(no subject)

[maderr]

Dear Monday,

Please be a good day, and the start of a good week.

Sincerely,
Megan

Though, if it winds up sucking, I am 17% away from having Dexter Season 2 *cackle* And I also have Supernatural 2 & 3 to slog through. So I can start on 4. I totally fail at watching TV.

Am sorely tempted not to do overtime this coming Saturday, but we'll see-it's seriously helping me to pay off my credit cards and crap.

Have some more Kiss the Rain rewrite.



"What?" Selsor asked, too startled to bite the question back. How had the man known? His wrists were covered by his sleeves, and his forehead by a scarf such as any servant might wear. No one would have bothered to tell the soldiers a black-stone mage was at the inn, and they wouldn't care anyway. So how did this soldier know?

He just grinned again, and Selsor wanted to smack him. "We're fairly certain that at least one of the mages present is responsible for this weather—we just don't know which one, or ones. To figure it out, I need one who is not involved."

"You didn't bring one with you?" Selsor asked. "Remarkably stupid." His mouth had always gotten him in the most trouble, but he simply didn't care. He took far worse than insolence from everyone else; they could deal with that much.

The soldier laughed. "Oh, we did, but I prefer to do things my own way. That means persuading you to help me."

Selsor just stared at him in contempt. "How did you know I was a mage?"

"I caught a glimpse of one your jewels," the man replied, "and you've got the look of one, anyway."

How had he 'caught a glimpse'? That didn't make sense, he was extremely careful to make certain no one caught any hint of them. The look of one? What did that mean? "Then you caught a glimpse that they were black," he snapped. "I’m useless for mage work, even if they weren't blackened. Shove off and pester someone else."

"No," the soldier said with infuriating calm. "I want you to help me. Anyway, I've no time to find anyone else. We've only got three nights to do this, before the water finally becomes too much for the mages to hold back—especially since one of them clearly wants the flooding to happen. We need to figure out how he's doing it, and then how to stop it."

"Oh, yes, that sounds simple enough," Selsor replied. "Nothing to it. Find a mage who has managed to hide from at least five others, or hells, if it's all six of them, or half of them, or whatever—then stop the spell, and the mage, and then we can all sit down to tea."

The soldier laughed.

Selsor barely resisted an urge to hit him. How could he laugh. Clearly someone had knocked him on the head one too many times. He was a soldier, after all.

"Exactly," the soldier said. "So, will you help me? I can pay you handsomely for it. Say, a hundred silver? Half now, half when we're finished."

A hundred silver? That…was all the money he could possible need to start a new life. If he were careful, and found someplace safe and quiet across the sea, he'd never want for anything for a long time. "What, exactly, does helping you entail? Just finding the mages responsible and stopping the spell?"

"Right," the soldier replied. "It may entail going into the Territories, I'm not certain yet. Nothing we can't manage, eh?"

"I suppose," Selsor said. "I told you, though, I'm a lousy mage. I can heal, that's about it—and right now I can't even do that, because my stones are blackened."

The soldier shrugged, and set down the lantern he was still holding, then reached out and snagged one of Selsor's arms. Holding it tightly, he shoved back the sleeve and rubbed his thumb over the jewel.

He should have been able to feel that touch—instead, it was touching a scar. Nothing. The skin around it got some feeling when the soldier's touch strayed that far, but the stone itself was a dead area. Pain welled up, making Selsor's chest ache, but it was a pain he was used to—he would never be a proper mage, and someday he might finally be able to accept that.

When the damnable soldier did not stop touching, Selsor tried to jerk his wrist free—but he was no match for a mass of talking muscle. There was enough of the soldier he could make two of Selsor. Instead of releasing Selsor's wrist, he simply reached out and snagged the other one, until his thumbs covered both jewels. "To you, mage, goes my strength. Where my sword fails, your magic will prevail."

Selsor froze with shock, and opened his mouth to ask what in the hells the idiot thought he was doing, but the words wouldn't come. He was simply to stunned—that was a bonding vow, in reality a spell to bind mage to soldier, so that they could draw from each other, so healing magic worked better, so they could stay connected at all times.

"Your turn," the soldier said, amusement in his voice, but though he tried Selsor could find nothing mocking or condescending in it.

He swallowed, and said slowly, "To you, soldier, goes my power. Where my magic fails, your sword will prevail."

Before his eyes, in the weak light of the lantern, his jewels began to glow—gray at first, then to white…then to the same sharp, piercing blue of the soldier's eyes.

The bond had taken. His jewels, for whatever they were worth, would work now. He could do magic again…he could feel it again. Taste it. He flexed and unflexed his hands, not certain what to do or say, afraid any words he might say might come out on a sob, and how pathetic would that look?

"Good, that's done," the soldier said, and clapped him on the shoulder. "We'd best be off. Wasn't certain you had the right gear for this sort of thing, so I brought some along for you. It's down below, if you want to come change."

Selsor nodded, but paused as a small leather pouch was dropped in front of him. The first fifty silver, he realized as he picked it up. The sheer amount of money he held was almost dizzying—even back when his life had not been one prolonged agony, he'd never had that much money.

