It was a remarkable exercise of philosophy, Norina thought, and wondered briefly how this paralysis of silence might finally come to an end. Mabin was both an air blood and a Paladin, a rare combination that condemned her to a lifelong duel between flexible ethics and rigid principles. The principles won, of course, for one’s natural elemental logic would always prevail, and as a result Mabin was often in the exceptionally awkward position of having to ethically justify acts that were grounded in unexamined prejudice. The Paladins in her command certainly would not overlook such intellectual sloppiness. The pain of a steel spike in her heart–that Mabin could bear with equanimity. But the inability to explain how and why it had happened, that must have been almost beyond endurance.
Norina had stood silently without greeting Mabin for some time, and Mabin had neither spoken nor dismounted. The exercise of politeness was an expression of status, after all, and Norina wanted to establish that she was not under Mabin’s command as badly as Mabin wished to establish that she was. Norina was about to turn her back and walk away, which certainly would force Mabin to accede, when Mabin said nastily, “Well, Norina, everyone in the region could tell me where to find you. Though I suppose if I had asked the Sainnites in their garrison, they would have been surprised to learn that their region is ruled by a Truthken.”
“Oh, no,” Norina said. “The Sainnites have put a price upon my head, which goes up every year, much to everyone’s amusement.”
Mabin dismounted stiffly. The farmers, who had gathered around with their tools in their hands, curtsied unnoticed. Their work‑dirty children stared; only the chickens took no interest in the living legend that had trampled through their muddy farmyard. The family elders invited Mabin into the tea room.
Mabin greeted them, though Norina could see behind the gracious mask to the councilor’s resentment at having to waste her time and energy on people she had no use for. Mabin was too canny a campaigner to forget that when the Sainnites left the Paladins devastated, it had been the farmers who had taken up arms and given her an army to command. But when she was finished with courtesy, she muttered, “Little do the farmers suspect that you should be as much an outlaw to them as you are to the Sainnites!”
Norina found this comment no less entertaining for the fact that Mabin apparently believed it true. However, Mabin’s truths were extraordinarily difficult to read, for the disguises she cast over her secret motivations were several layers deep. So now, to keep testing her own judgment, Norina said, “Shall we tell these farmers what happened four‑and‑a‑half years ago, and let them judge between us? I will admit that I violated a councilor’s edict–never mind that a Truthken isn’t much use if she can’t challenge and refuse an unlawful command. But you must admit in turn that you tried to murder the vested G’deon.”
“I acted for Shaftal’s sake,” said Mabin.
“You nearly killed Shaftal.”
They were about to step through the commonhouse door. Mabin paused and looked at Norina–a deliberate look, deliberately revealing, and no less surprising for all that. “I tried to murder the vested G’deon,” she said. She spoke as a repentant criminal, as sincerely as possible, considering that she was not actually convinced of the wrongfulness of her actions.
Norina said, “Councilor, you cannot be hoping to deceive me. But you certainly are surprising me.”
An anxious child helped Mabin remove her boots and coat, and Norina showed the way to the tea room, which the family had spent two days cleaning. Now, the new‑painted walls glared with reflected sunlight, the rare old Ashawala’i rug’s bright colors and ornate pattern had been released from a prison of dust, and the heat of a brisk fire in the scoured fireplace competed with a cool breeze coming in the open window. The sideboard was spread with an extravagant array of morsels: savory dumplings, dried fruit compote, sausage rolls, a steaming loaf of bread and golden pat of butter, a half dozen bowls of jam. But Mabin, noticing none of this, stopped short in the doorway and said sharply, “Where is Karis?”
“Shut the door,” said Norina. When Mabm had complied, Norina leaned out the open window. “Raven!”
The raven, who had been lingering at the top of a nearby tree, flew down and landed on the windowsill. “The councilor wants to know where Karis is,” Norina said to him.
The raven said, “She is with Zanja and J’han, in the Juras grasslands.”
Pretending she had not noticed Mabin’s rigid surprise at being confronted with a talking raven, Norina said, “Tell the councilor why she is there.”
“Karis has been eradicating a plague, town by town. And now she is fighting the illness among the Juras people.”
Norina turned to Mabin. “My husband believes that some half of the people in Shaftal would have been dead by summer’s end if Karis hadn’t acted so quickly. No one knows to thank her, either, not even the healers, who are winning the battle because J’han has written to all of them to tell them how. So,” Norina added, “there’s your lesson, Councilor, should you choose to learn it. Do you care to take some tea?”
The silence lingered as Norina poured, offered a cup to Mabin, who appeared not to notice, and sat down at the table with a filled plate. She gave the raven, a big, unlovely bird, a meat dumpling to eat.
Mabin finally said, rather unsteadily, “What is that bird?”
“The raven is Karis,” said Norina. “He is her eyes, her ears, her thoughts.”
The raven took a pause from gorging itself to ask, “Why did Mabin want this meeting?”
“To berate you,” Norina said.
“No, I’m here to be berated, apparently,” said Mabin.
“I’ve always admired your ability to recover from surprise,” said Norina politely. “Are you certain you don’t want some tea? These dumplings are really quite good.”
The councilor came to the table, picked up the teacup Norina had poured, tasted it, then added a half spoonful of sugar. Stirring the cup, she said to the raven, “Tell Karis that what I have to say to her deserves to be said in person. But of course I admire what she is doing, and I don’t doubt that it’s more important.”
“Half true,” murmured Norina. “At best.”
Mabin said coolly, “Will you be satisfied for once, Madam Truthken? Half truths are all you ever get from anyone.” She tasted her tea again and appeared to be considering more sugar. “Karis is acting like a G’deon,” she commented.
“Karis is doing what she cannot help but do. She is acting like herself.”
There was a silence. Mabin said again, “In acting like herself, she acts like a G’deon. Why does she not call herself what she is?”
Twenty years ago, almost immediately after being vested with the power of Shaftal, Karis had been forbidden to act as G’deon, a decision that could only be reversed by Mabin herself. Yet Mabin was in no position to prevent Karis from doing what she liked, so her question was not quite so absurd as it at first seemed. Norina said, “Are you demanding that she explain herself? Or are you simply sick of trying to anticipate what she’ll do?” This strategy of listing possibilities and observing the reaction was usually sufficient to get a reluctant witness to reveal her secrets. But Mabin did not particularly react. “Why are you here?” Norina asked. “It’s early spring; the Paladins are sharpening their blades and grinding fresh gunpowder. You have work to do.” Now, at last, a momentary trembling of Mabin’s disguises. Norina said swiftly, “But you can’t do it, can you? No, you can’t, and though you’ve come all this way to ask Karis for her help you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. Councilor, why must you make my business so difficult!”
Mabin drank half her cup of tea in a swallow, and didn’t flinch. “Perhaps you already know this, but I doubt you understand it. The rumor of a Lost G’deon has inspired a new uprising.”