2. Sorcery

The gravel crunched with every step, holding back the silence of the settling night. Before us and below, Sachaerrich waited in the darkness, probably bustling as its citizens went to their meals though no sound reached us. Alone, we walked slowly alongside the gentle brook that bubbled down the hillside.

After a moment the old man spoke. "Have you enjoyed your stay in Sachaerrich?"

"It has been nice." My legs ached from the brief but frenzied fight, but I tried not to limp as we walked. By now the little wounds were nothing more than a distraction. "The village is a quiet place to live. The people are friendly."

He looked at me for a moment, considering. "You have made friends here, then?"

I shrugged. "Friends enough. Goodman Jemminor provides for me, and there are several of us that play at swords, sometimes."

He chuckled. "Play at swords? You are modest. Still, it is good to hear you have friends. Will you miss them when you leave?"

"No." I answered without thinking, but after a moment the question struck me as odd. "Why do you ask? I've nowhere to go."

"Everyone leaves eventually, Daven. I imagine you'll be leaving soon."

I nodded. Once more silence fell as we trudged on, then the stranger spoke again. "I am looking for a swordsman, Daven. I need a young man about your age, who knows how to use a solid weapon but is willing to participate in...nonstandard training." He hesitated, his eyes on my face. "Would you be that man?"

For a moment excitement bubbled within me, like my daydream come true, but I fought it down. "I am just a shepherd. The most I've ever dreamed of is a place in the Guard." My voice sounded gloomy even to my ears.

"And you just proved yourself worthy of one." He chuckled, waving vaguely back up the hill behind us. "You showed yourself worth more than that, even. You fought a Green Eagle and—"

"I didn't fight him, though!" He blinked in surprise at my outburst, and I shrugged, "I mean...I didn't ever even hit him. He fell on me. He fell on me. It was just a trick of the spell."

"Ah!" He said, holding up a finger, "Even the spell commends you, Daven. That is a surprisingly complex adjudication for such a young man. The fact that you can work it—"

"I can't though." I was being rude, interrupting him, but he kept trying to call me more than I was. My father had been the last person to speak to me like that, and his words had all been lies. I said, "It's just a little spell. I bought it for a silver coin from a man in the City. He saw my book, and offered it to me. Anyone can do a spell like that. It's just words."

He looked at me for a moment more, his eyes sharp in the night, and then he said, "Ah. Well. True enough." I heard disdainful laughter hidden in his voice.

We walked in silence again, while the stars came out to shine, and I began to feel bad for arguing like that. Finally I sighed and said, "What do you want a swordsman for, anyway?"

His eyes cut to me, a moment's gaze, and then they were on the road again. "I wish to try a little project, with the king's approval. I mean to make a new kind of soldier, to train a swordsman with some of the skills of magic and see what he can do."

I shook my head. "Why would you do that? The king is disbanding whole regiments in exchange for the handful of wizards produced at the Academy. What value could there be in teaching someone both?"

He smiled. "I don't know. We've never tried it, so who could say?"

"I could," I said. "Anyone could. A wizard can call down fire and summon lightning. A wizard can simply lift his enemies into the air, or..." I waved back over my shoulder, toward the silhouette of the Green Eagle still frozen on the hilltop. "Or bind them in place from a hundred paces away. For someone who could do that, what use is a sword?"

"That's a complicated question," the old man said. "And one the other Masters refuse to consider."

"Oh." I nodded. It should have been obvious. I felt an emptiness gnawing in my stomach, but I kept it from my face. "You're a Master of the Academy."

"I am." His gaze was heavy on me, his words thick with understanding. "And I have been a Justice and a sometime adviser to the king. This is not the first time we've met, though I doubt you would remember me. You may call me Claighan."

I nodded. I couldn't speak. I remembered him, if only as one dark and threatening form among a long row of them. This was one of the men who had condemned my father far beyond the measure of his little sins. I squeezed my eyes shut, and the wizard gave a tired sigh. But he went on as though he had noticed nothing. "I've come from the capitol to ask you to be my test subject. It will be a great opportunity—"

"Thank you," I said, battering down daydreams and desire, "but no. The Academy is no place for me."

"Daven," he said in a paternal chide that set my teeth on edge. "I will make arrangements. You will be treated with the utmost—"

"No!" I raised my voice, breaking the stillness of the night. "I refuse! Do you understand? I have no place there. Besides... I'm happy enough here." He opened his mouth to say more, to argue with me, but I shook my head. "No. Thank you for your interest, but I can't do that."