He waited until the soldier had vanished, then hid the money away with the rest, where even stupid Tam would not be able to find it—though Selsor knew he had looked before to see if Selsor was hiding anything.

Then he scrambled down the ladder, as quickly as he dared in the relative dark.

As he neared the bottom, a wave of dizziness struck him hard, and he lost his grip, falling back with a faint, startled cry—only to land against something that was definitely not the floor. "All right, there, mage?"

"Fine," Selsor said irritably, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. His perpetual dizziness was not normally that bad—perhaps having his jewels woken was contributing to the overall mess. He pushed away from the soldier and moved toward the clothes he could see waiting for him. "Where did you get all this?"

"I borrowed it from Gehl or Kehl, one of those red-haired fellows. They looked about your size, and they won't miss it, or care particularly if they do—I've run off with worse before."

"They just let you take their stuff?" Selsor asked acidly.

The soldier grinned—Selsor really hated the way he did that, it wasn't normal for a man to smile that frequently, and for no good reason. "Yes, because it always turns out to be a good thing that I did."

"I think they might take issues with your waking the stones of a blackened mage," Selsor said.

"Nah," the soldier replied, still grinning as he replaced the cloak he'd obviously taken off before venturing up the ladder to wake Selsor. "Because it will turn out to be a good thing."

"You're crazy," Selsor pronounced, then shucked his clothes to start pulling on the ones waiting for him. He was certain this would all end in misery, and probably in about five more minutes, but if five minutes with real jewels was all he was going to get, he would enjoy them.

The soldier laughed. "I always get called that at the start of an adventure, but by the end they all have to concede I'm brilliant."

"And so modest," Selsor retorted. He pulled up a pair of leather breeches and quickly laced them, bending and flexing his legs to settle them just so—they fit well, and were much warmer than his oft-patched hose. Next was a soft undershirt, followed by a longer outer shirt of good linen, and the whole covered by a sturdy short tunic, dark green in color and trimmed in pale green ivy. A simple leather belt held it all together, and he sat down to begin working on the boots.

They came to mid-thigh, obviously meant for trudging through the rain and mud beyond the spelled safety and warmth of the stable. Getting them on and lacing them up took a few minutes work, but when he was done, and stamped them to settle in place, the boots fit remarkably well.

He glanced at the cloak set out, one specially made for the rain, but eschewed it. He liked to feel the rain on his skin. The only problem would be his hair, and that was a problem so familiar it hardly could be counted a problem anymore.

With quick, easy movements he combed his hair as neat and smooth as he could get it, then swiftly braided it. That done, he coiled the braid up, then knelt and fumbled around in his discarded robe for the old comb he always kept there.

It had been his mothers, carved from gold wood, always used to hold her hair up. It was plain, the end short and small, carved only with abstract whorls and curls, but it had survived more than a few interesting adventures. Taking it, he shoved the comb up from the nape of his neck, holding the coiled braid firmly in place.

Only one of many reasons he had been called a girl at school, but he didn't much care. If it worked, it worked, and that was that. "Ready," he said.

"Don't forget your cloak."

"I don't need it," Selsor replied shortly.

The soldier quirked a brow, but shrugged and smiled. "As you like it, then. Here, I'll take it, in case it proves handy for something else." So saying, he took the cloak and bundled it up, tucking it into the knapsack he wore on his back. "Shall we go, then?"

Selsor nodded, then drew up short. "What in the world is your name?"

"Oh!" the soldier replied, and smiled sheepishly, rubbing a hand over his short, short hair. "Jenohn Vandusen. A pleasure to meet you."

"I'm sure," Selsor replied. "My name is Selsor Brightwell." He waited for the flash of recognition, the disgust—they had plagued him relentlessly, that first year. It had mostly faded by now, but someone from the capital would surely know it.

Jenohn, however, just smiled and repeated, "Selsor. I think we'll work well, together."

"I disagree," Selsor said tartly, "but I sense that doesn't matter to you."

"No," Jenohn agreed cheerfully. "Mostly because I'm always right, and I'll be right about this as well."

Selsor rolled his eyes, and resisted a childish impulse to kick him in the shins. "Your modesty is your finest quality."

"So people often tell me," Jenohn said with another of his damned grins. "Shall we go?"

"Lead the way, my modest soldier," Selsor replied with a long sigh. "Where are we going?"

"To the old temple," Jenohn said. "Everyone says it's never used, completely abandoned, no one ever goes there. Which, in my experience, means everyone goes there to use it for a lot of things they don't want anyone else to know about." He grinned. "It's the perfect place to start."

"If we can get there," Selsor replied. "That's a good two hour walk when the weather is ideal, and it's far from that now. The water gets as deep as a man outside the town." The mages were so far managing to keep it to about two feet at most in town, though some places were worse. When their power finally broke beneath the weight of the magic…

"That's why we brought boats," Jenohn replied. "One is waiting for us; all we have to do is get to the north edge of town. Easy enough."

Spoken like a true thick-headed soldier, Selsor thought, but obediently followed him out of the stable and into the wet, cold weather beyond.

