Tildi felt a wave of warmth. Suddenly, white mist rolled up out of her belt pouch, blinding her. She batted at it, trying to clear the fog away. Tiny hands reached through the cloud and clawed at her fingers. Tildi cried out. Her voice was answered by a thousand shrill shrieks. Scaly, pale-gray creatures swarmed out of the mist. They dove at Tildi, teeth and claws aiming for her face. Tildi swatted at them. They raked her skin with their talons. She ducked and threw her hands up before her face, but they attacked her ears and hair.
“I’ll help you, Tildi!” Lakanta bellowed, making a two-handed grab for one of the creatures. “Ow! They’re fast little monsters! Something bit me!”
Rin snatched at the gray demons flitting above her head. They dissolved and re-formed just out of her reach, then zipped back to rake her skin with their needlelike talons.
“Guard!” shouted Rin. Teryn’s head flew up at the warning in the centaur’s voice. The captain thrust the map into her saddlebag and drew her sword in one swift motion. She galloped back to them and began striking out at the pale mist, grunting in frustration. Tildi flattened herself on Rin’s back as the gleaming blade whipped over her head. From the rear, Morag came pelting toward them on his horse. He sprang down and stabbed at the creatures. They danced out of his range, shrieking louder.
“Get to safety,” Teryn gritted, driving a half dozen of the fiends back. They gibbered and screamed at her. “Take the smallfolk out of this! I will overcome these beasts!”
“They are attacking her,” Rin said. “What are they?” She took the whip off her belt and began to crack it at the creatures. They eddied back upon the air, then zipped in to claw at her face and neck. “What is this? I cannot hit them!”
Tildi crouched on Rin’s back with her arms over her head. “Nature guard me while I sleep, From all who fly or walk or creep, Ward the earth and guard the sky, may I wake safely by and by,” she muttered to herself. The simple words of protection were like throwing a glass of water onto a forest fire. The midge-demons stopped biting for one second, then began diving in again. She tried the words of the simple lullaby again. It had always protected her against childish nightmares, but it wasn’t strong enough to stave off these. The pain of hundreds of scratches and gouges made her eyes blur with tears.
“Ano chnetegh voshad,” Edynn’s voice rang out over the hillside, and Serafina’s joined it. “Voshte!”
The silver symbol for “protect” appeared before Tildi’s face. She was ashamed. She knew what to do. Master Olen had taught her how to drive away malign magic. She promptly sat up and began to draw her own wards upon the air with her knife, making them big enough to guard both her and Rin. Lacy walls of magic issued forth from the curling runes, spreading out to surround them completely. She sealed the last stroke. There, perfect! Those ought to keep out any evil.
To Tildi’s horror the scaled beasts paid no attention to them. They zipped straight through her wards and Edynn’s as if they did not exist. They almost laughed at her, as they took turns nipping and clawing at her. Tildi could see their runes in the center of their scaly foreheads. Something about them struck her as wrong, though she couldn’t put a finger on why. She flung another ward at them. This time they did laugh, their shrill voices piercing her eardrums. Tildi was so furious that tears burned in her eyes.
“Crotegh mai ni fornai!” Serafina commanded, pointing her staff at the cloud. Wards sprang up before the little monsters, who swooped and dove around the lines in the air like linnets flitting through a trellis. She swept a hand at one. Her hand passed right through the fiend, which turned in midair and attempted to bite her.
“I deny you!” Serafina said. The fiend gnashed its pale jaws, and dove at her again. Several of its companions swept away from Tildi and the others to attack her. The young wizardess sat in the center of a whirling mass of beasts, unafraid. Her horse danced and whinnied, rolling the whites of its eyes, but she was unperturbed, and unharmed. “They’re not substantial, Tildi! Close your mind to fear. Drive them back. They cannot follow. They are only seemings.”
Edynn had come to the same conclusion. “They can only hurt you if you believe they can. Steel yourself. I know you can do it.”
“Hah, is that all there is to it?” Rin demanded. She clicked her fingers at the swooping beasts and sneered. “Nightmares. They are for small children.”
