“How does that feel, Cat Rider?” asked Beaver Tooth, an elf of indeterminable age. He had just finished adjusting the last buckle of five, three below the knee and two above. Then he stood up from his crouch, brushed off his leather apron, and inspected the contraption, which was my own name for the thing. It got pulled onto the stump of Andray’s left leg like a stocking and buckled into place. It looked like a thigh-tall boot. If it worked, my boy would have a chance to walk without crutches. He might still need a cane or two, but I wanted to see an end to the crutches.
“It feels snug,” Andray felt around his thigh where the contraption ended.
“Well, it’s supposed to be snug, so that’s good,” Beaver Tooth nodded. “Shall we give it a try, Sleeping Willow?”
The tall elven healer, Sleeping Willow, stood up from her chair, “I suggest we stand on either side of him.” As a healer, she had worked through the autumn and winter on ways to improve Cat Rider’s mobility. First, the leaves fell, and then the snow. Sleeping Willow and the artificer Beaver Tooth had spent most of that time designing and building the contraption. Today was its debut.
“Cat Rider,” Sleeping Willow stood on his left side, “do you think you can stand on your own?”
“I don’t think so,” his voice was doubtful. He was being negative again. It was a bad habit of his, and it infuriated me. He was so used to being put into helpless situations that helplessness had become a habit. He needed to stop thinking about all the things he couldn’t do and start looking at what he could do.
I got up, walked around the back of the stool he was sitting on, and slipped my cold nose under the hem of his tunic, placing it on the skin of his back just above the top of his pants.
“Gaaaaah!” He shot up on his feet – well, foot – and then he stood. Beaver Tooth and Sleeping Willow grabbed his arms and helped him to balance.
“What did you do that for, Fuzzy?” he accused. I put my front paws on the stool, placed my chin on top of them, and purred contentedly.
“I think Fuzzy disagreed with you that you couldn’t stand on your own,” Sleeping Willow sounded amused. “I’ve noticed she’s usually right about things like that. Shall we try taking some steps forward? You may need to slide the left foot forward until you get enough strength in your leg to pick it up.”
The threesome made several passes, slowly walking back and forth in Sleeping Willow’s healing chambers.
“Now,” Sleeping Willow stopped, “try some steps yourself. We’re here to catch you, so don’t worry about falling. We won’t let you.”
“Promise?” Cat Rider looked dubious.
“Trust me,” she pinched his cheek. “I know you can do this. Start with little steps.”
He stood there, just getting a feel of his balance. Then he slid his left leg forward, shifted his weight, and stepped with his right foot. He froze before he started a repeat of the motion. He walked 12 steps on his own before he lost his balance, and Beaver Tooth caught him and helped him back to the stool, which I had already vacated.
“How’s it feel?” Beaver Tooth asked. “Pinching anywhere? Does the bottom of the stump hurt or feel bruised?”
“The strap under the knee is rubbing a bit,” Cat Rider felt around his left knee.
“Is it bad enough that you want to take it off?”
“No, at least not yet.”
“Let’s check on it in the morning, right after breakfast. Can we meet here, Sleeping Willow?”
“Of course,” she brought Cat Rider’s crutches over. “Do you think you can get the false leg on by yourself in the morning, Cat Rider?”
My boy thought about it too long. The frown between his eyebrows was a crevice, and he stared intently at the floor while he mulled it over. I strolled over, put my paw on his good knee, and nodded at him. He gave me an indignant look in return.
“Looks like Fuzzy says you can,” Sleeping Willow laughed, “so I will take that as a yes. “
“Well then, I will see you both tomorrow morning,” Beaver Tooth put on his cloak and hat and waved as he let himself out. I reminded myself that I needed to bag a few more wolves so he could finish the wolf fur cloak he was making for his partner, the bowyer Little Deer. She was making a crossbow for my boy, modified to account for his immobile left hand and wrist.
“How’s the glass eye doing?” Sleeping Willow asked Cat Rider. She devoted a great deal of time when she first met Cat Rider, clearing out the scar tissue around the empty eye socket and healing it so it would accept a glass eye.
“I don’t even notice it anymore,” my boy answered with a grin. “Cloud Eye says he can make one that looks like the stars at night, one that will cast a light like a lantern, and another that will have a perpetual flame in it. I think the one with a flame would look really creepy with my new half-mask.”
