“It was bidden us!” yelled Ialio, his blue-gray eyes furious. “In the first meeting, the first dream given us by her. She said—“

“She said that we were to guide and to care for the people, not to govern and rule them.” Aimitu’s voice was harsh.

“She said to lead them, to oversee them, to make sure they are safe. What better way to do it than to lay down the laws and make sure they are enforced?”

“What better way, indeed? Did she put a crown upon your current High Mage’s head? No? I did not think so. What better way to make sure they are safe, to care for them, to guide and to lead them than to live amongst them, know what they know, and be there to counter Dark when he strikes?”

Both mages paused, panting, breathing hard, eyes narrowed and angry, and at that moment Tasiha straightened from her slump and said, “I’ve found them!”

Ialio’s attention wavered and refocused upon Tasiha, concern on his face, and Aimitu, sensing his distraction, spoke a word in blazing yellow around his lips, and vanished.

Ialio cursed.

Tasiha looked around. “What happened? Oh! Mage, I—“

“You were supposed to stay on the dock,” he growled. “Did you think I just told you that because I wanted you to be bored? Did you not think that there was a purpose to my request?”

The two girls stared at him.

He went on. “It’s dangerous out here, as a mage! Any other person with magic can sense you, until you learn to shield yourself from attention, and they can use that against you! The world is not a safe place!”

“Mage, I didn’t think—“ Tasiha started.

“I noticed,” he snapped. “And I thought I knew you better.”

Tasiha’s face went hard.

Ialio did not notice. He heaved a deep sigh. “What have you done with Evirix and Vanad?”

“They wandered off on their own,” said Tasiha quickly, her voice struggling to remain under control. “That’s why we came—to look for them. I thought—“ her voice all but broke but she caught it and firmed it, “I thought that I had a much better chance at protecting them than just themselves alone. They are hardly more than children still. I did not think that I had to worry about hurting you.” These last words were harsh, and Tasiha struggled to control her voice.

Ialio softened, realizing his callous words. He sighed. “Tasiha—“

She turned her horse and kicked it away.

“Tasiha!” he called, but she did not stop, merely rode from the alley without turning back to them. He cursed lightly, and sprang up onto his horse, which had casually followed him into the alley. Jerelet hurriedly copied him, and the two rode off after Tasiha.

Tasiha moved easily through the thick crowds, ignoring the world around her in her anger. She did not understand why Ialio’s words had hurt so much, when they were small and inconsequential. The children in the village had said worse things to her, and they hadn’t hurt this bad.

Then she realized.

She trusted him.

She had never really trusted anyone like that before—not with the open-hearted anticipation, the freely allowed access to her soul—not with the kind of trust that didn’t brace a person for pain. The kind of trust that knew in an instant that he would never hurt her, and when he had, no matter how unintentionally or in the heat of the moment, it was harder for her to shrug off than all the poison words of all the children in the village had been.

She sighed deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, and forgave him. There was nothing else for her to do. She had trusted him, and she would continue to trust him, arms wide open—she would not curl up into a tiny defenseless ball and weep in pain. She would move on.

She opened her eyes, and rode on. In the midst of her mental vision, she could still see the glistening purple knotted strand that marked Evirix and Vanad’s positions. She turned her horse towards it and let her eyes scan the crowds at last, searching for them. They were near, she knew it. She continued to search.

She all but tripped over them—over Evirix, actually. He had thrown himself before her horse, and she reined in sharply—he was on foot.

“Where have you been?” she snapped.

“We need your help,” he said.

She scowled. “Well?”

He gestured behind him, towards a nearby staircase. She dismounted, tied her horse’s reins to a nearby stand, and followed him up the steps to a small fancy looking garden with a fountain—a public square.

Vanad lay upon a bench, his face white, a bloody mark on his forehead, and Tasiha’s heart leapt in her throat at the sight of him. “What happened?” She hurried forward with Evirix and crouched down by the bench so she could look at the other twin.

“He fell from his horse in the midst of the crowd, and hit his head. In our panic, as we tried to get out of the mess, we lost the horses to a couple of determined thieves with knives. We didn’t want to fight them.”

“Why did you leave in the first place?”

