1 The Outstretched Shadow.3 (79 page)

 "Never forget this," Jermayan continued gravely. "The Knight-Mage makes the choice of life and death, directly and immediately. Be certain that when you claim a death, your reasons are good ones, the death is necessary, and that, to keep your spirit clean, you forgive your foe when you slay him. Anger is not to be shunned. Anger can be useful, and for the Knight'Mage it is a weapon just as is your sword. Good clean anger, full of purpose, will focus you. But as your sword, it can cut you if you clutch it to you. Remember that, and when the time when it is useful is over, you must let it go."

 Kellen nodded earnestly, vowing to remember. He didn't entirely understand what Jermayan was talking about, but he sensed that he would understand it sometime later.

 The Elven Knight smiled again, and drained his own tankard. "Now, come. We have some distance to ride. And now that I know what you are capable of, you will not find your lessons so easy."

 Kellen grinned at him. Even more than that moment beside the spring, when Idalia had explained the truth about the Demons, he felt a sense of relief so intense it nearly made him weep. A Knight-Mage! There was a name for what he was. He wasn't a second-class anything—not a failed High Mage, not a not-good-enough Wildmage. He was a Knight-Mage.

 "Just try me, Master."

 They returned the water barrels to the back of the mule, and Jermayan retightened Valdien's girths, and they rode on.

 "I'M a Knight-Mage," Kellen said to Shalkan, letting Jermayan get a little ahead. For the moment, all his worries about the future, his fears of the battles he still had to face, the Barrier, were all gone. He knew what he was, now, and it was as if a key had been turned in a lock. He knew that the next time he opened his three Books and read them, things in them that had never made any sense to him before would suddenly be as clear as the water of Songmairie.

 Learning his new skills wouldn't be easy, he knew that too. But for the first time—the very first time—in his entire life, Kellen felt as if he were finally pointed in the right direction. A Knight-Mage. A special kind of Wildmage. It still didn't seem entirely real to him, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. It would take work—a lot of it, he was guessing—to master a Knight-Mage's special gifts, but what he became would be his. Not a second-class Wildmage, doing things that Idalia could do better. A first-class Knight-Mage. Needed.

 A new thought struck him. "Did you know?"

 "I wasn't sure," Shalkan said after a long pause. "I suspected—especially after you managed to destroy two overlarge packs of the Outlaw Hunt with nothing more than a big stick—and my not-inconsiderable help, of course. Only a Knight-Mage could have done that. But the choice was still yours to make. You could have refused to be, you know."

 Kellen stared down at Shalkan's ears in surprise. The idea hadn't even occurred to him.

 It felt so right. How could he have refused to be a Knight-Mage?

 The same way I could have refused the Wild Magic?

 It would have been possible; he could have given in to Lycaelon, burned the Books, gone back to his studies. The Mages would have edited his memories. He might even have been happy.

 And if he had?

 I wouldn't have been Outlawed, I'd never have come to the Wildwood. Eventually Lycaelon probably would have found a reason to try to claim the Wildwood, but not for a while. So Idalia might not have come to Sentarshadeen until it was too late.

 It could have fallen out that way. It could easily have fallen out that way. He wouldn't have given in if he'd known they were going to take his memories, of course, but he wouldn't have known about that part, then or ever.

 If he'd given in…

 But he hadn't.

 Was this why the Books had come to him when they had? So he could be Outlawed and find Idalia.? So Lycaelon would expand the borders, chasing both of them to Sentarshadeen, where she would find out about the drought and the Barrier?

 And where Kellen could find someone who could tell him what he was?

 It made him dizzy for a moment, as if he had gotten a glimpse of a great pattern, of which he was an integral part. It was intoxicating.

 And frightening.

 Wildmages served the balance of All That Was. It wasn't easy and it wasn't safe. To be fair, nobody had ever told him it would be.

