Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

31. Requests & Respect

Karos glanced surreptitiously at the man who was following him into the Ghost Tower up the curving staircase. It was illuminated by a single torch placed next to the door, far below them, and the flickering light was only faintly reflected by white-washed walls. The darkness didn't deter Karos, though, and he was interested to notice that it didn't seem to have too much effect on the visitor, either.

The man wasn't much older than Karos, maybe around twenty-five, but somewhat shorter and a lot lighter in build. Coarse dark hair hung over his eyebrows and ears and almost concealed a pair of hazel-brown eyes with a pleading look that reminded Karos of a dog – more precisely, of those two droopy-faced hounds that had accompanied a traveling trapper and hunter who'd stopped in Deleon a while ago. The man's whole demeanor was humble and respectful, but Karos considered it a definite point in his favor that he had hardly flinched upon hearing the sinister name of their destination. Nor was there any hesitation in his step, except along the darkest sections of the passage when he had to slow down to fumble for support.

"Here we are."

Karos stopped at the thick door and knocked on it. Rhamirr's voice answered him, he heard the man behind him take a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

"Karos, my boy!" The Wizard looked delighted, then raised his grizzled eyebrows and stood up. "Well well, and with a visitor, too!"

"Yes indeed," Karos said and stepped aside so that Rhamirr could see the stranger better. "We've just welcomed some visitors from Revall this afternoon, and Barem here is one of them. Barem, this is the Wizard of Deleon."

The skinny young man took a step forward and bowed deep.

"It has long been my wish to meet you, honored Wizard," he said with a slightly throaty voice. "And I am very grateful to my lord Ferior for taking me along on this journey."

He bowed again and the Wizard eyed him with curiosity.

"Looking at me hasn't struck anyone dead before," the older man said.

Barem glanced cautiously up, saw the smile, and the nervous hunch of his thin shoulders loosened minutely.

"That's better," the Wizard nodded. "Why don't you sit down, both of you? I'm afraid I don't have anything much here to offer you, though."

"Nev will bring your dinner here in a moment," Karos put in. "I told him I could do that, but he refused."

"I'm sure he would." The Wizard smiled a little; the young servant boy took seriously the task entrusted to him. "But find yourselves a seat, anyway, and perhaps I could then hear some more about the young man who so ardently has wanted to meet me?"

Karos met Barem's eyes and nodded towards the bench by the wall. Barem went closer and hesitantly sat down on it, while Karos leaned against the edge of the table and folded his arms across his chest. Anticipation churned inside him, for he had already heard what Barem's question would be and wasn't going to miss a word of what was to come.

"All right then. Tell me about yourself, Barem. Who are you and wat has brought you here?"

The Wizard's voice was serious but not stern and Karos could tell that he, too, was genuinely curious. Barem licked his lips and cleared his throat.

"I was born in a village not three miles from Revall," he said. "My mother was the healer of the region, and she taught me a lot while I still lived with her. Then, two winters ago, she died. My uncle wanted the little house for his own sons, so I agreed to let him have it."

His voice trembled a little at the last words, and the Wizard and Karos exchanged a tiny glance.

"I then went to work as a servant at the manor house –"

"Manor?" Karos frowned. "I thought Revall is a castle."

"Not quite, sir, it's a fortified manor. Almost like a castle – a small castle, that is," Barem hurried to add.

"I understand. So you've learned healing skills from your mother," the Wizard mused aloud. "And now you're here because –"

"Honored Wizard!" Barem looked at him with those earnest eyes. "My mother always told me about the Wizard of Deleon and that I should come here one day and ask you to teach me. That's why I'm here now – to learn. Please teach me!"

The Wizard inhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair, pushing hands into his wide sleeves.

"Now that's quite some request, my friend!" he said slowly. "And while I much appreciate your frankness, I'm not sure that you know what you're asking."

Barem shrank a little, a puzzled look on his face.

"Now, supposing that I decide to teach you," the Wizard went on, "what will you do with your knowledge?"

"Why do you ask such things, honored Wizard?" Barem frowned, nonplussed. "Of course I'll do my best to help other people!"

"Hmm." The Wizard tilted his head. "Do your best... well, then, how much more do you want to learn?"

"As much as I can! As much as you will teach me, honored Wizard!"

"And how much time are you prepared to spend learning it?"

The Wizard's voice was low and steady. Barem looked at him, eyes wide.

"As long as it takes, honored Wizard."

"As long as it takes? Is that so?" The Wizard's gaze was piercing. "Then let me ask you this: how will you know when you've learned enough?"

