An Unexpected Apprentice

by Jody Lynn Nye

  Halcot let out a short bark of laughter. “You young ass!” He paused to study Magpie. “I always liked you, you know. Your witty tongue brought some merriment into my household during some dark days.”

  Magpie gave him a slight bow. “I did know. You honored me by your regard, sir.”

  “Stop talking like a courtier. You are a prince, and for your father’s sake, you ought to act like one, today of all days.” Halcot’s creased brow drew down thoughtfully. “I hardly remember you, though I am sure I met you as a child. I know the whole brood used to come in Soliandur’s train when he visited me. Which one were you?”

  Where he was willing to accept death in service to his country in war, Magpie was abashed to admit childhood sins. “I … er, I’m the one who broke the glass Tillerton chandelier in the great hall trying to get your son Stalcot to swing from it.”

  Halcot’s eyebrows flew up, compressing the lines into a single crease. “You puppy! He said he broke it.”

  Magpie smiled at the thought of his long-ago friend. “Call it a conspiracy of silence between princes. We nobly took the blame for each another’s sins, but that time it was my fault.”

  “Did he know you were spying on me?”

  “I think he saw me once in my minstrel guise, with these streaks in my hair, but for old time’s sake he passed me by, and did not ask for an explanation of my presence. I never involved him, and I tried to stay out of his way thereafter. Don’t blame him.”

  Halcot paused for a long time, then met Magpie’s eyes squarely. “I cannot forgive what has gone before.”

  Magpie bowed his head. “No. I couldn’t ask that. But we are allies now, are we not?” He nodded toward the book on the altar. It greatly resembled the image of the Great Book Olen had shown them in his vision.

  “Death take it, we are,” Halcot said with a sigh. “Let that do as a place to build anew. Have you had any sniff of the damned thing? I’ve not seen a sign of it myself across my entire kingdom, and I hope I never do.”

  “Nor I,” Magpie assured him. “Not in these many weeks. I will go on looking until we get word that the thief has been stopped.”

  “It’s an affair for wizards, that’s what I think,” Halcot said dismissively. “Er … have you … I wonder, have you chosen a place to visit for your honeymoon? Many of my kinsmen keep good tables, and they would be glad to offer a villa in a handsome setting for a month’s sojourn.”

  Magpie took a deep breath, even though it hurt. He had genuinely thought that he was going to die, and he had been given a reprieve. The relief was so great he could have laughed or cried. Halcot had shown the quality of his royal lineage and not only gave him his life back, he was offering him a kind of friendship. It was more than he deserved, and much more than his own father would offer an enemy in similar circumstances. He bowed.

  “You are most kind, my lord. I shall put the suggestion to my bride. I believe she should choose where we go.”

  Halcot nodded, pursing his lips. “Wise, very wise. It makes for a more peaceful wedded life. Well, I’m dry from my long ride. You cannot leave your vigil. Do you care for a glass of wine? Oh, I am forgetting the fast. Forgive me.”

  Smiling, Magpie shook his head. “Enjoy it. My father keeps an excellent cellar.”

  “Yes, the vineyards of Persham Province are well known across the continent. Excuse me.”

  Laying his hand briefly on the young man’s shoulder, Halcot withdrew.

  Magpie let out a huge breath. He felt as though he had been given life anew. He vowed that from that very moment he would devote it to making Inbecca happy. Heaven knew she deserved better than she had had from him. He would also try more diligently to please his father, if that was at all possible. Perhaps grandchildren would soften the old man’s heart. In the meanwhile, he could look forward to a grand feast, with dancing, some indelicate toasts to the bride, and plenty of slurs against Magpie’s character, but he didn’t mind a bit. He had a future to look forward to now.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Rin was much subdued as they rode away from Penbrake. Tildi had tried consoling her, but Rin didn’t hear a word she had said. Tildi knew what it felt like to deal with losses of loved ones, but she had never killed by accident. All she could do was listen, and hoped her sympathetic ear would give Rin solace.

  “There was nothing else anyone could have done,” Serafina kept saying. “They were broken beyond help.” That was true, but it didn’t make any of them feel any better. To her credit, the acerbic young woman healed their injuries, and left them to make their own peace with what they had just left behind them.

