Halcot shook his head, favoring Soliandur with a pitying look. “My brother, you have learned nothing in five years. I think I must know your son far better than you do. You miss the best qualities of people. This is the reason you lost the war between us in everything but name, and you are letting your anger eat you alive instead of coming to terms.”
“You presume much upon hospitality, my lord,” Sharhava said coldly.
“I rule here,” Soliandur snapped at her, but he, too, eyed Halcot with dislike. Inbecca could tell that he still considered the Rabantavian to be an enemy of Orontae. She believed that Halcot was telling the truth. Soliandur seemed to recall the presence of Sharhava’s sister and his fellow monarch all too late. Soliandur bowed to Kaythira. “Your pardon, my sister.”
“Your pardon, my lord,” Sharhava said smoothly. “Perhaps you are not familiar with the Great Book. Your time may have been spent upon other studies … ?”
“I know enough,” Soliandur replied.
“Then you will understand that it is vital to find this book and place it in our custody, for the protection and the good of all humans, not placed back into a hole and hidden away where none can ever use it. And we would make the best use of it of anyone in this world, studying its powers.”
“The book?” Kaythira asked Sharhava. “Your book?”
Another courtier came panting into the room, and bowed deeply to the king. “Highness, Tessera is missing. My lord Eremi’s horse.”
“Find him! Send riders out along all the roads!”
“He’s gone after it himself,” Halcot said wonderingly. “A remarkable youth.”
“Just a moment,” Inbecca said, rising and taking Halcot’s arm. “Tell me, my lord, where has Eremilandur gone?”
Halcot met her eyes sincerely. “I believe he means to put himself in harm’s way for the sake of us all. I assure you, it is a most heroic undertaking. I am surprised he did not tell you before setting out. Perhaps he left a note for you with a servant?”
“What kind of harm?” Now fear was warring with anger within her. “What could befall him?”
“Which mountains?” Sharhava interrupted. “I heard you mention them. What range? In what direction?”
“Nonsense, woman,” Halcot burst out furiously. “I don’t intend to aid you at all. I have seen the effects of this book of yours. Destruction can result from a mere copy of one page. I have seen it! You cannot control it. It must not remain at large. The collateral effects that its presence has are harmful. It must be placed back in the hands of wizards.”
“The Scholardom can control it,” Sharhava assured him, with a superior look down her nose. “Are you part of some conspiracy that would thwart us from achieving our greatest purpose? How dare you?”
“How dare you?” Halcot countered. “You would play with the fate of nations, to satisfy your curiosity? You have no idea what this book is capable of doing!”
“I assure you, sir, I do. I think you underestimate how well prepared we are,” Sharhava said.
“I think that you overestimate yourselves. If the boy has gone after it, he is placing himself in mortal danger.”
“The only danger he is in is of being disowned,” Soliandur said.
Inbecca barely heard the argument going on around her. Eremi had gone, without leaving word for her, in the middle of their own betrothal day. He must have left on the spur of the moment, afraid to face her when he ran off. He knew about Aunt Sharhava’s precious book. He had known all the time that it was real, and he had made fun of Sharhava to her face, calling it lies and legend. He had lied to both of them. Inbecca’s temper turned from the so-called friends who might have kidnapped him for fun to her would-be bridegroom himself. How dare he!
“Well, my brother,” Halcot said, very stiffly, “if the event is over, then I have no reason to remain. I thank you for the hospitality of your house, and yours,” he added, bowing to Queen Kaythira. “Your very good health, my lady,” he said, bowing to Inbecca. “I wish you happiness in your married life. It would seem I have more faith in your affianced than his own father. And to you, my lady, my thanks for our warm welcome,” he said to Lottcheva.
“Will you not stay for the rest of the feast?” the queen asked, alarmed.
“No, thank you, my lady. I am sorry. I am honored to have been invited. Farewell.” He bowed. He turned to Hawarti. “I trust you can have my horses ready by the time I am packed to go.” He turned and marched out of the dining hall. His courtiers rose hastily, blotted their lips on napkins, and followed him.
