An Unexpected Apprentice

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “I think I remember you,” she said, carefully. There was no way that he could know she had spied upon him on her way out of the Quarters.

  “Yet, for all the times I have visited, I find I know little about your people. I never knew they were so brave, and their women most of all.”

  Tildi dimpled. “We do what needs to be done. Master Olen tells me that is also the way of wizards.”

  “I knew of the runes,” he said. “I was one of the searchers that Olen sent forth to try and find signs of the book, but I never saw them. They are visible to you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Tildi said, and became very aware of his. It was a nice rune, though very complicated for a human, with a spiral pattern inside another spiral pattern at the heart. She remembered Irithe’s admonition. He keeps secrets, too, Tildi thought.

  “You are looking at mine,” he said with a grin. “I’d like to see it.”

  “I … can’t do what Master Olen did,” she said apologetically. She wondered if he wanted her to go up and take the scrying glass off the wizard’s table, or draw it on the air in silver, but after the explosion of the candle she was afraid something awful would happen.

  The minstrel smiled at her, his teeth bright in his tanned face. “I’m not asking for magic. Can you scribe it for me? I would consider myself in your debt if you would.” He produced a scrap of parchment and a pencil.

  “Why, of course!” Tildi said, relieved. She took the pencil, and, ignoring the paper’s own faint sigil, she carefully traced the lines that she saw in the young man. Weeks of working on Olen’s assignments had trained her hand to be sure at reproducing the signs without error. One or two small details, and it was finished. “There you are. That’s you.”

  Magpie took the little page from her and admired it. “Very interesting. Very. It’s different from the sign we write for man, of course, but I never dreamed it would have so many other features. And this is like no one else’s?”

  “No one here,” Tildi said. “Of course, I have not met many humans. I know little of them beyond what I have learned here. I never traveled before I came here to Silvertree.”

  “You handle us all with such aplomb, I would have thought you were used to being around us all your life,” Magpie said. He tucked away the scrap in the breast of his tunic. “Thank you for this. I’ll do you a favor one day if I can.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she assured him. He was really very nice. She regretted that custom had forbidden her from getting to know him when he had visited her village. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “I could never have done it for myself, you see,” Magpie said. “I’m grateful. Good journey to you.”

  “And to you,” Tildi said. She looked up as he rose from the bench and noticed several of the other visitors standing around, as though they had been watching them. Many of them looked as if they would like to ask her to draw their runes, too, but they all glanced away hastily when she tried to meet their eyes.

  If Tildi had seen little of her master in the weeks before the conference, it was a good deal compared with the brief glimpses she got of him in the next few days. He seemed to be in all places at the same time, giving advice to the delegates, who would soon be going home, or in search of a fastness remote enough to secure the book a second time, should they be fortunate enough to regain it. She was aware of his scrutiny, though, always seeming to see his bright green eyes on her from across the room, where she was talking with one of the other chosen trackers, as Edynn chose to call them. She hoped that he would make time to see her before she had to go.

  She need not have worried about her laundry, or any of the other small tasks necessary before setting out on a long journey. Liana and her staff were in and out of the small bedroom continually during those days, dropping off clean and mended clothing, new socks, a better made rucksack, a set of eating utensils appropriate to her size that looked like gold but were as light as paper, and other little conveniences.

  A whirl of preparation filled the next few days. When Olen was not conferring with the delegates who would soon be departing to warn their people, he was stopping by Tildi’s room with advice and items for her to put into her pack. She sat on the floor trying to fit everything into the new pack.

  “This compass never fails,” he said, handing her a small brass disk. “You will be able to read it even in the dark, even underground.” He started to go out of the door, then glanced back. “I feel I have not prepared you enough to send you out in this manner, Tildi. I am remiss. I did not foresee you leaving so soon. I am afraid that my vision has been seeking out across the ages, and not giving attention to what is here in my own household. I am sorry to have neglected you.”

