Time for a change of tactics. In a few hours she’d summon her nameless guardian and give him a new task—the poison ingredients would work just as well on Queen Rossemikka.
* * *
“I think I have a problem, Jaylor. I can’t throw the spell. I can’t come to the lair in three days or even tonight.” Jack schooled his voice and his face to slip through the summons spell on a note of calm. Panic gibbered inside him, demanding he pace, he pound, he seek Katrina in any way possible. He’d even travel into the void by himself, without an anchor, in order to find her.
He sent this summons alone, deep in the night. As he had always been alone. He’d hoped Katrina would be the one to fill the aching void in his life. Now she was gone, too!
He intended to fight to bring her back.
Moonlight filtered through the rare glass window of the king’s study tower. Hours of searching had resulted in no new information as to Katrina’s direction or means of transportation. The scrying bowl had revealed only that she fled away from him.
The king had had less luck in interrogating the scullery maid from the tunnel. She had disappeared from her locked room before anyone could question her, and no one from the kitchen remembered her ever working there. And yet Jack knew he’d seen her there just the day before . . . a puzzle he did not have time for.
Jack’s only hope of finding his beloved lay in Katrina’s lack of magical talent. She couldn’t transport herself and had to travel on foot or steedback. She’d not get beyond the reach of his transport spell. But he had to have a landmark, something recognizable to home in on.
And every minute he prayed that the Gnuls had not captured her. Their witch-sniffers had ways of shielding their prisoners from searches conducted by mundanes and magicians alike—much as Journeymen Marcus and Robb had disappeared some moons ago.
He wouldn’t think about that. He knew he could find Katrina anywhere, any time, once he calmed down. Their souls were linked. His last journey through the void had shown him how the white and gold of her life force had entwined with his silver and purple.
“Calm down, Jack,” Jaylor ordered. “What happened?” He looked more relaxed and coherent than the last time Jack had summoned him. The twin girls had made their entrance into the world. One came screaming, kicking, and protesting the transition. The other was much smaller and more placid, almost listless. Not all of Jaylor’s worries had ended, just the worst of them. Brevelan and the new babies slept . . . for the moment.
Jack took three deep breaths, almost triggering a deeper trance that would take him into the void then and there. A haunting Song drifted through the blackness of the void, tempting him.
(Answers can be found in the void. Are you ready to learn and accept what you find, pleasant or distressful?) Baamin asked. In his current existence Baamin wore magician blue on the tips of his dragon wings. He had befriended Jack more than once.
Jack couldn’t see the wise dragon at the moment, but would recognize his voice anywhere.
He held himself tightly to this world.
“Talk to me, Jack. Don’t revert to your old habits of silence. In this case, keeping your mouth shut will not solve the problem,” Jaylor coaxed. He’d known Jack when he was a nameless kitchen drudge. He’d stood by Jack when he became an arrogant apprentice magician who chose the magnificent name Yaakke out of history. But Jaylor was not there when Jack had to live up to the name he chose. Jack had learned most painfully that the humbler shortening of the name suited him much better. Jaylor could not know how important Katrina had been to his survival through that long and grueling process.
“She’s gone,” Jack choked out. Slowly, he found the words to explain how and why Katrina had fled rather than face the intimacy of marriage. “I have to bring her back!”
“You need to follow her, certainly,” Jaylor replied. “But believe me, you can’t force her to come back to you. All you can do is wait patiently by her side and allow her to make the first move.” The Senior Magician smiled. His attention drifted as if he remembered something wonderful.
Jack had to remind himself that Jaylor might hold authority over all members of the Commune of Magicians, but he was only a few years older than Jack. And a new father, for the third and fourth time. Balladeers had been singing of his deep and abiding love for Brevelan for four years now.
“Then I’ll follow Katrina now.”
“No. You will complete your duty to Coronnan, the Commune, and our king! That is our oath as members of the Commune.”
Jack’s sense of duty to Coronnan, Commune, and king had seen him through years of slavery, terrible dangers, and persecution. It had brought him many rewards, including Katrina’s love.
“She’s not safe. I can’t fulfill my duties to anyone as long as she’s in danger.”
“I’ll send Margit to catch up with her. My apprentice is most anxious to get out in the world. She says that she finds life at the University or at court stifling—she can’t breathe properly indoors. But I suspect much of her anxiety centers around the missing Marcus and Robb—Marcus in particular.”
“Margit has no training. The only spell she can work is a weak summons. How can she protect Katrina?”
“Margit has learned a lot in the last few moons, and as long as her breathing isn’t stifled while indoors, she does have more magic than we thought. She’s the best person to be with Katrina right now. They are the same age. They are both in love and having difficulty with the relationship. Margit can talk to her. They can share female secrets, where a man will just frighten your ladylove.”
“But . . .”
“No buts. Do your research and planning. Then transport Mikka and Darville to the lair three days hence.”
“But . . .”
Jaylor broke off the summons.
Jack slumped against the king’s desk. His spine no longer had the stiffness to hold him up.
“Be safe, Katrina. Be safe until I can come to you.”