“We were bored. We were talking. We didn’t notice where we were going, but we went, and by the time we awakened to our situation, we didn’t know how to get back. We tried. We asked around, but everyone was too busy. So then we decided to pick a direction, but then he fell…”

Tasiha, fumbling slightly, took his pulse, as she had seen Mai do in the past. What did she know of healing? She remembered her lessons with the priestess. She had always been more interested in reading than in wrapping bandages on bruised village children.

Vanad looked pale and unhealthy, and though he was breathing, his breaths were shallow and awkward.

She could heal him from the inside, with her magic—that she knew. But she didn’t know how. She only knew that the bone must re-knit and the flesh grow back together, and that the wound must be made blazingly hot to prevent infection.

But she hadn’t known the shield spell, really, when she had stopped the river—nor had she known the growth spell when she made the tree. This, too, was something she must do, but not something she had learned.

She placed her hands awkwardly on Vanad’s chest and exhaled slowly, forcing her mind to exist solely in her palms, and then in the heat of her skin, and then in the smooth cloth, and then in his skin, and in an instant she was inside of him, brilliant and blazing, swimming through his veins. He arched a little as he slumbered at her bright presence, and she surged through his veins to where the liquid of his life poured from his wound. Then she infused the tissue with herself and began to blend it back together—sealing the wound, remolding the bone. It was not an easy task, and fortunately the wound was not deathly, for if it had been she did not think she would have been able to do it—she didn’t know enough about healing yet, and she couldn’t act quickly. But after much strenuous work, she seared the last strand of dark infection from his flesh and surrounding blood and opened her eyes.

The world spun slightly as she did, and she blinked several times to refocus.

Vanad sat up quickly, touching his hand to his forehead. “What happened?”

Tasiha fainted.

XXXXXX

Ialio found them, an hour later. He had been searching systematically through the marketplace and had passed the local healer’s hall. It was here, tied to a stand, that he spotted Tasiha’s horse. He reined in immediately, Jerelet just behind him, and the two of them tied their own horses to the post.

Ialio strode briskly up to the large door and knocked. A thin woman with blazing red hair too bright for her pallid skin opened the door and eyed him. “Are you sick?” she snapped.

“Uh—No, but—“

She slammed the door shut.

Ialio bit back a curse and hammered on the door, his fist pounding the wood until it was snatched back open. He quickly jammed his foot in the little crack. “I am not sick, but I need to—“

“If you’re not sick, then go away! This is the healer’s hall.”

“I need to speak to the head healer.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” she snapped, her green eyes flaming, and tried to close the door again, but could not for his foot.

He caught the door with his hand. “My name is Ialio. I am a mage from the council in Kiral.”

The woman with red hair sighed deeply, and let her eyes read his robe. Then she reluctantly pushed the door open. “All right, come in, come in.” She sighed, begrudgingly allowing them access.

Ialio entered, with Jerelet just behind him. The woman stopped, and stared momentarily at the girl, sweeping her with wide, almost insulted eyes. “You are not allowed in here,” she said, approaching the girl, scowling.

“She is my student, and she will come with me,” said Ialio warningly, catching hold of the red-haired woman’s arm.

The woman shook herself free from his grasp and glared at him, then at Jerelet. “Take off your sword, and leave it by the door,” she snapped at last.

Jerelet quickly complied, unbuckling the belt that held K’taor. She swallowed, and felt suddenly lonesome as the blade left her hands. The woman turned and walked briskly away, indicating with an impatient waving of her hands that they should follow her, muttering loudly to herself.

Ialio and Jerelet followed her at a safe distance through the halls until she stopped in front of a door and knocked loudly, then thrust it open.

“My lady Tiraney, there’s a mage councilor to see you, I couldn’t keep them out—“

“Ah!” came a light female voice from inside, and there was a brief murmur.

The red-haired woman flushed slightly, and turned to Ialio. “Lady Healer Tiraney will see you now,” she said, somewhat resentfully, and held open the door.

“Thank you,” said Ialio, and he and Jerelet entered the room.

The red-haired woman stalked away, mumbling loudly, “Light knows what this world is coming to when councilors bother the healers and warrior-mages force their way into these halls…”

Jerelet flushed unhappily.

“Please forgive Healer Ree for her callousness,” said that same prim voice, and Ialio and Jerelet focused on the woman behind the table. She had dark gray eyes, and her hair was cropped quite short for a woman, bound back in a small bun at the base of her neck, and dark black. She smiled gently at them, and wrinkles lit up at the corner of her mouth and eyes. Her hands were thin and strong as they worked on the table, writing something. “We put up with her biting tongue because we could not survive without her skills. My name is Tiraney—I am the head healer here.”

