Storm Rising by Mercedes Lackey

or
especially
if, that representative was a field-promoted secretary.
    Now, it was true that the followers of Vkandis Sunlord had wrought terrible things against the followers of other religions in the past. But that
was
the past, in days when the Son of the Sun had been (to put it bluntly) a corrupt and venial tool of other interests than Vkandis’. High Priest Solaris had put an end to that, to the war with Valdemar, and to the insular and parochial attitude of those under her authority regarding those who lived outside the borders of Karse. Things were different now, and there had been Sun-priests spilling their blood to save Valdemar to prove it. Furthermore, Karal was hardly old enough to have done anything personally to anybody under the old rule—despite the fact that some of these old goats seemed to hold him personally responsible for every slight and every harm worked upon their people and possessions since the time of Vanyel.
    So Karal’s innermost thoughts were hardly likely to be charitable.
    On the other hand, if he couldn’t trust Florian with those innermost thoughts, who
could
he trust?
    “I think I had better accept that offer,” he told the Companion. “But you ought to know you’re likely to share in my headache as well.”
    :I don’t mind,:
Florian told him.
:Not at all. Now, this is what you do; it’s easy, really. You know how it feels when I talk to you?:
    He nodded.
    :Think of that, then imagine that you are reaching out a hand to me. When you “feel” me clasp it, your barriers will be down.:
    It was actually quite easy to imagine just that, since Florian had never been a “horse” to him. He closed his eyes and stretched out an imaginary “hand” to his friend, and almost at once he had the uncanny sensation of having another “hand” enfold his. He opened his eyes, and for a moment experienced a very curious double image, the “Florian” he knew superimposed over a young man about his own age, thin, earnest, with dark hair and eyes, dressed in Herald’s Whites.
    The second image faded quickly, but Karal had to wonder. Was that what Florian
had
been—before?
    :That’s excellent!:
Florian applauded.
:Can you sense the difference?:
    “Yes,” he answered at once. “Now it’s as if you’re standing right at my shoulder and whispering in my ear.”
    :I’m seeing things through your eyes now. Mind you, I wouldn’t advise it for the inexperienced. It’s rather disorienting.:
Florian chuckled, and Karal “felt” the chuckle at the same time that he heard the whicker.
    :You’re working so hard,:
Florian continued wistfully.
:I only wish I could do more to help you.:
    “You help me a lot,” Karal replied with feeling. “Just knowing that I have a real friend here helps more than I can say.”
    A light footstep at the door alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone with Florian in the stable.“Only one?” An’desha asked as the Shin’a’ in Adept entered the stable. “If I didn’t know you didn’t mean that literally, I would be sorely hurt.” The teasing tone in his voice told Karal that he wasn’t particularly serious.
    As An’desha neared, Karal noted that he looked better than he had in days. Both of them had participated in a magical ceremony at the Valdemar/Iftel border that had been much more powerful and traumatic than either of them had ever dreamed possible. The end result of that was a temporary “breakwater” running from the northernmost tip of Iftel to the southernmost end of Karse, a breakwater that disrupted the mage-storms as they moved across the face of the land, broke them up and dissipated their energies harmlessly. It wouldn’t last forever—for as the storms increased in power and frequency, they were tearing away at the new protections—but it bought them some time to come up with a better solution.
    Of the two, An’desha had been the most exhausted, for he had been the one doing most of the work. Karal was not a mage; his