Chapter 19
“But I haven’t finished writing the paper you requested,” Margit half-protested Jaylor’s exciting news. Dawn had barely crested the horizon. She hadn’t expected anyone to be out and about so early. The Senior Magician had surprised her in her favorite study perch in an oak tree on the edge of the University compound.
A quest! A chance to journey like a true journeyman . . . er—journeywoman. Could she be considered a journeywoman if she had not undergone the trial by Tambootie smoke?
She both dreaded and welcomed the ritual. Well . . . she welcomed the advancement the ritual offered. But to endure three days in a windowless room, the only door sealed by magic, with only a Tambootie wood fire for light and warmth, strapping huge bands of pressure around her lungs, squeezing the breath from her. Rumor—almost legend—proclaimed that when Jaylor had undergone the trial, the master magicians had had to battle the demons he conjured for three days before sending them back beyond the void.
To be trapped in the room for three days would be bad enough. To be trapped with the monsters of her worst nightmares would kill her. She’d die of suffocation before the monsters could take form.
“Have you finished the research for the paper?” Jaylor asked. He kept looking back toward the clearing, eyes clouded, worry making deep creases beside his mouth. Then he finger-combed his beard and turned those deep brown eyes fully on her.
Margit felt as if her skin peeled away, revealing more than just her bones and organs. Her very soul was exposed to this man. He had to know how her heart skipped a beat and pounded relentlessly, how her skin jumped and her toes wiggled, eager to begin the journey this very instant.
Her tree branch became very uncomfortable.
“I think I’ve read everything others have written about opposing elements and complementary elements. But I need to conduct some experiments before I can know for sure that the theory works.”
“You can do that on the road. I suggest simple things like a compulsion on your steed to make it travel f
aster to appease Katrina’s need to flee, then negate it when you find her to delay until Jack can catch up to you.”
“Is this quest so very important?” She tucked her book inside her tunic and swung down to face the Senior Magician on his own level. She had to look up at the man who held her career in his hands as easily as he held the reins of the entire Commune and University. Not many men topped her by more than half a hand’s span.
“I, the queen, the entire kingdom, have need of Jack’s special talents and skills. He is worthless unless he knows for certain that Katrina is safe. Can you do that?” The earnestness of his question lost some of its effect as his attention wandered back to his home in the clearing.
She’d heard that one of the newborn twins was small and sickly, her sister having enough strength and energy for two. Too often, twins were born early—too early for both, or either, to survive. She wished she’d paid more attention to how long Brevelan had carried the babies.
“Are Brevelan and the babies all right?” she asked, rather than speculate. The Commune thrived on rumors and gossip, most of it wrong. If the kingdom needed Jack free of concern and fully concentrating on his tasks, likewise the kingdom and the Commune needed Jaylor free of problems in his personal life.
“Nothing you need worry about. Now, have you ever scried in a bowl of water?” Jaylor avoided answering. His eyes remained fixed on the trees in the direction of his home.
“Uh . . . not officially, sir.” How much experimentation should she have done on her own?
WithyReed discouraged apprentices from working any spell unless directly supervised by him. Slippy and Lyman, on the other hand, applauded initiative, even competition, among their students.
“Unofficially, then, how much success did you have?”
“None at all.” Margit hung her head.
“Come into my study and show me how you worked the spell.”
“Uh, can we try this out-of-doors, sir?” She stared at the closed door of his private workroom on the back side of the library. Only one entrance and one window, both facing north, toward the clearing and his beloved wife and children.
Margit didn’t care which direction the openings faced. There weren’t enough of them.
“Is this unnatural fear you have of being within four walls going to interfere with your ability to work magic?”
“No. I survived three years in the palace as the queen’s maid.”
“Survived, but did not flourish. Your magical talent has blossomed well beyond our initial test results since we brought you here. What bothers you so about being indoors?”
“There isn’t enough air to breathe. Besides, you always have a cat with you. They suck out all the air in confined places.”
“Cats.” Jaylor stared at her long and hard. “Cats. Very well. Fetch me the bowl on my desk and draw some fresh water from the well. We’ll enjoy the sunshine under this tree. I have to admit, I prefer fresh air myself.” He lifted a drooping everblue branch and ducked beneath it to the open place beside the trunk, as private a place as one could have this close to the classrooms, library, dormitories, and workrooms of the University.
“Uh, sir, wouldn’t the spell work better with fresh water from a free-flowing creek and a crockery bowl rather than silver?”
“You have been studying! Amazing.” He sounded very much like old Lyman. “You are correct, of course. The bowl on my desk is crockery. Take it to the creek and fill it half full. What about a crystal to trigger the spell?”
“Only if it’s uncut. Otherwise, an agate works better.”
“And you absorbed the entire lesson. Will miracles never cease?” he added on a chuckle. He sounded so much like Old Lyman, Margit wondered if the Commune still needed the ancient librarian now that he slept so much and avoided work even more.
A few moments later, Margit settled on the carpet of everblue needles, the bowl nestled into a little depression before her. She crossed her legs beneath her and began the deep breathing necessary to focus her concentration.
