Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, etc. created by Mercedes Lackey.
CHAPTER 1: The Inheritance
The young woman reined in her horse, which stopped abruptly in its path. She stood up a bit in the stirrups and looked toward the distance, shading her eyes. A minute passed, then two, while she remained there in the middle of the dirt road, frowning at the structure ahead.
Her escort shifted impatiently in his saddle as a third minute passed, then opened his mouth. The woman turned her head toward him, frowned, and then turned back. He closed his mouth shut with an audible click.
A breeze passed over the road, blowing debris into the manes of the horses. He eyed the woman, assessing her still form with one hand against her brow, the other loosely holding the reins of her stallion. It was, he noted with a mixture of envy and disapproval, a remarkably handsome and well-bred creature. Strange that a woman in such worn traveling clothes, carrying all of her possessions in just a few saddlebags, should possess such a remarkable beast. Its tail flickered back and forth for a moment then stopped. Save for the few strands of dark mane that were being tugged by the wind, it was as still and self-possessed as its mistress.
He was about to make another attempt at speaking, when the woman settled back into her saddle and rode back to him.
"This is it." It was less of a question, and more of an accusation. He cleared his throat nervously and fished around in the pocked of his vest. He removed a sheaf of rolled-up parchment and unrolled it. He cleared his throat again.
"Erm, yes." He spoke to the parchment rather than the woman. "It is stated here, quite clearly, that this is the property. The—place of residence—as well as the immediate surrounding area, including the garden within the wall, the pond, barn, and the adjoining forest…" he glanced off to the wooded land to the right, and then turned back. "This is it," he finished, looking at the woman inquisitively.
"It's a signal tower." The man started to speak, but was stopped by the woman's glare. "I distinctly recall every word in the letter you sent me, and I am certain, quite certain, that you did not mention, not once, that the 'lovely residence,' you rhapsodized over, and for which I rode hell bent for leather all the way from Haven, was a signal tower! And what, exactly," she continued over another half-hearted interruption, "am I supposed to do with a signal tower, pray tell?" She sat back in the saddle, folding her arms over her chest. She looked at him expectantly.
He opened his mouth, faltered, and tried again. "Madam, I thought you knew." She raised a brow.
"Truly," he insisted. "The signal tower has been in your family since, well, generations. Your uncle was proprietor and caretaker of the tower, and his father before him, and his aunt before him, and-."
He was cut off.
"What do you mean, proprietor and caretaker?" The woman asked sharply. "Aren't those provided by the guard?
He blinked. "Why—only that it's traditional, here, for members of the family to maintain the signal tower. Been that way for generations! This tower's been here since Vanyel's time."
"I can see that," she muttered, eyeing the crumbling walls, the worn stones.
"Not that there's much call for the signal tower, way out here," he hurried to say. "We're not one of the major border villages, here in the north, and being so far west, bandits aren't much of a problem either. And there's a Heralds' waystation not a quarter-candlemark from town. The only call for the signal tower is for the occasional merchant and Healer and Guard activities, once in a while. And for emergencies. The Heralds don't use them much. Companions, you know." He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that he, personally, didn't know. The woman tried not to smirk.
He mentally shook his head. Well, maybe she had the privilege of Collegium schooling and knew all about the Companions and such things, but a country-reared man of legal affairs didn't have those benefits. He kept his thoughts where they belonged: In the country. And she'd learn to keep her airs to herself, if she wanted to fit in here. He shrugged again, and turned back to the impatient young woman.
She had removed her lenses and was wiping them carefully with a small cloth. Settling them firmly again on her nose, she turned back toward him with an expectant air.
"Well," he said, "would you like me to show you around the property?" She shook her head, still looking at him. "Well," he said again, "the official business has been all taken care of, along with the paperwork. Will's all legal and…" He trailed off as she continued to gaze at him. He started. "Oh! Of course. Here." He handed her the key. She took it.
"Thank you," she said, and nudged her horse up the pathway at a trot.
o.o.o.o.o
"You're not concentrating, Akakios."
"Quiet, old man," the young apprentice snarled. "How can I finish this spell with you hovering over me like a demented old bat?"
The Blood-Adept held his peace, silently observing his pupil's work. It really was impressive. Especially considering that Akakios was actually doing work. Amazing, for a young delinquent who was the terror of the Merchants' School. At this rate, he'd definitely attain Adept-level skill within the space of a few years. Already, Akakios had the Adept-potential.
"So, Master," sneered his devoted pupil. "When do I take this Mastery test, anyway?"
He'd already attained his Mastery; he wouldn't be able to use the ley-lines and blood-magic necessary for this spell, otherwise. The mage held his tongue. Bad enough that Akakios was pressing for Master-level. If he had any idea of his true potential, he'd become quite a problem. Perhaps he should allow Akakios his first actual victim, thus diverting his attention to the easily-attained death energy and away from—
"Master! What is this?" The mage swung around at his apprentice's stunned tones. He cursed.
The boy had discovered the nodes.