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Authors: Dave Duncan
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provided a suitably homey Place for him, as it did for all recruits. When he'd chosen a fisherman's daughter, though, he'd asked for a Place more in keeping with her upbringing. The ancient pixie tradition of honoring the site of the first coupling would have required them to live at his Place. He had not wanted his friends to think that he-an urbane, sophisticated resident of the College-was bothered by such rustic superstition. After all, a goodwife spent all her time at home, while in those days he'd been a recorder, traveling all over Thume. Now he was an archivist, and had work to do in the Scriptorium most days. He had never regretted the move to the coast, especially on fine salty mornings like this one.
As he left the beach behind, the dunes gave way to moorland and sedge marsh, the sand dwindling to patches and then disappearing altogether. Soon his feet trod a broad white gravel path, winding over the heath ahead until it became the Way itself and then he was encased in sorcery, unable to perceive the ambience. He felt confined and blinded, but that always happened. He called up a mental image of the Meeting Place and strode along at an easy pace. He was in no hurry, although he would be crossing the entire width of Thume, from the shores of the Sea of Sorrows to extreme east; no journey on the Way took very long.
He felt he ought to be rehearsing his defense, yet he could think of no reason why he should need a defense. He'd done exactly what had been required of him. He had been diligent and meticulous, working his assigned area in the Progiste Foothills, month after boring month, talking with all those peasant bumpkins, noting who among the Gifted families had died, which youngsters had kept Death Watch, checking for Faculty, reporting back to the archivists. He had done exactly what a recorder was supposed to do, no more and no less. He had a commendation in his file.
His assignment to the Progistes had been a compliment in itself. His superiors had passed on a warning from the Keeper that there had been a major battle on the other side of the mountains, Outside, and that recorders in the area must keep an eye open for refugees sneaking into Thume. Horses climbed trees with more success than intruders ever evaded the archons' watch, but the posting to that place at that time had been more than pure routine, a sign of trust.
When he had picked up rumors of the Thaile child and her occult vision of the battle, he had remembered the warning and gone at once to investigate. At once! He made a mental note of that important phrase. He had seen at once that her Feeling was extraordinary. He had given her all the necessary instruction, to her and her father. Perhaps he had been a little harsh with the old man, but he had not strayed beyond permissible limits of discipline. He had taken time to explain very carefully to the child herself. She had shown no unusual symptoms of rebellion.
He had absolutely nothing to apologize for, nothing to fear.
Any reprimands were going to settle on someone else's performance record, not his.
As it approached the Meeting Place, the Way wound through thick cypress forest, gummy-scented with the trees' response to spring. It emerged into mixed woodland under a veiled sky. The sun shone diffusely, but cheerfully enough. The air sparkled with life and dampness.
Jain's mind drifted back to Jool. She definitely suspected. Why should it matter to her if he indulged in an occasional idle affair? Lots of his friends did. What was the use of being a sorcerer if you couldn't enjoy a few fringe benefits? Why should she care? He wasn't going to walk out on her and the kids, after all. Seven years since their first loving, half a year since he had become a full sorcerer and been promoted to archivist. That fourth word of power must have been a weak one. As an adept he had been exceptional; as a mage still above average, but the final word had not made him the truly powerful sorcerer he had
As he left the beach behind, the dunes gave way to moorland and sedge marsh, the sand dwindling to patches and then disappearing altogether. Soon his feet trod a broad white gravel path, winding over the heath ahead until it became the Way itself and then he was encased in sorcery, unable to perceive the ambience. He felt confined and blinded, but that always happened. He called up a mental image of the Meeting Place and strode along at an easy pace. He was in no hurry, although he would be crossing the entire width of Thume, from the shores of the Sea of Sorrows to extreme east; no journey on the Way took very long.
He felt he ought to be rehearsing his defense, yet he could think of no reason why he should need a defense. He'd done exactly what had been required of him. He had been diligent and meticulous, working his assigned area in the Progiste Foothills, month after boring month, talking with all those peasant bumpkins, noting who among the Gifted families had died, which youngsters had kept Death Watch, checking for Faculty, reporting back to the archivists. He had done exactly what a recorder was supposed to do, no more and no less. He had a commendation in his file.
His assignment to the Progistes had been a compliment in itself. His superiors had passed on a warning from the Keeper that there had been a major battle on the other side of the mountains, Outside, and that recorders in the area must keep an eye open for refugees sneaking into Thume. Horses climbed trees with more success than intruders ever evaded the archons' watch, but the posting to that place at that time had been more than pure routine, a sign of trust.
When he had picked up rumors of the Thaile child and her occult vision of the battle, he had remembered the warning and gone at once to investigate. At once! He made a mental note of that important phrase. He had seen at once that her Feeling was extraordinary. He had given her all the necessary instruction, to her and her father. Perhaps he had been a little harsh with the old man, but he had not strayed beyond permissible limits of discipline. He had taken time to explain very carefully to the child herself. She had shown no unusual symptoms of rebellion.
He had absolutely nothing to apologize for, nothing to fear.
Any reprimands were going to settle on someone else's performance record, not his.
As it approached the Meeting Place, the Way wound through thick cypress forest, gummy-scented with the trees' response to spring. It emerged into mixed woodland under a veiled sky. The sun shone diffusely, but cheerfully enough. The air sparkled with life and dampness.
Jain's mind drifted back to Jool. She definitely suspected. Why should it matter to her if he indulged in an occasional idle affair? Lots of his friends did. What was the use of being a sorcerer if you couldn't enjoy a few fringe benefits? Why should she care? He wasn't going to walk out on her and the kids, after all. Seven years since their first loving, half a year since he had become a full sorcerer and been promoted to archivist. That fourth word of power must have been a weak one. As an adept he had been exceptional; as a mage still above average, but the final word had not made him the truly powerful sorcerer he had
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