Edit April 2010: FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to).
They followed their escort across the causeway to the castle in silence, since Daine wasn't speaking to him. He vastly preferred sulking to arguing and made no attempt to draw her into conversation, recalling only too well what it was like to be fourteen; she'd be fine once this evening was over and they'd both had some sleep, until the next shattering crisis that absolutely could not be forgiven.
A footman led them into the keep; Numair looked around, trying to memorise as much of the layout of the building as he could before they entered the chamber where the rulers of Dunlath waited and were formally announced. "My lord, my ladies, your guests are here. I present Master Numair Salmalín, of Corus, and his student, called Daine." Numair bowed as the footman continued, "My lord Belden, master of Fief Dunlath. My lady Yolane of Dunlath, Lord Belden's wife and heiress of Dunlath. Lady Maura of Dunlath, my lady's sister."
He sized them up rapidly; he was good at reading people, most of the time. Lord Belden seemed fairly indifferent to his guests, although he was polite. Numair judged him to be the sort of man who drifted along at his own pace and went along with whatever seemed to make life easiest for him; he seemed equally indifferent to his wife. The lady Yolane herself was at first glance just another court woman, one of dozens of beautiful women accustomed to their own way and quite willing to use their looks to achieve it, but there was something in her face that suggested a harder edge. Numair tried to avoid women with that expression in their eyes; they tended to be complicated. As for Maura, the girl looked about ten years old and somewhat fed up with the whole affair, and although she wasn't neglected she was clearly being looked after out of duty and not affection. She had the Gift, too, although it was very weak.
The other figure in the room was clearly a servant, dressed in worn leathers; after a moment Numair recognised the somewhat soiled wolf traps he held, and only managed to keep a straight face with some difficulty. The wolves had been quite emphatic in expressing their opinion of the traps; he could smell it from here. He watched tolerantly as the savage-looking wolfhounds were transformed into puppies as soon as they saw Daine, musing philosophically that at least she'd be in a better mood now. The hunter was dismissed and Numair returned his attention to their hosts, vaguely aware of someone else entering the room. The voice caught his attention and he turned to look at the newcomer; the two men stared at one another.
"Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith. Arram? Is that Arram Draper?" the man said in tones of total shock.
For his part, Numair felt as if he'd missed a step in the darkness, the same sudden jolting uncertainty gripping him. This was the last man he had expected to see ever again, and for a moment all he could do was stare. "Tristan Staghorn?" he managed at last, incredulously. "They told me you were still in Carthak, with Ozorne." Something sour twisted in his guts, and after a moment he realised it was fear. We're in serious trouble now. The situation had just become far more complicated; more than that, it had become dangerous.
"Oh, Ozorne," Tristan said mockingly. "No, I felt too – restricted, serving him. I'm my own man now – have been for a year." He offered a hand; Numair shook it, trying to regain control of himself, more shaken than he cared to admit by this meeting. He had fondly hoped that he would never see Tristan again; they had never been friendly. More than that, though, Tristan was lying. Not only would Ozorne never have parted with him, but he would not have voluntarily left the emperor's service, not when he was given free rein to do exactly as he pleased. Oddly, Numair realised he was actually grateful to Ozorne at this moment; he would need every scrap of diplomacy he had learned in Carthak if he was to survive this evening successfully.
"Tristan, you know our guest?" Evidently Numair was now more interesting to the lady Yolane. Oh, good.
"Know him?" Tristan replied. "My lady, this is Master Numair Salmalín, once of the university at Carthak, now resident at the court of Tortall." Numair had expected, if not outright mockery, at least a veiled insult. Tristan was being cautious, but why?
Yolane offered a hand with a languid air that he suspected she practiced in a mirror on a regular basis; he did as was expected of him and carried it to his lips, summoning his most charming smile with considerable effort. "How wonderful to find such beauty in an out-of-the-way place," he said politely, doing his best to sound sincere; the woman was certainly attractive enough, but he didn't like the look in her eyes. Despite the opinion of most of his friends, Numair wasn't a complete idiot. "Does King Jonathan know the finest jewel in Tortall does not adorn his court?"
