Twenty-seven

Cyran’s head swam as he let Lady Rook lead the horse at a trot. Once he’d grasped the healing spell and the siphoning spell, he’d been able to draw from her stone to place and dispel what she called simple wards with the chants she’d taught him. Without power they were just words, with the power… She’d been amused at his horror that there were no gods involved, suggesting he speak to Master Odos for clarification, but she’d learned from mages and they weren’t an overly religious bunch.

His world was standing on its head. He had believed that all his power came from Imos, that he had been born with nothing and all his gifts had been given to him. Looking around him suddenly he realized there were no paths laid out, and that there hadn’t been for some time.

“Lady Rook?” 

“You can call me Syreilla, cousin. Or Syr.” She didn’t stop her steady pace as she glanced up at him.

“The divinity used to guide me and now…” 

“He gave you to me to teach, I think I’m supposed to be doing it but I don’t know how.” Syreilla offered him a chagrined smile, “You have the misfortune of being the first person to come under my wings. I’ll be learning as much as you do. I’ve heard mages say that you can’t see the gaps in your own knowledge until you try to teach someone else. It’s part of why they do it.”

Cyran was silent for a moment, considering it. “Why do you not want to be called Lady Rook?”

“I like being called Lady Rook. It’s just that… those who love me, and whom I love, my family, call me Syreilla. Or they used to. Syreilla the Rook.”

“Syreilla is a lovely name.” 

“Thank you, Cyran. Do you have another part to your name or did your mother choose to have you given only one?”

He smiled ruefully and looked for the cart ahead of them. “When I was born, I was given to the Temple. I was named by Brother Somi who raised me in an orphanage in Caoria with the others who became White Hands. Cyran Caorious is my name.”

She came to a sudden stop and looked up at him in horror. “Brother Somi raised all of you?”

“Yes. The divinity referred to the other Hands as my brothers.” 

Syreilla covered her face and sighed. “All six of you had a talent for magic?”

“Yes. Those who lacked the faith to…” He felt his face flushing. “Those who lacked the talent remained hopefuls. Some who only had hints of the talent were not deemed worthy…” 

“How many sons did he have to have to get so many…” Her brow furrowed. “And what happened to his daughters? I’d have tried to be more understanding if I'd known. I’ll ask Uncle Hevtos if he’ll be more gentle when he looks at them, family should be looked after.”

Cyran blinked, that he might have had sisters wasn’t something that had occurred to him. “All of my brothers will be rewarded by the divinity in death…” 

“Your father doesn’t have the ability, Cyran. It’s always been Uncle Hevtos. They should have been working together to see justice done in life and death. If your father hadn’t murdered my other half he and I could have… Revenge is a kind of justice, Uncle.”

“What?” Cyran peered down at her as she folded her arms and looked sulky.

“I can hear Uncle sometimes, when he wants to make himself heard. Your father doesn’t claim his children probably because he’s afraid of what will happen to them when they go to Uncle Hevtos. Our other uncles were harmed… He doesn’t, you know. He’s fair and unless the children have done something they should be punished for Uncle isn’t cruel.” 

“I will think better of him. My brothers were good men, they tried to do what was right.” 

“They attacked me on sight.” She arched a brow at him.

“We were taught not to tolerate evil in any form. They didn’t know that you weren’t… you aren’t entirely evil.”

Syreilla gave him an impish grin, “You might make a good replacement for him, cousin. You learn quickly, you have a sense of justice, and I think you have a solid temperament under that stuffiness.”

Her smile was impossible not to return, “He doesn't need to be replaced, Syreilla, but perhaps he needs to be corrected.”

“We’ll have to disagree on that.” Her grin widened as she stretched. “We should get moving again.”

“You should ride, I can-” He stopped as she started to laugh.

“I’m half elf, cousin, I can last longer than you can on my feet.”

“I train daily-”

She doubled over with laughter. “I could race your horse!”

Sourly, he jerked the reins away from her and put his heels to the animal, bringing it to a trot.

“No head starts!” Her delighted shout startled the animal but even he had to laugh as she darted past them. They would catch up to the others more quickly this way. Cyran put his heels to the horse again, “Yah!”