  The elves of Penbrake had set about clearing away the dead. Athandis had led a ritual that reduced the remains of the devastated trees to a fine black ash. Each of the elves had taken a pinch of ash between their fingers, closed their eyes to offer a silent prayer and apology, then let it go. Tildi had followed suit, but did not feel any peace come to her. Neither, she suspected, had Rin.

  A weather-witch had brought a light breeze that began to whisk away the heaps. By nightfall of the first day, those had been reduced by half. A few elves brought out harps and flutes and played soft music. That, more than anything else, had smoothed away the rough edges of Tildi’s mood. She was dealing with twin griefs: those of the death of the trees and the loss of the book. It was so far away. She chafed for the next few days until Edynn declared that they could go on.

  Edynn was much better following her rest among the elves. She no longer seemed as weak as she had been since their desperate flight began. The elven healers had clustered around her after the battle. Serafina deferred to them with little grace, but even she could see that they were more helpful to her mother than she had been. Tildi had enjoyed the feeling of the strengthening spells as the energy overspilled into the atmosphere around Edynn. Athandis had given the party a beautiful house formed out of a grand beech tree more than twenty feet across, with wedge-shaped bedrooms above stairs, and a large room in the base with ceilings high enough for Rin to feel comfortable. At first Tildi had felt strangely reluctant to enter into the tree home. She had examined the fear and decided it was groundless, but it was curious, since she had always loved trees, and had lived in Silvertree for months without qualms. Teryn was satisfied because the elves had replenished their supplies and then some, giving them preserved fruits, breads, and meats sufficient to last for a month at least. Tildi fervently hoped that they would not be so long parted from the book.

  The book! She jumped, enough so that Rin glanced over her shoulder at her.

  “What troubles you, smallfolk?” she asked.

  “It’s stopped moving,” Tildi said eagerly. “The book, I mean. It’s halted.”

  “What’s that?” Edynn asked, trotting closer on the air. “He has stopped again?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Tildi said. “We’re getting nearer by the moment.”

  Teryn circled around to bring the map over for Edynn’s examination. The elder wizardess nodded. “It looks as if he has taken refuge in one of the ancient places. We may truly be dealing with one of the Shining Ones.”

  “I thought so,” Serafina said, tossing her head with satisfaction.

  Tildi didn’t care if the young woman had come to the right conclusion. All that mattered was that she, Tildi, was going to be close to the book again. She patted the leaf in her belt pouch. Somehow she must persuade the Maker to let her touch the original. She wondered what kind of refuge Edynn meant. This was mountainous country over which they were flying. The green hills below them were rounded and homey-looking, with blue rivers flowing in between. The rows of stark peaks ahead looked much less of a haven.

  A cold power intruded upon her happiness at the same moment a shadow flashed across Rin’s back. She looked up, and her heart clenched with fear. A dozen or more winged monsters had come out of nothingness. The largest one shrieked, and the others answered. Tildi hoped never to have heard that cry again.

  “Thraik!” Tery
n shouted. The captain wheeled her horse in the air and cantered upwards, pulling her bow out of her saddlebag. Morag galloped after her, brandishing his polearm.

  But the thraik had other ideas. They zipped easily past Morag’s clumsy attempt to flank them, and outflew Teryn’s desperate chase. Dropping into a spiral on the tip of one wing, the lord thraik circled down toward Rin.

  “Get Tildi away!” Edynn called. She unbound her staff from the side of her saddle, and followed the soldiers. A bolt of white light exploded from the jewel atop her staff. One of the thraik cried out in pain. Serafina threw a ball of red flame that burst into the chest of the nearest beast. Its wings shut and it dropped like a stone through the clouds. Lakanta kicked Melune into a trot and headed directly for the lord thraik, a sturdy club in her hand. “Go!”

  “They will not catch us,” Rin vowed. “Hold tight, little one.”

  Tildi buried her head in Rin’s mane as the centaur opened up her stride and streaked across the sky. She heard a gargling cry. One of the others had succeeded in wounding a thraik, perhaps mortally. Against the darkness of her closed eyes Tildi saw again the day on which her brothers had died. Teldo had made fire and killed a thraik, perhaps the first time in memory that a smallfolk had managed to destroy one of the winged enemy. Then … she opened her eyes with a gasp, unable to bear seeing the nightmare unfold yet again. They had taken her whole family, and now they were coming for her, at last. Tears filled her eyes. She had come so far. Why could they not let her alone?

