Heart of the Exiled (5 page)

Rephanin held out his hands toward the mages on either side, right palm up, left down. His neighbors
placed their own hands a handspan apart from his, close enough to feel the khi between them.

When the whole circle stood thus, he sent khi flowing from his left hand. In a moment he felt the pulse return through his right hand, augmented by the khi of the others. Silently asking for guidance from whatever spirits might be watching over the circle, he let it continue a little longer, then inhaled and released the contact.

“Good. Resume your seats, please.”

He picked up a quiver of arrows and withdrew one, holding it before him. “These arrows represent an exercise in focus-building. You have all done this sort of work before; the difference is that now we must do it quickly. There will be hundreds of guardians to equip. Help has been requested, but for now it falls to us to bless as many items as we can in as short a time as possible.

“I caution you that though the work must be done swiftly it must yet be done thoroughly. This hall has never produced inferior work, and we shall not begin now.”

The mages nodded agreement. Rephanin distributed the arrows, one to each. Greenglen colors marked the shafts, the fletchings were white, and the points new-made bronze.

As he handed one to Heléri he felt a whisper of her khi along the shaft until it left his fingers. She glanced up at him, smiling softly in a way that woke several distracting memories. He returned to his worktable, setting the quiver down as he kept one arrow in hand.

“The qualities to be focused are trueness, accuracy in flight, and penetration of the point. The denser the material, the more attention is required, so the metal
point will require the greatest effort. Lay the khi
into
the arrow’s fibre. A laying on of khi is not sufficient.

“Remember always to draw on prime khi. Do not use your own khi. And do not let the point of a weapon aim at anyone else in the chamber. Questions?”

Several of the mages were already preparing to work, aiming their arrows toward the fire, a good source of prime khi, especially for work with fire-forged weaponry. Rephanin moved away from the hearth to a table on which stood a timekeeper—a basin of water and several metal bowls. Selecting the smallest, he held it above the water in which it would float, slowly filling through a tiny hole in its base until it sank.

“You will have one cycle to complete the focus. Begin.”

Releasing the bowl, Rephanin seated himself and turned his attention away from the surprised shifting of some in the circle. One cycle was little enough time; a quiver of arrows could take as much as half a day, though they were all blessed at once, not individually.

The arrow lay across his palms. Gazing at it with half-lidded eyes, he was briefly aware of small sounds in the chamber, then slipped past them to the place of calm from which he performed focus work. The sounds were still there—if he gave them his attention he would perceive them—but he kept his concentration on the arrow.

First he explored the faint echoes of khi within it: the life of the wood, that of the bird whose feathers had become the fletching, the fiery shaping of the bronze tip and the honing of its point. Rephanin decided to lay in this section of the focus first.

Closing his eyes, he shifted his awareness to the khi
within the chamber—a sparkling vivid cloud of energy swirling about the working mages—then beyond to prime khi, which pervaded all things. Khi moved fastest through air, so it was from air that he drew it and focused it within himself before directing it through his hands into the arrow.

Sharpness, strength, penetration. These qualities he held in his mind and laid into the dense fibre of the point. His perception narrowed to the tiny inner structure of the bronze—orderly for the most part, with some imperfections—and he set khi flowing through the pathways of this structure. Occasionally he would correct a flaw in the crystalline form of the metal, but he passed by all but the worst defects.

He moved on to the arrow’s shaft, laying in trueness, strength, flexibility to withstand the shock of impact. Working through the lighter fibre of the wood was easier, though the material was also less well organized. Again he left most flaws alone.

Lastly, he shifted his attention to the fletching. Balance and steadiness in flight, suppleness, and durability; he layered them each in turn and had just finished when he heard the small sound of the timekeeper bowl contacting the bottom of the basin.

Rephanin withdrew his focus from the arrow and opened his eyes. “Cease working.”

The mages stirred, some blinking as they returned their awareness to the chamber. Rephanin gathered the arrows, shifted them around in his hands to disturb their order, then laid them out across the table and ran his hand through the air just above them.

He chose one that felt dark, as if little khi had gone into it. His hand paused above another that emitted such brightness as to seem almost hot, but he thought
he sensed Heléri’s khi upon it, so he passed it by and selected an arrow that was nearly as vivid.

“These two arrows are quite different. Pass them around the circle and observe their state.”

He handed them to Valani—a female of arresting beauty with large, dark eyes that missed little—who was seated at one end of the circle. She held them briefly, a slight frown of concentration on her face, then her brows rose. She handed the arrows to her neighbor and glanced at Rephanin.

He watched as each mage compared the arrows, and paid close attention when they were handed to Sulithan, the newest member of the circle, who he suspected had built the weak focus in the dark arrow. If the mage recognized his own work, he did not show it or give any sign of embarrassment. If this was modesty, Rephanin approved; if not, it boded ill for Sulithan’s ability to understand the work.

When the arrows had passed around the circle, he took them back. “What differences did you perceive?”

Jholóran answered at once. “One arrow lacked khi.”

Others in the circle nodded, and a discussion ensued in which Rephanin occasionally asked a question aimed at causing the adepts to reiterate the principles of focus-building. He hoped the restatements would help Sulithan grasp the ideas, for he could not accept work so poor as the dark arrow.

Heléri refrained from joining the discussion. Rephanin saw that she was watching him and took care to keep his gaze from straying toward her. At length he ended the discussion and went to a large wooden chest that stood near the door. It contained guardians’ cloaks, finely woven and lined, clasped with
silver Greenglen falcons. Rephanin took one from the chest and shook it out, pale green with a soft silvery lining, the colors warmed by firelight.

