“Where?” he asked.
The thraik hesitated. “Near Tillerton.”
“What?” Knemet shrieked. “They could not come so near in this short a time. Even a master wizard cannot cross a continent in days! You fools!”
The thraiks swirled about the ceiling, terrified.
“Go,” he commanded them. “Go back to Orontae. Find more trace. The bearer might be shielded by a concealment spell, but he cannot cover the trail once he passes. Find it! Follow it, and bring him, or anyone else who has seen him, to me. I cannot wait forever. Go!”
The air split, revealing a gash of blackness against the gray stone ceiling, and the thraiks fled into it. When it closed again, Knemet was alone except for his memories.
Chapter Four
orning did not dawn so much as glow. So much fog filled the clearing where the party rested that Tildi woke in a silver haze. She looked around her curiously. Ghostly figures in the mist, the knights in their white-and-blue, passed around her silently, going about their tasks. They were as unreal as the dreams that had filled her night. Tildi tried to recall those phantasms. She had seen swirling figures like thraiks but brightly colored, not green-black like the winged menace that had killed her family. Green, silver, red, blue, white . . .
“Well,” Lakanta said, breaking the spell. The dwarf woman sat up and clapped her hands. “It’s a mime play! Do we guess from their charades what we are going to do next?”
“Breakfast, then back on the trail,” announced one of the knights standing beside Tildi’s rug. Tildi jumped. This man had dark eyebrows almost meeting over a thick nose. He had not been there when she went to sleep. The knights had managed to change shifts without waking her. However restless her dreams had been, she had slept soundly. He held out a hand. “May I offer assistance?”
“You must not touch her,” Serafina said. “By my art I still see the power rolling off her in waves. You will do yourself harm.”
The man let out a snort, but he moved no closer. “Very well, honorable.”
“I want to wash,” Tildi said, then added pointedly, “by myself. Where is the waterfall?”
The man pointed. “I will accompany you.”
“I won’t bathe with a man looking on!” Tildi said, aghast. The man regarded her with a puzzled expression.
“Don’t you know about smallfolk?” Magpie asked. “They are famously modest, especially the women.”
“Never met one before,” the knight admitted. “She dresses like a boy.”
“Well, take it from one who has traveled in the Quarters. Skirts don’t make the lady. Would you invade your abbess’s privacy like that?”
The man didn’t say “heaven prevent such a thing!” but he might as well have. He left Tildi’s tether in the hand of his companion, a middle-aged man who was trying hard not to laugh at the first man’s discomfiture. In a moment, a young woman with a severe, square face came out of the swiftly thinning mist.
“I will go with you,” she told Tildi. She took the tether and nodded toward the trees.
Tildi nodded. She had no choice. She gathered things from her rucksack and followed the towering young woman into the mist.
Around her, the party of humans was preparing for the day. If it was not for the enormous difference in scale, it could have been a group of smallfolk on an autumn picnic.
She glanced back over her shoulder at the book. It lay as if it slept. She chided herself, assigning the characteristics of a living creature to it, but it almost seemed to be. Her dreams had been full of voices as well as fluttering wings.
“There it is,” the knight said, gesturing through the undergrowth. A thin stream flowed in a narrow bed almost at their feet, a miniature river complete with tiny moss-covered rocks pretending to be boulders, against which the water bumped and curled. “I’ll be right here. Don’t try to go anywhere.”
Following the small rivulet upstream, she pushed her way inward and found herself among lush ferns surmounted by a cloud of water droplets, gray in the faint light. No sun would touch this part of the slope until almost high noon. It was cool, but not unpleasant. The promised waterfall, narrower than her hand, splashed down over brown, slick rocks. Tildi saw its rune projected like a rainbow upon the mist.
This, too, bore the marks of a query. How interesting. Did wind and water share characteristics she had only associated in the past with living beings? Did all of existence share certain traits, like a curiosity about its surroundings? Perhaps contact with the Great Book, the real thing, not her scrap of a leaf, had made her more perceptive. The thought delighted her. Every day would bring fresh revelations. She would know the world in the way that the Makers had. To the best of my ability, of course, she thought hastily, shamed by her assumptions. I don’t believe for a moment that I am the equal of such masterful wizards. Yet, on only the second day in its company, she was reading rainbows. Master Olen would be so surprised, and gratified. He was the only one who had believed in the overarching powers of the book. How dearly she wished he could see it. She wished she could see him. But that was not to be, at least for the moment. The knights were forcing her and the others toward their order’s home. They intended that the book should be theirs. Couldn’t they . . . couldn’t they see just how wrong a notion that was?
You must flee these people, a whisper said in her ear. You must be free to make your way to me.
“Who are you?” Tildi asked.
No answer. She looked around. It had not sounded like the voices in the book. After all, why would she need to come to it? She was already there. Perhaps it missed her. She was only a few yards away.
“Is someone near you?” the knight asked, from beyond the fernbrake.
“No,” Tildi replied. She made her toilette in the ice-cold water and hastily dressed. Gathering up her brush and other goods, she plunged out of the undergrowth. The young woman had drawn her sword. She looked over Tildi’s head and pushed aside some of the plants to see. She shook her head.
“Best be on our way,” the knight said.
Show me the page for the land through which we are now riding,” Serafina said.