He half-expected her to giggle, or at least flutter her eyelashes; instead she merely smiled. "Only a man who lives at court could turn a compliment so well, Master Salmalín." He had the sense that she was being as cautious as Tristan. Oh, this was going to be complicated, he could tell.
"But Tristan didn't call you that," Lord Belden interjected, boredom being replaced by coolness. The man wasn't as half-asleep as he appeared. "He called you Arram something."
"I was known as Arram Draper in my boyhood," he replied; he did get tired of explaining this.
Tristan's mocking smile was every bit as infuriating as he remembered. "Oh, yes – you wanted a majestic, sorcerous name when you got Master status. Then you had to change it, when Ozorne ordered your arrest."
Thank you for that, Tristan. That was the man he remembered. This was going to be such a pleasant evening. Dunlath's lord and lady stared at him. "Wanted by the emperor of Carthak?" Yolane asked sharply. "You must have done something serious."
Numair felt the blood rise in his face; he had not been prepared to confront old ghosts tonight. "The emperor is very proprietary, Lady Yolane," he replied carefully. "He feels that if a mage studies at his university, the mage belongs to him." He turned back to Tristan; time to start digging. "I'm rather surprised to see you here. You were the best war mage in your class." Even as he spoke, he realised what he was saying; good enough to take out a Rider troop.
"I brought the emperor to see reason," Tristan replied airily and vaguely, swiftly changing the subject and looking at Daine. "I'm sorry, little one – I didn't mean to be rude. Who might you be?"
Belatedly realising that they had all been ignoring her for this little trip down Memory Lane, Numair followed the change of topic. "May I present my student?" he asked formally. "Master Tristan Staghorn, this is Daine – Veralidaine Sarrasri, once of Galla."
"Sarrasri?" Yolane echoed, a nasty smile on her lips, and Numair's vague appreciation of her appearance died instantly. That comment had been both completely unnecessary and utterly spiteful. Daine went red, but didn't look down, defiance gleaming in her eyes; he decided swiftly that he owed her an apology for bringing her here amongst these unpleasant people. Taking a deep breath to control his temper, he said nothing further as dinner was announced, even offering his arm to Yolane with only a brief wistful thought about 'accidentally' tripping her up.
"Would you care to explain something?" she asked him. "We heard you were at the attack on Pirate's Swoop last year. Wasn't it from an imperial fleet? I was surprised His Majesty didn't declare war on Carthak."
"He nearly did," Numair replied, keeping his expression and voice neutral; this was a sore point. "They used Carthaki war barges, but the emperor claimed they were sold to pirates. As the king was unable to prove that we were attacked by anyone other than pirates, he was forced to drop it."
They entered the overly elaborate dining hall; evidently tonight was going to be far more formal than he had thought. That will be fun. Sarcasm died at his first sight of the other guests who were already there, and once again he felt the unsettling sensation of missing his footing.
"Numair, I think you know Alamid Mokhlos, and perhaps Gissa of Rachne?" Tristan asked smoothly; he doubted anyone else would have picked up on the thin thread of mockery. Of course he knew them, only too well. The gang's all here. Huzzah. What a splendid time for a school reunion. He returned their bows, barely hearing Tristan continue, "They were on their way to the City of the Gods and stopped to pay me a visit."
"My lord's hospitality is so good, we fear we shall be here forever," Gissa said quietly. "It is good to see you again, Arram." Liar, Numair thought furiously.
"Not Arram any more," Tristan corrected her lazily. "Numair Salmalín."
"That's right," Alamid said disdainfully. "We had heard you were the Tortallan king's pet mage." Better Jon's pet than Ozorne's.
This was going to be a wonderful evening, Numair decided. A stiffly formal setting hosted by nobles he didn't think much of, surrounded by old enemies who were enjoying mocking him, with the possibility that they were all traitors and a threat to Tortall. He wondered vaguely whether it would be better to slit his throat now and save time, and started to get seriously jittery when the two remaining guests, both quite strong mages, were introduced simply as merchants. This wasn't right at all.