“I’ve created a monster,” Sleeping Willow wailed in mock despair. “Just warn me if you’re going to use any of your eyes to surprise Roaming Wren. I want to watch. Now, do you want to move to a chair, or do you want to have your magic lesson while sitting on that uncomfortable stool?”
“I’ll take the chair,” he concentrated, held onto the crutches, and stood up. He had a wobbly moment finding his balance but finally stood straight without swaying. He slowly walked across the room to the armchair where he usually sat when Sleeping Willow taught him magic. He walked without putting the crutches under his arms. Instead, he held them in his hands like walking sticks.
“You will hate me soon because I’m going to make you walk until you hurt,” Sleeping Willow said as she picked up the stool and sat in front of him. “Once the snow melts, we will build your arms up so you can pull a bow and cock your crossbow. How’s the throwing knife practice going?”
“Ugh,” he grimaced.
“That good, eh?” She gave him an appraising look. “Storm Eagle told me you’re getting them all on the target now. That’s a huge improvement compared to when you started.”
“Ugh.” He slumped and held his head.
She laughed at his reaction, “just remember, elves start learning to throw knives and spikes when we’re children. Now quit moping and show me your spell of light.”
As a little boy, Cat Rider wanted to learn magic, but his father would not permit it. He knew he had some magic talent since he taught himself to start a fire and levitate a piece of paper. When he moved into the household of the Elven King, he was thrilled when the elves offered him magic lessons.
Cat Rider held his hand up and recited the spell in the old language. I repeated the words in my head with him out of habit. I had heard them so many times that I was beginning to pick up the sense of the old language.
Light wrapped itself around Cat Rider’s hand. Then he looked at me, tapped Sleeping Willow on the knee, and pointed at me. She turned and looked at me. Then her jaw dropped.
“Drop your spell,” she told Cat Rider. The light died around his hand. They both stared at me. I had no idea why.
“Fuzzy, did you know you’re glowing with light?” she asked me.
What? I was what? I lifted my paw and looked at it. It was indeed glowing. So was my other paw. I turned and looked at my tail, and it was glowing too.
“Fuzzy, did you recite the words of the spell to yourself when Cat Rider cast his?” She studied me with an unwavering stare. I nodded.
“You must know the word to end the spell. Say it to yourself now.”
Γηνηγ, I said in my head. The glow vanished.
Sleeping Willow sat up straight, “Fascinating. Do you want to learn magic, Fuzzy? It looks like you have a talent for it. You might be able to do the spell for mind-talking if you practice enough. Now wouldn’t that be something?”
When I recovered from my amazement, I nodded yes.
Cat Rider didn’t get a magic lesson. Sleeping Willow spent the rest of the afternoon running through all the spells she had taught my boy to see how many I could do. I could do all of them, though I needed coaching to light a candle, and I could only levitate small objects like coins. I couldn’t levitate anything as heavy as a book like my boy could. Cat Rider looked put out that I could do all the spells he painfully learned over half a year.
“Oh, quit pouting, envy puss,” Sleeping Willow flicked her finger on his forehead, the side not covered with the half-mask. “She’s been learning all the same spells as you during your lessons. I’m not too surprised that she cast spells. After all, you and I are just plain mortals while she was born a magical creature. And now I think it’s time for us to head home for dinner.”
Sleeping Willow’s healing chambers were four small linked rooms, again mostly below ground, with windows filling the space between ground level outside and the roof. It was one of several places of business that fronted onto the large green in front of the King’s house. She was the King’s cousin, and she too lived at King’s house, along with eleven other first or second cousins, five aunts, three uncles, the King’s mother, the King’s partner Deer Foot, his two youngest daughters, and his two youngest sons, none of whom had found partners yet. The King also had custody of nine orphaned boys and three orphaned girls. If Red Hawk’s house was organized chaos, King Storm Eagle’s house was pandemonium personified.
Cat Rider wore a long coat with a hood instead of a cloak because he couldn’t use crutches with a cloak. He got his coat and mittens, put the hood up, and faced the wind and snow outside. I knew Sleeping Willow would be right behind him.