  Tildi jumped up and hugged him around the legs. “You have been so kind to me, master. I’ve learned so much. I hope it is enough.”

  The long hand touched her hair. “You have been a most interesting pupil. I will miss you. We will all miss you. Liana has been scolding me without cease for allowing you to go. If I can give you anything for your journey, it is yours. Edynn is a good teacher. I would give you three pieces of advice before you go. First, don’t stop learning. I know you are on fire for knowledge now. Second, keep both your eyes and your heart open. One may tell you something that the other cannot see. Third, trust yourself. I believe in you. Otherwise you would not be going on this journey. And come back safely.”

  Tildi felt her throat tighten as tears started in her eyes. “I will do my best.”

  At last it was time to go. Tildi stood on the doorstep on a sunny, late summer day, taking affectionate leave of Silvertree, its master and staff. The footmen and housemaids stuffed what little room was left in her carry sack with small presents and sweetmeats. Silvertree itself had also given her a small keepsake: a twig the breadth of her thumb had fallen out of the branches and landed beside her feet when she had been walking outside alone. Not another leaf or twig had fallen, so she knew it was a deliberate action. She patted the wall one last time, and descended the steps into the courtyard at Olen’s side.

  Many of the guests had remained on to wish the party well. Halcot and his son had gone, but Cadwallan and the children of the Melenatavian king were still present. Komorosh, huddled miserably in his thick, shaggy fur cloak, towered above the circle of human and elf scholars, all talking excitedly to one another. To Tildi’s delight, Magpie sat on a stone in the garden playing his jitar. When he saw her he began to sing.

  ’Tis the tale of Tildi that I tell,

  Out from Silvertree where she did dwell,

  Set she with a doughty force to look

  For that troublesome, fearsome, magical book,

  A centaur who is known as Rin,

  A peddler of cloth and pin,

  Two soldiers strong in armor guise

  Serafina fair and Edynn wise.

  But none so vital to the day

  As the smallfolk with her vision fey.

  Though mountains move and kingdoms fall

  Stormclouds threaten, rivers crest,

  She will set the book to rest.

  Hail, Tildi! Hero of us all!

  Tildi beamed at him. Even though her brother was an able, even inspired musician, she had never had a song written for her before.

  Magpie sprang up and bowed to her.

  “A farewell gift,” he said. “I hope to give you a similar welcoming gift when you return victorious.”

  “Let us concentrate our thoughts upon making that success,” Olen said, guiding the smallfolk to where the rest of the party waited.

  Edynn and Serafina stood by their horses, who were nearly identical white mares with dark noses and dark tips to their ears and tail. The saddles and bridles were silver and white. The only way Tildi could tell them apart was by the saddlecloths. Edynn’s was a soft green, and Serafina’s a vivid rose. Each of them could easily reach her staff, which was slung along the edge of the saddle by a couple of loops. Captain Teryn and Morag stood by their horses, glossy brown
animals with black tails, on whom the Rabantavian white and scarlet livery looked very smart. Even the pack animal seemed dignified by the livery on his harness, though he was piled higher than his head with odd-shaped packages. In sharp contrast, Lakanta’s short-legged little horse was an undistinguished straw color, and the large, round leather packs on either side of its wide rump made it look like she was carrying a yoke of buckets. Edynn floated over to take Tildi’s hand.

  “Are you ready, my dear?” she asked.

  “You are riding?” Tildi asked in reply.

  “Yes. We may have to cover a lot of ground. Do you have a mount?”

  “Er, no. I’ve never ridden a horse by myself in my life.”

  “Gracious, how did you come here?” Serafina asked, looking down her nose at the smallfolk.

  “On foot, mostly,” Tildi said, feeling her face flush.

  “Well, no more,” Olen said. “I’ve got one more surprise for you.”