The gray creatures zoomed at her. They passed straight through her body and out the other side.
“See!”
Unable to affect Rin, they dove at Tildi. The first one bit her on the ear. Tildi knew that Serafina was right. She forced herself to think she was seeing nothing but clouds tumbling. They just looked like dangerous little monsters with teeth and claws. Ow! One closed those teeth on her thumb. She had to think harder, she realized, sucking the skinned knuckle. Clouds, she thought firmly, staring at the demons. No power.
“You cannot touch me,” she said.
The creatures shrieked and flew at her. Tildi braced herself, but the expected pain did not come. Tildi crowed with triumph. The monsters tried again and again. Soon, they realized they had no more power over her. It was almost funny how frustrated they became.
Teryn got herself under control with the speed to be expected of a seasoned soldier and trusted officer. She stopped flailing at the insubstantial monsters with her sword, never having managed to hit one. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, the diving beasts zoomed straight through her.
The same was not true of Morag. No amount of cajoling by the others could persuade him that the fiends were not real. He slapped at them, growing more frantic. His eyes changed from their muddy brown to a gleaming blue.
“The madness is on him,” Teryn said, alarmed, galloping to his side. “Morag, close your eyes. Close them now! That’s an order! They can’t hurt you if you don’t look at them. Close your eyes.”
The soldier did not seem to hear her. He waved his arms frantically. The spear fell from his hand and clattered on the ground. The fiends dived at him, laughing shrilly.
“They’re everywhere!” he cried. “Help me! They want to kill me!” With a wild yell he wheeled his horse, and set spurs to its side. The animal leaped as if stung, and started galloping frantically over the rise. The packhorse, still tethered to Morag’s war steed, was forced to run alongside. The cluster of demons swirled, gibbering, around his head.
“Morag, stop!” Teryn shouted. She swung into her saddle and cantered after him. The others followed.
Edynn aimed her staff at the fiends, chanting one spell after another. A beam of light burst forth, and one of the creatures burst apart in a puff of smoke. “That’s done it! I understand their form now.”
Tildi held fast to Rin’s mane as they strove to catch up with the fleeing horses. Rin’s muscles bunched and unbunched as she galloped faster and faster. Teryn, leaning low over her horse’s neck, hurtled side by side with them. She glanced over, and the two exchanged a nod. They parted to overtake Morag on either side. Rin reached out and snatched the reins.
“Hold tight,” she warned Tildi. All at once she leaned hard back on all four hooves, hauling back on the leads, pulling Morag’s horse sharply to the right. It screamed and danced. Teryn, on the other side, put an arm around the struggling man. The flying creatures continued to bite at him, and their voices hurt Tildi’s ears.
“Stop it, soldier!” Teryn commanded, her voice strained with worry. “They are but a dream. A dream, Morag!”
The white lights lanced around them, snuffing out one demon after another. Edynn and Serafina descended upon them like twin whirlwinds, robes fluttering, circling until the threats were gone. Morag sat with his head bowed, muttering to himself. Teryn spoke to him in low tones that seemed to soothe both the troubled soldier and the two panting horses. Soon, she gave a nod and drew them back toward the rest of the group.
“My goodness,” Lakanta said, riding up last. She went a few yards past the group and looked down. “Just in time! If you hadn�
�t stopped him, he would have gone flying right over the edge of the bluff.”
Tildi glanced in the direction the little peddler was pointing. Her heart leaped into her throat. They were on a steep escarpment that overlooked a river far down below.
“My thanks, honorables,” Captain Teryn said stiffly. “Princess.”
Morag murmured something that sounded like thanks. He could scarcely look up.
“I am glad to assist,” Rin said graciously.
“This is my fault,” Edynn said, sadly. “Our thief has detected us, and is using our own spell against us. I am out of practice in strategy. I would not have made this mistake in past years.”
Serafina was businesslike in settling her mother’s cloak about her shoulders. “Mother, it is not our fault. He is wilier than we suspected. We will be on guard against him now. I can set a trap upon the link so any more fiends he sends us will rebound again.”