As for me, I was out the door first to face my evening tussle with Motley Owl, a tall orphaned boy the same age as Cat Rider. I crept up to the top of the passageway of Sleeping Willow’s healing chambers without being seen by Motley Owl. He was intent on his thrown weapon practice. Even with the brisk breeze, his throws were both precise and accurate. He was well on his way to being a superior warrior.
I managed to circle behind him without his notice. Covering myself with snow, I snuck up slowly and silently toward my prey. When he turned his head and saw Cat Rider walking with the false leg, he forgot everything about his surroundings. He started running toward Cat Rider and Sleeping Willow, not five yards from me.
Of course, I leapt, wrapped my forelimbs around his neck, and brought him down. Or I thought I did. He used my momentum to flip us both in mid-air, so he landed with his back to me and on top of me. He was tall, even for an elf, but he hadn’t filled out with adult muscle yet, so I outweighed him. I got all four paws on his backside and pushed. When he came back down, I was already on my feet and pounced. Cougar on chest, tongue applied to face, I won. Then I laid down on top of him, feeling satisfied with myself.
“It looks likes you lost today, Owl,” my boy gimped up on his crutches with Sleeping Willow behind him.
“Dang big fat feline,” Motley Owl muttered, which was a lot of words for him. He wasn’t a talkative boy, but Cat Rider talked enough to make up for the two of them. Motley Owl lost his family in a fire, and the King took him in when he was nine because Motley Owl’s father had been one of the King’s leading warriors. In elven culture, the King, his chiefs, and the elders took in and raised orphaned children.
When Cat Rider showed up at the King’s house, the loner Motley Owl took to Cat Rider like a long-lost brother. Even before the King introduced Cat Rider to the household, Motley Owl noticed Cat Rider’s burn scars and offered to share his bed space in the room where all the boys his age slept. Because the boys engaged in hazing, Motley Owl assumed that a disabled boy – especially one who was human – would need a protector.
Before he grew so much that no one dared bother him, Motley was once the object of harassment because of his own shyness and his burn scars, mostly on his back and legs. As someone who understood what it was like to survive fire, he appointed himself Cat Rider’s protector. Instant friends, the two boys were inseparable. I found it rather touching myself.
As Cat Rider’s cat, I slept beside him when I wasn’t out hunting. No one dared trouble Cat Rider, though a few boys were politely unfriendly. The one time Blue Fox, the King’s youngest, tried to cut in on Cat Rider when it was my boy’s rightful turn at the washbasin, Motley Owl picked Blue Fox up, walked him to the back of the line, and said simply, “picking on the weak? How worthy of a King’s son,” while brushing off imaginary dust from Blue Fox’s tunic. The short-sheeting pranks and pouring tree syrup in his boots didn’t stop, but the harassment never escalated to physical harm.
Motley Owl and I fell into a habit of roughhousing, something I couldn’t do with Cat Rider, at least not until he got stronger. Over time, it turned into a game of my trying to ambush Motley Owl and Motley Owl avoiding me. I won if I could get him on his back with me on top. He won if he could pick me up so I couldn’t get away. We had a lot of draws out on the Elvenhome green before Deer Foot would call us into dinner in annoyance.
But I won this evening. I was feeling happy enough about it that I was purring.
“May I please get my freezing butt out of the snow?” Motley Owl asked, just a tad annoyed. I hopped off. He was up instantly and inspecting the false leg, “it looks like it works well enough. How does it feel, Cat?”
“It rubs a bit behind the knee, but I think some padding will fix that,” Cat Rider picked up the weight of the false leg a few inches off the ground, “it’s starting to make all my muscles sore. I might hurt in the morning.”
Motley Owl flashed one of his few smiles, “If you are, I can always carry you to Sleeping Willow’s healing chambers.”
“As if I’d let you,” my boy tried to swat Motley Owl with a crutch, over-balanced, and fell. Motley Owl picked him up out of the snow, and Sleeping Willow retrieved the crutches.
“Save playing around until you’re used to walking again,” Sleeping Willow chided Cat Rider lightly. “Now, let’s return to the house because I’m hungry, and you should be too.”
As dinner ended and the older children started to clear the tables, Sleeping Willow got up from her usual place, grabbed a stool, and tapped Deer Foot on the shoulder. “Can I scoot in for a minute? I have some rather important news the King needs to hear.”
