(A magnificent rump, indeed,) Teral agreed, following his line of thought with equal masculine appreciation. (But don’t speak aloud the same word for her backside that you used to describe a monstrous amalgamation of plants and insect.)
(My dear Guide, I am not that stupid,) Aradin retorted, watching her stretch out the staff again. Though he did continue to enjoy the view as she drained the last few severed tendrils.
* * *
Saleria snuck yet another glance at her companion. So far, Witch Aradin Teral had proved as good as his word. Their word? His, theirs, it mattered not. He had let her take the lead—a thing not all men were inclined to do—and had done nothing more than support and defend her movements when the magic-warped inhabitants of the Grove had proven a bit too bothersome. But now, after visiting the eight altar-stones arrayed along the major inner paths and trimming back the excess growths, it was time to visit the Bower.
She knew from her conversations with other Guardians scattered around the world that the Bower corresponded to a Fountain Hall, the chamber holding the energies from a singularity-point, spewing magic much like the rifts from the shattered Portals did. Of course, a Fountain Hall had its rift in the center of its chamber; the Bower was instead located in the center of the triangle formed by the three locus trees. But there were similarities . . . including the vast amount of somewhat tamed magical power available in the Bower.
No one in Katan would dare try to wrest away control of the Grove’s magic from the Grove Keeper. It would be considered tantamount to slapping Kata on the rump and yanking up the back of Jinga’s trousers. Not a good idea. As much as the belief and faith of the people as a whole created a kingdom’s Patron Deity or Deities, and gave Them the power to enact miracles great and small, the Gods did have minds of Their own sometimes. They would probably not react with benevolence or forgiveness to such an act of hubris, either the slapping-and-yanking, or the theft of the Grove’s power.
But Aradin Teral was an outlander, an outkingdom foreigner, a stranger from a far-distant land. . . .
“Teral says he has noticed how you keep glancing at me in the last few moments, and would like to know why,” Aradin stated, catching her off guard. “I find myself curious as well.”
Saleria blinked, then cleared her throat. “I . . . er . . . How?” she finally asked. “You didn’t once look at me.”
In fact, he wasn’t looking at her now, but Aradin didn’t have to. He tapped the edge of his face next to his eye. “Any Guide can shift his attention to see things in the Host’s peripheral vision. There’s a small learning curve, but it’s been quite handy so far, particularly in potentially dangerous situations. Or ones where I need to be socially aware.” Now he glanced her way, giving her a smile. “So you might as well ask what you wanted to ask. Whatever it is, we won’t be offended, I assure you.”
Stopping on the path, she planted her free hand on her hip, the other keeping her staff carefully upright so it wouldn’t bump into either of them. “Even if I ask something obnoxious, like ‘Which do you prefer to eat, feces or rotting corpses for breakfast?’”
Caught off guard, Aradin choked on a laugh. He swung around to face her, his staff equally upright, but with his hand over his mouth. Snickering a bit, he coughed, cleared his throat, and addressed her question. “Oh, I hardly think you’re the sort to ask something truly obnoxious. You’ve been more than gracious all this while, and I don’t see that ending any time soon. But you do have an important question you wish to ask . . . so, why not ask it?”
“Alright. While it would be unthinkable for a Katani to try to wrest control of all the magic available in the Grove, for fear of incurring the wrath of our God and Goddess,” Saleria explained, “you, on the other hand, are a foreigner. More than that, you are a foreign priest, to foreign Gods. You care not a whit for our Patron Deities. How do I know you will not try to wrest control of the Grove from me, or steal its powers, or . . . ?”
He held up his hand. “I, Aradin of Darkhana, bind unto my powers this vow: I promise I have no intention of stealing the powers of the sacred matrimonial Grove of Holy Kata and Jinga, nor of using those stolen powers in ways which would bring grave harm to yourself, the people of Katan, your Patron Deities, or the rest of the world, save only whatever may be needful in the name of self-defense or the defense of others. So swear I, Aradin of Darkhana.”
Bands of silver light edged with dark blue shimmered over his body, sweeping him from the crown of his blond head to the soles of his brown-booted feet. Saleria blinked. She hadn’t expected that. Not a mage-oath, binding Aradin to the exact wording of his vow via his own powers. It was deeply satisfactory, however. And a neatly spoken piece of law-speaker’s cleverness. He could not steal the powers . . . but he could still be free to borrow them, by request or by gift.