To his dismay, he was seated between Yolane and Tristan. Daine was relegated to the far side of the room with the silent Maura for company; in all honesty he would rather have joined them and dined with the children. This evening was a waste of time anyway; with so many of his old acquaintances from Carthak here unaccountably, he didn't dare ask probing questions and try and find out any solid information. All he wanted was to get through tonight, and in the morning send word to Jonathan. With this modest aim in mind, he kept the conversation light and was vague about the reasons for his presence so far north, and his companions responded in kind; nobody wanted to reveal their activities, it seemed. Yolane was flirting with him, but he suspected it was out of habit more than anything else; she kept glancing at Tristan more than at him, and Belden was ignoring them all.
Numair was lucky that this was a formal affair; he'd dressed carefully, and amongst his ornaments for the evening was a small ruby in a gold ring on his right hand. He felt the gem twitch as soon as he picked up his wine glass; without that warning, he would never have detected the faint scent of nightbloom. As if I didn't have enough to worry about. He spent a moment quietly thanking the gods for several things; firstly that he'd had the ring made in the first place, secondly that he'd learned about poisons and drugs after leaving Carthak, and thirdly that he was wearing a dark shirt with long sleeves. It was simple enough, if not terribly pleasant, to let the wine trickle over his hand and soak down his sleeve to drip unnoticed from his elbow to the floor.
Watching Tristan from the corner of his eye, he was soon proved right; the other man was nowhere near skilled enough at sleight of hand to fool him. Then again, he hasn't had as much practice as I have, he told himself sourly as he watched another dose being added to his wine, nodding and replying to a comment of Yolane's with a pleasant smile. He wasn't sure if Tristan wanted to drug him or kill him; it was a massive dose. Not that it really mattered, he supposed, since he didn't intend to succumb to either fate.
The evening dragged on unbearably. Increasingly twitchy, Numair just wanted to leave; Dunlath was dangerous. Having to sit and make pleasant conversation with people who were quite probably trying to kill him had rapidly lost whatever nostalgic charm he might have found in it; in addition, he was thirsty. Once the meal was finished, he hoped that they could make their excuses and leave, but a bard entered and he set himself to endure; at least while the harp was playing he didn't have to talk, and the man wasn't a bad musician.
More than an hour later, his earlier nerves had subsided and he was simply bored. His leg was going numb from sitting in the same position for so long, he was almost unbearably thirsty and his sleeve was sticky with the discarded wine. His plans were drawn up, such as they were, and the sooner he could put them into action the better he would feel. Finally the bard finished, and as the polite applause died Numair began assembling the empty phrases of thanks that would allow himself and Daine to leave; as though the thought had summoned her, she stood up and walked towards the high table.
Confused for a moment, Numair eyed his student; she was a little flushed and seemed almost scared, but for the familiar edge of determination in her eyes. Oh, no. Magelet, don't do this. Not here, not now. He shook his head at her frantically; she had no idea of the danger they were in. Gods, for once in her life, please let her listen to me. Right now, the wolves were the least of his problems; unfortunately, his friend had different priorities, and he wasn't really surprised when she ignored him utterly.
Despite his worries, his heart went out to the girl as she bravely stated her case. He had rarely seen her look so self-conscious, and it was obvious she knew from the start that Dunlath's rulers weren't going to listen, but it wasn't stopping her from trying. She was keeping her head, too, clearly and concisely telling them of the problems in the valley, the pollution in the lake, the loss of habitat and game, and she kept her eyes on them. In front of a different audience, she might have been successful.
"How do you know this?" Tristan asked her, his voice utterly bland, his eyes mocking. "Did the wolves come to you in a dream, perhaps, or – "
Much as he would have loved to remain unnoticed as much as possible, Numair couldn't just sit there and watch them tear her apart. "She has wild magic, Tristan," he said quietly, knowing what the reaction would be even as he pushed back his chair and stood, walking around the table to stand beside her and resting his hand on her shoulder in a silent gesture of support; relief and gratitude shone in her quick smile. He considered that well worth the coming humiliation.
Gissa laughed, the sound grating. "Surely you do not yet insist 'wild magic' is real. You are too old to pursue fables."