“When you say it that way, yes, of course,” Deer Foot slid left, and the tall healer sat down.
Storm Eagle, the King, was an elven warrior of great renown and a competent battle mage. He was also an acclaimed hunter. His bluff fighter exterior hid the fact that he was keenly intelligent. He was also a talented farmer, which was his profession before he became King, and he still kept some fields to plant and saw in his spare time, experimenting with new cash crops that might benefit the local elven economy.
“This is unusual,” Storm Eagle remarked, shifting his attention from making small talk with his mother, Bright Stream. “What has happened? You have that important news look on your face, cousin.”
“Our divine beast guest can do magic,” she said in her usual forthright way.
“That’s...that’s rather amazing,” he replied. “How did you discover this?”
“By accident,” she stretched her legs out. “Fuzzy has been reciting the words to the spells in her head as Cat Rider chanted them during our lessons. Today, while chanting the spell for using oneself as a source of light, she lit herself up.”
“Oh, I want to see this,” Deer Foot exclaimed.
“Me too,” Storm eagle nodded his head. “Can we get her over to show us?”
“No, wait,” Sleeping Willow held up a hand, “there’s more. I ran her through all the spells that Cat Rider has learned, and she can cast all of them. She can’t levitate much weight, and I needed to walk her through the steps for lighting a candle, but the girl can do magic. Given she’s a real divine beast, she may be able to master mind talking.”
“Now wouldn’t that be something,” Storm Eagle said, looking off into the distance, pondering the possibilities. “It suggests that boy of hers may have an interesting destiny.”
“That boy of hers is an extremely talented student mage,” Sleeping Willow remarked. “He can already heal minor cuts and wounds. Please do me the favor of not telling him how astounding he is. He thinks he has a lot of catching up to do in terms of learning magic. He’s very motivated right now.”
“That’s evil of you,” Storm Eagle laughed. “That poor boy. You really could use a bit less pressure on him.”
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“Storm Eagle, he spent two years of being packed in combed fleece and treated like he would break, with no one expecting anything of him – and he took it to heart. Don’t you dare cozen him. That’s the last thing he needs. He’s just beginning to believe he can achieve things despite his disabilities. We need to keep him on that path. He needs to find his ambition. If you asked Fuzzy, she would agree with me.”
“How does his friendship with Motley Owl play into that?” Deer Foot asked. “I would think having a big strong boy like Motley Owl around would leave Cat Rider feeling inadequate.”
“Motley Owl is good for Cat Rider,” Sleeping Willow stated. “He doesn’t let Cat Rider indulge in feeling sorry for himself, and he’s rather good at distracting the boy and cheering him up when he gets depressed. Besides, Fuzzy approves of Motley Owl.”
“How can you tell?” Bright Stream asked, silently following the conversation up to now.
“If you have Fuzzy’s favor, she’ll let you scratch her tummy.”
“Who does she favor?” Deer Foot wanted to know.
“Cat Rider, of course, myself, Motley Owl, your difficult daughter Roaming Wren, Little Deer, and Cloud Eye,” Sleeping Willow rattled off the names. She paused and looked thoughtful. “Before I forget to mention this, I must warn you that Cloud Eye has made some special glass eyes for Cat Rider, though don’t spread it around because I think he wants to surprise Roaming Wren.”
“Why do I feel a sudden sense of dread?” Storm Eagle groaned.
“How does the mother’s curse go again?” Deer Foot asked rhetorically.
“May you have children just like you,” Bright Stream helpfully answered, with a smile ripe with schadenfreude.
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I ran into a trio of walkers on my way home to Elvenhome, two annoyed border sentries escorting what looked like an older human between them. I had been on a hunt for a bear who had been causing trouble in Chief Sharp Turtle’s territory. I caught up to the walkers on the South Road while carrying a package of bear loin as my reward for killing the bear.
From the back, the human didn’t look well. He was limping and unable to go as fast as the sentries wanted. When I passed them and looked back, I was startled to see the human was Father Garshom.
I circled back and stopped in front of him. Dropping my package of bear meat, I started purring loudly and rubbing against his thighs.
“Do you know this person, Lady Fuzzy?” one of the sentries asked.
