As he reached for the knob, the door to the library swung open. A youngish looking male with long, gleaming golden hair almost bumped into them.
‘You!’ he said, his beautiful eyes open in disbelief. ‘What are you doing here, boy?’
Basil stiffened, but he managed a slight nod. ‘Good day to you, Councilor Volaut.’ On impulse, he pulled his haughtiest face. ‘You do remember I am the Spellwarden? Not boy, if you please. Mightiness would be appropriate.’ Got him there!
Volaut’s smile became as pleasant as a cobra’s grin. ‘You are the Spellwarden yet, Mightiness. Unless you fail to satisfy the Council of your suitability. Remember the date is set for midwinter.’ His eyes inspected the others, pausing for a heartbeat longer on Jurgis’ face.
Basil suppressed a snort. You idiot. ‘The Council doesn’t bother me, Master Volaut. Little people never do.’ The iciness in his voice made his companions look at him in surprise.
A touch of red flamed up in the warlock’s cheeks and Volaut’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your words have the brashness of youth, Spellwarden. They are not backed up by our many years of experience.’
Basil gave a curt laugh. ‘Years spent preening in front of a mirror. That is not where true strength lies, Councilor.’
Volaut gasped. ‘Defiance! This does not help your case, Spellwarden.’
‘We shall see. It is months yet till midwinter, Councilor. Rest assured I will be there. For now I won’t keep you any longer. Nice talking to you, Master Volaut. I hope you know enough about the peoples on the continent?’
Volaut stiffened. ‘What ...?’ Then he reconsidered and gave a thin smile. ‘My knowledge is always sufficient, Spellwarden. I hope yours will be too, when you need it. I bid you good day.’
Basil chuckled as the councilor stepped a tad hurriedly from the tower. ‘Fool.’
‘Who is he?’ Jurgis said.
‘Volaut is my father’s opponent on the Council. He’s had his eyes on the principate-warlockry for ages. I think he’s the one behind my summons.’
Maud frowned. ‘Was it wise, then, to challenge him?’
Basil lifted a shoulder. ‘He’s out to get me already, so it can’t make it worse. I just told him I accept the challenge.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to have him underestimate you?’
‘I’m fed up with those fellows,’ Basil said. ‘They can take their stupid summons and stuff it somewhere private. I will answer it when I see fit and that could take a while. For the moment I’ve got things to do that don’t concern Councilor Volaut. I want Kelwarg’s book, and for that I must know where to find Kelwarg. After that, we’ll see.’
He walked into the next room and froze.
‘Oh my,’ he said, as the enormity of the tower library dawned on him. Rows upon rows of overflowing bookcases curving along the wall, rising up in the air on platform after platform until disappearing out of sight into the gloomy heights. Narrow stairs connected everything, and it was clear warlocks with vertigo were sorely disadvantaged. ‘Where do we begin?’
‘Third platform,’ Jurgis said behind his back.
Basil stared at the wall of books and it took a second for his brother’s words to penetrate. ‘Why there?’ Then he felt hands gripping his shoulders and turning him around.
‘Because that’s the section about the Council,’ Jurgis said with a huge grin. ‘Here’s this big sign telling visitors which books are located where. It even points the way to the map room for Yarwan. Thoughtful, ain’t it?’
Basil snorted. ‘You’re such a clever fellow.’ Without another word, he limped up the ladder to the third platform, feeling Jurgis’ smile burning into his backside.
It wasn’t long before he threw up his hands in disgust. ‘Gutriz! Help, please.’
‘Of course, Spellwarden.’ The small person of the Towerkeep appeared on the platform. ‘How can I assist you?’
‘I’m looking for books about my father’s predecessor. Yet I find only empty planks where they should be.’
‘I am deeply, humbly sorry,’ Gutriz said, his face miserable. ‘You are right, Spellwarden. It hurts me, but you are right. A whole bookcase full of beautiful tomes we had of Master Kelwarg. But then he fell from grace, and ...’
‘You didn’t remove them?’ Basil said with a frown. The idea of books, any books, destroyed filled him with dismay.
‘Oh no, no, never! Many years ago men from the Council came, with a writ to take them.’ Gutriz’ voice sank to a whisper. ‘And so they did. All but one book.’
Hope filled Basil’s heart. ‘There is one left? Where is it?’