Barem took a deep breath and was about to say something, then hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"What if I tell you that you must stay in Deleon?"

"St-stay?" Barem swallowed visibly. "You mean – for good?"

"Yes." The Wizard nodded slowly. "Since times immemorial, the Wizard of Deleon has been the guardian of knowledge that he mustn't impart to anyone save his apprentice – the Ashgan. There are things he can share, most notably those things that he himself, through his own studies and experiences, has been able to add to the old Craft. But that is all."

Karos watched intently while Barem blinked, gaped at the Wizard, glanced at Karos, opened his mouth and closed it again.

"That is the rule, my boy," the Wizard said, not unkindly. "Therefore you must think carefully before you say anything. Whatever your decision will be, I want you to understand and abide by it."

"But -–"

"No, listen to me, young Barem," the Wizard interrupted him. "You say that you want to know as much as I will teach you, and will stay as long as it takes to learn it all. But knowledge is like a potent drink. You've already tasted it, and I very much doubt that you will be able to say 'no more, I've had enough'. You'll want more, always more."

Barem stood like a statue, and the Wizard sighed.

"That is my guess, anyway, and if you stay here, you must know what you're doing. You must be aware that I can give you more knowledge than anyone else. The Craft dates back centuries, my boy. It deals with life and with death. It is not something to be played with. I'm its keeper and it is up to me to pass it on -– but I will not reveal it to just anyone. It is a formidable burden, and I will rather die than see the old secrets in the hands of someone not worthy of them."

Karos was holding his breath, head spinning. All those things Rhamirr had taught him over the years... how much had the man already broken against the ancient oath of secrecy? And was even Rhamirr fully aware of just how much information there already was in Karos' head? He'd been careful never to spy or try to read something that was kept away from him, but he had a good memory, and there was so much that Rhamirr had willingly shared with him.

But of course he wouldn't make Rhamirr regret taking him so much in his confidence by revealing their little secret in front of a stranger. Karos shook himself mentally and looked at Barem's hurt, desperate face. His slim hands were clenching reflexively.

"But I have to go back," he said helplessly. "I – I promised to!"

"Promised?" The Wizard shrugged. "Well, I am sorry to hear that, but obviously then you must go. Now, my boy, I'll be glad to have a talk with you one of these days and hear what your mother has taught you about healing. Maybe I'll even be able to add some tidbits to it. But I must warn you that you wouldn't have needed to come all this way for that. Every healer has his own special tricks, and I'm sure that you could've easily found out everything I can give you if you'd just gone around a little."

"I don't believe that!" Barem had jumped up, fists pressing to his thighs. "You're the Wizard! You know the most!"

"That's what makes me the Wizard." Rhamirr stood up as well. "And that's why I'm telling you to think carefully. What do you want? Do you want to learn a little more and be Barem the healer of Revall? Or do you want to learn the Craft and one day become the Wizard of Deleon?"

Barem was gasping for breath, and Karos pushed himself on his feet and put a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Come, Barem," he said. "We'll be going now, it's dinnertime and I bet you're hungry. Nev will be here any moment, Rha-– Wizard."

Karos herded Barem to the door and glanced back at Rhamirr, eyebrows rising in question, but the man had already turned his back to them. He shut the door.

"Be careful," he warned as they descended the stairs. "The steps are uneven."

Barem just nodded, silent until they reached the door at the foot of the tower. When it closed behind them, he whirled around.

"What was that?" he burst out. "What does he expect? I want to learn, but I also want to go back! I've promised to go back!"

"Then do as he said. Wait a day or two, go talk to him, and then go back home," Karos said calmly. "You heard him. The knowledge he has doesn't come for free. He's not the Wizard for nothing."

"The Craft! The knowledge! Oh yes!" Barem was nearly shouting. "All right, so he may be the Wizard, but what good does he do to anyone? What use is it to know everything under the sky, if he just holes himself up there and keeps it all to himself? He should come down and share his wisdom!"

"Do you really think he never comes out of the Ghost Tower?" Karos pushed his hands into pockets; night was falling and under the bright, starlit sky the air was rapidly getting very chilly. "Well, you're wrong there. He does, to collect herbs in summer and to see sick people when necessary, and all that. Besides, don't imagine that he wouldn't have wanted to go about more, see people, and try to find his Ashgan! It's just not that simple, with all the war and unrest that's been going on for years. Oh, and there's one more thing."

Karos had to pause for breath but this time Barem didn't try to interrupt, just waited, chest heaving.

