Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [37]
“That’s probably the only time you didn’t have much to do,” Rubrik said, with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ve always felt a little sorry for inn folk during wonderful weather. They never get a holiday like the rest of us do. It hardly seems fair, does it, that in the very best of weather, when everyone else is out enjoying themselves, people in an inn have to work three times as hard tending to the holiday-makers? I would guess that storm watching was the closest thing to a holiday you ever got.”
Karal chuckled and brightened. “I never thought about it, actually. It wasn’t as bad as you might think, so long as you like horses. Father never made it easier on me than it was for the other horseboys, but he was a good and just taskmaster.” He clasped his hands together on the tabletop and stared out at the rain. “I never really saw the heavy work, when it came to that; I wasn’t old enough for anything other than light chores, like grooming. The Sun-priests took me at the Feast of the Children when I was nine, so I was never big enough to do heavy work.”
Rubrik looked at Karal for a moment, then stared out at the lightning. The silence between them grew heavy, and Karal sensed that he was about to ask something that he thought might be sensitive.
Probably something about us, about Karse and the Sun-priests. That’s not a problem; Ulrich already told me what I can’t say. No reason to avoid his questions, especially not if the information he wants is common knowledge at home. I think he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to me alone, figuring that I will be less wary than Ulrich. He felt himself tense a little. He would have to be very canny with this man. It would be easy to trust him; hard to remember to watch what he said.
Rubrik coughed politely. “I—ah—suppose you realize we have all kinds of stories, probably ridiculous, about the reasons why the Sun-priests took Karsite children—and what they did with them afterward—”
Karal only sighed, then rested his chin in his hand. “The stories probably aren’t any worse than the truth,” he said at last.
Rubrik nodded and waited for him to go on. Encouraged, Karal told him all about his own childhood, what there was of it—how the Priests had taken him, how he had been educated, and how, finally, Ulrich had singled him out as his protégé. He told their escort about the Fires, too, and caught an odd expression on his face, as if what Karal had told him only confirmed something horrible that he already knew.
“The children taken are either extremely intelligent, intelligence that would be wasted in a menial position, or are children with the God-granted ability to use magic, of course. Ulrich told me later that I had both qualifications, but my ability to use magic is only a potential, rather than an active thing. He called me a ‘channel,’ but I’ve never found out what that means, exactly. I was absolutely terrified that at some point I’d start showing witch-powers like my uncles did, and a Black-robe Priest would come for me and that I’d end up going to the Fires,” he concluded. “But I never did—though in one sense, I suppose, a Black-robe Priest did come for me.”
Rubrik waited for him to say something; out of pure mischief he held his peace. Finally the man gave up. “Well?” he said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Karal grinned; at least this would be one thing he could surprise the man with. “Ulrich was a Black-robe—that is to say, a Demon-Summoner—before Her Holiness Solaris made the Black-robe nothing more than a rank. And now, of course, there aren’t any Fires. The Cleansing ceremony has gone back to what it used to be. Ulrich and I found the original Rite in one of the ancient Litany Books.” He didn’t make Rubrik ask for the answer this time. “It’s a Rite of Passage, that’s what it originally was, before it was perverted; children who are about to become