It was still pitch black, and he halted only steps past the stable door. This wouldn't do; they couldn't travel in such darkness, even if Jenohn was clearly cocky enough to think he could manage it. A luminescence would solve their problems, but he could barely manage that before, and only if he exhausted himself…

Well, what could it hurt to try? If he failed, then that was nothing new, and maybe Jenohn would begin to understand why he should leave Selsor out of his mad scheme—whatever that scheme actually was.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and drew his hands together slowly, whispering the words of a never forgotten spell, willing and wishing for it to work. For a moment, he thought it was all going to fall apart, and he was going to toss the meager dinner he had eaten not so long ago—

Then abruptly he felt the tingling rush through his blood, of power properly drawn, properly cast, and it thrummed in his jewels before flaring in the space between his loosely cupped hands. Light struck his eyelids, and he slowly opened his eyes to see the orb of pale blue, shimmering light.

He drew a sharp breath, and stared dumbfounded. His head hurt, and he still felt as though he might toss his lunch—but it had worked. It had really worked.

"Not bad for someone who can't do magic," Jenohn said, startling him. How had the bastard moved that quietly in the water?

Jenohn grinned, and Selsor just scowled back. "I really did not want to hear you modestly proclaim that you can see in the dark or whatever rot you would have come up with," he said, and gently nudged the light to hover above their heads, testing his control by moving it back and forth, fighting a stupid urge to grin or laugh.

"I would have managed," Jenohn said loftily, and Selsor had a sneaking suspicion he was making a jest, or trying, but decided that acknowledging it anyway would just be taken as encouragement. The first soldier he had seen in almost three years, and he would prove to be the most aggravating person in existence.

They trudged on through the gloom, the blue light offering no warmth or respite from the relentless rain—and Selsor was silently grateful that such magic was not affected by the elements.

It took them close to an hour to reach the north edge of town, and he wondered what time it was that well over an hour later it was still pitch black. Not that it really mattered, but he did wonder, especially as it felt as though he had gotten very little sleep.

Perhaps it was better not to know. Stifling a sudden yawn that would only wind up giving him a mouthful of water, he waded to the boat and allowed Jenohn to help him into it.

Obviously it had been spelled, for there was not a drop of water anywhere in or on it. "I hope you are doing the rowing; I assume, anyway, all that muscle is not for show."

"No," Jenohn agreed with a smirk, "I know how to use it. All of it. You just sit there and look pretty, my grumpy mage."

Selsor gave him a withering look, and did not give him the satisfaction of a reply.

Chuckling, Jenohn hefted the oars and began to row.

How long it took them to reach the old temple, Selsor didn't know—it was all he could do to stay awake, at moments. The only bright side was that the same spell which protected the boat, protected its passengers as well.

Unfortunately, it did not really give him a chance to taste much—the rain prevented that. He would need clear, unspelled air if he was to get any sort of sense as to what was going on.

The temple was visible even in the dark, the white stones of which it was made almost seeming to glow under their own power. Despite the fact it had been in disuse for more years than anyone could remember, it looked practically unaged.

Such was the power of the ancient mages, or so history said. History that, in Selsor's opinion, was more legend that accurate record, but no one wanted his opinion. Back then, it was said, they could call down lightning and control the full force of the winds. And other such rot. If they'd been able to do it then, they should be able to do it now, and no one could.

They had told him back when he'd been expelled that his spell had carried the force of lightning, but he'd been over their words and his own memories a thousand time or more. If anything, he'd just somehow managed to cast a flash spell and done something horribly wrong—given his multitude of failures where magic was concerned, it was not terribly surprising that in anger and fear and pain he had screwed up such a powerful, albeit generally harmless, spell.

Not that such a thought had occurred to anyone else.

He shook the sour memories off as they finally reached the temple. The water was so high here that the steps leading up the temple were completely submerged, and they were able to row right up to one side of the massive landing, tying to boat off to a gleaming white column.

Jenohn leapt neatly out, then turned and offered a hand.

Selsor wanted to refuse it, just on principle, but he nearly tumbled right down onto the marble landing simply trying to stand. Muttering dark epithets about cocky soldiers and stupid temples, he accepted the leather-clad hand held out to him, and allowed Jenohn to all but pick him up out of the boat and set him down again.

Blinking, he stood still a moment to regain his balance and his senses, which had taken a punch upon being free of the rowboat. He wrinkled his nose, and fought not to gag. "Blood," he said. "There is magic here, and it tastes like blood."

Then he realized what he'd just said, and waited for Jenohn to make some snide, disbelieving comment about his tasting magic.

Jenohn, however, merely grunted and drew his sword. "Stay behind me, mage, and let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary."

"What qualifies as 'out of the ordinary'?" Selsor grumbled, but nodded and fell into step just behind him, a habit he had acquired as a child, travelling with his parents – he and his mother always stayed behind his father when they were not in some village or city or otherwise with people. In dangerous areas, the soldier always took the lead.

It had been more years than he could count since he'd been in such a situation, but it seemed some habits never really went away. He stifled a sigh, and ignored the sadness that washed over him, and followed Jenohn into the temple.