"The knowledge is not just in his head – there are books in that room up there, books that contain loads of the ancient Craft. I'm willing to bet anything that there's lots that would be really dangerous if it got in the wrong hands. Who can read books? Can you?"

Barem shook his head, eyes round.

"Ah, but there are others who can," Karos said in a low voice. "People who could read them but wouldn't understand. The Wizard is the keeper of those books, and I can understand if he doesn't want to leave them!"

Karos snorted, his breath misting into a thick cloud in front of his face. "He's one in a line that has gone on for generations, and as horrible as it sounds, it's better that the Craft goes to the grave with him unless he finds a true Ashgan. Just imagine what might happen if someone unskilled and untrained started going about and claiming to be a pupil of the last great Wizard of Deleon?"

Karos saw Barem bite his lip before the shaggy dark head sank so low that the hair hid the other man's face.

"I – thanks for taking me to see him." Barem's voice was subdued. "The door on the right, that's the one leading to the servants' quarters, isn't it?"

"Yes," Karos said with a frown.

"I'll find my way from there," Barem said and turned to go. "Thank you once more, Master Karos. You have been most kind."

Karos watched as he shuffled to the door and vanished inside, the very picture of rejection. For a moment he considered returning to the Ghost Tower, then decided against it. Rhamirr wouldn't be in the mood for talking, and there was this unpleasant thought hammering in the back of his head.

What if there never would be an Ashgan? Would Rhamirr really destroy the books? Should he destroy them?

What if Karos took and preserved them instead? He'd even be able to read them...

No.

Karos hunched his shoulders against the cold and the dangerous thoughts, and strode briskly into the castle. Why should he stand and freeze on the courtyard, when he could be having dinner with his family and listening to the Lord talking with his visitors? He was expected to be there, and most certainly also Schean would be there at some point.

Warmth and the heady smell of food rolled over him as he slunk in to the smaller hall and could immediately just about taste the friendly atmosphere. Obviously the guests and their hosts had found each other agreeable enough.

"There you are, Karos!" The Lord waved with a tankard. "Sit down, son! Where have you been lurking, and at dinnertime too?"

Karos knew the question wasn't really meant to be answered, so he just smiled and took his place at the table, noting how convenient it was that the visiting gentlemen were seated right across the table from him. It gave him the opportunity to observe them pretty closely without appearing inquisitive.

Lord Ferior was an athletic man in his early thirties, with a dark, carefully trimmed hair and beard and striking, pale gray eyes. His brother Farris was about ten years younger but looked so much like the Lord that at a quick glance it would've been easy to mistake them as twins.

Karos had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his expression in check when he noticed the worshipping glance that Master Farris directed at Count Daynar. He'd of course been present at the first introductions, before the guests had went to warm up their journey-weary bodies in the bathhouse, and had heard why the younger man was traveling along. Farris had leaped at the chance to accompany his brother to Deleon, to meet the illustrious Count and perhaps even have the breathtaking honor to receive some instruction from him? That had been Master Farris' highest ambition.

Hiding behind his goblet, Karos glanced at the Count who was seated to his left. Yes, he was definitely aware of the adoration and seemed to be both flattered and more than a little amused by it. Sorel was there too, as usual, occupying a seat at his commander's elbow at the end of the table. His cool blue eyes were surveying the scene with their normal dispassionate alertness, and Karos' mouth quirked when he noticed that Master Farris' gaze kept eluding the silent blond. Very clearly he was much awed by the Count's Angel of Death.

Lord Rhodan and Lord Ferior had already demolished quite a selection of courses and washed them down with beer, and had warmed greatly towards each other in the process. The name of Revall was mentioned, Karos pricked his ears and was rewarded by a detailed account of Lord Ferior's seat and estate, of which the man was very proud.

The manor was old and fortified enough to almost qualify for a castle, and it was located at a roughly equal distance from Deleon and Eregal, its most powerful neighbors. The area was not along the shortest route between the castles and had thus been spared from the previous summer's campaign, but the reports of Deleon's rising might had prompted the Lord to pay this visit anyway, in the hopes of ensuring good relations. All this Lord Ferior explained with much frankness and received a gracious nod from an interested Lord Rhodan.

"There was also another thing I wanted to talk to you about," Lord Ferior said and sank his teeth into a piece of sweetmeat he'd picked up from a tray. "There's the question of my eldest son. He'll soon be twelve, and we've discussed with my Lady Aliss that it'll soon be time to send him somewhere to learn manners and the use of arms."