‘It’s the book Councilor Volaut came looking for,’ Gutriz said carefully. ‘He was angry because he couldn’t find it. Had he asked, I would have told him the book wasn’t part of the tower’s collection. It was written by one of my people, and the author left it to me.’
‘Volaut was looking for information about Kelwarg the Black Warlock?’ Jurgis cursed. ‘That’s bad. That’s very bad.’
Basil ignored his brother. It was bad, but that didn’t matter now. ‘Would you allow me to see the book?’ he asked of Gutriz.
The Towerkeep vanished, to reappear minutes later with a fat tome in his hands. ‘This is the one. It’s Our History of Vanhaar, written by Dourtriz. I keep it in my room.’ His orange eyes stared at Basil. ‘Vanhaar was my country, too, Spellwarden.’
Now Basil remembered what it was that had been nagging him. ‘You’re a gnome!’
The little Towerkeep gave a grim smile, showing two sharp incisors. ‘That I am. The last of the gnomes. We shared the land, your people and mine. You living in your towers called yourselves Vanhaari; we in our nation-cave were just gnomes. We served you, fed and clothed you, gathered your herbs and your ores. Then the enemy came. He had his own magic, and a great grievance against our two peoples. We fought this enemy, gnome and Vanhaari. We lost. Your people fled to Malgarth, but you forgot to take us with you. So we died. Only I, living in this tower, survived.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Basil said, upset. No one had ever told him about gnomes. Only a few old documents mentioned their existence. ‘We don’t speak of those days.’
‘No.’ Gutriz looked up at him, his face unreadable.
‘Are you mad at us?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ Jurgis looked sharply at the little gnome.
‘We were too trusting, young master. We were so sure our Vanhaari masters would take us with them, we never thought about it; we never asked. And they—the Vanhaari—hadn’t realized the need. They just left. Fate. Stupidity. Call it what you want; it’s done.’ Gutriz clasped his hands together. ‘What is it you seek, Spellwarden, with that mighty company at your side?’
Basil told him of the summons, of his toes, the Black Warlock, Volaut, and Saul the enemy singer. When he had finished, Gutriz bowed gravely.
‘Thank you for your trust,’ he said. ‘It’s been long since anyone took me seriously. Your father does, but he’s very absent-minded these days. If you can spare a moment, I will have the book transcribed for you. I don’t do this often; copying magical tomes is a very risky business. But I know this book well; the dangers are minimal.’
‘What dangers would that be?’ Jurgis said. ‘I mean, it’s just writing, isn’t it?’
‘Most magic-users are a jealous lot,’ the gnome said with a smile for Basil. ‘Their books are well protected by spells against illegal copying.’
The Spellwarden gave a curt laugh. ‘I know all about it. I’ve ruined several fine gowns that way.’
Gutriz produced a magnificent tome of red leather with gold engravings and a heavy lock.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Jurgis said. ‘What does it say?’
The little gnome bowed. ‘Thank you. I make them myself; it gives one something to do. It, ah, says nothing yet.’
He opened the book and all the pages were blank. ‘You see-it is dumb. Now watch.’
Gutriz laid the History of Vanhaar b
eside it and waved his hands. A candle appeared and sprang sputtering into flame; a long goose feather hovered over the empty book and word after word, line after line sprang into being on the pristine paper. The feather moved, the pages turned, all by themselves, with a speed not even the most experienced writer could match.
For a moment, Jurgis tried to read the lines as they appeared, but he couldn’t keep up.
Finally, the flame died; the feather and the candle disappeared, and Gutriz handed the new tome to Basil.
‘There you are, Spellwarden. In return I would ask you to add your voice to the tower’s protective spell.’
Basil nodded. He closed his eyes and soon sweat dripped down his cheeks. The spell was ancient, and bore the imprints of a great many warlocks. To match them all and flow with their rhythm was something he’d never done before. When he’d added the last symbols, he sagged back into Yarwan’s arms.
Gutriz stared up at him. ‘That was well done,’ he said. ‘Very smooth; a powerful addition. Surprising for someone of your age. You bear your rank well, Spellwarden.’
‘Thank you,’ Basil said, and he straightened. ‘I hope to convince the Council of that, too.’ He looked at the others. ‘I’m done here; we can go back to Towne. Thank you, Gutriz; your assistinghelp was of a magnificent muchgreatness.’
