The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [211]
At the south end of the room was the only furniture—a modest circular white-oak table about four cubits across, surrounded by five matching chairs with golden cushions. Against the wall were two serving tables of white oak. The left one bore a tray of covered dishes.
At the table sat two figures.
The silent white footman marched until we were almost at the table, bowed, then departed, leaving me standing there, staff in hand. With his reddened eyes, his gaunt and pallid face, his lank white hair, and his jerky gait, he looked like a marionette—the white wizard’s puppet.
Antonin and the dark-haired woman—Sephya—looked up from the table, the ever-present white oak under a golden varnish. Steam rose from their plates.
“Would you care to join us?” His voice was pleasant, as if I were an old acquaintance making a social call.
I smiled politely, just as I had been taught to do, but my stomach twisted at even that deception.
“Not if phrased quite that way, most accomplished of white wizards.” I bowed. Bowing didn’t bother me. He was accomplished—no questions about that.
“The young fellow has respect, Sephya. You must permit him that.” Antonin took a bite from his plate after he spoke.
“He has manners, my lord. Those are not quite the same as respect.” Her voice was deferential, not subservient…and vaguely familiar.
I turned toward the woman, studying her directly. Apparently-dark hair, but not even shoulder-length, eyes whose color seemed to shift between gray and blue, and a pale complexion. Beneath that…I swallowed, and forced my thoughts elsewhere.
One problem at a time.
“He is also perceptive.” She took a sip from the glass goblet. “A shade dangerous. He might even have been a worthy adversary, were he not so impetuous.”
I swallowed again, realizing that she was delicately trying to get me angry, in such a way that I wouldn’t realize exactly what she was doing. “You do me too much honor, my lady.”
“She is known for that,” added the white wizard. His voice bore an edge. “You haven’t exactly explained why you marched down my roads and up to my doorstep. Or a few other minor inconveniences, either.” He arched one eyebrow—the right one—and I had to admire that little trick.
I shrugged. What could I explain? That I had decided to destroy him? I decided to say nothing.
His eyes seemed to grow whiter as he watched me, but I looked beyond him, trying to measure the chaos that centered, as much as chaos could center anywhere, within and around the room.
“You’ve provided an interesting puzzle, blackstaffer. You could be rather helpful in some ways.” The white wizard smiled and lifted his arm. A small fireball appeared between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “Perhaps you would like to learn the workings of fire? Bringing greater knowledge to mankind?”
My skin itched, and the room felt darker, though the sky outside was as blue as ever and the golden light still filled the room.
“To all people?” I forced a laugh, which was hard, because my throat was as dry as a desert.
“You came to me. You are seeking answers, after all.” The fireball vanished as he lowered his hand, pushed back the chair, and stood.
I did not smile, but took a deep breath. Antonin was not quite as tall as I was, and his arms were still the knobby arms of a merchant. I stepped back and looked toward the wall of windows, wondering absently if Gairloch were still waiting patiently beyond the two rocky hills that flanked Antonin’s private road. “I did,” I finally admitted.
“For what? The answers that frightened Recluce refuses to share? Or the power that belongs to all