“Stiff-necked old fool,” Soliandur grumbled. He stormed away, followed by a swirling cloud of worried courtiers.
“Eremi is not a fool,” Lottcheva said firmly. “Something terrible has happened, or he would not have … I can’t believe it. I cannot believe he has gone running off after a … a book! He was so eager to join with you, my dear.” Tears were in her eyes as she went to embrace the girl.
Inbecca flinched involuntarily as the queen put her arms around her. She wanted to be alone, not here in the center of a thousand people watching her suffer utter humiliation. That the friend and lover she had trusted all of her life could prove to be so false hurt her immeasurably. It felt to her as if the world was crumbling out from under her feet. She didn’t know what to hold onto, what still remained true.
“Never mind, dear,” her mother was saying gently. “Forget him. We will go home at once. You will take your place at my side. You’ll have time to think about your future.”
“And deal with old men and court favors?” Inbecca blurted out. To sit and think when her heart was torn in two was the last thing she wanted to do.
“This is an opportunity,” Sharhava crowed. “Child, you have a marvelous opportunity to steal a march on your faithless bridegroom. Come with me. You can be a part of the making of history. The young man deserted you. You’re free!”
“Yes,” Inbecca said. “I am.” Hot tears flooded her throat, making her sob out loud. “It’s a good thing we never wed. No one at all seems surprised he has gone.”
“I am,” Kaythira said, regarding her daughter and sister with alarm. “I agree with Halcot. Eremi would not leave without reason. Inbecca, listen to me!”
“It is too late,” her aunt advised her, her voice buzzing in Inbecca’s ears like eager bees. She dabbed at the girl’s streaming eyes with a cloth. “You are tied to him, before the powers of creation. Unless you renounce all secular ties and join the Knights of the Book, that is. That will free you from him.”
Inbecca was so angry she pushed the heavy dish away. She ripped the precious wedding necklace from her throat, hearing the clasp bound off and jangle to the floor, and flung it down. If their vows meant so little to Eremi that he fled, then that twist of metal meant nothing at all to her. Links and gems went flying in all directions, but she did not care.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“Good. Kneel to me.” Inbecca slid down to the floor. What did it matter? She felt Sharhava’s hand settle on her head. “In the name of the Words, from which Creation sprang, swear to me to protect the book of all things, against all harm, against all enemies, forevermore, forswearing all other earthly ties.”
I swear,” Inbecca said.
“Rise, Lar Inbecca.” Her aunt helped her to her feet and kissed her. Her eyes were glowing with pride. “With your drive and intelligence we cannot fail to gain the ancient book in the name of the Scholardom.”
“I know where he has gone,” Inbecca said, fired with a new cause. “During the betrothal itself he stopped and asked me if I had seen something. There was nothing behind us but the window of the temple. He must be going toward the mountains that are visible from there.”
“I knew your intelligence would serve us,” Sharhava gloated. “We ride north, then. Come with me.” She signaled to one of the Knights in her escort. “Find her robes and insigne. Summon the others. We know where the book is, at last. Make haste! Eremilandur has several hours
’ head start on us.”
“My child, stay,” Inbecca’s father said, holding her hands. “Don’t throw away all you have in anger.” Kaythira looked stricken.
“You heard her vow,” Sharhava said, putting a shoulder between him and the girl. “She is one of mine now. You will be proud. She joins a worthy cause.”
Inbecca marched after her aunt. She glanced back over her shoulder only once, to see the two queens standing forlornly at the small table, looking down at the ruins of her priceless necklace. Her worthless necklace. She was glad to have a new cause, and one that involved catching up with Eremi and giving him a piece of her mind.
“We ride at once!” Sharhava said to the others as they hurried alongside them. “We will overtake the boy. He will guide us, and we will seize the book in the name of all that is good! And we will set the world right!”
Chapter Thirty-three
“Lakanta,” Tildi said, as they rode through another of the awe-inspiringly silent streets of the dwarf hollow on their third day underground, “if it’s not offensive, what’s ‘towa-chira’?”