‘You know how to speak gnomish style!’ the Towerkeep said, beaming broadly. ‘May the wisepower of your presence scattermuch your opponents’ will, Spellwarden.’
The sea was calm, the sky blue and clear. The Tower Aware had just disappeared behind the horizon’s haze, and Basil sat in a corner of the quarterdeck, leafing through Gutriz’ book. It was a marvelous gift, he saw, full of details, descriptions and anecdotes of things he hadn’t even heard about. Absorbed, he let himself be transported to the Vanhaar he’d never known, a land of towers and study, until a cry from above made him pause.
‘Giant bird in the sky to the northeast!’
Basil stared up, confused. Then he saw it. Was it a bird? A ...
‘A wyrm!’ Jurgis cried, racing up the companion ladder. ‘It’s a damned wyrm!’
Now Basil noticed the serpentine body. ‘Everybody, go below!’ he shouted. He knew the beast only by description, but that was enough to understand the danger. ‘Let the sails fall and go below!’ He motioned to his brother. ‘You too, Jurgis. Go to the hold; I know what I must do.’
‘You heard him!’ Yarwan cried without a second’s hesitation. ‘Belowdecks, all of you.’ As the crew ran to the hatch, he turned to Basil. ‘Why?’
‘Steam,’ the Spellwarden said. ‘That monster’s breathing steam. It’ll boil the meat off your bones if it hits you.’
Yarwan stiffened. ‘What can we do?’
‘I shall defeat it,’ Basil said, his beautiful face determined. ‘You go down, too.’
The flying serpent turned in the air, its elongated body twisting like a swimming eel. It roared, breathing scalding steam from its nostrils.
‘I can’t,’ Yarwan said. ‘I’m the captain.’
Basil cursed, without taking his eyes off the monster. ‘Go! I’m not sure I can protect you and fight that at the same time.’
‘Do what you must; I’ll take care of myself.’ Yarwan gripped the wheel spokes and brought the ship back on course.
For the first time in his seventeen years, Basil felt a burning, hate-filled anger welling up, and instinctively, he grabbed it. Twisted it, mixed it with his powers and let it fill his whole body. Anger fueled him as coal did a stove and he knew what to do. Almost negligently, he encapsulated Yarwan with the wheel and all in a protective shield. Then he raised his staff, the prancing dragon on its tip glowing. A beam of green light shot at the wyrm, now hovering over the ship. The beast reared as green sparks cascaded off its scales. Its bellow made the boy stagger inside his shield, but he regained his footing and shot another green light at the mighty beast. It ducked, dove toward the ship and let forth a large cloud of superheated air. Basil deflected the cloud overboard, and heard the sea hiss where the steam touched the colder surface. Water vapor rose up around the Magonaut, making it impossible to see the serpent. Basil guessed the location of the wyrm by its noise, and shot off another green beam. The piercing cry told him he’d hit the beast. Then a great crash rocked the Magonaut and the ship bucked. With a part of his consciousness he heard screams of fear coming from below, silenced by the first mate’s voice.
Basil’s nostrils caught the smell of brimstone. Again, the ship shook and then a gust of wind cleared away the mists. Before him, the large wyrm coiled on the deck, taking up the whole width. Its mouth gaped and showed a triple row of sharp teeth as it panted, staring at him with angry eyes.
‘You’re a fool, to send a pitiful beast like that,’ Basil said, his rage making him appear calm. ‘I’m the Spellwarden; you can’t defeat me with a little snake.’
The beast roared, and in a flash, Basil shot a full beam of green into its gullet. It had an instant effect, for the wyrm uncoiled, launched itself into the air and somersaulted. Then its mighty wings flagged. Leaking green light past its scales, the wyrm plunged limply into the sea. Water cascaded over the deck and drenched the warlock. Basil didn’t move; he watched the beast disappear beneath the surface and counted aloud. At eighty-four, the dead wyrm rose up to drift like a long-dead fish amid the swirling waters.
Then Basil sighed. A twist of his hand freed Yarwan from his protective cocoon. ‘It’s done, dear. You can tell the people to come up.’
Dazed, Yarwan went to the hatch and gave the order.
Basil wrestled with the sudden exhaustion. There was one more thing to do. ‘Send the boat with some stout lads, will you, and bring me one of the beast’s foreclaws. I would like to have it.’ Then he plumped down on the deck and buried his face between his knees. He heard Yarwan’s voice, faint as a shadow’s whisper, but he was unable to speak.