He measured me with his eyes, then he shrugged and turned back down the path. A moment later I followed after, catching up quickly. We walked in silence most of the way into town before he said quietly, without turning, "There is more to you than your history."

I looked at him sharply, anger in my eyes, but he never looked up from the road. "Since the moment I met you you've been thinking of your past," he said. "Of the dark stain of your father's name."

I wanted to say, "A stain you supplied." I didn't. My father had never denied his crimes, but the punishment had been too harsh. Far too harsh.

Instead I scowled at the path beneath my feet and grunted. "My life has been nothing but that stain." I stomped along beside him for several moments, but he said nothing. "It's true. As far as my memory reaches, my whole life has been dictated by the consequences of his actions."

He still didn't look at me, but his voice was cutting now. "Do you really think things are so simple? Do you really think you can blame all your tomorrows on your yesterdays? It's your life. It will be whatever you make it."

"Then why am I here?" I was shouting, somehow, all my control broken by his calm. "You think I chose this life? I ran—ran as far as I could—and when I collapsed it was in this village."

He shrugged. "There's your beginning. You can make more of yourself. You already started, by coming here. Even before that! Perhaps your father's actions made you a beggar and an orphan, but it was by your own ingenuity and will that you survived. It was by your own passion and determination that you found someone to teach you swordplay."

He shook his head, and his words came out heavy. "Your whole life you have worked to forge your own path despite your beginnings. And now I am offering you one way to finish that path. You can choose your own road—make your own, if you have to—and end up where you want to be, not where your strength fails you."

Again silence. Finally I asked the question, "Old man, why have you come here tonight?"

"I came for you."

"The soldier said the same."

"I came to give you a new life, Daven. To offer you choices and hope and, if you so desire, all the honor this kingdom has to offer."

I stopped despite myself. Honor. Just the word made my hands clench into fists, but the offer was too much to believe. I regarded him with narrow eyes. "How?"

"From all directions, in the darkness, a great terror approaches this world." He looked at me for a moment, reflected starlight blazing in his eyes, then took a step back and continued along the path. I followed.

"That is not an answer."

He sighed. "I mean to fight the terror, and I would make a weapon of you."

"Why would you choose me, though?"

He shrugged. "You have the...very specific qualities that I need. And, to be frank, you have neither family nor any other obligation to stop you. And... the circumstances behind that were not entirely just. I would make what amends I can."

"No one owes me any amends."

"You are wrong," he said. "The king was wrong for what he did."

My breath caught in my throat and I found my head whipping left and right, looking for someone who might have overheard, but the wizard clucked with irritation.

"It would be dangerous," Claighan went on. "You would have to risk your life daily for the sake of your people—"

I waved aside that warning. "I have always wanted to be a soldier."

"I know." He nodded, his gaze locked to a spot just in front of his feet. "And they won't have you."

I felt a cold fist clench around my stomach and twist. I had to blink my eyes against the sudden pain. "They have taken on commoners before—"

"That was before," the wizard said. I could hear compassion in his voice, but he made the words hard. Definite. "The army is dwindling. Given the king's obsession with the Academy, I think soon the only military positions left will be decorative titles for pretty little lordlings."

I shook my head. "They need good workers to make the roads, to keep the peace."

The wizard shook his head. "The work can be done by hired hands," he said. "And order maintained by...." He sighed and nodded. "By the threat of swift justice."

I nodded, too, and turned my head away.

Sometime later I felt his hand on my shoulder. It was surprisingly light. Frail. "But you will be more than a soldier, boy. You will be an army. You will be a weapon."

I couldn't believe him. I had seen too much of the world to believe him. But I couldn't imagine why he was trying so hard to deceive me. "Why, though? Why would you give this opportunity to me?"

It took him a while to answer, and even when he did he seemed uncertain. "There are...costs to what I would put you through. Expenses too great to ask of a normal man. Of a happy man. I searched long and hard for someone like you, Daven, and when I finally heard of you it was like a blessing. Everything I have heard tells me you are the perfect child for my designs."

"Where did you hear of me? What did you hear?"

