Next day Alva met with the Attorney of the Mages Guild. It was a secretary of a kind who managed all the Guild contacts with the outside world. Not that the mages couldn't do it themselves. They just didn't want to. Human affairs were too strange and boring for them, sometimes even incomprehensible. After spending three hundred years among amulets, portions and books, one could forget even the faces of his children, if he had any.
On closer examination, though, the rumours about mages being unfriendly to humans turned out to be greatly exaggerated.
"Welcome, noble Chevalier Ahayrre!" the Attorney said amiably and made quite a courtly bow.
Alva looked at him inquiringly. He was sure he had never met that nice young man dressed in a simple dark-blue mantle.
As if the young man had read his thoughts, he smiled and said, "No, we haven't met..." Now Alva was certain to hear, as many times before, "...but I've read your last book." Not a single edition of Chevalier Ahayrre's poetry had been published without his portrait in colour. The publisher said it doubled the proceeds. "...But the Master of the Healers Guild had let me know you would come," the young man said. "We are always glad to discover new disciples."
"The thing is I'm not very interested in being a disciple. I'm much more concerned about how I can get rid of the after-effects of the spontaneous initiation, as you call it."
"You have to understand, noble Chevalier, that mere healing doesn't much interest the members of our Guild."
"So direct me to a woman," prompted the noble Chevalier with a charming smile and enjoyed the light blush on the Attorney's cheeks when the latter discerned the vulgar pun in Alva's words.
The young mage busied himself with his papers, trying to hide his embarrassment, and his tone became strictly official.
"Tomorrow or the day after Dame Tallian will arrive at Fanneshtou. I advise you to consult her. She is a Water Mage of the first rank. The Water Magic, you know, is best for healing, especially in burn cases."
* * *
Such women as Dame Tallian the old chronicles described, "Lo, a maiden fair and terrible, as an army arrayed for battle, her face shines with beauty like a naked sword, her waist slim as a dagger."
Alva always thought those warlike epithets rather forced, especially since they were generally used for females engaged in more or less peaceful arts of enchantment, soothsaying, healing (or simply of being someone's mistress). In the Academy Alva's professor of classical literature explained that for the authors of such chronicles 'naked sword and fierce battle' had been the culmination of beauty. Now Alva understood them better.
Those were the exact words − fair and terrible, like the sea that basks in the sun before a raging thunderstorm. The sea was in her eyes, clear and transparent like aquamarine – a water element stone. Her wavy green hair falling down to her waist, resembled seaweed swaying with the current. Here and there real seaweed was plaited into her hair − seaweed with tiny pale flowers, which were probably kept from withering by her magic. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were green too, and strangely enough, it didn't seem trite or pretentious.
The sorceress's skin was pale and translucent, whiter than any human skin could be; as if her blood were indeed blue in colour like they say metaphorically about aristocracy. Her dress... oh, her dress was really magical. It was streaming around her like silk, since silk is said to be streaming like water. It was water, literally; there were brightly coloured fish darting about, the hem was decorated by fanciful lace of corals, sea anemones and foam. It seemed she had tamed a sea wave and wrapped it around herself. Judging by what they said about mages, she might have done exactly that.
Water Mage, Mistress of Illusions, Lady of the Sea, charmer of the fickle water realm was she with her every feature, her every flutter of eyelashes.
The aura of calm strength, of power unattainable for mere mortals was unmistakable about her. Alva would have paid in gold to know if it was the usual aura of a first-rank mage or Dame Tallian's own strength of character. He had never seen a Higher Mage before. They were more difficult to meet than kings.
He sat in his chair opposite to hers, not knowing how to begin. Dame Tallian leaned back and studied him with her aquamarine eyes, deep as the sea and quite as mysterious. There was nothing hostile in them, yet nothing warm and friendly either.
She broke silence first and spoke with her flowing contralto which seemed to resonate pleasantly within Alva's whole body. Her words were harsh, but her voice allayed that harshness.
"I want you to understand something, Chevalier Ahayrre. I am not going to nurse you, pat you on the back or hold your hand. I am not a healer, nor am I your friend or your lover. But you'll find that I understand you like no one else. My initiation happened at the age of thirteen, when my ship sank. All my family was killed, and I was afloat in the sea until some fishermen picked me up. Give me a detailed account of what had happened to you, Chevalier Ahayrre, and try to be as accurate as possible."