 To claim his proper place in that pattern meant danger. But to give it up—would leave a hole in the pattern that would mean—well—maybe disaster, for a lot of people he was coming to know and like. What would happen if one who could become a Knight-Mage refused the challenge?

 "It is said they only appear in times of direst need." Hadn't Jermayan said that?

 "No," Kellen said aloud. "I couldn't have refused."

 Shalkan just nodded, and let it go at that.

 THEY stopped at a dry riverbed to make camp late that afternoon. Jermayan looked grim at the sight. Last season, he told Kellen, the broad sandy expanse before them had been a swift, deep-flowing river, one of many that carried the mountain waters down into Sentarshadeen. But with the drought, it had dwindled away to almost nothing. All that was left was a narrow rivulet still trickling along what had once been the deepest part of the riverbed.

 Since they were stopping for the night, this time they unsaddled Valdien and Shalkan—fortunately the unicorn was able to tell Kellen what to do—and unloaded the pack mule.

 But when Kellen would have removed his armor in turn, Jermayan stopped him.

 "It is time for your next lesson," Jermayan said cheerfully. It occurred to Kellen that the Elven Knight had become quite unaccountably better-humored since their first stop…

 He's enjoying this! Kellen thought, caught halfway between his own anticipation at another lesson and a flash of exasperation at Jermayan's high spirits. Of course, he isn't the one who's going to get hit.

 But despite the fact that he was tired from the long day's ride, and the fact that he suspected there was a bruise under the armor where Jermayan had managed to land a blow on him that morning, Kellen found his spirits rising to match Jermayan's. There was an indescribable Tightness that he felt when holding the sword in his hands. And the longer he thought about it, the more sure he was that he had finally found the work he was supposed to be doing.

 Was this how Idalia felt when she called on the Wild Magic? If so, it was no wonder that she seemed so contented, and so willing to use it whenever she was called upon, even if the cost to her was high. And happy—or at least happy when she wasn't thinking about Jermayan. Kellen only wished there was some way he could tell her that he understood at last.

 On the dry sand of the riverbed, Jermayan used his scabbard to scratch out a circle about twelve feet across.

 "Here is our dancing floor," the Elven Knight said. "You must try to push me out over the boundary. I will do the same to you. If I succeed, you have lost. If you succeed, I have lost. In battle, it is important never to give ground except by your own choice, so that an enemy cannot move you into danger. Come now, and we will begin."

 Kellen quickly discovered that this was harder work than simply blocking Jermayan's blows had been. Over and over, Kellen found that he had blocked every blow… and still been forced to give ground exactly as Jermayan wished him to.

 "How are you doing that?" Kellen demanded as Jermayan stepped back once again and raised his blade in salute, looking down to see his foot once again over the edge of the circle.

 "Most warriors step back to block," Jermayan explained, taking pity on Kellen at last. "It is a common instinct, because it helps to absorb the force of a blow. You, knowing this, will use it against your foes. It will help you force your enemy where you wish him to go. Step sideways when you attack, and you can turn him as well, for he will always turn to face you without thinking about it. Now, let us try again, and this time, step forward as you block."

 They went on, and Kellen discovered that Jermayan was right. This time Kellen forced himself to push forward instead of stepping back each time Jermayan attacked, and this time Jermayan was unable to force him out of the circle.

 But that only meant that the sparring match continued without the breaks that had come each time he'd stepped out of the circle, and Kellen's muscles were not yet hardened to the burdens of sword and armor. If Jermayan was a patient instructor, his kindness did not extend to their physical combat, and if he pulled his blows at the last moment, he showed Kellen no other mercy. As the blows came faster and faster, Kellen's sword seemed to drag at his arms, until at last Kellen saw a blow coming but was unable to get his tired arms up to move his sword quickly enough to block it.

 Jermayan pulled back at the last minute, the flat of the sword landing with a gentle click against Kellen's armored thigh.

 "A good beginning," he said warmly, stepping back. "Stamina will come with practice, young Knight."

