s voice could have cut through stone.

“I’ve been researching into overcharged ether currents, using them to induce field containers for elemental auras.”

“That’s a waste of time. It’s been proved it can’t work.”

I’ve done it.
Jemeryl was proud of her achievement, but now was not the time to boast.

Iralin’s gaze shifted as she caught sight of something moving. “Is that a bear behind you?”

Jemeryl glanced over her shoulder. Tumble had followed her down. “Er...yes.”

“You have bears in the castle?”

“Only two.”

“Only!”

“They are both fully entranced and safe.”

“You have bears roaming the castle and then wonder why the villagers are too scared to come and ask you for help.”

“The bears are harmless. To be more frightened of them than of gangrene is stupid.”

“Looking after stupid people is the job you asked to do.”

“But—”

Iralin did not let her finish. “I was against your taking this appointment from the start. My objections were overruled, but I find I’ve been proved right. I doubted your motives, and I felt you lacked the necessary maturity. In dealing with ungifted folk, you have always been arrogant and inconsiderate. You see the villagers as unimportant—a distraction from your real interests, but it is their lives at stake. They are simple, honest folk, who are also loyal citizens of the Protectorate. If you were unable to feel responsible for them, you shouldn’t have taken the job. You have failed to perform the duties of your post and failed due to lack of effort rather than inability. You have disgraced the Coven.”

Jemeryl was stunned. Wilful failure to fulfil an appointment was one of the worst offences a sorcerer could commit. “I’ve tried my best to perform all my duties.”

“Your duties consist of caring for these people. You have not cared for them. You made no attempt to work thought your difficulties with them; you were happy to give up. When you realised you were having problems, you should have asked the Coven for assistance. We have considerable experience of young sorcerers alienating their charges. Apart from that, you could have monitored them without their knowledge. You have the ability to aid the villagers without being asked. But you didn’t care. You have not shown a shred of concern for their well-being.”

Here was a charge Jemeryl could refute. “I haven’t just forgotten them. I set wards. I’ll detect disease or anything dangerous entering the valley. Nothing serious could harm the villagers without my knowledge.”

Iralin regarded her solemnly. “Then I take it you would be surprised to learn that a basilisk has turned up?”

“It can’t have. There must be a mistake.”

“There is no mistake.”

“I’ll go and—”

“You needn’t bother; the basilisk has been taken care of. Even as we speak, a passing warrior has done your job for you and killed the creature.”

Jemeryl was speechless. Eventually, she found her voice. “I am indebted to him.”

“Her,” Iralin corrected. “However, she has paid for her bravery. She removed the head of the basilisk but neglected to treat it with due caution. The beast was able to transmute her eyes to a crystal bridge. You must rectify that.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll go and find her at once.” Jemeryl spoke in a half-daze.

“There’s no need. She will come to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“There is only one more thing.”

“Ma’am?” What more could there be? Jemeryl fought to keep her composure. As a student, she had been hauled up for her share of misdemeanours—juvenile pranks and the like—but never had she been in trouble like this.

“The judgement of the Coven is upon you.” Iralin’s voice had been harsh before; now it was cold and uncompromising. “Sorcerer Jemeryl, you are removed from your post, and it will be recorded that you failed to perform the appointment you accepted. The mark will stand against you until you prove yourself fit for some other work. Your new assignment is this. The aforementioned warrior is currently on a quest of some importance. You will accompany her and assist until the quest is completed or you die in the attempt.”

“But my research? I have been achieving so much.”

“Your so-called research is unendorsed and unapproved. There is nothing more to say. You will heal the warrior and leave the valley with her. You have twelve days to quit the castle. Is that clear? I would suggest you use the next few hours to get ready for your guest. This conversation is terminated. Next time we speak, I trust the circumstances will be more favourable.”

With that, the image imploded on itself and vanished. Jemeryl stared in horror at the point where the figure had been. Her head was in turmoil as she fought to absorb the implications of what had just happened. The least of her worries was the curtailment of her studies. The reprimand meant her reputation might be permanently sullied, blocking any hope of claiming a permanent post in Lyremouth. As the impact hit home, tears filled her eyes. Her mood shifted from shock to shame to anger. Jemeryl’s hands clenched into fists, and she was overwhelmed by bitterness—at Iralin, at the villagers and at the unknown fool of a warrior she was now bound to follow.