And Alva did. Her bluntness and businesslike approach made his task easier. Sometimes she asked questions, trying to ascertain the facts more accurately and in greater detail, but never out of idle curiosity. She didn't care how a Trianess gentleman of quality had found himself in Jinnjarat and who his companions were.
When he mentioned the amulet, she asked his permission to take a closer look.
"A weak magic, but quite efficient. Why do you still wear it here, thousands of leagues from Jinnjarat?"
"Habit," Alva lied.
"If you are going to lie to me, the conversation is finished," Tallian said imperturbably.
Taken aback, Alva blushed and swore under his breath. Alva Ahayrre caught in a lie and embarrassed with it − that was just unthinkable! He had obviously lost his court-cultivated skills.
"You don't want to answer, because one of your companions has been infected? As far as I know, everyone is allowed into Fanneshtou. Your friend is safe here. His special abilities are blocked, same as the use of most magic spells."
"I am too used to dissembling, lady Tallian," Alva said after a pause. "There had been too many people trying to kill me the last few years."
"You must have been keeping bad company, Chevalier Ahayrre," she said without a smile.
"It's not for you to judge me," he snapped.
"You love them very much, don't you? This trinket would have kept you safe. Most magical initiations happen when the life of a prospective mage is threatened directly. Magic rarely awakens in order to save someone close to you."
Sadness echoed in her voice, and Alva could easily guess her thoughts. Somewhere inside, behind the wall of overbearing manners, there was a woman who had loved and had suffered because of it. Dame Tallian was right, they understood one another like no one else.
"Forgive me. I am really out of habit of being sincere. And 'yes' for both your questions."
When Alva got to the burning branch, he rose to his feet and started nervously pacing.
"The fire just... blazed up, that's all. I didn't feel anything overworldly, miraculous. I simply found myself holding a burning branch, my shirt burning too, then terrible pain and nothing else. Maybe my memory played a trick on me? Maybe I had a flint on me, or I had taken an ember from the camp fire and forgotten about it?"
"Chevalier Ahayrre, a person might have latent magic abilities for the whole life, till the day they die. But once it has awakened, there is no hiding it anymore. The Fire Magic is seething within you. Any Higher Mage can feel it. Do you often feel feverish or angry? Do you have trouble sleeping? It's your magic reminding you about its existence."
"God Almighty..." Alva whispered and covered his face with his palms.
"You are behaving as if magic is some sort of a shameful disease. In truth it's a gift, a choice. It means power, but one need courage to accept it. Also, magic is a responsibility. What will you do if next time you harm an innocent bystander with your magic? You should learn how to control it or acquire a magic-blocking amulet. If I remember correctly, the laws of Creede, Marrangha and Arislan require it in a clear and unambiguous way."
The young Chevalier fell into deep gloom and kept silent. Dame Tallian was dead right about that. He could have thought about it himself, had he stopped for a minute and considered something other than his precious beauty.
"Drink this." Dame Tallian handed him a goblet with a clear liquid.
Alva wanted to ask suspiciously what is was, but restrained himself. If he couldn't trust even her, there was no hope left for him anywhere. "From such pretty hands I could even drink poison," he thought and drank it.
The drink was piercing-cold, sweet and refreshing. It instantly went to his head, but didn't make it swam − just the opposite, it cleared his head, made his spirit soar. Alva had never tasted it but recognized the taste at once. "Snow grapes!"
The legendary, priceless potion. One could have said 'incredibly expensive', but there was no buying it for love or money. Even imitations were sold for gold. In tryst houses of Trianess they offered a popular 'snow cocktail' with mint, caramel and shaved ice. Of course, no similarities except the word 'snow' in the name.
"There are some advantages in the life of a mage, Chevalier Ahayrre," she said and sipped from her own goblet with the air of someone who drank the magical portion every morning instead of coffee. And maybe she did.
Alva had never stopped to think that magic went along not only with wisdom and greatness of spirit, but with power and wealth as well. Dame Tallian's rooms in Fanneshtou were furnished rather modestly, but it wasn't her permanent residence. Having her own rooms in the most ancient temple of entire Pandeia was an unimaginable luxury all in itself.