 Kellen took a couple of staggering steps backward, his head swimming with exhaustion and his body beneath the Elven armor—how in the name of all that was holy had he ever thought it was light?—soaked with sweat. With shaking muscles, he sheathed his own sword and staggered out of the teaching circle, feeling as if he were barely able to move. He was sure his armor suddenly weighed a thousand pounds.

 He twisted his gauntlets to the side and pulled them off, but was barely able to force his cramped fingers to undo the clasps of his helmet. Gritting his teeth, he set the helmet and gauntlets carefully on the ground, pulled off the leather gloves beneath, then moved to unbuckle his swordbelt.

 "Not easy, is it?" Shalkan asked, looking on. The unicorn had been an interested spectator at Kellen's first real lesson, but, Kellen had been relieved to find, had not offered any helpful advice—or distractions.

 "No," Kellen said, discovering at just that moment that although he could unbuckle the swordbelt, he couldn't reach up to pull it off over his head while wearing the armor. "But I guess nothing worth having ever is," he added, trying to sound as grateful as he knew he would be when he wasn't as hot, sweaty, and just plain tired as he was at this particular moment. Until he could get the baldric off, he couldn't get the surcoat off, which meant he couldn't get any of the armor beneath it off.

 "Good answer," Shalkan said. "Reach up under the surcoat and pull out the shoulder-pins on the gorget—that's the big neck piece. The sleeves will slip free, then. With the sleeves off, you can reach up to loosen the gorget and lift the whole thing off in one piece."

 It was difficult to reach across himself in full armor, but possible. Kellen drew the locking-pins free and slid the armored sleeves down his arms, then unpinned the gorget, and, with a burst of inspiration, bent and wriggled out of the whole mass—armored collar, surcoat, unbuckled baldric, and all, off over his head. He set them down quickly and lifted off the back and breastplate, suddenly impatient to be free of the armor. The quilted padding beneath was soaked through with sweat, and clung to him clammily.

 He felt strangely light and unfinished without the weight of the armor, though, as if it had somehow become an extension of him today, and almost regretted removing the last pieces, though certainly not enough to leave them on. He untangled the elements of the armor carefully, folding the surcoat neatly, replacing the locking-pins in their places, and setting everything where he could find it easily in the morning, then went to find a change of clothes.

 There was one other important thing he had to do as well.

 When they'd ridden out that morning, the keystone had been tucked safely up in one of the mule's packs, but the more he'd thought about the arrangement, the less Kellen had liked it. The keystone was vulnerable. All their enemies really had to do to win was destroy it or get it away from them, and even if he hadn't seen any sign of enemies so far, Kellen couldn't assume that happy state would continue as they rode north.

 He dug through his gear until he found the satchel Idalia had given him—filled with herbs and supplies for Wild Magic—and stowed its contents carefully among his other gear. The satchel was just large enough to hold the keystone wrapped in its spell-caul, and he could attach it to his sword belt. He might look a little odd that way, but he'd feel better if he had the keystone with him at all times.

 "Good," Jermayan said briefly when he glanced up and saw what Kellen had done.

 And after all, he didn't have to say anything more.

 By the time Kellen was done making his arrangements, Jermayan had already changed and had started a fire. Kellen changed as well, toweling himself off briskly all over, then rubbing himself with a bag of herbs that Idalia had given him for the purpose in lieu of a bath. The creek here wasn't deep enough to bathe in, and the water was muddy and uninviting besides. At least Shalkan could purify what they'd have to drink later.

 As he'd expected upon close inspection, there was a greenish tender patch along his ribs where Jermayan had gotten him. Kellen winced as his fingers explored it. That was going to hurt tomorrow, and if the way the rest of him felt was any indication, it wouldn't be alone. Why did all of his adventures seem to start out with a fresh set of bruises?

 He regarded his underpadding unhappily as he spread it out to dry.