"It is no fable," he replied, trying not to sound weary. How many times had he been through this same argument? These people didn't deserve warnings, frankly, and he wished the wolves joy of them. "You and the Carthaki university people are like the blind man who claims sight cannot exist, because he lacks it," he added. Not much of an insult, but he wasn't feeling his usual self tonight.
"We lost sight of the point of Mistress Sarrasri's argument," Yolane retorted, not trying to hide the fact that she was having difficulty holding back laughter. Quite what Daine's birth had to do with anything, Numair wasn't sure, but he was starting to lose his temper now, anger and embarrassment warring within him as the laughter increased. When Tristan asked him how long Daine had been mad, he felt her flinch under his hand and could have cheerfully killed the other man for that alone.
Eventually he decided that enough was enough. He could only tolerate so much mockery in one evening, and if this went on any longer it was going to turn really personal. Let them laugh if they wanted to; he was taking Daine out of here. Gritting his teeth, he bowed stiffly. "My lord, my lady – with your good will, we take our leave."
The atmosphere was uncomfortable as they rode back across the causeway. Daine was clearly embarrassed and upset by what had happened, and Numair was seething both with outrage on her behalf and his own long-standing dislike of Tristan and his friends; in addition, he was seriously worried and focused entirely on getting them both out of Dunlath as soon as possible.
"I'm sorry I didn't keep my mouth shut when you wanted," Daine said suddenly, breaking the silence and jolting him out of his thoughts. "I had to speak," she continued, almost pleading. "Brokefang wouldn't understand if we came back and said we didn't say anything to them."
He realised that she thought he was angry with her and leaned dangerously far over in the saddle to touch her reassuringly, a manoeuvre that nearly lost him his seat and would have dumped him in the lake had his long-suffering horse not moved sideways beneath him. "I know. Please calm down. You aren't the kind of girl who plunges without thinking. I wish I were more like you," he added quietly, completely sincere. He'd acted like a fool today, and it wasn't all that unusual for him either.
As far as he could tell in the darkness she seemed taken aback by the compliment, but then, she always did. "But you don't plunge without thinking," she protested, making him smile gratefully; evidently he'd been forgiven for the dress incident. His smile turned sour as he considered what she'd said in his defence.
"You mean you haven't seen me do so," he corrected her softly. "What, pray, was entering that castle tonight? If I were more cautious – Enough. What's done is done." Not for the first time, he thanked the gods that none of his friends had known him in his university days; by the time he had come to Corus, he had left Arram Draper behind almost completely but for a few remnants here and there in odd corners of his personality. I really was an idiot then. Not that I'm much better now. He said nothing further until they had reached the inn, his thoughts turning to what needed to be done now, and only surfaced from his brooding when they went to their rooms. "Good night," he told her, making an effort to sound normal and cheerful. "I'll see you in the morning."
I've been doing some thinking about the series while writing Realms of the Gods, since that one in particular has a lot of events that we're never told about, e.g. the unicorn fever incident. I've included that one, but a lot of those extra scenes won't be in this series just because there are too many and I want to keep these as close to canon as possible.
That does not mean I won't be writing them. There's about a year in between each of the books, roughly speaking; after I've finished the quartet, I'm going to start a collection of drabbles and one-shots that I couldn't fit in to the series. Daine's encounters with hunters, for example, and some bits and pieces showing the aftermath of some of the events of the novels and how the characters react to what are some pretty life-changing events. They won't all be from Numair's point of view, although many of them probably will be since I find him easier to write than Daine and the others.
I'll also probably be doing a separate collection of drabbles and one-shots set after Realms of the Gods, because frankly the book ends in an extremely infuriating and awkward place – I'll be extending it a little bit to get to a more natural ending, but there's a lot of scenes afterwards that I couldn't fit in.
So if you've always wanted to see a particular scene in more detail or from a different viewpoint and it doesn't appear in this series, it doesn't necessarily mean I won't be doing it.
Now that's settled, reviews for this chapter, please? Next time, things really start going wrong for our poor mage.
Loten.