"In Chantire the rumors hang as heavy as the stench, you know. When I realized I had a need for an unhappy man, I went searching in those dark streets, and I heard of a lonely boy who somehow survived the slums. I asked questions about this child and learned he loved to practice with a toy sword, that some fire drove him to survive when others like him had given up, and most importantly that he rarely begged and never, never stole for his bread."

I chuckled darkly. "What's called stealing in the rest of the realm isn't always called stealing in Chantire."

"It matters not. The important thing was the determination, the self-reliance. I heard these beautiful rumors and then finally, at the very last, a drunken carriage driver casually mentioned that the boy had been gone for years. Gone without a trace. I searched the entire town for some sign of you, for a whisper of where you'd gone, but there was none. Then I made my first mistake: I asked the king to find you for me."

We walked on for several steps before the significance of that statement struck me. "The soldier? The Green Eagle?"

"He is one of Timmon's most able trackers, and the Justices have employed him before to bring in vagabonds. I do not know whether I failed to make clear the nature of my need for you or his own pride overwhelmed him, but he was never sent to threaten you."

"Why did you come, then? If you sent him for me, why didn't you just wait?"

"I did not send him, the king did. I would never have chosen a Tiran for Academy business. No, while Othin began searching for you across the Isle, I searched in my own way. Time and need drove me farther than I would have wished to go, but with my magics I finally found you just days ago, and I hastened here as soon as I knew."

"You came just in time." I thought of the soldier frozen on the hilltop, thought how close he'd come to killing me. "You saved me. If you had taken a day longer in your search, if your horse had stumbled along the way and delayed you an hour...."

He laid a calming hand on my shoulder. "My need was great enough to save, even if fate had not been."

"And now I am found, what will you do with me?" I swallowed, and chanced a look in his direction. "What are these costs I must pay?"

"You must leave, again, and perhaps forever. You must take on a new life and become something completely new." He hesitated, then said reluctantly, "Even with the support I can provide, you may have to survive in a place that does not welcome you, perhaps a place where you have no friends."

"I can do all those things. They are no cost to me."

He smiled, a secret and knowing smile visible now in the light from the village. "That is why I have come so far, my boy. Now lead me to your home that we may be on our way."

Our path led directly to the green at the center of town, six torches blazing in the night to light the common yard and the merchants' shops all around it. Ignoring the cobbled walk that surrounded the green, I cut across the thick grass toward the north, leading the old man quickly through and out of the village. An old road turned to the east, the King's Way, but we followed a newer one north. We came upon a low stone wall that ran beside the road in perfect regularity, and then upon a gate where a steward waited in the evening chill.

"Hey there, Daven. You bring a guest tonight?"

I nodded to old Wen. "He's from the City."

The old man stepped in front of me, suddenly tall and proud, and looked down his nose at the stooped steward. "Please inform your master that the Master Wizard Claighan has come from the Academy at Pollix to speak with him." Wen stood in awe for a moment before ducking in a clumsy bow and clutching at his hat.

"I will inform him right away, sir. Please, come in." He opened the gate and then stepped aside, bowing the wizard through. "Will you have dinner, sir? I believe there is still time to set another place."

Claighan nodded, "Yes, please arrange a plate for me. Run ahead." He spoke the words with a casual air of command and Wen obeyed, darting up the path to the manor. The wizard followed at a more stately pace.

I bit my tongue. He had been kind to me, inexplicably so, but a wizard could demand respect from any lord in the king's lands. He certainly had the authority to talk down to a country steward. Still, he seemed to sense my disapproval, and he shot me a brief look. "I believe things will go better for us if we take things very seriously from here on out."

"What do you mean? Jemminor is a kind man. We won't have any problems with him."

"People behave differently when wizards are around." He caught my shoulder and I stopped, still some small distance from the house. An orange square of light fell across the marbled steps as Wen threw open the door. Claighan watched until the door was shut again. "I need to be certain you will follow me, Daven, before I speak to this man, but I fear I do not have time to explain everything to you. This I can say: I would take you to the Academy to learn wizardry with some of the nation's brightest young men, and with the full support of the king behind you. Would you give up your life here for that?"

"I already told you I would."

"So you did. So you did. Now tell me again."

I frowned and said, "I will."

Before I could say any more he cut me off, nodding. "Very well, word of my arrival should have reached your master by now." I started to step off the path, but he caught my arm. "No Daven, tonight you enter by the front door. Come."