  He signaled to a groom, who brought Sihine forward. “This child’s saddle ought to be small enough for you. The stirrups are short enough for your legs. Try it!” The groom heaved her high in the air and set her down in the saddle. Sihine looked at her over his satiny shoulder and let out a contented hwwwnnnh. Gingerly, Tildi patted him on the neck. She looked down, and began to tremble. She was so high off the ground, and there was nothing to keep her from falling off if they started to trot. What if Edynn decreed they should fly?

  “Olen, your mind must be wandering,” Edynn said, walking over to look up at the smallfolk. “She can ride that way, but what happens when she needs to get down? Is your groom coming along with us? Did you include a rope ladder?”

  “Of course not, Edynn,” Olen said with some asperity. “But my apprentice needs a horse. Sihine knows her. He will carry her faithfully.”

  “Don’t you have one more suitable for someone her size? A pony?”

  Rin snorted. “A pony could not keep up with us if we had to retreat from some danger, Edynn.”

  “I cannot believe none of us discussed this matter before,” Edynn said, shaking her head.

  “There have been many more important matters,” Rin assured her. “I, too, have been more concerned with where our book thief has gone to. How we will follow him scarcely entered my mind.”

  Serafina looked haughty. “Well, you cannot expect my mother or me to carry her. Our steeds are accustomed to our weight. One of the guards, perhaps?” She looked pointedly at Captain Teryn.

  “Not my orders, honored one,” Teryn snapped out. “I follow the instructions of King Halcot. In order to provide proper defense, we must ride as unencumbered as possible.”

  “It’s all right,” Tildi said sadly. “I’d rather walk.”

  “And why not?” Lakanta said, swinging out of her saddle. “Melune would be happier if I walked, as I often do,” she added pointedly, looking up at Serafina.

  “Oh, stop bickering,” Rin said impatiently. “You shall ride with me. I should be honored. Come.” She reached down one long brown hand for Tildi’s. Before she knew it, the smallfolk was astride the warm, striped back in front of the band that held matching packs of red leather. Another band held a small pouch and a coiled whip around Rin’s waist. “You can hold on to my mane.” She pointed at her spine. The red silk blouse she wore parted to allow a narrow band of thick, wavy black hair more than a foot in length to flow freely. She stamped a hoof and shifted from side to side. Tildi felt herself falling, and buried her hands in the crisp tresses. They felt like washed sheep’s fleece, a soothing and confidence-inducing texture. Suddenly, she was no longer afraid of being so high up. Rin smiled at her and flared her nostrils. “That’s better, is it not? Your pack will fit in one of mine. Are we ready?”

  There was no excuse left not to go. Tildi touched hands with everyone still in the courtyard, princes, wizards, scholars, and all. Edynn gave the word, and they trotted out of the courtyard. The last glimpse Tildi had as she passed the gate was of Olen standing on Silvertree’s doorstep, waving her good-bye.

  “I have never seen anything like that, Olen besotted over an apprentice,” Serafina said, as they clattered over the cobblestones up toward the city limits. “He’d never have made that kind of mistake with one of those idiotic boys who usually come to learn from him.”

  “He is worried,” Rin said. “As are we all.”

  Tildi said nothing. Serafina’s words couldn’t be meant to wound, but they felt to her like an accusation that she was putting more burdens upon the search party than they needed. Teryn and Morag rode stolidly at the rear of the party, not speaking, even to each other. Tildi tried offering them friendly glances, which were returned without any emotion at all. She felt lonely and unimportant.

  “I agree with you, Rin,” Edynn said. “I have never been as worried about anything in my life! We have no time to think about that. Tildi, you are the leader of this expedition. Take us back to where you saw the glowing runes.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Riding a centaur was not at all like sitting on the back of Sihine, either before or behind Olen. Rin kept twisting her upper body around to talk to her, and she frequently made a comment when Tildi shifted. That there was no saddle between them also made Tildi keenly aware that she was wearing heavy shoes and coarse trousers.

  “I’m sorry,” Tildi said. “If I’d known I’d be on your back I would have asked for softer clothes.”