The peddler laughed, a little uncomfortably, her voice echoing off the polished walls. “Ah, you heard that, did you? Ah, well, it means ‘one who goes outside.’ They don’t like it that my husband and I associated with outsiders. Dwarves don’t much like the sun. I don’t know why. I have never felt that way.”
“I’m sorry,” Tildi said.
“Ah, well, it’s something we have in common, isn’t it?” Lakanta said with a brave grin. “We’re both different than those we were born with. It’s just that your family didn’t mind, did they?”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Do you see? You were lucky.”
“Marvelous,” Edynn said, shaking her head. The gallery through which they passed was carved from a red stone streaked with white. The sculptors who had shaped it had used the white sections as accent pieces in raised relief, so that one came unexpectedly upon very beautiful cameo portraits, or the image of animals or plants. At their feet were croplands, growing quite contentedly in the wan light. Even flowers flourished in pots and troughs at the doors and windows of the buildings. Tildi went to touch one, and discovered that it was made of a translucent stone. “These dwarves live like kings and queens, and few will ever behold these marvels.”
“But you have, Mother,” Serafina said. “When? When were you in the dwarfhollows?”
“Oh, long ago. Several lifetimes, really. I was fairly young. As then, they were not very happy to let me through, but I had good reason that benefited them, as now. I saw a grand gallery, all curtains of onyx, like honey and wax and flowing amber, where the dwarven kings hold court. It puts every human monarch’s throne room aboveground to shame.”
“You never told me about it,” Serafina said, a little petulantly.
“Oh, child, there are only so many years for bedtime stories, then we begin to talk about the here and now.” She smiled at her daughter. “Isn’t that better than dwelling upon what happened before? That was such a long time ago. I much prefer to enjoy the times we are having now, together.”
“This place ought to be a comfort to you,” Lakanta added. “Not a door around.”
Serafina scowled. “I don’t need your pity, peddler.”
“It’s not pity, but a straightforward observation. I’d have been grateful to have my mother’s stories around. Look at Tildi. Whole family swept away, and she hasn’t let out a peep of complaint!”
Tildi felt very uncomfortable as the others turned to look at her. Edynn came to her rescue.
“That may not be the most charitable way to put it, Lakanta,” the elder wizardess said. “Just as no two wizards come to the craft in the same way, nor do they learn the same skills in the same order, it would seem that the life choices also strike one when they will. To live for centuries, as most of us do, sounds appealing, but it doesn’t sound quite as much a gift when you realize that you will spend much of it alone. I have children now, but Olen had his sons long ago, and their great-grandchildren were old men many ages back, but it was right for him to have his family then. For you, Tildi, it happened to you sooner than it did to most wizards. You experienced what comes to most of us eighty or ninety years into our studies. For that reason many choose not to cross the line into long life. Those who do learn that the cost of magic is to be prepared to tread the halls of power alone.”
“You are not alone,” Serafina said fiercely.
“No, dear, of course not,” Edynn said absently. “We are together.”
At last, Tildi felt she understood Serafina’s possessiveness. To have her family swept away unexpectedly was a horrible shock. To know it could—no, would happen at any moment, must be unbearable. She gave Serafina a little more kindness than ever, making way for her when she wanted to see one of the dwarves’ works up close, or making sure that she was served the nicest of the dainties that their unseen hosts left for them. The girl did not seem to notice, but Edynn did. She gave Tildi a kindly smile.
Morag kept turning around in his saddle every few minutes as if he could sense the hidden eyes upon him. Teryn rode stolidly on at their head, directing them toward the next passage indicated by the glittering red lights.
As the door warden had promised them, the visitors wanted for nothing. Tables laden with covered dishes and open baskets of fresh fruit appeared regularly throughout the day. The horses were not forgotten. Fodder, gathered from who knew where, was always gathered in nets at nose level for the steeds. At what was presumed to be night, they would come to a place where the red lights ended. Clearly, they were intended to go no farther. There pavilions had been set up for them, the cloth tents looking rather incongruous at the feet of the massive stone domiciles around them. Always, baths awaited them inside, the steaming water glimmering in the pale dwarf light. Always, they waited in vain to see anyone they could thank for the ongoing and seemingly limitless kindness.