We walked to the end of the path and up three short steps, where Wen stood once more waiting for us. He threw the door open then slammed it shut when we were through. I grimaced at the stain my muddy boots left on the thick carpet in the entrance. The air in the manor was warm after the night chill, and the smell of roasting lamb roused my empty stomach. We stood alone in the hall.

After a moment's wait the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps preceded Jemminor into the little foyer. The look on his face was terrible, foreign. His eyes shone with suspicion, his lips pursed in anger. He stood at the end of the hall, looming over us both and glaring from under his brows. He jabbed a finger at the wizard. "You are Claighan?"

Claighan nodded.

"You've no business here in Sachaerrich! All of us are good folk. All of us." His eyes darted to me, then back to the wizard's face. Still Claighan said nothing.

"I've done no wrong. No one in this house has. The boy," he faltered for a moment, bit his lip and then resumed with a bit less steam, "the boy has committed no offense since he left the City. If he's done anything else...." Again he glanced at me, again it stopped him for a moment. "Surely you can't hold him accountable for something done so long ago!"

Claighan stepped forward, his staff ringing as it struck the wooden floor. Jemminor fell back before him and retreated two steps before he knew what he was doing. Then he stopped, tried to draw himself up again, but somehow the wizard's authority dwarfed him. "Jemminor," Claighan called, and his voice echoed off the walls of the little foyer. "I have come on the business of the Crown. Would you defy that authority?"

At first his mouth worked soundlessly, but finally he said, "No. No, I'm loyal to the king—"

"That is good to know. I am here for the king, for the country, and I would hate to think you would oppose me."

Jemminor grunted. "We have done no wrong, wizard." I was amazed at the change in his attitude, mumbling now the same words he had shouted moments ago. "We have none of us done any wrong."

Claighan seemed to grow impatient. "And I have brought no accusations, Goodman. I have requested a dinner. Have you a place?"

Jemminor nodded.

"Excellent. Go see to the table and send your wife that I may speak with her."

"She has done no—"

"I understand." His eyes flashed with impatience that belied the calm in his voice. "I only wish to introduce myself." Jemminor nodded then turned and scurried off. I stood astonished.

"Claighan...why was Jemm so afraid?"

"Wizards are seldom popular where the common man gains power, Daven. I do not wholly understand why, but I wholly regret it. There are those that see us as tyrants and terrorists, and men like your Jemminor are the first of this sort."

"Is he wrong?"

He looked at me, then returned to his casual observation of the room. "That is a shrewd question, Daven. And a dangerous one. I invite you to speak with me as freely as you would—my own life hangs on your education—but be careful in your treatment of the other Masters. As much as possible you should strive to be respectful and go unseen."

I looked around at the empty little room, trying to see what caught his interest, but finally decided he was focusing on other things. His answer tickled my mind—for one, it was not an answer at all. It was also ominous. I was still mulling his words when Lady Sherrim swept into the room, her silk slippers noiseless on the hard floors.

"Greetings, Master Claighan!" She curtsied politely, her finest dress whispering as she dipped. "I am honored to have you in my home. Please, please, come into the sitting room while dinner is prepared. Rest, and tell me of news at Court." The wizard smiled to himself before bowing slightly. He murmured some answering pleasantry and slipped past her into the sitting room.

I stepped quickly forward and caught Sherrim's arm. She threw a surprised glance at me, and I ducked my head, suddenly sheepish. "Sorry, ma'am." My voice was a whisper, and she answered in kind.

"It's fine, Daven. Just speak quickly. What do you need?"

"You...you were so proper! I've never seen you—" I blushed, and squeezed my eyes shut. "I'm sorry. I'm just surprised at your reaction. And Jemm's."

She smiled, but her eyes were sad. "I have more experience with such men than he does. And I heard how things went for Jemminor. I could not afford to imitate him." Claighan took a seat in the next room, settling his staff against the wall next to him, and the sound of it drew Sherrim's attention. She went on hurriedly. "We behave as we must in these situations, Daven. I fear we will lose you no matter what I do."

I started to answer, to reassure her, but she motioned me to silence and hurried into the room where Claighan waited. I hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether the state of my clothes or my presence in the sitting room were the more pressing demand and finally let my fear decide for me. I had no desire to see the proud Lady Sherrim bowing and scraping for some wizard, no matter what he had offered me.

