Elemental Magic: All-New Tales of the Elemental Masters by Mercedes Lackey

forty-four words later, Thomas Davies was a Yeoman Warder.
    He smiled with relief and pleasure as the Duke of Wellington shook his hand, and offered his congratulations. But this next part, this was for the Warders alone.
    The Lieutenant-General ordered him to fall in, and marched the lot of them to the Yeoman Warder’s Social Club. There, on a central table, sat the traditional pewter punchbowl, filled to the brim, glasses at the ready.
    The Warders milled about, relaxing, offering their hands and welcoming him. Some more welcoming than others, but that was fine. Colonel Doyle’s was one of the welcoming ones, with a hearty handshake and a genuine smile.
    Tom was thankful that the ordeal was over, that his shields were holding. He’d time enough, to earn their trust and respect.
    The bartender was filling glasses, handing them around. Tom took his with pleasure.
    The Lieutenant-General cleared his throat and the room went silent. “In our tradition, I’d ask you all to raise your glass to the health of Thomas Davies, Yeoman Warder,” he lifted his own toward Tom.
    All the glasses were raised. Tom blushed with the pleasure of it.
    “Mind you that it’s at your expense,” Colonel Doyle whispered.
    Tom laughed ruefully, and nodded. He’d already known he’d be handed the bill.
    Loftus hesitated for a moment, then scowled at his glass. “Change may be here, and more coming, but in this one thing, there shall be no change. We’ll preserve this, at the very least.” He raised his glass to Tom again. “May you never die a Yeoman Warder,” he boomed.
    “Here, here,” came the supporting cries, and glasses were once again drained in his honor.
    “My humble thanks,” was all Tom could manage, but it was enough. Now, the Warders could relax, talking, refilling their glasses. Tom fully expected pats on the back, and offers of stories of their experiences.
    But even beyond the camaraderie that was filling the room, here, in the Tower of London . . . the stones within were speaking to him. The past, the present deep within the foundations of this place, they called. Muted, by the shields, but still there, in the back of his head.
    A sense of satisfaction spread through him.
    “Congratulations, young Davies,” the Lieutenant-General was before him, smiling. “A Yeoman Warder, and a promotion your first day,” the man’s smile grew teeth. “By order of the Constable of the Tower himself.”
    “Promotion?” Tom asked.
    “Aye.” The Lieutenant-General slapped a falconer’s thick leather glove against his chest. “You’re the new Ravenmaster.”

Fire’s Children
    Elisabeth Waters
    “Albert! Luke! Go light the altar candles!” The crucifer sounded nervous, which wasn’t surprising because the service was due to start in ten minutes and the Rector, Father Pearce, wasn’t here yet.
    Luke and I each grabbed a candle lighter/snuffer, and Luke lit the wicks on both of them. All the other acolytes knew I wasn’t very good with fire. This was embarrassing for two reasons: My father and my twin were both Fire Magicians and couldn’t understand why I had problems with things they could do easily; and El, my twin, was a much better acolyte than I was and everyone knew it. Unfortunately, our mother’s return from Switzerland had meant the end of El’s career as an acolyte.
    I made sure that I was on the Gospel side of the altar, because the Epistle candle had to be lit first. The Gospel candle is never supposed to burn alone. Luke lit his candle, and I tried to light mine. Unfortunately, the Altar Guild had put in new candles since last week, and I couldn’t see the top of the candle. For all I knew the wick could have been buried in the wax, which would make it almost impossible to light. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Luke trying to decide whether to come help me. Before he could move, however, a ball of light exploded at the top of the candle. I quickly pulled the lighter away before its entire