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It soon became apparent to Cedric that a showdown was inevitable. That blasted Gauvain made too many assumptions about his own importance, puffing himself up just because he could compel objects to fly across the room, or so the common people said. All higgledy-puffery, as far as Cedric was concerned, and scarcely an adequate qualification for leading an expedition. His role could be defined by four words: make the hills behave.
Cedric himself knew he commanded the moral high ground, despite having returned to Orlan exhausted, hungry, with aching back and blistered feet. That day, in the face of incredulous, contemptuous stares from the populace, which hadn’t expected to see them for three nine-days at a minimum, he had cursed the demands of leadership.
His wife had failed to be suitably sympathetic to his complaints.
So it was with artificial courage, in the form of sampling a marvelous apple brandy he kept tucked in a drawer of his desk in his mayoral chambers, that he faced Gauvain two days after their return.
“Our delegation will consist of three, besides me,” Gauvain said. “And one must be a hunter, or we’re likely to starve. It’s obvious that even the most fit of us cannot carry twelve days’ provisions.”
“Insufficient to drive home our point,” Cedric riposted. The Mage had no political savvy at all. “A show of strength is required. We can’t expect these Midlanders to be sympathetic. No doubt they’ll seize any opportunity to take advantage of our current situation. Any man would.”
“Not necessarily. But the fact remains that there are practical, incontrovertible limits.”
“Unless we find another Mage or two.”
Cedric felt inordinately proud as he waited for the idea to sink into his rival’s mind. Like a revelation, it had appeared in his head the night before. The solution to their problems; he’d barely slept, anticipating the moment he revealed his own superior strategy.
Gauvain, however, took his suggestion in stride. “Naturally, the possibility had occurred to me. With Duncan dead, though, there is no Mage of any power within two or three days’ hard travel from Orlan.”
“Ah, but my good man, that may not matter. What about those apprentices of yours? And there are probably others in or near here with a touch of this purported Entrée you claim. We simply round them up and use them to form our party.”
Gauvain barked a laugh. “You’re willing to gamble the success of this expedition on a gaggle of untrained and undisciplined children? After last time? Foolish, Cedric.”
“Come on, man. We’re at a crisis. There’s no time to waste, and it’s vital we present an imposing argument to the Midland.”
“And how soon do you expect to leave on this next venture? And whom did you wish to participate this time?”
“Myself, of course. Lac has expressed a wish never to set foot in the hills again, but I suppose we must include that uncouth Ester.”
“A cartographer is useless,” Gauvain said. “I doubt anyone ever traverses the hills on the same path. They take you where they choose, and woe betide you if they don’t choose to release you.”
Cedric went light-headed at the image and hoped Gauvain couldn’t see the blood drain from his face. To cover his momentary lapse, he flew into greater animation. “With more mage types along, we could even expand the size of the party. Truly impress them. Take a burgher or two. Solid businessmen to convince them that trade with us would be beneficial. And perhaps several guards, who might double as hunters...” He let his diatribe fade out as he lapsed into a vision of a glorious invading force, all power and sashes of office, arriving at whatever kind of capital city the backwards Midland provided.
Gauvain laughed. “Nothing like that will matter in the least to these people. There isn’t even a central government. And the first place we’ll encounter will be their Motherhouse, where they train their Mages – Weavers, they call them. Absolutely no pomp, no overt recognition. The best you can hope for is a rustic meal involving lentils and a chat with someone on their council. Excellent pastries, as I recall.”
Somewhat deflated, Cedric said, “So where do we go from here?”
“I will take your idea into consideration and present you with a plan within a day. As you know, the weather imposes its own deadlines.” He glanced at the window behind Cedric, where the late spring sun beat down on the barren fields. “We agree on little, but on one point we are in complete accord. We must acquire provisions for Borgonne. However, be sure you understand my terms. No dissention, and no disobedience this time.”
Gauvain stood and left the room without further words. Cedric sank back in his chair, fingering his badge of office resting against his ample middle and feeling, overall, pleased. For once, the bastard Mage had listened to him.
~~
“PLAN B,” GAUVAIN SAID to Leo when he returned to the tower. “Not the best, but the idiot had already thought of adding a Mage or two. I will speak to Amalie and Reed. They show the most promise. Then you and I can finalize the participants over dinner this evening.”
“As you wish, Master.”
The men’s eyes met. And they both laughed.
~~
GAUVAIN INFORMED AMALIE and Reed of their new roles at the end of class, and told them to report to his study following lunch. They were sufficiently impressed by the gravity of their assignment, he noted. The girl, especially, had proved to be a refreshing change from the normal run of apprentices into whose heads he attempted to pound some concept of how to manipulate weaves formed from Auric energies. Mostly they ended up as clueless as they started, fit only to be dispatched back to their villages.