“I am Ialio, a mage of the council in Kiral.” He offered his hand. She took it without rising and they shook. “This is my student, Jerelet.” Jerelet also shook hands with Tiraney.

“What can I do for you, mage?” asked Tiraney, her dark eyes watching them.

“I am looking for two boys, and a girl. The boys are twins—dark hair and dark eyes, about this tall.” Ialio made a measurement with his hands. “They are younger lads; 13 years old, I believe. The girl has tawny gold eyes and would be a bit older than them.”

Tiraney watched him carefully. “Why would you ask for them here?”

“I saw the girl’s horse tied up outside this building. Please, if they are here—“

“Why do you seek them?” Tiraney’s voice was stern. Ialio stared at her. “You must understand, mage, that in addition to healing, this place is a sanctuary. I cannot just give people over to your hands if I do not know why, or if your reason is inadequate. You will understand.”

Ialio’s blue-gray eyes met her own dark gray ones, and they held. At last, he said, “They are also my students.”

Tiraney sighed, and pushed her chair away from the desk. “Miiko, Rosthad,” she called. Two young men came in the door, bowed, and hurriedly approached the head healer. “I wish to visit the side rooms of the left wing, room 143,” she said. “You know where it is?”

“Of course, my lady,” said one. They bowed again, and together lifted her and her chair, brushed past Ialio and Jerelet, who stepped hurriedly out of the way, and made for the door.

Tiraney beckoned Ialio from their grasp. “You will forgive me, I hope—I cannot stand. I must rely on others’ legs.”

“Of course,” said Ialio smoothly, and he and Jerelet followed the woman down several corridors. “Lady Galantta—the head of the university at which I teach—she has a similar problem. But instead of using two strong young backs to get around, she has a new contraption—a rather interesting one.” Tiraney glanced, surprised and curious, at him. “A chair equipped with wheels, like a very small cart or carriage. She propels herself along with her hands.”

“Oh!” said the healer. “That is most interesting. I wonder…”

“There’s a carpenter in Kiral who makes them—he’s made several already. I could ask him to come here and see you at any time.”

Tiraney smiled, and her whole face lit up with wrinkles. “That would be most kind of you, mage. I thank you.”

Ialio flushed, and bowed slightly to her.

They turned down a hallway lined with doors, and stopped in front of one of them. The two youth juggled Tiraney’s chair between the both of them and managed to get the door open, and then inside they went, into a room filled with sunlight and beds.

Most of the beds were empty. A few had occupants, and a small number of healers in the traditional white robe wandered here and there, mixing medicines, taking pulses, speaking to each other. The quiet murmur of the room faded to silence as Tiraney, Ialio, and Jerelet entered. Those healers who were not distracted by procedures or patient care bowed to Tiraney.

As they passed by rows of beds, a woman looked up from the very far end of the room. Her eyes fell on Jerelet, widened, passed quickly over her robe, and then narrowed, and she hurriedly thrust herself forward into Jerelet’s path, her arms spread, her stance firm.

Jerelet stopped, and stared, puzzled at the woman. “Excuse me,” she said quietly.

“You shall not go near the patients,” said the woman harshly, and her voice shook a little.

“What?!” Jerelet was confused. “Why not?”

“I will not allow you to harm them.”

“I’m not going to harm them. Please let me pass.”

“You shall pass after you kill me, if it is your choice to do so.”

Jerelet stared.

Tiraney turned slightly, and the two boys brought her back to where the confrontation was taking place. “Evin, please—“

“I will not let her pass!” cried the woman, Evin, her eyes flaming.

Tiraney sighed, and glanced slightly apologetically at Jerelet. “You must understand, warrior-mage. Much of the work here is spent repairing the damage that you do.”

Jerelet felt her face grow hot, but before she could speak, Ialio did.

“Jerelet has yet to do any damage,” he said, his tone ringing, and he brushed by Evin. “She earned her black robe two days agowheneverlakjd.” He took Jerelet by the elbow. “In a battle against a demon,” he added, and began to tug her along after him. “You don’t heal demons here, do you?” He glared briefly at Evin, then at Tiraney, and then dragged Jerelet past the two now-silent women who would not meet his gaze.

