way of his, as if laughing at Jaylor’s inability to follow.
Jaylor laughed in memory of some of the wolf’s antics in the bathing pool or chasing down a scent. His enjoyment of life was very reminiscent of Roy’s. They had fallen into an easy companionship, too, just as Jaylor had done with the young scion of royalty during their boyhood. The wolf’s presence reminded Jaylor sharply of how distant he and Roy had grown in the last two years.
Most of Jaylor’s teenage energy went into defying the strictures of the University rather than pursuing old friendships outside the institution of learning. Since Baamin wouldn’t promote him, Jaylor had determined to make the old man’s life miserable. Roy had his own problems with family, tutors, guardians, and growing responsibilities.
Mica cautiously stepped onto his blanket. Her tiny paws kneaded the texture of the fabric. She looked up with round hazel eyes. “Mrrrow.” She was asking him to sit so she could sleep in his lap.
“Not soft enough for you, Mica?” He scratched the cat’s silky ears. He was used to the changing shape of her eyes. “These soft ferns are a better mattress than some beds I’ve made in the last two moons.”
“Mrrow.” The cat purred in almost verbal agreement. If any of the creatures in the clearing were sentient, Mica was.
“But my cot back at the University would be better than this.”
The cat blinked. Her eyes changed shape again.
“Why don’t I bring the cot here?” He could almost swear the cat had asked him that question. Brevelan seemed to understand all of her pets, as if she had thrown a spell to grant the beasts communication. So why couldn’t he understand them, too?
Why couldn’t he? Bring the cot, that is. He’d transported wine and wash water. Just today he’d brought a wonderful meal from the University kitchens. Why not his cot?
No, not his cot. Before leaving, he’d armored his room in such a way that it might be dangerous to tamper with from this distance. But the storeroom was full of cots, folded in the corner.
He rearranged the magic deep within him so that it looked like the overstuffed storeroom. With his mind he plucked a cot out of the magic. Then he reformed the image here in the clearing.
“MrrOW!” Mica protested and tried to climb his leg. Jaylor opened his eyes, startled at the cat’s frantic actions. There before him lay a cot, unfolded and ready for his blanket.
“Silly cat. You asked for a softer bed.” He set her down so he could spread his blanket. “While we’re at it, Mica, why not another blanket, and a pillow? We might as well be comfortable.” He chuckled as the two items appeared.
“Mrrrrrew,” Mica agreed as she circled, testing the bed, then settled in for a nap.
A cool breeze broke into the clearing, ruffling Mica’s colorful fur and raising the hair on Jaylor’s arms. “It might rain tonight. If we’re going to stay dry, I’ll need to build a cover.”
Mica opened one cat-eye. She had no more ideas and just wanted to be left alone.
“Magic or brute strength?” No reply from the cat.
“Brute strength. It takes less energy than magic.” He scanned the few dead limbs in the immediate vicinity. “Or does it?” The meat and the bed had been easy, barely taxing his powers at all now that he was rested and well fed—and the aftereffects of the timboor had drained out of him. He hadn’t worked any magic in several days, so his store of power was full. How much harder would it be to gather some branches for a lean-to?
Jaylor closed his eyes and folded some magic into a rude shelter around three sides and over his bed. Nothing happened.
The spell needed more power. He lifted the cat long enough to slide under her and relax. Once more he formed the magic with an image of branches woven together around him. When he opened his eyes again, disappointment flooded him.
A soft chuckle brought his attention to the hut. Brevelan stood in the doorway. Her knowing
Jaylor laughed in memory of some of the wolf’s antics in the bathing pool or chasing down a scent. His enjoyment of life was very reminiscent of Roy’s. They had fallen into an easy companionship, too, just as Jaylor had done with the young scion of royalty during their boyhood. The wolf’s presence reminded Jaylor sharply of how distant he and Roy had grown in the last two years.
Most of Jaylor’s teenage energy went into defying the strictures of the University rather than pursuing old friendships outside the institution of learning. Since Baamin wouldn’t promote him, Jaylor had determined to make the old man’s life miserable. Roy had his own problems with family, tutors, guardians, and growing responsibilities.
Mica cautiously stepped onto his blanket. Her tiny paws kneaded the texture of the fabric. She looked up with round hazel eyes. “Mrrrow.” She was asking him to sit so she could sleep in his lap.
“Not soft enough for you, Mica?” He scratched the cat’s silky ears. He was used to the changing shape of her eyes. “These soft ferns are a better mattress than some beds I’ve made in the last two moons.”
“Mrrow.” The cat purred in almost verbal agreement. If any of the creatures in the clearing were sentient, Mica was.
“But my cot back at the University would be better than this.”
The cat blinked. Her eyes changed shape again.
“Why don’t I bring the cot here?” He could almost swear the cat had asked him that question. Brevelan seemed to understand all of her pets, as if she had thrown a spell to grant the beasts communication. So why couldn’t he understand them, too?
Why couldn’t he? Bring the cot, that is. He’d transported wine and wash water. Just today he’d brought a wonderful meal from the University kitchens. Why not his cot?
No, not his cot. Before leaving, he’d armored his room in such a way that it might be dangerous to tamper with from this distance. But the storeroom was full of cots, folded in the corner.
He rearranged the magic deep within him so that it looked like the overstuffed storeroom. With his mind he plucked a cot out of the magic. Then he reformed the image here in the clearing.
“MrrOW!” Mica protested and tried to climb his leg. Jaylor opened his eyes, startled at the cat’s frantic actions. There before him lay a cot, unfolded and ready for his blanket.
“Silly cat. You asked for a softer bed.” He set her down so he could spread his blanket. “While we’re at it, Mica, why not another blanket, and a pillow? We might as well be comfortable.” He chuckled as the two items appeared.
“Mrrrrrew,” Mica agreed as she circled, testing the bed, then settled in for a nap.
A cool breeze broke into the clearing, ruffling Mica’s colorful fur and raising the hair on Jaylor’s arms. “It might rain tonight. If we’re going to stay dry, I’ll need to build a cover.”
Mica opened one cat-eye. She had no more ideas and just wanted to be left alone.
“Magic or brute strength?” No reply from the cat.
“Brute strength. It takes less energy than magic.” He scanned the few dead limbs in the immediate vicinity. “Or does it?” The meat and the bed had been easy, barely taxing his powers at all now that he was rested and well fed—and the aftereffects of the timboor had drained out of him. He hadn’t worked any magic in several days, so his store of power was full. How much harder would it be to gather some branches for a lean-to?
Jaylor closed his eyes and folded some magic into a rude shelter around three sides and over his bed. Nothing happened.
The spell needed more power. He lifted the cat long enough to slide under her and relax. Once more he formed the magic with an image of branches woven together around him. When he opened his eyes again, disappointment flooded him.
A soft chuckle brought his attention to the hut. Brevelan stood in the doorway. Her knowing
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