I darted downstairs to my room to change into some cleaner clothes. My room was cold and damp, as always, and I took several long, slow breaths of the cool air to clear my head. Then I opened my eyes and caught an impression of how I must look. I was shivering, excitement and fear wrestling each other inside me. I still had the sword belt clutched against my chest, and when I realized that I dropped it like a poisonous snake. It landed on the straw pallet I used for a bed, and I took a long step back. No matter what the wizard said, that was far too fine a blade for a boy like me to own, and the soldier—Othin—was not one to forgive a theft like that.

I could hardly give it back to him, though. I turned my back on it, trying to forget it while I changed quickly into cleaner clothes. Then, without glancing back, I left my little room and rushed upstairs. I stepped into the sitting room just as Jemminor entered from the other door.

"Dinner is ready. Please join us in the dining room."

Sherrim offered a nervous smile as she rose and brushed some nothing from her skirt. Claighan leaned heavily on his staff as he rose to his feet, then turned a gracious smile to Jemminor and Sherrim. "It smells wonderful. Let's see what your cook can do." He swept out of the room, all grandeur, and the master and mistress were only left to follow, a bit dazed.

In the dining room, Claighan waved me to a seat on his right. I sank down into the cushioned chair before the elaborately inlaid table where I'd only eaten one or two meals in all the years I'd worked here. Two servants entered, the arms of both full of fine plates and silverware, which they placed carefully around the table while darting curious glances at me. I smiled back and shrugged, but they averted their eyes as though I were Jemm or one of his guests.

Claighan tasted the food placed before him, sampling each piece delicately, then took a slow sip of the red wine. Then he sat back and fixed his gaze on Jemm. "Master Jemminor, this is an elaborate dinner and a quite impressive manor." His tone was friendly, but his eyes were dark. "I have seen few as extravagant outside the City."

The muscles on Jemm's jaw clenched, but he made a polite, "Thank you." He hid his nervousness in his wine glass, taking a deep draught and waving to the servant to refill it. 

Claighan watched Jemm take another long drink, then the wizard turned his head away to study a tapestry hanging on the wall. Almost offhand he said, "By the looks of it you own some rather extensive fields as well. I've heard rumors that in certain seasons you employ nearly every son of this town."

Jemminor stared at the wizard's turned head. He wore undisguised suspicion and anger on his face, and it didn't lesson when his eyes cut briefly to me. "I don't take your meaning," Jemminor said at last.

The wizard turned back and quirked an eyebrow at him. "My meaning? I only offer you my compliments. Your property is flourishing."

"Just so," Jemminor said, his eyes narrow now. He looked over to Sherrim at his right hand, but she did not look up. She kept her sharp eyes fixed on her plate, though I could tell by the tilt of her head that she was listening intently. Her knuckles were white around her grip on a delicate silver fork.

The men didn't seem to notice. Jemminor took a deep drink of his wine then licked his lips. He turned his attention back to the wizard. "Your compliments are well and good, but you must forgive my curiosity. Why have you come here?"

"Oh, Jemm!" Sherrim said, chastising, but it was a tiny sound. She raised a hand to his shoulder and went on without raising her voice. "He is our guest."

Claighan smiled across to her and shook his head. "It is no matter. Goodman Jemminor's hospitality and grace are spoken of throughout Terrailles. He has done nothing but live up to that reputation."

Sherrim went pale and her shoulders fell, but Jemminor heard the wizard's words as a compliment. He nodded to Sherrim as though vindicated then turned all his attention back to the wizard. "Thank you. I know there must be more to your visit. I'm sure you didn't come here just to discuss my field hands."

The corners of Claighan's mouth quirked up as his only answer, but Jemminor caught on quickly. He sucked in a deep breath, let it out, and then his gaze moved to hang on me. "Just so," he said. "Just so."

"I do have some interest in Daven's fortune," Claighan said. "I found him out upon the hill, where he teaches the other village boys to fight."

"Oh, yes. Yes. He's handy with a sword, this one. Sharp as they come, and...and a good teacher, too," Jemminor said. "So I hear, anyway. I figure there's no harm in it." He cast a sidelong glance at Claighan, testing, and the wizard only nodded.

"Of course not," he said. "Boys will be boys."

"Just so," Jemminor said, and I saw a smile threatening now. His eyes shone with more than just the wine. "He, uh...he never misses a day's work, either. Don't misunderstand about the swordplay. It's good exercise, good training, but the boy knows how to put in a full day's work first."