I nodded and looked up into Father Garshom’s amazed face. He fell to his knees, hugged me, and started weeping. Something terrible must have happened for him to be here and in such a state. I rubbed the side of his head with mine and kept purring. He seemed like he needed the reassurance.
It took him a minute to collect himself, “I’m sorry, my lady. It’s been difficult for me for the last several days. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you here. I have been at the end of my hope. It’s been so...” His voice failed, and he slumped over onto me. It appeared that he was also at the end of his endurance.
“Nettle Leaf,” the sentry on the right addressed his partner in arms, “I think we overestimated this human’s ability to walk three leagues.”
“Hawk Eye, from the look the divine beast is giving us, we may be in a bit of trouble.
I could smell wood smoke which meant there was a dwelling nearby. I ran a circle to pinpoint where the smoke was from. Then I ran toward the source to see how far it was from the road. It was nearby, only about 200 yards. I noticed that I missed the trail that led to it from the South Road. I ran up to confirm it was a house.
It was an elven house and farm, and there were people about. An elf woman saw me approaching at a loping run and screamed. “Mountain cat! Get the children inside.”
A young man came running out with a bow. I was rolling sideways as soon as the arrow was in flight. It got lost in the snow. I ducked behind a tree. I waved my tail, and another arrow went whizzing by. He was an enthusiastic archer.
“Hey!” Nettle Leaf yelled, “Quit shooting. You’ll hit somebody!” I could see him about 100 yards back with Hawk Eye carrying Father Garshom on his back.
“There’s a mountain cat!” someone yelled from the house.
“It’s the divine beast. Don’t shoot.”
I waited for them to catch up.
“I didn’t know why you ran off,” Nettle Leaf explained, “but then I smelled the smoke and figured you went to look for shelter for the old man.”
I nodded. I collected the two arrows and joined them. We kept walking toward the house.
The woman who screamed came to meet us. She bowed to me in apology, “I’m so sorry, divine beast. We did not know it was you.”
I shrugged at her. It was no big deal. It was understandable, given that there are many wild mountain cats and only one of me. I dropped the arrows and the cloth-wrapped bear meat. I carefully extended a claw and started writing in the snow: “I get king.” I pulled on Nettle Leaf’s cloak so he would see it.
“Oh,” he said. “We will get the old fellow inside and warmed up while we wait for someone from the King’s house.”
I trusted that the sentries and the house I found would take good care of Father Garshom. I turned, and I ran as fast as I could. It was about two leagues to get to the King’s house. I sprinted the whole way. I was so out of breath when I hit the passage down to the entryway that I lost my footing and rolled, thumping into the wood of the outer door. I made a great noise. I lay against the door in a heap gasping for air.
The door opened. I was still panting and didn’t look up.
“Fuzzy?” It was Proud Elk, Bright Stream’s brother and the King’s uncle. “What’s wrong, girl? You’re all out of breath.”
I managed to get to my feet and staggered through the door. I looked around the room and didn’t see the King, so I walked over to the shallow box of sand the elves had built for me. I wrote “King” with a claw.
Proud Elk, who had followed me, frowned, “He’s in a meeting about trade with Osterius.”
I wiped the sand clean and then wrote, “rescue.” Under it, I wrote, “sleigh.”
“I’m sorry, Fuzzy,” Proud Elk straightened up. “I’m going to get Deer Foot. We will all understand you quicker that way.” To his credit, Proud Elk ran to the hallway that connected to the rooms where the King and the Truthsayer conducted kingdom business. I had caught my breath when he reappeared with both Deer Foot and Storm Eagle.
I ran up to Deer Foot and stood, putting my paws on her shoulders.
“You are riled up,” she smiled at me. “Let me sit down, Fuzzy. You’re heavy.” She pulled up a chair, “now, you remember how this works.” She put her hand on my head, “form the images in your mind so I can see.”
I recalled overtaking the sentries and Father Garshom, the priest collapsing, finding the house off the South Road. I ran through the sequence twice. Her mind magic was strong, and she was even better at seeing what I was thinking than Sleeping Willow.
“Can you find the house again?” she asked. I nodded.
“What is it? Why is Fuzzy all in a tither?” Storm Eagle asked.