Lord Rhodan's eyebrow arched up and he nodded encouragingly.

"He also has a cousin," the man continued. "From his mother's side, that is – my brother-in-law is the Lord of Dhearan Castle, not far from us. The boys are nearly the same age, born within a month of each other, and we'd prefer to send them to the same place because they're such good friends."

Bengor had perked up as well and was eagerly listening to the conversation, dark eyes glittering with curiosity. He knew that Lord Ferior hadn't brought up the topic in accident, and so did his father who looked more than a little pleased.

"Well, we sure would welcome them here and treat them like our own," Lord Rhodan said. Lady Merania beside him nodded with conviction. "And I must say that I'm much honored by your trust, sir. That you should be considering Deleon as the place to train your son -– even over the famed Eregal?"

No one could fail to notice the look that the two brothers exchanged, or the little grimace that flashed over the younger man's face.

"I'll be frank with you, honored Lord,"Lord Ferior said dryly. "Even after such a brief acquaintance I'm ready to say that I very much prefer Deleon for the purpose. My wife's elder nephew has now spent some time in Eregal, and I am not at all happy with the way he's turned out. Nor, I assure you, is my brother-in-law."

"Insufferable snob and wastrel!" Master Farris snarled into the goblet in his hand and gulped from it. His elder brother didn't bother to chastise him for the harsh words.

"How come?" Lord Rhodan was intrigued. His guests sighed in unison. "I have understood that Eregal has everything a place could offer for a young gentleman in need of an education."

"Oh yes," Lord Ferior nodded. "It has. And there are lots of young people who've been sent there for the purpose, to imbibe all that sophistication and manners and whatnot. Unfortunately my wife's nephew has made friends with some other young gentlemen who come from extremely wealthy families and like to show off the fact."

"Ahh..." Rhodan shook his head. "I think I'm beginning to see what the problem is. The young man has acquired habits and tastes that are not in keeping with his means and future status."

"Precisely. And I'm afraid he's also learned to behave rather insolently towards his father when reminded of certain facts of life."

Farris snorted again and grumbled something under his breath.

"But here, I'm sure, the boys would get a proper education and yet keep their feet on the ground," Ferior continued. "With a family like yours – and especially the Ranea – to show them a good example -–"

Judging by Bengor's flinch Bailenn managed to kick his ankle at this statement.

"– and yourself and the renowned Count Daynar to teach them, I am sure there could hardly be a better place. We would naturally pay for their upkeep, should you agree to this arrangement."

"Oh, there'll be time to discuss details!" Lord Rhodan waved such trifles aside. "Yes, yes, by all means, your son and his cousin will be welcome! And really, I must say that I'm much interested to hear about the effects of Eregal on this nephew... maybe I need to reconsider my plan."

"Your plan, sir?" Lord Ferior inquired.

"Yes, I'd been thinking about sending Lady Benella there for some time."

Benella nearly dropped the piece of cake in her hand.

"What, me, to Eregal?" She looked horrified. "Father, you can't possibly do that! What would I do there?"

"Learn how not to behave, I expect," Lady Merania put in with a wry smile. Benella frantically shook her head.

"No no, father, please forget about that. I don't want to go there, all alone!"

"It might be good for you to get to know your uncle, and Lady Bialka is there as well," Rhodan pointed out. "Besides, of course I wouldn't send you there alone. You'd go there with Karos."

Karos had swallowed most of his mouthful of ale, so he only choked on the last few drops and then stared incredulously at his father.

"What?" Lord Rhodan shrugged. "Don't look like that, my son. I figured it might do good to both of you, but maybe I'll really have think about it again, lest you grow too haughty for your family!"

"My Lord, you hardly need to worry – I'm sure that the young ladies and gentlemen of Deleon are far too clever to let such follies befuddle their heads!" Master Farris bowed lightly to his host's daughters.

Benella wasn't quite sure how to react to the compliment, but was saved by the arrival of Schean and his lute. The company settled more comfortably in their chairs to listen and Karos fixed his gaze on the dexterous fingers dancing on the strings. The warmth was making his head buzz slightly and he decided not to think about anything right now. Not of a possible visit to Eregal, not of a surprisingly stern Rhamirr, not of the books hiding in the Ghost Tower. He'd just watch and listen to Schean, beautiful Schean, and not think about anything.

He succeeded, until he saw in the corner of his eye how Sorel sat back in his chair and casually stretched his legs, knee pressing against Count Daynar's leg, invisible behind the floor-licking tablecloth that hung like a heavy curtain on three sides of the table.