  The lord thraik burst into being immediately before them. Rin let out a yell of surprise and wheeled. Tildi shrieked with fear. It reached for her with curved talons.

  “I can strike these without regret,” Rin gritted. “Hang on.” She planted her forefeet, and kicked out with her rear feet, catching the thraik in its chest. With a thin, tearing cry, it fell a dozen yards before it caught itself and flitted back to them, hissing. “That felt good! Come, child, can you aid our defense? Make fire! Do something!” Rin kicked at the lord thraik. It swiped at her and missed. Rin flicked her tail in derision and drew her whip. “Tildi!”

  Tildi tried to pull herself together. She heard the thraiks’ death call again and again. Edynn and Serafina must be accounting for some of the others. She must do her part.

  “Ano chnetegh tal,” she hiccuped. She was almost too afraid to take her hand off Rin’s hair, but a thimbleful of green fire erupted among her fingers. She jerked her trembling hand back for fear of setting her friend’s mane ablaze. “There, you monster!” she cried, flinging the tiny flame at the lord thraik.

  It recoiled like a snake, and the flame missed it, extinguishing on the wind. It glared at Tildi with its dried-blood eyes, and she saw again the rune in them. She now knew what it meant. It sensed the scent of the book on her.

  “I don’t even have it!” she shouted. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

  The thraik screamed back. Others answered.

  At that moment, it was struck from both sides by a blaze of white and a blaze of red. It sank, its wings windmilling for purchase on the air.

  Rin ran for their lives. Lakanta came up on their flanks, kicking Melune into a gallop for all she was worth.

  “We’re outnumbered,” she panted. “Look!”

  Tildi followed her pointing finger. The lord thraik must have called for reinforcements. Dozens of writhing black shapes appeared over their heads. The cry of their master directed them to the fleeing centaur and her passenger.

  “We can’t fight them all,” Lakanta said. “Go down. Now. We can take shelter. Hurry.”

  Thraik vanished from above. Tildi jumped as three of them appeared all around Rin. One slashed at them with a claw. Bright blood sprang out on Rin’s dark skin. Tildi drew her knife and stabbed through the thraik’s paw. It recoiled, almost taking her knife out of her hand. It hissed at her, winging close to bite. Rin rammed her shoulder into its neck, and kicked it. Lakanta did her part, smacking whatever part of a thraik that presented itself. The muddy eyes glowing with runes were all around Tildi. She tried to concentrate on making fire, but all she could see was Gosto’s limp body as he was carried off into the sky. She stabbed wildly, not caring if she struck anything. The tears were a welcome curtain that shut out the sight of the greasy-skinned monsters.

  “Duck!” Serafina’s voice called from above them. Red balls of light began to shoot between the defenders and the thraik. The beasts she struck let out agonized cries. The white mare dropped into their midst. Serafina gestured imperiously. “Flee! I will hold them back!”

  “Down!” Lakanta insisted again. “Follow me!”

  The stout little horse cantered through the air toward the bank of a river. Lakanta landed and beckoned vigorously for Rin to follow her. Screams echoed around them, then receded in the distance. Tildi felt the thump as they hit the ground, but she didn’t cease stabbing at her unseen enemies until a hand took the knife away from her, and two strong arms enfolded her. She blinked to clear her eyes, and discovered that they were in a low cavern. The thraik were out of sight.

  Rin was holding her as if she was a baby. “Are you better now?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tildi said, and her voice trembled. She swallowed deeply, trying to get control of herself. “I just feel so small in this world.”

  “So do we all, child,” Lakanta said, leaning over to pat her on the head. “So do we all. You had been holding up so well I had forgotten you’re not as old as you act most times, but by the Father, you’re just a chick.” The two oddly matched females sat with Tildi until she pulled herself together. Tildi reached into her pouch and blotted her eyes with Gosto’s cloth. She was grateful for their kindness, and for the small, tangible reminder of her brothers. In a moment she had regained her senses, and regarded her friends with concerned eyes. “Heavens, Rin, you need bandaging.”