‘You were ... great,’ Yarwan said with difficulty. ‘Are you all right?’
Basil moved his lips, but no sound came.
‘Let him be for a while.’ Jurgis sat down beside his brother. ‘I felt a massive heap of energy radiating out of him. The gods know where he got it; he didn’t use the wand.’
‘He scared me,’ Yarwan said. ‘Gods, he scared the crap out of me. My Basil, fighting a monster like that wyrm; I never understood how powerful he is.’
Jurgis gave him a steady stare. ‘He’s the Spellwarden and he is your Basil. Both sides are him. I expect his magical side to grow even stronger with the years. He will do things that may horrify you. Can you handle that?’
Yarwan met Jurgis’ look. ‘I must; I love him.’
‘Then all is well. He needs you. Basil will always need you. He isn’t like me, you know. He got all that magic, but he’s vulnerable underneath his power. I’m not, only I can’t use magic. Our father could’ve balanced things better. Your love will keep Basil’s feet on the ground, Captain Yarwan.’ Then he stared. ‘Funny, I feel like I’ve known him all my life. As if he is part of me, my twin brother.’
A sailor came aft carrying a large, dripping claw. ‘Here it is, Captain.’
Yarwan’s face twitched as he looked at the bloody limb. ‘Put it away somewhere the sun can dry it out,’ he said harshly. ‘Later we’ll stuff it in a bag or whatever the Spellwarden wants done with it. But I don’t need it on my quarterdeck.’ He turned back to Jurgis. ‘Thanks. I guess I’ll have to get used to Basil’s magic.’
Basil rested his head against Jurgis’ shoulder and slept.
‘Kelwarg sent that wyrm,’ Basil said. Though an hour had passed since his fight, and the bobbing carcass of the wyrm had long since disappeared from sight, he was still weak with the reaction.
Maud stared at him. ‘The Black Warlock? Why not Volaut?’
Basil shook his head. ‘Volaut isn’t strong enough. The fool always was a hanger-on; one of Kelwarg’s stooges. He couldn’t control a pig, let alone a wyrm.’ Basil’s fingers played nervously with th
e lock of the book Gutriz had copied for him. It looked a bit the worse for being stepped upon, but inside Basil’s shield it had survived. ‘I found a description of those beasts in here. They’re real, and guess where they live? In Unwaar. And the book has another surprise. That bastard Kelwarg studied with the singers in his youth. Right there where the wyrms are. Remember, that was after the war. He posed as an Old Kell.’
Maud stared at the Spellwarden, her eyes large. ‘How could he? The Old Kells are all dead.’
Basil tapped the book. ‘This guy says they weren’t. At least one clan joined the Unwaari. The M’Arrangh, they were called.’
‘But the M’Arrangh fled to Tar Kell.’
‘All of them?’ Jurgis said.
Maud hesitated. ‘So I assumed. There is an abandoned gatherhouse in Tar Kell bearing their name. That’s all I know about them.’
‘That means we should go there and ask,’ Jurgis said. ‘We must know where Kelwarg’s place is. That’s where he must have hidden his spell tome. The Tower Aware couldn’t tell us, so perhaps this M’Arrangh whatever house in Tar Kell holds information.’
‘Their gatherhouse ....’ For a moment, Maud hesitated. ‘Yes.’ Her face looked troubled when she said that.
‘Towne first,’ Yarwan said. ‘We need some repairs, friends.’
Basil sighed. ‘If we must we must.’
‘Well, you don’t want us to sink halfway on your journey, do you?’
Basil rose and put his arms around Yarwan’s neck. ‘No, love,’ he said meekly.
CHAPTER 18 - AN URGENT MESSAGE
Half a day before they’d arrive in Towne, an old sharky, a fishing boat with a sail like a shark’s dorsal fin, came alongside.
‘Capt’n?’ a gnarled fisherwoman shouted. ‘Got a message for ya.’
Yarwan put his hands to his mouth. ‘What message?’
‘Been on the lookout for youse all day. Overcap’n wants you in ’is ’ouse yesterday. Dass all.’
‘Thanks!’ Yarwan waved and the old woman turned her boat away, back to her fishing grounds.
Yarwan pulled the bell rope for the engine room and picked up the bronze speaking tube.
Lioness of Kell Page 17
