Forest Mage. Робин Хобб
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you use the magic to achieve the ends of the magic, then its power will be at your command. But at all other times,’ and here she had smiled at me and run a soft hand down my cheek, ‘we are the tools of the power.’ In that dream, I caught her hand and kissed the palm of it and then nodded my head and accepted both her wisdom and my fate. I wanted to flow with the magic that coursed through me. It was only natural. What else could I possibly want to do with my life? The magic coursed through me, as essential to me as my blood. Does a man oppose the beating of his own heart? Of course I would do what it willed.
Then, I would wake and, like plunging into a cold river, my reality would drench me and shock me into awareness of my true self. Occasionally, as had happened when I passed through the shade of the oak, the stranger inside me could still take control of my mind and show me his warped view of my world. Then, in a blink of my eyes, a truer perspective would prevail, and the illusion would fade back to nothingness.
And occasionally, there were moments when I felt that perhaps both views of the world were equally true and equally false. At such times, I felt torn as to who I truly was. I tried to tell myself that my conflicting emotions were no different from how my father felt about some of his vanquished plainsmen foes. He had fought them, killed them or defeated them, yet he still respected them, and in some ways regretted his role in ending their unbound existence. At least I had finally accepted that the magic was real. I had stopped trying to deny to myself that something arcane and strange had happened to me.
I’d reached my dormitory. I took the steps two at a time. Bringham House had its own small library and study area on the second floor. Most of my fellows were gathered there, heads bent over their books. I ascended the last flight of stairs, and allowed myself to pause and breathe. Rory was just coming out of our bunkroom. He grinned at me as I stood panting. ‘Good to see you sweating a bit, Nevare. Better drop a few pounds or you’ll have to borrow Gord’s old shirts.’
‘Funny,’ I gasped, and straightened. I was puffing, but having him needle me about it didn’t improve my temper at all.
He pointed a finger at my belly. ‘You popped a button there already, my friend!’
‘That happened at the doctor’s office, when he was poking and prodding at me.’
‘Course it did!’ he exclaimed with false enthusiasm. ‘But you’d better sew it on tonight, all the same, or you’ll be marching demerits off tomorrow.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘Can I borrow your drafting notes?’
‘I’ll get them for you.’
Rory grinned his wide froggy smile. ‘Actually, I already have them. They’re what I came upstairs to get. See you in the study room. Oh! I found a letter for you mixed in with mine. I’ve left it on your bunk.’
‘Don’t smear my notes!’ I warned him as he clattered off down the stairs. Shaking my head, I went into our dormitory room.
I took off my jacket and tossed it on my bunk. I picked up the envelope. I didn’t recognize the handwriting, then smiled as the mystery came clear. The return address was a letter-writer’s shop in Burvelle’s Landing, but the name on it was Sergeant Erib Duril. I opened it quickly, wondering what he could be writing to me about. Or rather, having someone else write to me about. Most reading and all writing were outside the old cavalla man’s field of expertise. Sergeant Duril had come to my father when his soldiering days were over, seeking a home for his declining years. He’d become my tutor, my mentor, and towards the end of our years together, my friend. From him, I’d learned all my basic cavalla and horsemanship skills, and a great deal about being a man.
I read the curiously formal letter through twice. Obviously, the letter-writer had chosen to put the old soldier’s words in more elegant form than Duril himself would have chosen. It did not sound at all like him as he sympathized with my illness and expressed fond wishes that I would recover well. Only the sentiment at the end, graciously phrased as it was, sounded like advice my old mentor would have given me:
‘Even after you have recovered from this dread epidemic, I fear that you will find yourself changed. I have witnessed, with my own eyes and often, what this devastating plague can do to a young man’s physique. The body that you so carefully sculpted for years under my tutelage may dwindle and serve you less well than it has in the past. Nonetheless, I counsel you that it is the soul of a military man that makes him what he is, and I have faith that your soul will remain true to the calling of the good god.’
I glanced back at the date on the envelope, and saw that the letter had taken its time to reach me. I wondered if Duril had held it for some days, debating as to whether or not to send it, or if the letter-writer had simply overlooked the missive and not sent it on its way. Well, soon enough I’d see Sergeant Duril. I smiled to myself, touched that he’d taken the time and spent the coins to send me this. I folded the paper carefully and tucked it away among my books.
I picked up my jacket again. From the chest at the foot of my bed, I took my sewing kit. Best to get it done now, and then study. As I looked for the place where the button had popped off, I discovered they all were straining, and two others were on the point of giving way.
Scowling, I cut the buttons off both my shirt and my jacket. I was absolutely certain that my newly-gained bulk would vanish in the next month or two as I grew taller, but there was no sense in failing an inspection in the mean time. As I refastened the buttons with careful stitches, I moved each one over to allow myself a bit of breathing space. When I put my shirt and jacket back on, I found it much more comfortable, even though it still strained at my shoulders. Well, that couldn’t be helped. Fixing that was beyond my limited tailoring skills. I frowned to myself; I didn’t want my clothing to fit me poorly at my brother’s wedding. Carsina, my fiancée would be there, and she had particularly asked me to wear my Academy uniform for the occasion. Her dress would be a matching green. I smiled to myself; girls gave great thought to the silliest things. Well, doubtless my mother could make any needed alterations to my uniform, if the journey home did not lean me down as I expected it to.
After a moment’s hesitation, I cut the buttons off my trouser waistband and moved them over as well. Much eased, I took down my books and headed to the study room to join my fellows.
The scene in Bringham House library was much different from our old study room in Carneston Hall. There were no long trestle tables and hard benches, but round tables with chairs and ample lighting. There were several cushioned chairs set round the fireplace for quiet conversation. I found a spot at a table next to Gord, set down my books and took a seat. He glanced up, preoccupied and then smiled. ‘A messenger came for you while you were gone. He gave me this for you.’
‘This’ was a thick brown envelope, from my uncle’s address. I opened it eagerly. As I had anticipated, it contained a receipt for my shipboard passage as far as Sorton, and a voucher written against my father’s bank in Old Thares for funds for my journey. The note from my uncle said that my father had requested he make my arrangements for me, and that he hoped to see me again before I left for the wedding.
It was strange. Until I held it in my hand, I had been content, even satisfied to stay at the Academy. Now an encompassing wave of homesickness swept over me. I suddenly missed my whole family acutely. My heart clenched as I thought of my little sister Yaril and her constant questions, and my mother and the special plum tarts she made for me each spring. I missed all of them, my father, and Rosse, my older brother, even my older sister Elisi and her endless good advice.
But foremost in my thoughts was Carsina. Her little letters to me had grown increasingly fond and flirtatious. I longed to see her, and had already imagined several different ways in which I might steal some time alone with her. For a short time after Epiny’s wedding to Spink, I had entertained doubts about Carsina and myself. My parents had chosen my fiancée. On several occasions, I’d had reason to doubt that my father always knew what was best for me. Could they truly select a woman that I could live with, peacefully if not happily, the rest of my life? Or had she been chosen more for the political alliance with