  Rin laughed, a musical whinny. “It’s not your trousers or your boots, little one. You fidget like a fly. I swear to you I will not drop you, but it is difficult for me to concentrate on making my way when you move around so much.”

  Tildi let out a gasped apology, which made Rin laugh again.

  “You are so serious! I have known this of the smallfolk. Ride with the rhythm, and you will find everything will go much more smoothly.”

  The centaur exaggerated her walk for the next few minutes, making Tildi tip from side to side. It was like trying to sit in a rocking chair that was also bobbing up and down. Tildi was all too aware that it was more than twice her height to the ground from where she sat.

  Rin increased her pace a tiny bit at a time.

  Gradually, the smallfolk discovered that her hips naturally rocked in the direction of Rin’s forward foot. Before long, she let her spine relax and follow the centaur’s gait. By the time Edynn spoke to her again she was able to reply without thinking about how she was going to hold on.

  “The last time I saw the runes so bright?” she echoed Edynn’s question. “It was not long before I came into the city. I wasn’t paying a good deal of attention to the road. I was riding in a chicken cart—”

  “Of course you were riding in a chicken cart,” Serafina said with an impatient exhalation. Lakanta chuckled.

  “Well, just because you wouldn’t be caught dead or dying in one, Miss High Horse.”

  “Be kind to my daughter, peddler,” Edynn said, a little smile on her lips. “She has not been out in the world much, and she has a great deal to learn.”

  “Ah, I see. Forgive me, then,” the little blond woman said gravely. “I will always forgive youth and innocence.”

  That forgiveness seemed to upset Serafina more than Lakanta’s displeasure. She sat on her horse with her back very straight, and met no one’s eyes while they rode.

  Tildi hid a small smile. Edynn’s daughter was abrasive, but Tildi thought it wasn’t so much to offend as deflect. She was afraid of something. Tildi could well understand that. She was afraid for herself and the rest of them. The more that she thought about it, the more she was astonished at herself for having put up her hand to volunteer. What did she know about the world beyond the one road she’d trodden from the Quarters? What did she know of magic and wizards beyond what she had read in storybooks? She had fallen lucky to have been in Olen’s care.

  Lucky, indeed. That was part of the reason she had put herself forward. She had been lucky since she was a child. Lucky not to have fallen victim to the t
hraik, not once, but twice. Lucky that the fragment of the book had come into her hands in a manner that allowed her to build up an immunity to its power. She would be selfish not to put her good fortune at the service of, well, the world. She almost blushed at the conceit of it all, but smallfolk had always gone by the adage that if you had the right tool for the job, you used it. If you were a weaver, you wove. If you were a carter, you drove. If you were a farmer, you tilled. And if you were a Summerbee, Tildi thought, changing the last line of the old song, you filled the job that needed to be filled. She told her knees that was the reason they must stop knocking.

  The sun blessed them as they traveled southward along the main road. There were many more travelers than before, all of them staring openly at the small group, and especially at Tildi. She didn’t know whether her cheeks were flushing from the heat or the endless scrutiny.

  Once they were out of sight of Overhill, Captain Teryn took the lead. She rode at the front of the party, her head held high and her hand on her sword hilt to forestall anyone who might approach them casually. Not that anyone would. Awe of the two robed wizards kept the eager children away, even if they would dare to pass the shining Pegasus of Rabantae resplendent upon Teryn’s tunic. The stares flustered Tildi, but she remembered that she had an important task to perform. It was easier to shut out the curious gazes once she began to concentrate upon studying her surroundings, seeking any trace of the runes that had been so plentiful on her trip northward. Even the rune that had been gilded upon the glowing solar orb had paled into obscurity. She began to wonder if she had imagined them, and she had never thought of herself as the fanciful type.

  “Any signs?” Edynn inquired after a few miles.

  Tildi appreciated the senior wizardess’s patience. They must all be thinking that the logic that had thrust Tildi into the search party was flawed. She had to produce some sign that she had not been mistaken, or lying. How could the runes have vanished?