"I am grateful for your advice, Dame Tallian. But still, I am not even a step closer to solving the problem that brought me here. I just got new ones."
"This is the seal of fire, Chevalier. Nothing more. The mark of the magical initiation. Once you start using your abilities in earnest, your looks will gradually return to normal. You might even look more attractive if you'd so wish."
Alva held his ground. "I'd like to make a decision after I got rid of that seal. Its presence is somewhat impeding my ability to think straight." He wanted to say it playfully, but his voice was disgustingly gloomy.
In the old days you would have started to flirt with her already, mate! And now you don't even raise your gaze, afraid to see disgust in her eyes − or, even worse, pity. She said she understood you like no one else. But how could she understand, with her snow-white supernatural beauty, certainly granted by magic, that you want only what is yours by birthright!
"I understand," Dame Tallian said, as if answering his thoughts. "You think your beauty is the one and only gift the nature has given you. But you are not destined to be a pretty toy all your life. Maybe your power wanted to tell you exactly that by wreaking your face."
The young Chevalier flinched as if slapped on the face. In an instant he felt hot, blinding anger.
"You'll need some stronger insults to make me want being a mage!" he hissed, jumping from his chair, fists clenched in fury.
Dame Tallian's eyes opened wide. Alva had time to see a strange emotion reflected in them − delight? desire? Impossible...
The next moment she drew a symbol in the air and chanted an incantation. Alva's first instinct was to rush forward − and he found himself frozen to the spot. He tried to move his arms, his feet − to no avail. His whole body felt locked in ice, only the fury inside remained hot, pure and bright, like a flame. A flash, and his chains of ice broke with a clank, and his vision went dark.
Alva came around and found himself lying flat on the carpet, weak as a kitten. It took him several seconds to realize that his head was lying on Dame Tallian's lap, and she was bending over him and making him drink from her goblet, her green hair almost touching his face. Alva felt the burst of energy, his eyes focused at last, and what he saw was a pleasant surprise.
The sorceress's cheeks were flushed, her mouth half-opened, her chest heaving, as if her coldness had been melted along with the chains of ice.
She squeezed his hand. "Forgive me, Chevalier Ahayrre. It was a sheer provocation. I wanted to check your potential. I haven't seen such power for a long time, I swear!"
There was no doubt about her being aroused by their magical combat, like a normal woman might have been by dancing, flirting, fondling behind a curtain. Alva still felt the same flame pulsing though his veins which he was accustomed to feel during the game of love.
"Were you able to see yourself through my eyes, you would have forgotten your scars," she whispered, bending even lower.
Alva couldn't tear his gaze away from her breasts. There was a pink nipple that peeked through the crystal clear water and hid again under the white foam. He licked his parched lips and heard his own voice saying, "Had I forgotten my scars, we would have been in bed together right about now."
"Oh my God, and that's a Creedan courtier speaking! I expected more finesse."
In lieu of an answer he drew her close and kissed her on the lips − fierce, demanding. Her mouth was cool and fresh like spring water on a hot day, and just as sweet and pleasant. Alva expected her to break away from him, to douse him with icy contempt, but she pressed herself to him and took possession of his lips.
Alva was the first to break up the kiss and move away. He was panting, his gaze averted.
"It's your magic, right?" he sounded like he was stating a fact.
"What exactly, my noble Chevalier?"
"I can't stop thinking what you are wearing under your dress."
"If that's magic, every woman possesses the innate ability to do it." With a smile she got up from her knees and threw her hair back. "For how long haven't you been with a woman, Alva? A year? Two?"
"Longer." He watched her from the floor, leaning on his elbow. "Although, very few women have ever fallen into my arms straight away, like you."
"It's part of your power, arousing sexual desire. One of the Fire Magic's properties."
"So, what I thought was my natural charm, was in reality a magical skill?"
"Hard to say until you start practicing magic in earnest."
He rose from the floor, came close and locked his fierce, intent gaze with hers.
"I don't want to start practicing magic. I simply want my life back. Everything exactly as it was before."
Something imperceptible flashed in her eyes. Something resembling regret. As if she had wanted to hear a different answer.
"All right, I'll help you," Dame Tallian said. "Come tomorrow, at the same time."