“You better get the big sleigh rigged,” Deer Foot looked up at her partner. “It’s Bishop de Welk, who two escarpment guards were escorting here. He collapsed on the way. They found a house to shelter in, so it’s not dire, but he probably can’t continue on foot.”
What Deer Foot said flattened me. Father Garshom was a bishop? Deer Foot recognized him? Storm Eagle knew him? Would somebody please explain this to me? I felt a bit agitated, especially since I had questions and no human speech to ask them.
“You look upset, Fuzzy,” Storm Eagle got down in a squat and scratched behind my ears. “Do you know Garshom de Welk?” I nodded.
“And I assume then that he knows you?” I nodded again.
“Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me in the least. Uncle, could I trouble you to get the big sleigh out and rigged?” Storm Eagle asked Proud Elk. The older elf nodded and left to take care of it.
“Fuzzy, come with me to the meeting room,” the King stood. “I want to show you a map so you can show me where this house is.”
The trip to fetch Garshom was much less eventful, though it was the first time I got to ride in a sleigh. The driver blindfolded the four reindeer so I could get in unseen. Father Garshom was still out of it when we fetched him and brought him back to the King’s house. I deserted my boy and slept at the foot of Garshom’s bed that night. I wanted him to see a friend when he woke.
The King charged me to wake him and Deer Foot when Garshom opened his eyes. Storm Eagle was concerned that Garshom might accidentally reveal Cat Rider’s real identity, which King had kept secret. My boy’s security depended on Prince Andray Nordvek vanishing.
I hoped someone would answer all my questions once the old priest or bishop woke up.
----------------------------------------
“Queen Griselda is now regent while the King is bedridden,” a rested and fed Garshom explained to a small group of us: Storm Eagle, Deer Foot, Sleeping Willow, Bright Stream, Red Hawk, Cat Rider, and myself. “Access to the King gets harder with each passing day, or so I’m told.
“As for what happened to me, the Queen never forgave my interference after the hunting lodge fire, especially when my agents found the arsonist and brought him back to Tammerhof. Unfortunately, the prison guards found him hanging by his belt in his cell before the clerics could cast the truth spell on him, but the Provost Guards forced me to turn over custody.
“I was framed for the missing funds from the church alms soon after that. The case rested on the word of Geralt de Ramnerburg versus my word. There was no evidence, just rumors. Griselda wanted me defrocked and exiled. The King intervened, so the Archbishop merely demoted me. Then he found the kingdom’s furthest, poorest, and coldest temple and sent me there to be forgotten.
“I loved my congregation of Herman’s Close, all except Lord and Lady Herman, who are the Queen’s creatures. Bless them, though, because they are still our Mother Goddess’ children. First, Lady Herman cut me off from this imp,” he reached out and messed up my boy’s hair. “Next, Lord Herman decided I was too old to be tending a temple congregation. Five days ago, I was thrown out of my temple by a young cleric and his muscular valet, though I find the Queen stepping up as regent 16 days ago just a little too coincidental.
“I did not receive the customary return fare or stipend, contrary to tradition. I took my few belongings and stayed with some of my congregation. Then four days ago, a detachment of Provost Guards appeared in Herman’s Close with an arrest warrant for me. My congregants hid me and helped me into the forest, whose tracks and trails I know well. The Provost Guards loosed hounds to track me down, so I climbed the escarpment. You know the rest.”
“Few have successfully scaled the escarpment with no climbing tools and lived to tell of it,” Storm Eagle glowered at the old human priest, “but I think you may be the first to do so during winter, you old fool. You could have fallen to your death,”
“Or I could have been caught by the Provost’s men, which would have been certain death,” the old man emptied his cup. “Might there be more of that wonderful hot cider?” Father Garshom had started to sound like his old self instead of a desperate old man in fear for his life.
“If you want to stay here,” Storm Eagle sat back in his chair, “I can put you to work schooling the youngsters in things like geography, history, and human commerce.”
“Ha! I thought you would ask me to do some real work!” Garshom grinned. “Andra…,” he coughed to cover his mistake. “Cat Rider, can you run on the false leg?”
“No, any running I do is on Fuzzy’s back,” my boy explained.
“But your eye? I thought you lost your eye in the fire?” Garshom was incredulous.
“It’s glass, Father Garshom,” my boy looked smug. “I have several I can use, including one that’s a magic lantern.”
