The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [219]
Justen nodded. “How many people could build a screen like that?”
“Probably any good order-master…I didn’t think about it.”
He nodded again. “How many blackstaffers could and would break their only defense in front of a white wizard?”
“That was stupid, I guess. I didn’t know if it would work, but holding onto it wouldn’t have protected me for very much longer, and the staff kept getting in the way. Besides, that’s what the book said.”
“You’re right. But…no one else, not since before Frven, has stood face-to-face with the highest of chaos-masters and triumphed.” Justen gestured out at the town. “You wonder why everyone bows and scrapes and won’t look at you? That’s why. You wonder why Talryn is quaking in his sandals? Every chaos-master and order-master in the Western Hemisphere heard Antonin fall—”
“That’s fine, except I’m not an ancient order-master. I’m even ready for Tamra’s bitching. At least that’s real. I’m ready to go back to crafting. That’s real, too.”
Justen smiled. “Who said you couldn’t?”
“Right! Good old Lerris is so smart…so why didn’t I at least pick up some of Antonin’s ill-gotten loot before I dashed out? I might have three gold pennies left in my pouch. That’s not enough even for tools.”
“I suspect that the reward the autarch is about to confer—”
“Another ceremony?” I groaned. Having half the city lined up at the gate and waving banners—very quietly—had been bad enough. Even Yelena had looked in my direction and grinned.
“Your burden to bear. That’s another price for heroism.”
None of that answered my questions, but then, no one else would probably ever answer them.
“How’s Tamra?” I changed the subject.
“Ask her yourself. I’ll send her up here shortly.” He smiled. “She will bitch at you. She told me she would.”
I let him go. He wasn’t about to answer the real questions, not the ones I wasn’t about to ask, and that still hadn’t changed. So I waited.
And waited.
And waited, remembering in time that Tamra had never been punctual for anyone.
Click. She didn’t like knocking, either.
Those blue china-doll eyes, cold as ice, took me in as Tamra stepped—clothed in dark-gray once more, wearing a bright-blue scarf—onto the chill and sunlit balcony. Her red hair glinted in the light as she edged up to the railing; then she turned to look at me. She was wearing it longer, with matching black combs sweeping it away from her face.
“Good morning, Lerris.”
“Good morning, Tamra.”
I walked over to the edge. I was careful out of habit not to stand too close—either to the railing, or to Tamra—and looked out on Kyphrien.
As the silence continued, I said nothing, for it was not my turn to speak.
A puffy white cloud edged toward the sun, casting a brief shadow across the narrow walled balcony where we contained a corner of Recluce, a corner that needed to be expanded beyond the black walls of the Brotherhood, beyond the black walls of Nylan and the narrow confines of the High Temple.
“I should thank you.” Her voice was as flat as I had ever heard it.
“Don’t. The one who deserves thanks is Justen.”
Her hand came to her mouth, but she still did not look in my direction.
“If Justen hadn’t given me just enough hints and forced me to answer my own questions, neither of us would be here.” My guts twisted slightly.
“You believe that? Or is it just more poor little Lerris?”
Good old Tamra! I actually grinned. “More poor little Lerris, of course. But remember that I did have something to do with rescuing you.”
“Do you really expect me to fall at your feet and be eternally grateful? To mirror your great shining light?”
I kept grinning. She sounded like the Tamra I recalled. “Well…eternal gratitude would be nice…”
“You’re still impossible.”
“Only sometimes. The rest of the time, I look for perfection.”
She didn’t answer for a long time. Finally,