  The centaur looked down at the blood staining her torn blouse, as if surprised to see it. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” She grimaced as she pressed the brightly colored fabric against the flesh with her palm. “It stings. Their slime feels unclean.”

  “Where … where are we?” Tildi ventured to ask.

  “In a cave,” Rin said. “Lakanta guided me in here. For what reason I can’t guess.”

  “Getting us past those thraik,” the peddler said absently. “Wizards are all very well, but they can’t kill all the thraik in the world. They want you desperately, don’t they?”

  “They want the book,” Tildi explained. “I know it now. They think I have it.”

  Lakanta nodded fiercely. “Well, they won’t have you. We’ll travel a road they can’t find. That is, if I can make someone see some sense.”

  “Make who?” Edynn’s voice echoed behind her. The two wizardesses trotted into the cavern. “The thraik vanished as soon as Tildi did. We are not interesting to them, I see. The theory seems to be proven. It is contact with the book or a copy that fascinates them. Make who? More of your kin?”

  Lakanta clicked her tongue. She and Melune disappeared into the gloom ahead of them. All they could hear was her voice as she felt her way along. “Oof! These aren’t strictly my kin. Ouch, that stone ought not to be there. Sorry, Melune, dear.”

  Thin, tearing shadows streamed past Tildi’s cheeks and shoulders. She bent and covered her head with both hands.

  “Don’t worry, child,” Rin said with amusement, stepping forward to shield Tildi from the flow. “It’s only the bats.”

  Lakanta kept up a steady chatter in the dark. “ … Mother and Father help me if I’ve chosen the wrong sort of cave … aha!”

  Edynn rode up beside Lakanta and illuminated the jewel at the end of her staff. The white light cast a moonstone glow on a pair of double doors twenty feet high. They were made of bronze and steel, and cast to look like the stone wall of the cavern at a casual glance. Once Tildi examined them more closely, she could see that they were most artfully made, covered with dwarven runes and lightly etched pictures. She touched the image of a
fox, so lifelike it seemed as if she was seeing one running away into shadow.

  “I’ve never seen such grand doors,” Rin said. Serafina let out a hiss and rode to the centaur’s side. She pushed Rin’s hand away and applied a handful of warm white light to the long wounds in her flank. “I should never have guessed they were here.”

  “You never would,” Lakanta assured her. “They don’t want you to.” She rolled off Melune’s back and approached the doors. Her knuckles made almost no sound on the metal, so she picked up a stone and knocked again. Boom, boom, boom.

  The sound seemed to echo deep in the hillside, beyond the doors. Boom, boom, boom. They waited.

  “It may take a while before someone deigns to answer,” Lakanta said. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Rin had just set Tildi down, when the ground began to shake under them. Tildi grabbed for the nearest wall, but it was shaking, too. The vibration was not enough to upset her balance, but it made her feel very uncomfortable. It seemed to go on for a very long time, shaking loose moss and small stones that fell down on them from the cavern roof. Tildi threw her hands over her head to protect it. Was the world coming apart? The horses danced and whinnied in a panic, until Rin and Teryn calmed them. Morag shook his head and tossed it as if he was a nervous steed. Edynn, holding her horse’s bridle steady, frowned.

  “Is that the dwarves’ way of telling us we’re not welcome?”

  “No,” Lakanta said, alarmed. “It’s a tremor, but it feels like none I’ve ever experienced.”

  An hour or more passed after the earthquake ceased. Once she had gotten over being frightened by the thraiks, Tildi felt sleepy. She sat huddled against the wall while the others chatted in low tones near her. A crunching, creaky sound woke her out of her doze. A bright wedge of light made her blink. The door was open.

  A man had appeared in the doorway with a glowing lantern in his hand.

  “Hail, cousin!” Lakanta said, going to meet him. Tildi studied him curiously. He was a stocky blond male a quarter the height of the door, with his long hair and beard in braids, just like the kindly peddler who had given her sweets and discussed matters so solemnly with Gosto, yet with a twinkle in his eye. This dwarf had no twinkle for them. He seemed angry to see them, and especially Lakanta.