“Merciful Matadee!” Then the old man smiled, “I have worried about you. I knew Lady Fuzzy was looking after you, but then she vanished, and you with her. Arriving here safely, where I hoped my old acquaintances Storm Eagle and Deer Foot would not turn me away, and then finding you and my lady here has lifted a great weight from my heart. If I were to perish tomorrow, I would go to our Great Mother in peace.”
“Oh, stop it, you,” Storm Eagle snapped. “You’re all gristle and bone and too tough to kill that easily. Here, have some more hot cider,” he held out a pitcher to fill the priest’s cup. “We have several groups of younglings going out on their two years adventuring as soon as the snow melts. I would be grateful if you could give them the benefit of your knowledge about the world beyond our borders.”
“You know that all you need to do is ask, Storm Eagle,” Garshom smiled and looked truly happy. It made me happy to see him happy.
“My lady,” he addressed me, “could I beg a favor of you? Would you visit Herman’s Close and take a message to Dekker or Molly, the baker’s wife? My friends there will be worried for me, and I would like them to know I landed in a safe place.”
I nodded. It was an easy favor.
Sleeping Willow looked at Garshom and then at me. “Father Garshom, how is your magic, might I ask?”
“I am very good at healing, solid in all five of the basic spell types, and proficient in battle magic, which is the consequence of being a knight mage before I changed my path in life to follow the Mother Goddess more closely.”
“In other words, you are a practicing mage, yes?” she concluded.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. I could use a hand at teaching magic to some of my more unusual students.” Sleeping Willow grinned at me. “Fuzzy, why don’t you show Garshom your light spell.”
“Μειτσjε μεν ιτ λιχτ.” I said the old language words in my mind, casting the spell on myself.
“By Erda!” Garshom’s jaw was hanging. “That’s...that’s...”
“Yes, it’s amazing. Fuzzy is an excellent student, and unlike some students in this room, she never talks back.”
Everyone laughed except Cat Rider, who pouted instead.
“Γενεγ.” I ended the spell.
“Fuzzy, try your newest spell on Father Garshom,” Sleeping Willow winked at me.
I fixed my eyes on the priest and said in my head: Οαδιννε στjοερ μν γεδαχτε δηριννε.
*Hello, Garshom,* I sent the thought to him.
“You can mindtalk?” he almost fell off his chair.
*Is hard,*
“You can mindtalk!” Garshom beamed. “The more you practice, the easier it will get.”
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Roaming Wren dropped her pack on the floor of the common hall and greeted a depressed-looking Cat Rider, “you look like you ate something sour.”
During the year and a half that Cat Rider spent in Elvenhome, he and Roaming Wren had gotten taller, but the similarity ended there. Roaming Wren took after her father and her second cousin, Sleeping Willow, in height. She was already taller than most elven men.
Cat Rider had finally hit his own growth spurt. At 14, he was now as tall as most short human women. Roaming Wren at 16 was two heads taller. He was just a bit touchy about his lack of height.
“Rough day,” he sighed. “I lost ten out of ten magic duels with the pussy cat today, and I’m not feeling very adequate right now.” His voice had dropped into a pleasant baritone over the last year.
“Do you usually lose that badly?”
“Most days, I can usually get one win or one draw,” he dropped his head on the table in front of him with a thunk. “I’m hopeless. Can’t run. Can’t fight. Can’t pull a longbow. Can’t climb a tree. Can’t beat the pussy cat at spells. I think I’m going to find a Cat Rider-sized hole and not come out for two or three decades.”
She laughed as she sat down, “you are in a great mood.” She looked around the mostly empty room. “Where’s the kitty cat?”
The forehead was still glued to the tabletop, “She’s out hunting. She said she was getting fat doing nothing but magic all day.”
“Have you given any thought to what Cloud Eye and I proposed before I left?”
“Yes, and my answer is no,” Cat Rider grumbled. “I’m so incompetent that I’d probably get everybody in my party killed. I should find a quiet desk job in a library so I won’t get in anybody’s way for the rest of my incompetent life.”
“Talked about this at all with Motley Owl?” Wren asked, one eyebrow raised at Cat Rider’s mood.
“No, I’d just get him killed too.”
“Arg. You are just impossible when you get like this,” she rolled her eyes. “Why did I even come home?”