Alva made a tiny step forward and threw himself at her feet. A kneeling person usually looks deferential, humble even, but the Chevalier Ahayrre looked arrogant, with that fire in his eyes, and there was nothing deferential in the way he put his arms around her.
"Today, my lady. Now," he said huskily, passionately, as if he was begging her to have sex with him. He had never in his life, though, begged anyone to have sex with him, but had been begged more than once by others.
She muttered, "Kyrie eleison!" Judging by her tone, it was an equivalent of "Lord, have mercy!" in the magicians' slang. She tried to break free from his arms, but couldn't.
Alva clasped her tighter and then discovered that her magical dress was as pervious for his hands as real water, just not wet to the touch. He touched his palms to her bare skin, and Dame Tallian couldn't help but sign with pleasure.
"Some liberties you take, Chevalier Ahayrre!" she said with feigned strictness, but there was a smile in her eyes. "I didn't think you could be so... pushy."
"One of my lovers is a barbarian from the Wild Steppe. One can learn much from him." The young Chevalier's smile clearly implied he had learned quite a number of things from Kintaro. "Do you want to examine me?"
"Ahayrre, you are insufferable."
"That's not an answer, my fair lady."
"I can't go down... damn, I can't get down to business right now! I need to prepare some portions, find proper spells."
"Now you sound exactly like Meda Moreyli when he wants to shake down a client for more money."
"I don't think you should bring up money."
"Why not? I'm not rich, but doing quite well. Name your price."
"Alva, are you even aware how it sounds?"
He stretched like a cat, without letting go of her knees, and run his tongue over his lips.
"I am well aware. So what is your price and for what exactly, for the act of healing or some other act?"
The enchantress couldn't help but laugh. "Which one of your lovers has taught you how to haggle?"
"It's not haggling if there is no price named."
"Let me go then, and I'll be able to think properly. And get up from your knees, you are hindering my thinking."
Alva let her go immediately and even hid his hands behind his back with an impish air. But he didn't stop his passionate staring and didn't get up from the floor.
Delivered from Alva's mischievous clutches, Dame Tallian found her lost composure again. She paced in front of him to and fro, keeping silent, looking down at him, and said thoughtfully, a shade haughtily, "Miracles aren't measured in money. Why would I want gold? I am the Lady of the Sea, I know where sunken ships lie on the sea bottom, with their cargo of gems or gold bars. It's only a matter of time and magical power to lift them to the surface. No, I don't need your money."
"Ask for something else then. In novels wizards often task heroes with obtaining some precious artefacts. As I remember, Conna the Destroyer brought to Azgun the Enchantress none other than the Shield of Llyd. I am prepared to repeat his heroic deed."
"As I remember, in the end Conna took the Shield of Llyd for himself," Dame Tallian smiled. "I've read that novel."
Alva held up his hands with the same impish air. "The choice is yours, my fair lady."
"I definitely have no use for the Shield of Llyd."
"What about the Bloody Eye of Jeffla? A feather of a phoenix? Water of Life and Death?"
"Ancient junk," she intoned with the same flippancy. "What else do you have to offer? You gaze is eloquent enough, but I want you to say it out loud."
Alva drew forward a little, resting his arms on his knees. "Myself," he said out loud. "I am offering myself. Maybe it's not such a tempting offer right now. But after removing my scars you might change your mind."
"Do you really think your scars matter in the slightest?"
"Remove them, and you'll see the difference."
"Alva, you are obsessed. Why, oh why don't you channel your energy into something else! You could have achieved so much!"
"If the art of love was a field of magic, I would have been already wearing the badge of the First Rank."
"Love is not the most important thing in life."
"Says who, someone who has never experienced it or got disappointed in it?"
Alva gracefully relinquished his kneeling position and faced the sorceress. He bent his head to her ear adorned with a jade seahorse, and whispered, ticking her white skin with his breath, "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."
"Deal!" she whispered back, and her tone of voice was lewd and vulgar, as if she was a girl from a fishing village.
Changeable as the sea itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Look, what a beautiful fanart YuniMuhamaru drew for me literally two days ago! I am so excited. I knew his art for a long time and never even imagined that he could read and enjoy my novel. And a picture is quite beyond my wildest expectations, and he drew three! That's only the first one. The three of them are so pretty and hot!
https://www.deviantart.com/yuni
https://yuni.us/