“The greatest thanks we can give them is to leave here as quickly as we may,” Lakanta explained, as she unsaddled her horse for the night. “They are helping us because they anticipate our service.” Melune made her way beside the other horses who were drinking out of a trough cut out of a single piece of priceless topaz, just one of the ostentatious displays of wealth that gave a twinge to Tildi’s modest little soul.
Tildi knew they were covering ground quickly, many miles a day. Inwardly, she was impatient. She knew they were still far from the book’s enormous aura, and she could not wait to feel it again. Edynn always sensed when the longing for the book became too great for her. The wizardess appeared at Tildi’s side, no matter what time of the day or night, to cast the wards over her that kept her mind clear. Edynn would lay a hand on Tildi’s head and intone a few words under her breath, always with a patient little smile. Every time, Tildi recoiled, annoyed that the wizardess would interfere with her communion, but the impatience faded away as the warding spell took effect. Tildi felt grateful to Edynn, and ashamed of her own behavior. If the feeling was that strong so far away from the book, what would happen to her when she was actually near it?
The tremors erupted again from time to time, making Lakanta mutter to herself. When they consulted the map over the dining table, Edynn frowned at the lines of topography, but when Tildi asked her about it, she shook her head. The book had not moved from that one spot at the north end of the country of Orontae. Their position was closer to that spot every night.
It was always warm in the dwarfhollow, warm enough that Tildi rode in a simple shirt, with her cloak and tunic tucked away in Rin’s saddlebags. That made it all a greater surprise when on the morning of the fourth day she emerged from her luxurious tent into a gust of cold air.
“Someone’s left the door open,” Rin said. “Can we ask them to shut it?”
“I think that it is intentional,” Edynn said. “I believe that our journey underground is coming to an end.”
Tildi put her coat on over her shirt. Rin u
nfolded her cloak.
“I fear it is far colder out of doors,” she said.
The others made ready to go, and mounted their steeds.
The red lights sparkled into existence, leading them down and around a broad, curving avenue. Leering heads spouting water from mouths, ears, and noses lined the walls. The water followed the same curve, leading into a vast underground lake. The cold air swept across its surface. Teryn had drawn her sword, guarding against any unexpected incursions.
The outflow from the lake preceded them down the slope, through curtain after translucent curtain of stone, each carved by nature, then enhanced by the expert hands of the dwarves. The light ahead grew brighter as they went. Tildi squinted against the glare. After days in near twilight, it was more than her light-starved eyes could easily manage. In time, she became used to it, and was delighted at the astonishing detail that the extra illumination provided. Stolid, squarish runes had been worked into a kind of tapestry, starting high on the walls, and playing in narrow columns down to the edge of the stream, with gems picking out year markers.
“On these is carved the history of dwarven kind in this area,” Lakanta explained. “The oldest date I can see is about six thousand years old. They were friends to the humans here, but not in a very long time. The last humans left long ago.”
“Ah!” Edynn exclaimed, as they rode into the next chamber. The stone draperies looked as if they had been picked up and just dropped by a playful hand. All of pearl, or amber, or honey, some were bunched, others swirled in a spiral, some lapped over one another like necklaces on a gigantic scale. “Serafina, this is it! This is the chamber I visited so long ago. Oh, my daughter,” she said, her eyes fond, reaching over to pat Serafina on the hand. “Even a thraik may do someone good. I never thought to be able to show you this.”
The young wizardess’s eyes went wide, and she studied the room around her with wonder. Tildi could tell how much it meant to her to share this with Edynn. None of the others in the party said a word, not even the voluble Lakanta. This was a moment for mother and daughter alone. Tildi felt a twinge of envy, but in her heart she could not begrudge it to them.
An Unexpected Apprentice Page 43