"And how did he come to be in your employ?" Claighan said. He gave the question no real weight, all his attention apparently on his knife and fork as he cut a slice of the newly-served beef, but Sherrim's head lifted enough for her to throw a furrowed gaze at the wizard.

Jemminor was paying no more attention than the wizard now. He helped himself to a thick cut of roast. "The boy's been with us four years now. Five?" He frowned and looked over to Sherrim. She nodded, and Jemminor repeated the gesture. "Five years. He came into town one morning, tired and dirty and smelling like the dungheap, but Sherrim told me, 'You give this boy work to do,' and how could I say no to her?"

He spared a smile for her. She raised her head then, and Claighan took the opportunity to catch her eye. She took a little breath and nodded. "He did. And Daven has worked for us since."

"So generous of you," Claighan said. "Has he been loyal?"

Jemminor spoke over his wife's answer, "Oh, yes! He's always done a full day's work for us, and always worked harder than any of the others, too!"

"Excellent! Good to hear."  Claighan leaned forward, watching Jemminor's face closely. Baiting him. "I'm going to need a hard worker."

Jemm scowled at that. "Oh, well, as to that...I can hardly just let you take him away."

Sherrim rested a hand on the back of his, trying to catch his attention. "Jemminor," she whispered, "he is a wizard."

Jemm shook her hand away and shrugged one shoulder. He met Claighan's eyes levelly. "Even wizards must respect property, Sherrim. He can't just come around taking good hands—"

"He can," Claighan said calmly, his gaze still locked on Jemminor's face. "At his sole discretion." He paused, as if considering a different tack, and then reached for a purse on his belt. "But for the sake of argument, let's pretend the wizard were willing to pay. How much is Daven worth to you?"

Sherrim shook her head, mute with fear, but Jemminor frowned thoughtfully. I could see him adding columns in his head.

"Master Claighan," I said quietly. "You don't have to do this—"

"I do." He said the words without glancing at me, and there was a cruel finality in them that set my blood cold.

"I've already said I'll go," I tried again, talking to Sherrim and Jemminor now. "I'm sorry. I'm not staying."

"Hush," the wizard said. "We are discussing important matters."

Sherrim glanced up to meet my eyes across the table. She licked her lips, and then let her gaze fall to her lap again. Jemminor stretched his arms behind him, reaching up high and flexing muscles large from hard work in the fields. Then he tucked his hands behind his head and fixed the wizard with a shining gaze.

"I figure he's worth four silver vints a week."

Sherrim made a noise. A tiny little squeak. It was the sound of her breath escaping her. Her shoulders fell, her lips pressed tight together, and she laid a desperate hand on her husband's. He didn't notice. His eyes were all on the wizard's purse.

Claighan's eyebrows went up in surprise that couldn't have been feigned. "Four vints?" he asked incredulously. "A reliable field hand might be worth one vint, anywhere in the kingdom."

"And it's as I said," Jemminor said, spreading his hands. "The boy is more than reliable. He's talented and smart and dedicated. He's strong and young and focused. He's worth four vints a week."

"Surely two would be more reasonable," Claighan tried, but Jemminor cut him off.

"Four vints if he's worth a penny."

Claighan held Jemminor's gaze for some time. "Just so?" he asked.

"Just so."

The wizard nodded slowly, untying the strings of his purse with a studied care and then reaching one of his long, bony fingers into the satin bag to stir the coins within. "That does force me to ask one more question, of course." He said it almost offhand, but Sherrim nodded with a terrible certainty. Claighan's mouth twitched in a sad smile in her direction. "How much do you pay him?"

I blinked at the question. I hadn't really thought of it when the goodman named his price. As Claighan said, any good field hand might hope to earn one silver vint a week. But I was different. I had nothing. They didn't pay me in king's silver; they gave me a room and meals. They gave me clothes and food.

Neither of them spoke. Sherrim looked defeated and Jemminor flustered, but neither of them provided an answer. I looked back and forth between them, waiting for someone to speak up, and then I opened my mouth to speak for them.

Claighan hit me with a look of such dark fury that the words died in my throat. Then he spoke them for me.

"Room and board," he said. He looked me over. "And rags. And a cast-off, ruined old sword when you could have bought him a perfectly good one for one week's wages. In this political climate." His lips twisted in distaste at that last.