“But who knows if he will make a deadlier attempt upon us next time?” Edynn turned to the smallfolk girl. “This wizard has sent us a warning to withdraw. I cannot believe that he is incapable of more deadly spells and sendings. I cannot undo the connection between your leaf and the book, but I won’t send you into greater peril for simple convenience’s sake. We know in general which way he has gone. Let us withdraw to the nearest city and send you back to Olen. Others will assist me in the pursuit. The risk is too great for you to continue.”
“He knows we are here behind him,” Rin said grimly. “We must continue to follow.”
“Rin, you are a seasoned warrior, and I welcome your aid, but I have no right to throw this little one into danger that she is unprepared to handle.”
“Don’t, Edynn,” Tildi said, alarmed. She didn’t want to be sent back, not when she had talked herself into going! “I’m willing to take the risk. I told you so, and I have not changed my mind. I have scores of my own to settle with him. I want to help catch him.”
Edynn shook her head. “We’ll stay closer to you. But now we have got an insurmountable problem,” she said, looking down over the bluff into the river below. “How far are we from the nearest bridge?”
Teryn consulted the map. “I reckon it to be about thirty-five miles to the northwest of here.”
“Yes, I imagined it was something like that. I put it to you that our thief did not go out of his way to take it. Nor could he have gained so much distance on us in an ordinary fashion. I fear we will have to fly, in hopes of catching up.”
“Fly?” Tildi asked nervously. She had not forgotten her ride on Sihine’s back. “Is there no other way?”
Edynn was resolute. “If our quarry has become aware of us, and is willing to attack, we have no time to lose in catching up with him. He has killed, and he is making use of the book. We need to make haste. I believe I can support all our beasts on the air for at least a while each day.”
Serafina looked worried. “Let me make the spell, Mother. I don’t wish you to put yourself at risk of exhaustion. You will want to be ready if we come upon the thief.” Tildi looked away, not wanting to embarrass Serafina by gazing at her with the admiration she felt. Once again she was impressed and touched by the solicitousness of daughter for mother. Serafina turned to her, the tender moment past. “And you can help, too, smallfolk,” she snapped. Tildi opened her mouth and closed it again. Sympathy warred with annoyance, but sympathy won.
“I would be glad to,” she said, keeping her temper under control. “Please tell me what to do.”
Serafina, mollified by Tildi’s easy acquiescence, taught her the spell to harden the air, so that each horse would find solid footing each time he or she set a hoof down. Tildi recited it several times before she succeeded. At last she was able to pat the air with her hand, and was pleased that it felt like solid ground under her palm. Under Serafina’s direction, she laid the charm on Rin’s feet and on Lakanta’s horse, Melune.
“Are we ready then?” Edynn beamed at her two apprentices. “Let’s go!”
She set her heels to her mare’s sides and rode straight for the cliff’s edge. Tildi held her breath as the wizardess stepped out into thin air. Instead of plummeting down to her death, she continued to ride out as though she was on an invisible bridge. Teryn took a deep breath, and spurred after her, followed by Morag and the packhorse.
“Here goes nothing,” Lakanta said cheerfully. “Let’s see how good your work is, Tildi.”
“Race you!” Rin called. She burst into a running trot, easily outdistancing the stout horse.
“Unfair!” Lakanta’s voice receded behind them. Tildi held tight to Rin’s mane. The thundering of the centaur’s hooves echoed on the ground, then there was no noise. Tildi screwed her eyes shut, hoping that her spell would hold.
“Oh, this is marvelous! Such nice firm footing, like running on loam! Look down there, Tildi!” she cried. “The trees look like puffs of green smoke!”
Tildi opened her eyes. She took one look down, and resolutely stared straight up. They were miles above the land. The river was a blue thread, and all the plants had blurred together into masses of green and gold. Her heart pounded so much she could barely breathe. She tried to feel what her brothers’ delight would be at a treat like this, but all she wanted was to be back on the ground. The clouds above looked so soft. What would it be like when she fell?