Not for the first time, he wondered if there might be a better use for failed Mages. A system similar to the practice in the Midland, training them in healing arts, for instance. Ruminations best saved for another day. Right now, he needed to assure that Amalie and Reed would be solid. Not inclined to play silly games with their powers while they traversed the hills.
Neither had been allowed to enter his study before, and both seemed awed if not cowed by its formality.
“You will not speak with others in the party. You will not indulge in ridiculous antics involving Magelight. Your presence is solely due to the strength of your Entrée, not for any skill you might show in manipulation. You are apprentices still. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes, sir,” Reed managed. He seemed to be choking on his breath. Fool boy was frightened.
“Do we get a choice?” Amalie asked. Gauvain noted that she did not address him as ‘sir’.
“You do. But this is an unprecedented opportunity. I advise you not to take it lightly. Have you some objection?”
“No, but...” The girl hesitated and turned bright red. “You said you leave in two days. But in four days...” If possible the girl’s face grew redder.
“Some earthshaking event happens in four days? I seem to have failed to note it on my calendar.”
She heard the sarcasm and looked down at her hands. “It’s just that I suffer from cramping. Walking all day...”
Her courses. No wonder he resisted taking girls to be apprentices. The mystery of women and their procreative abilities struck him as far more daunting than anything the Aura revealed to him.
“I’m told there are remedies.”
“Yes, but sometimes I can’t... they aren’t enough.”
Sustainer, give him strength.
“This – problem of yours. How long does it last?”
“A day, when it happens. Perhaps with the walking... I just don’t know.” She visibly marshaled courage, which Gauvain had to admire, and met his eye. “I don’t want to be the one to delay your mission.”
“No, I daresay you don’t.”
He extracted a sheet of paper from his desk and scribbled a note. “Take this to Ester Sauvage. She sits on council and will be a member of the delegation. Resolve the matter between you. This is no concern of mine.”
“Thank you, sir.” Amalie clutched the paper.
“Now, go, both of you. Speak to Leo in the kitchen; he will provide you with a provision list.”
The children dismissed, Gauvain resumed his work, attempting to disentangle a particularly intriguing weave he had found in one of his ancient scrolls. He had determined that it related somehow to the spells on the hills, but its ultimate purpose eluded him, even after months of study and experiment. A suitable challenge for a Mage of his talents, he thought as he bent over his diagrams. With the chain of command established, the minutiae of organizing expeditions were best left to others, those with a taste for the mundane.
~~
QUINN LOOKED UP, SHAKING off the remnants of a weave. She’d been deep in the Aura, walking a template as if she were tracking a ground animal. An unfamiliar, desert-like part of their world had come alive around her, silent beyond the sound of wind pushing sand and the rustling of dry grasses; she was glad to return to the normalcy of the Motherhouse. She grounded herself, then attuned her senses eastward. “A disruption,” she said after a minute, “and this time they’re penetrating the hills. Are you sensing it, too?”
Across from her place at the table in the Scribes’ workroom, Arwen sighed. “I feared as much. How many?”
Quinn shook her head. “Definitely more than three. That’s the most we’ve ever tracked. But I have no point of reference.”
“Let’s go for a walk. I need a break.”
“To the river? It should be cooler there.”
Outside, the day had progressed from hot to sweltering. Quinn wasn’t wild about subjecting herself to the discomfort of the late morning sun; the thick stone walls of the Motherhouse buildings provided a built-in defense against temperature extremes. Numerous people in the course of her life had informed her that she must love the sun, with her dark skin, but they were so wrong. It had never bothered her as a child, but by now, acclimated as she was to the northern Midland, she’d probably die of heat prostration back home in Colgate.
As they exited the Scribes’ lodge, she commented, “There’s something you haven’t told me. You’re more concerned than you should be.”
“Not really.” Arwen squinted in the sudden blinding light and turned them left, toward the path leading to the manic river. “This isn’t a benign visit, and theirs isn’t the kindest society. I can’t predict the outcome.”
“At least the man called Duncan is no longer a factor. Surely we can handle Gauvain.”
She’d first met Arwen, then tasked with the discipline of apprentices, when she was almost fourteen years old. Now, as senior Scribes and council members, they seemed to be constantly in and out of each other’s pockets. She was uniquely positioned to catch telltale signs of unease in the older woman, and something about Arwen’s demeanor suggested she wasn’t at all confident about handling Gauvain. From Willow’s description, he intrigued her. Like her, he devoted his life to researching the Aura, although for different ends.
Quinn looked forward to meeting him.