I looked down at my hands. The sword had been my own. But they had not been cruel masters and I had to speak in their defense.

"Claighan, don't. They gave me a home—"

"They took far more than they ever gave you."

I shook my head. "They have been kind. I like walking in the fields."

"And Jemminor likes the profit your efforts have made him."

Jemminor winced at that, despite the frustration suddenly hot in his eyes, and I realized with a shock it must be true. I shook my head.

"It doesn't matter," I said. 

"It matters," Claighan said. "Watch his eyes. Watch how his lady tries to hide from the truth she knows. Think, boy! Think how a landowner like this, overextended, might value the help of a sturdy young man. One who never asks for his wages. One who'll work without rest. One worth more than a dozen merchants' sons all by himself."

Sherrim flinched at every accusation, as though he were striking her. Jemm's fury boiled, and I saw behind it shame. Misery. I shook my head again.

"It doesn't matter!" I shouted now, cutting him off to protect them. My breath came hot and fast. "I don't care what I might be worth. They aren't monsters. This life has been better to me than any I have ever known."

"That doesn't satisfy me!" Claighan roared, unleashing on me the anger he had so carefully concealed from Jemminor.

I flinched away from him, and he winced. He pressed his eyes tight closed, then drew himself to his feet. He looked down on me for a moment, hovering on the edge of a deep regret, and then turned to Jemminor and Sherrim with all the deep, quiet authority I had felt in my first moment with him.

"I am taking the boy away," he said. His pronouncement brooked no argument, and none was given. Sherrim nodded and Jemm just scowled across the table. Claighan scrubbed both his hands across his face, looking deeply tired, then shook his head. He met Sherrim's eyes. "Thank you for your hospitality. It was a fine dinner. I regret that I cannot stay for dessert."

She nodded, dumb, and he turned to me. "We should leave now, Daven. It is a long walk to the capitol. How long will it take you to pack your belongings?"

"Only a moment, Claighan. I have very few things." Sherrim sighed at that, and I felt a blush burn in my cheeks, but the wizard only nodded.

"Fetch them. I will wait for you in the sitting room."

I darted downstairs and tossed my shirts—all dirty now—into a weathered leather bag that I had brought with me from Chantire. Other than that there was only my work knife and my ragged copy of an outdated dueling text. I looked around for something else I had gained in my years in Sachaerrich, but those were all my belongings. I couldn't avoid looking at the Green Eagle's broadsword, sheathed on the foot of my bed. I thought about leaving it there. I thought about trying to explain to Sherrim, but I couldn't even imagine what I would say.

I was going to the capitol. I could leave it with the guards there. I nodded once to myself, scooped up the belt, and crammed it into the long leather bag. Then I pulled its drawstrings tight, slung the pack over one shoulder, and headed upstairs.

Sherrim met me just outside the sitting room. She whispered so Claighan would not hear her as she pressed a small leather purse into my hands, "This is for the work you've done for us, Daven."

I shook my head. "No, ma'am, there's no need. Thank you, but—"

She shook her head fiercely, cutting me off. "They are wages well earned. He was not wrong about that. But please do not think poorly of us. Do not let him convince you we misused you."

"You were always kind to me, ma'am, and the master provided a home for me when no one else would have. I won't forget that." I stood for a moment, considered hugging her, but finally decided against it. "Thank you, Sherrim. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Daven." She slipped off down the hall as I stepped through the door into the sitting room. Claighan looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

"I am glad that relationship, at least, could end well. Cherish the memories more than the silver, boy. I fear you will be alone for a while."

I wanted to snap at him. I wanted to point out that during one dinner he had tarnished every memory I'd had. I wanted to send him away without me.

But more than that, I wanted to see the world. I wanted to find my place—not just one where I was accepted, but one where I belonged. For a long time I'd hoped that would be the Royal Guard, but perhaps the old wizard was right. Perhaps it could be the Academy instead. It couldn't be any worse than I'd survived before anyway. I forced myself to shrug, not a care in the world. "I can handle alone," I said. "Let's go."

"Very well. We take the King's Way to Sariano. We should be no more than three days on the road, if we move quickly." In the quiet darkness we slipped out of the front door. A light rain began as we walked the neat path across the manor lawn, and by the time we turned onto the road we were drenched. Claighan's voice came to me through the cold, wet night. "Smile, Daven. You're beginning a new life."