“The principles here are the same. The qualities to focus are protection, concealment, warmth. Take two cloaks each, though you might only complete the focus in one by tomorrow evening. Remember, it is better to work thoroughly than in haste.” He folded the cloak in his hands and took out another, offering both to the nearest mage, who stood to receive them.

“You are welcome to work in this chamber at any time. I will be here most of the night.”

Working in the same chamber tended to enhance the effectiveness of the khi in use, even if each mage was creating an independent focus. For this reason Rephanin kept the magehall’s main chamber open at all times, available to any of the circle who wished to work there.

When the rest had collected their work, Heléri came forward. Rephanin handed her two of the cloaks. “It is good of you to assist us.”

She smiled softly. “I am glad to be of service.”

Rephanin watched her go to a table near the back of the chamber. He returned to the timekeeper and removed the metal bowl from the basin, carefully drying it with a soft cloth before setting it with its fellows.

The arrows lay loosely scattered over the table where he had left them. He could sense the intensity of the khi focused in a certain arrow and let his fingers brush the fletching as he moved away. The tingle of khi in the feathers was unmistakably Heléri’s.

He returned to where he had left his two cloaks. Heléri was sitting with a cloak spilling in silvery folds over her lap, hands pressed together about a corner of it, eyes closed in deep concentration. Though he rarely
saw khi, he thought he sensed a pale glow in the air around her head and hands. It made her appear even more beautiful. Turning away from this distraction, he took his seat and reached for a cloak, preparing for a long night’s work.

Turisan arose early, partly because the sunrise coming through the Star Tower’s glass dome disturbed his rest, partly because Eliani also rose with the dawn. He was glad, for it gave him time before the Council would convene, and he wished to visit the city garrison. He would stay away from Kelevon as he had promised, but he wanted to ensure that the Steppegard was being well treated.

He sent Pheran, his attendant, to fetch clothing for him and quickly donned the tunic and legs, grateful for their warmth in the chill morning.

“A cloak? I am going down into the city.”

“Yes, my lord. The broidered wool or the velvet?”

Turisan was about to say “neither,” then remembered that he had given his guardian’s cloak to Eliani. He would have to request another.

“The velvet.”

At least it was not covered with ornament. Turisan smiled at himself, acknowledging that his distaste for ostentation—not new, by any means—had increased significantly since he had met Eliani. Pheran had been clever enough to realize this was not a temporary state and had given up trying to dress him in grand style.

He drew a deep breath of chill air as he left Hallowhall to cross the public circle. Few others were abroad this early, only a handful of folk in the marketplace, trading early. Turisan sensed them watching him as he walked toward the magehall, paused briefly to collect himself, and went in to inquire for Rephanin.

The magehall was steeped in silence and shadow, its hearthroom vaguely lit by a single hanging lamp and a bank of coals on the welcoming hearth. Turisan paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimness, relieved to be out of the wind.

The attendant who greeted him—a slender female whose cool air suggested that no one’s importance was greater, at least here in the magehall, than that of the magelord himself—deigned to lead Turisan to the hall’s main chamber. She stopped outside its door and turned to him, speaking softly.

“Lord Rephanin may yet be inside with some of his circle. If they are at work, we must not disturb them.”

Turisan waited silently while she opened the door a little way and peered in. A moment later she pushed it wide and invited him to enter.

The chamber, which Turisan had never seen before, was windowless, roughly circular, and furnished with more practicality than elegance. It was clearly a room for working rather than ceremony, and that surprised him somewhat. Ten chairs sat empty in a half circle before a dying fire, small worktables scattered behind them.

Rephanin stood near the hearth, dressed in a simple long tunic of dark gold, talking quietly with one of his mages. On a table that had been pushed against the wall between hearth and door was a small pile of cloaks. They were all sage lined with silver, the colors of Clan Greenglen, worn by Southfæld’s Guard. The sight pleased Turisan, who had come in hopes of acquiring one. He waited until Rephanin’s conversation ended and the other mage departed, then approached the magelord with a bow.

“Greetings, Lord Rephanin.”

“Greetings, Lord Turisan. How may I serve you?”

Turisan gestured toward the cloaks. “I have given my cloak to my lady, and the garrison’s stores have all been issued to recruits. By chance, have you one ready that I could take?”

Rephanin nodded and turned to the table, passing his hands through the air above the cloaks before selecting one and handing it to Turisan. “This is the best of what I have here.”

Turisan accepted it with a small bow and ran his hands over the soft, pale green weave. It seemed warm to the touch, but perhaps that was from sitting near the hearth.

“Your work?”

“Heléri’s.”

Surprised, Turisan looked up at Rephanin, whose face told him nothing save that the magelord seemed tired, a small crease showing between his brows. Probably he had been at work all night and was ready to retire.

Turisan folded the cloak over his arm. “I thank you, and I will not keep you now, but I have another request.”

One dark brow rose. Rephanin waited silently as was his wont, but Turisan felt none of the vague menace he had often known in the magelord’s presence. Perhaps he had misjudged Rephanin. He hoped so, for he was about to ask his help and, by asking, perhaps learn whether Rephanin’s gift was real or merely legend. He glanced toward the open door to make sure no one else was present, then spoke quietly.

“I have questions about mindspeech. I—we are both finding it distracting—sometimes even dangerous, I think. I would like to discuss it when you are at leisure.”

Rephanin’s gray eyes held his for a moment, then
looked down, hidden by dark lashes. “My gift is unlike yours. You would do better to ask Heléri’s advice.”