“Because you wanted to get home before the snow fell,” he muttered. “You were just in the nick of time.” Without picking up his head still attached to the table, he said softly, “Ωεασιλι, μει ἰν λτσε βλιζζαρδ σνιε ὀπ ἁρ ὁλλε.”
A tiny dark-grey cloud appeared over Roaming Wren’s head, dropping snowflakes on her.
“Cat! Cat, stop it.” She grabbed the cloak she had just taken off and held it over her head. “Show off.”
He chuckled and picked his head up, grinning. “Γενεγ.”
“Thanks,” she put the cloak down, “I think. So, where is Motley Owl?”
“Skiing,” Cat Rider said in disgust. “He wanted to see if he could break his own record from here to the temple glade and back. He needs to arrive before the next mark on the water clock.”
“He’s as bad as you. Perfectionists, both of you,” she accused.
Cat Rider was about to say something when people began to scream and yell outside. The door banged open as several elves ran in and turned immediately for the hallways.
“Wyvern!” one of the King’s guards yelled. “There’s a wyvern. Get into the hallways, away from the windows!” He waited until everyone had entered from outside. Then, he grabbed a bow and quiver off the rack by the door and ran back out. Roaming Wren did the same and followed him. Cat Rider could hear someone shouting orders outside.
Cat Rider grabbed his walking stick and limped up the passageway to the surface. He saw Proud Elk with a spear and Motley Owl on his skis with his sword in hand. Both were fighting off the wyvern o which was trying to grab them with its talons. Father Garshom was firing fireballs at its head. Several elves were trying to hit the wyvern in the soft targets of its eyes, snout, and mouth, the only places the flying monster was vulnerable.
Cat Rider knew he should go inside, but the spectacle of the fight captured his eye. The wyvern was a white snow wyvern, a type that rarely came this far south. It was over five yards long, not counting the cruelly barbed tail which swatted Motley Owl aside. Then the wyvern sank a talon into Proud Elk’s shoulder and started to rise to escape with the older elf as its next meal.
“No!” Cat Rider took a breath and dropped into an open-eyed trance state. He held his walking stick in front of him as a focus and pulled words together from his knowledge of the old language. He didn’t know if his idea would work, but he needed to craft a new spell to save Proud Elk: “Μεμ γοαδιννε εἁρ μ ἰτ ἰις φαν ‘ε δjιψτε ἑλ στjοερε ὀμ δε ὁλλε φαν ‘ε σνιεερν τε βεφριεζεν!”
He felt a profound cold gather around his hands, yet it didn’t touch him. He knew somehow that whatever the cold did touch would perish immediately. The swirling deadly cold followed the path he carved out with his eyes, a shining white dart of death that smashed into the head of the wyvern before the winged monster gained more than a few yards of altitude.
Its grip on Proud Elk faltered and the elf fell to the ground. Then the wyvern itself lost all motion and fell into the snow-covered field.
Cat Rider felt dizzy, and there was a funny hissing in his ears. The passageway to the door of the common hall tilted up and hit his side. The world turned a funny yellow ochre.
Cat Rider opened his eyes and tried to sit up, only to clutch his head as unbearable pain descended. He fell back onto the tabletop and curled into a ball of hurt. Someone touched his head, and he heard Father Garshom chanting. The pain faded from unbearable to merely terrible. He opened his eyes again to find that he was on one of the tables in the common hall with a cloak wadded up as a pillow.
“Back with us, Cat?” Father Garshom smiled in relief. “Remember my telling you that if you cast a bigger spell than you had the capacity for, you would make yourself sick in the head?”
“So that’s why I feel so wonderful,” Cat Rider groaned.
“If he can joke like that,” Roaming Wren laughed, “then he’ll be fine.”
“Well, youngster,” Storm Eagle walked up, “Sleeping Willow tells me that Proud Elk will be fine in a day or two, so we are in your debt. And now, we will place you in one of the guest rooms, and Father Garshom will put you to sleep until the day after next so you can sleep off the headache from using too much magic.”
“And when you wake up, you will tell Sleeping Willow and me exactly what it was that you cast, youngster,” Father Garshom looked like he wanted to chide and praise Cat Rider at the same time. “I’m getting too old for this.”