“That’s it, breathe deep, one, two, three, hold on three, release on three, hold, one, two, three,” Jaylor chanted quietly. “Let the light trance slide over your mind, concentrate on the water. Focus all of your senses on the water. Now think of whom you seek. Picture Katrina firmly in your mind. If you can’t remember her features, think of her most dominant characteristic.”
“Silver-blond hair and a lace pillow,” Margit mumbled as the picture of Katrina, the last time she had seen her, formed within her mind.
“Yes, the lace pillow. Almost inseparable from her. Now drop the agate into the center of the bowl and watch the ripples, not the agate. See how the ripples reach out from the center, seeking, seeking . . .”
“There!” Margit breathed. In the water she watched the refugee from SeLenicca riding across the river plains away from the capital. Her lace pillow, barely covered with a bright kerchief, and a small pack rested precariously behind her saddle. Her steed plodded, Katrina’s shoulders drooped, and her head sagged. Had she ridden all night and fallen asleep while riding?
“Do you recognize any landmarks?”
“Yes, the queen used to like riding across that meadow. I’ve followed her up that barren hill and around those boulders many times.”
“Good, now withdraw from the images slowly.”
Margit allowed her eyes to blink rapidly several times while she let loose her breath that had become pent up with excitement. The pictures faded from the water. Sleepiness fogged her mind and made her head too heavy for her neck to support.
“Wake up!” Jaylor clapped his hands sharply right beneath her nose.
Margit shook herself and focused on the tent made by drooping everblue branches. She seemed to return to herself from a great distance. Her stomach growled.
“Now, Margit, think carefully. What did you do differently from the time you tried this on your own?”
“Nothing.”
“Something was different. This time it worked very well. Last time you saw nothing. What is different?”
Margit scrunched her eyes closed reviewing the entire procedure. “I’ve tried several times to find Marcus. Every time, the water ripples and the agate falls and nothing happens.”
“Marcus? You’ve tried to find my missing journeyman?”
“Yes, sir. We—ah—we . . .”
“Are in love. Yes. I recognized the symptoms.”
Margit blushed. “I did not think our feelings had become so obvious to others.”
“Love is something that cannot hide, Margit. It needs to shine forth and grow. Now go get your breakfast. You’ll need to refuel your body while I arrange for riding and pack steeds. You’ll need journey food and camping gear for several days, perhaps a week. Master Lyman, Master Slippy, and I will transport you to the place you recognized when all is ready. When Jack catches up with you in a few days, I want you to stay with Katrina, make sure that both of them get safely into SeLenicca and report back to me every night.” Jaylor stood up and lifted one of the branches for an exit.
“What about Marcus and Robb?” Margit stayed stubbornly beside the bowl.
“Keep your eyes open for signs of them. I expect they headed for one of the passes to the south of Sambol. Try to steer Jack and Katrina in that direction. I suspect those roads are less well guarded and safer than through two armies at the headwaters of the River Coronnan.” He left her alone.
“Oh, and return the water to the creek and the bowl and agate to my desk before you eat.”
“Am I a journeywoman yet, Master Jaylor?”
“Probably. But we haven’t time for the trial by Tambootie smoke. We’ll worry about that later. Find yourself a staff anyway. We’ll discuss this further when you get back to me tonight.” He hurried back toward the clearing and his family.
“I’m going to find you, Marcus, no matter how much I have to improvise,” Margit said to the empty air. “No matter what magical and mundane barriers stand between us, I
will find you. Then the two of us will spend the rest of our lives together, traveling the world on missions for the Commune.”
“Come, daughter.” Lord Laislac grabbed Ariiell’s hand and dragged her off the bed. “A priest and the imbecile await us.”
“P’pa?” Ariiell sat down on the edge of the high mattress, resisting his efforts to propel her out the door. “What has come over you? Why the sudden hurry?”
She knew the reason well enough. All day the king and queen had withdrawn from court, smiling longingly into each other’s eyes. Rossemikka’s pale skin had developed a rosy glow, she wore her hair loose about her shoulders, disguising the strange white streaks in the auburn, brown, black, blond hair. The royal couple laughed and smiled secretly at each other as they held hands.
They acted like newlyweds, in the first flush of love. Disgusting.
They were up to something. Something devious and detrimental to Ariiell.
Rumors flew through the capital. Half the court were certain the queen had conceived again. The other half gleefully named a secret mistress who would produce a child that the royal couple would substitute for the queen’s many failed pregnancies.
If Ariiell and her father had any hopes of having her child named heir to the throne, they had to insure its legitimacy as quickly as possible.
“Lord Andrall agrees with me. The kingdom is too unstable to rely on the queen to produce an heir. If she miscarries again, it could well kill her. The brat you carry is the only hope.” Laislac yanked hard on Ariiell’s arm, nearly dislocating her shoulder before she had a chance to balance on her own two feet. The folds of her gown twisted to outline the huge swell of her baby.
“How far along are you?” Laislac stared at his daughter. “You told your stepmother only four moons.”
The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III Page 56