“You can’t panic!” Edynn shouted to her. “You must guide us, Tildi! Think! Where is the book? Don’t look down.”
Easier said than done, Tildi thought. With an effort of will, she pulled her chin down and squinted over Rin’s shoulder. Concentrate on the rune in your mind, she told herself firmly. Only on that. Only on that.
A faint dot of gold glinted off to her right. “That way!” she cried, pointing toward it.
The others turned to follow her. Tildi kept her eyes focused upon the tiny point, and nothing else.
Chapter Twenty-two
Magpie knelt on the cold stone steps before the winged throne of his father, who left him in that uncomfortable pose for a very long time while the king attended to other business. Behind him, gentlemen and ladies in waiting, clad in their day-to-day court finery, stood in rows between the gilded pillars that held up the round ceiling of the royal receiving chamber, resplendent with its lapis lazuli and white quartz mosaic of a gigantic eagle in flight over a green and fertile landscape. Though they undoubtedly had urgent business they wanted to bring before the king they also waited with the semblance of patience, but their knees were not wearing out.
At last, he felt a touch on his shoulder, and rose, silently cursing the stiffness in his legs.
“So you’re back at last, are you?” his father demanded. “Well? What was the urgent summons in aid of?”
King Soliandur, lord of Orontae, looked his son up and down and shook his head in weary disapproval. Magpie had been given no time to change out of his dirty and worn riding clothes, and fervently wished he had a chance to wash his face, but the very young page who had scrambled to his horse’s side when he rattled into the courtyard an hour before had pleaded for him to attend His Majesty at once. Magpie had long since stopped smelling his own odor, but from the wrinkling of his father’s nostrils it must have been, well, breathtaking.
For the first time in a few months Magpie took the opportunity to study his father. He was still a fine-looking man, with a sharp profile and wise eyes surrounded by lines. Time and care had claimed an inch from his height, which in his youth was the same as Magpie stood now. His thick, dark hair under the circle of his crown was shot with more silver than it had been when Magpie had departed, and the lines around his mouth had deepened. The knee-length tunic, embroidered with the sigil of their house, and worn over loose trousers woven of silk and trimmed with gold, seemed just a little too large for him. Cares were eroding him, like water wearing away a stone. Magpie felt deeply sorry for him, and chose to ignore the disapproving tone. He put on the most responsible expression he possessed and straightened his back. In ringing tone
s, he addressed his father but pitched his voice to fill the throne room to the banners hanging from the tops of the walls.
“Yes, Father. I have much important news to tell you. I attended the conference as your emissary. Lord Wizard Olen sends his greetings, from one noble prince to another.”
Soliandur, monarch of Orontae, lord of the High Lands, duke of the Wilds, protector of the first of the Noble Kingdoms of Humans, hissed through his teeth. He hated to think of his youngest son in any position of authority on behalf of the kingdom or himself. It took no imagination to understand that Soliandur was grateful that he had two older sons than the one he understood the least, and a handful of daughters, if it came to that. Magpie could disappear without a trace one day, and his father would be the most grateful among the mourners. Magpie’s mother, who smiled at him from behind her husband’s shoulder, often said that they were too much alike to get along. That was a comparison that Magpie devoutly hoped was not true. While he admitted that both of them overthought matters to the point where a lesser being would scream for mercy, he prayed that there was not so much bitterness and disappointment existing at the bottom of his soul. He continued.
“In attendance were representatives of the realms of—”
“Enough!” Soliandur said sharply. Magpie fell instantly silent, wondering how he had made a misstep this time.
The king looked around the audience chamber at the court, regarding them all with an expression that Magpie found all too familiar: distrust.
“We will talk in private. Come with me,” Soliandur said.
Obediently, Magpie stood aside as his father swept down the stone stairs and off across the polished inlaid floor. His mother followed. With her light hair turning gently gray and her pale blue dress, Lottcheva was a shining silver presence that lightened her husband’s angry aura. She paused to touch Magpie’s cheek with her fingers.
An Unexpected Apprentice Page 28
