Free Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight by Mercedes Lackey Page A

also had an emotional stake in the trial that had worn him out; he was ready for relaxation, not a seminar.
    So he waited until the celebration was well underway, and he knew he would not be missed, before he slipped out.
    Once on his own, he took off his mask and used it as a fan—not that he was very hot, but it was pleasant to feel the cool air on his face. He walked slowly back to the ekele he shared with Silverfox, taking note as he walked of all of the improvements that the hertasi had made along the trail. He liked to be able to compliment them on specifics; it made them very happy when their handiwork was noted in detail.
    For instance, the lamps had been replaced recently, so that they all matched. Much effort had gone into color matching the opaque, blue glass globes that protected the flames of the lamps from being blown out. All of the oil reservoirs matched, too—now they were made of green porcelain that harmonized with the blue glass. It was a very effective touch.
    A Vale to match my outfit. How nice.
    The standards themselves remained the same. Along this path they were all in the shapes of living things, inhabitants of the Vale. The gryphon at the entrance to the clearing was just one example; the standard Firesong was just passing was in the shape of an elongated hertasi, and the one just ahead in the form of an attenuated dyheli. Sometimes Firesong wondered if they were portraits of particular individuals, but he had never asked, and since none of the standards were of humans, he couldn’t tell by examining them in passing. Individuals of each species had distinctive markings and proportions, of course. Representations of those weren’t apparent, not in the ones he had seen, at any rate. It certainly didn’t detract from their beauty.
    The path he was on crossed with another—the her tasi had not yet gotten around to replacing the lamps here to make them match. The bell-shaped glass covers were also blue, but they were of differing sizes and shapes, and were not all of the same color of glass. The standards, however, were all similar; simple wooden poles with vines trained to climb up them. The effect was more rustic and less baroque, and reminded him of all of the makeshifts that they had used when the Vale was first settled.
    Two lamps marked the entrance to Silverfox’s home, a structure very much like Darian’s, a dome made of stone with rounded corners on the added chambers. It was covered with vines, so that it looked from outside as if there was nothing there except a heap of greenery. Somewhat to Firesong’s surprise, Silverfox was waiting for him, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
    â€œWell, stranger, what are you doing out here?” he asked, pausing to admire the view. Silverfox had always been a handsome fellow, but in Firesong’s opinion, he had improved with age. He had lost some of the softness along his jawline that had made him look younger than he actually was, and the silver streak running from his temple all through his waist-length hair had grown wider by no more than a finger‘s-width. Somehow he always managed to wear garments that harmonized with Firesong’s—blue and black, for instance, to Firesong’s current blue and green.
    â€œWaiting for you; I knew you wouldn’t be too late at the party,” came the easy reply. “You never did care much for discussions of technique, and that’s all they’re going to get into tonight—hmmm. Well, you won’t be involved in—magical power technique, anyway.” He cast his eyes upward a little, as if he was calculating something. “By now I expect they’ve reached the stage of drawing diagrams on whatever surface is available.”
    Firesong laughed. “I expect you’re right; ” he replied. ”I’d rather keep discussions of technique for lessons; it’s not my notion of conversational