Evirix and Vanad sat together on the edge of a bed, holding hands and murmuring. Ialio strode up to them, and as he approached they hurriedly bounced to their feet. “Mage—“

Ialio cut them off. “You were supposed to stay on the dock,” he said, scowling.

“We didn’t mean to leave,” said the one on the right—Ialio was not sure which was which.

“We just got distracted, and by the time we noticed we had wandered we didn’t know where we were any more.”

“And then he fell from his horse, and hit his head and then these—“

“—Thieves came with knives and took the horses, and he laid—“

“—him out on a bench, and then—“

“—Tasiha showed up.” This was in unison.

“Where is she?” demanded Ialio.

Silently the boys turned to the bed next to the one they had been sitting on.

Tasiha lay pallid and limp on the smooth white sheets, her eyes shut. Ialio stepped quickly forward and dropped to one knee by her bedside, his eyes worried. He took her pulse, and was relieved to find one. He sighed deeply, and, without turning, asked the twins, “What happened?”

It was Tiraney who answered him. “We think she tried to heal Vanad’s wound.”

Ialio rose, turned, grabbed the bandaged boy by the shoulder, and peeled the dressing away from his brow. Sure enough, the horrendous wound had healed to a long red scar—a feat Ialio knew was impossible. Vanad should not even have been walking. He should have had a concussion. He should have been woozy and faint and disoriented, but Ialio knew from his movements that he was not. He shook his head and turned back towards Tasiha’s prone form, lying there.

“What I want to know, mage,” said Tiraney, “Is why you did not teach her the cautionary side of that spell. She healed him without effort or care, and all but drained herself to do it. I thought you, of all people, would have shown her how to put limits on her healing spells.”

Ialio stared at Tiraney for a second, and then he began to laugh, a roar of harsh laughter that quickly turned into a pained, cracked kind of sobbing amusement, and he slumped onto the bed behind him, holding his head in his hands and laughing and laughing.

“Mage?” said Tiraney, scooting her chair a little closer to him in worry.

“I didn’t teach her that spell,” said Ialio through his laughter.

“Oh. Who did? They didn’t teach it well enough.”

“No one taught her that spell.”

“What do you mean?” Tiraney glanced sharply at him.

Ialio looked up at her, and then his eyes focused on Tasiha. “I am the only magical instructor she has had, and I have taught her one spell—a shield spell, to protect the camp. And she—and she—“ he broke off into pained laughter for a brief moment, then went on—“and she has… she has made a tree grow,” he gestured with his hands in an imitation of the gesture Tasiha had used to create the tree, “and she has stopped up a river, with her power, and now, this afternoon, Jerelet tells me, she did the most unique form of a searching spell that she has ever seen, of such an advanced form that it pinpointed and marked where the twins were—and now you tell me she has healed somebody.” Ialio threw his hands into the air in exasperation, shaking his head and smiling at Tasiha’s prostrate form.

“That’s impossible,” said Tiraney, her eyes wide, staring at Tasiha.

Ialio gave a short bark of laughter and said, “Tell that to her!” He gestured at Tasiha, and then dropped once more to one knee by her bedside to look more closely in her slightly-flushed face. “What are you, mageling?”

“I’m Tasiha,” Tasiha said clearly, her eyes still closed, and he jumped. Her eyes opened. “That’s all.”

Ialio shook his head slightly. “That’s enough.”

She sat up in the bed. “Where am I?” She lifted a hand to her forehead and winced.

“You cannot possibly be awake,” said Tiraney quietly.

“Why not?” asked Tasiha, her golden eyes focusing on the healer, noting her presence but not really recognizing her.

“You were exhausted. Drained. You overreached your magic. No mage recovers that quickly.”

“But I don’t feel overreached. I feel fine. Well, my head hurts, but my magic levels—“ she reached inside briefly and tapped the blazing mental golden cord of power—“My magic levels are fine.”

Ialio touched her shoulder and glanced at the mental image of her power, a huge arcing cord of gold extending through her body, centered over her heart and stretching up and down into infinity. Sure enough, it was full and strong. Ialio backed out, and somewhere inside her as he looked around just before he left her presence, he caught a momentary blazing after-image in the far darkest corner of her mind—a woman with dark hair, her eyes burning full of white light, turning power over and over between her hands—a pair of wings like an angel’s or a dragon’s firmly rooted beneath her shoulder blades.

Then he was thrust free of the mental grip, and he stumbled slightly from where he stood.