*

Many miles away, Iralin slumped back in her chair, exhausted by the effort of maintaining the link. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefingers. After a couple of deep breaths, her arm dropped, and she looked at the other two sorcerers, a man and a woman, who had monitored the conversation. Her eyebrows raised in a silent query.

“That was a bit heavy.” The man’s tone implied a statement of fact rather than criticism.

Iralin snorted. “Conceited young puppy. She needed something to shake her. Everything I said was quite true and I wanted to be certain that her behaviour was simply due to thoughtlessness.”

“You surely didn’t think Jemeryl had become a murderer?”

“Oh, no, but she can be arrogant enough to think the rules don’t apply to her. I wanted to know how far over the line she’d been stepping, and there wasn’t time for gently wheedling out the truth.”

“I guess you know Jemeryl best, but I don’t think I’d have been that hard on her. My own record with the ungifted isn’t good.”

“Jemeryl has to accompany this warrior, and it’s vital she applies herself to the task wholeheartedly. Given her low opinion of prophecy, I doubt she’d do that if I gave her the candid truth on the matter.”

The third sorcerer had been staring out through the open window, her thoughts clearly pursuing some other goal. She was older than the other two; sunlight etched deep lines on her face. Yet despite her frailty, she had an aura of authority that even Iralin could not match—a power that made it unnecessary to see the white amulet on her wrist to know that she was Gilliart, the Guardian and leader of the Coven.

Gilliart’s lips twisted in an ironic grimace. “In Jemeryl’s place, I wouldn’t take it very well either. She has to drop everything to go...gods know where with some muscle-bound oaf, just because an extremely vague oracle said the future of the Coven probably depends on it.”

The three sorcerers sat in dour reflection. Iralin shook her head slowly, as if combating her disbelief. “I guess we’re just incredibly lucky to have got the warning at all. When I received the report from Chenoweth about the villager’s complaints, I was torn between ignoring it completely and writing to Jemeryl for an explanation. I’m still not sure in my own mind why I put it to the oracle. It was just an odd whim, and that was the answer I got.”

“The whims of sorcerers can be serious things.”

“Don’t I know it.”

The Guardian waved her finger at Iralin. “Your awareness of the future is far better than you’re prepared to admit, even to yourself. Something this momentous was bound to attract your attention. If it hadn’t been Chenoweth’s report, you’d have found yourself wanting to cast an oracle just to find out how Jemeryl was going to cook her eggs for breakfast. You only resisted the call because you’re one of the few people who hate prophecy even more than Jemeryl.”

Iralin pouted. “Because all you get is ambiguous hints that only make sense with hindsight. Like now—have we still got no real idea of what’s involved?”

“No. Our best attempts have produced no more information than you gave Jemeryl: a blind warrior, a basilisk, and a quest. Make what you will of it.” The Guardian shook her head. “We’ve even tried some active intervention, which is asking for trouble. We’ve caused as much temporal disruption as we dared and got nothing from it. We’ve had to give up and weave the neatest patch we could. Even so, Jemeryl will pick up the after-waves when she hits the critical moment.”

“Jemeryl won’t be pleased if she thinks we’ve been tampering with her fate,” the man said.

Gilliart’s expression hardened. “Which is why I was happy for Iralin to give her a good kick in the right direction. The future of the Protectorate is at stake, and the only useful thing we know is that our best hope of success is if Jemeryl goes on the quest. The Protectorate is my sworn responsibility, and I’m helpless. We don’t know enough. The oracle was the next best thing to useless.”

Iralin nodded and said dryly, “In fact, a quote from Jemeryl herself comes to mind: ‘Foretelling is great as a party trick, but you can’t rely on it to tell you tomorrow’s date.’”

The preparations took Jemeryl the rest of the morning. Even so, her expected patient had not arrived by the time she had finished. As the day stretched on, Jemeryl found herself checking and rechecking artefacts, pacing the hall, and snapping irritably at the squirrels, although they were the only things Iralin had not picked out for criticism—presumably, even the villagers were not frightened of them.