Obediently, Tildi rolled the Great Book upon her lap, seeking the correct leaf. The book seemed to spin of its own accord. She liked the feel of the pages. It tingled less underneath her hands that day, and Rin complained less of the burning sensation Tildi had given off during the first few hours. In fact, the big scroll felt almost weightless now, and cool as any parchment might be on a breezy autumn morning. Once the mist had cleared, the sky had turned a heartbreakingly beautiful, clear blue. The leaves on the trees around them were just tipped with red and orange, and the heavy moist air was a delight to breathe. Tildi had never felt so . . . eventful day . . . alive.
“Pay attention!” Serafina exclaimed, her voice breaking into Tildi’s thoughts. “I hope you were not such a trial to Master Olen.”
“No, master,” Tildi said apologetically. She found the place in the book and laid her fingertip underneath the complex rune that described the party riding on the woodland path. “Here it is.”
“Good,” Serafina said. “Now, let’s analyze the strokes.”
The young wizard was doing her best to behave as though there was nothing strange at all about their surroundings, going on with Tildi’s lessons as her mother had asked her to do. If this had been a day of no consequence in the Quarters, Tildi would have been cleaning up from making breakfast for five to three dozen people and contemplating how much washing needed to be done before she could steal a little time for herself, to read a book, do a little embroidery, or work on her magic lessons with Teldo. Well, perhaps this day was not entirely out of the ordinary. Serafina tapped the page with the end of her wand.
“Can you separate out the runes for each person?”
“Yes,” Tildi said. That was the easiest part. The complex pictogram moved as she watched it. The horses drew closer and farther away from the central group. She, Serafina, and one guard rode
at the tail of the queue.
“Without looking up, draw Master Auric.”
“What?” That scholar spun in his saddle and glared at them. “You’re not changing me, wizards.”
“It’s an exercise,” Serafina said patiently. “I want Tildi to see if she can distinguish individual symbols. It will have no effect upon you.”
“See it doesn’t,” Auric said. With one last glare at them, he turned forward again.
“Go on, Tildi.”
Tildi nodded, keeping her eyes averted from the figures ahead. The way the characters were arranged was not necessarily the manner in which the riders were lined up on the pathway. She made a guess that her rune was nearly in the center of the group because she was carrying the book with her, and Sharhava was beside her, as the most important person to the greatest number of the others. Such a hierarchy should, in her opinion, have placed Magpie and Inbecca close by, but instead the rune nearest was that of poor Morag. Perhaps the knights were thinking about him after Bertin’s terrifying death the night before. Of all their small group, he was the one the knights treated with the greatest kindness. Serafina was easy to pick out, as was Lakanta, but Teryn nearly blended in with the rest of the knights. Tildi had a hunch that the female rune she was studying belonged to that of the Rabantavian captain, but she didn’t dare look up to check. That upright character to the left, an older male by the markings, with an air of kindness about it must be Auric. Tildi raised her finger and began to draw upon the air in thin gray lines that hovered beside her.
She had made only a few strokes when Serafina commanded, “That’s well enough. Let it fade.”
Tildi waved her hand, and the lines vanished.
“How can you do that?” the guard holding Tildi’s leash asked.
“Practicing runes,” Serafina said. “Common practice in magical studies.”
“Show me,” he said. It was partway between a request and a command, but his eyes were wistful, not demanding. Serafina shook her head.
“I am not your order’s teacher. I have no wish to incur your mistress’s further disapproval.”
“Oh. Aye.” The guard withdrew his horse a hoof’s width. Tildi thought he was sulking. She had no time to wait and see whether her speculations were correct, for her attention was brought sharply back to Serafina who was her teacher.
“Draw Teryn.”
Again Tildi picked out the rune on the page and hoped for the best. She reproduced the most distinctive characteristics before Serafina bid her stop.
“Very good!” she said.
Tildi thought she noticed some interesting facts about the closemouthed captain in the few lines she had drawn before they dislimned on the cool, moist air. The blond woman had sustained a terrible injury to one leg—her right, Tildi believed, by the way the stroke ran—but it had healed long ago. She ought to be limping, but her iron control forbade the display of any weakness. Tildi smiled at the captain’s back. She and Morag rode near the front of the line now, ahead of three knights who stayed behind them with spears leveled at their backs. Escape would be impossible. Or would it? Tildi wondered.
Now that she had had a decent night’s sleep, her head was beginning to clear. Why should they be prisoners? The Scholardom couldn’t keep them, if she altered a rune or two to prevent their pursuit. The knights numbered nearly forty, but between the book and Serafina’s own magic, surely they had sufficient power to allow them to be free. She glanced at Serafina. The wizardess looked quickly away, refusing to meet her eyes. Tildi felt a niggle of frustration. Master Olen was counting upon them to take the book to Sheatovra and secure it once again in its hiding place.
If Serafina had had any of her wits about her, she might have been able to prevent the knights rounding them up like sheep—Tildi looked with resentment at the rope around her waist—and making them set out on a hard road after a long day’s battle.
The book must not reach the Scriptorium, that she knew. The moment that it was locked up in that place, wherever it was, departure with it in hand would be a good deal more difficult.
She, Tildi Summerbee, was not going to let some snippity uppity woman like the Abbess Sharhava upset the plans that had been set in motion by people with more foresight than she had, however noble she was and whatever she and her followers believed. Without Serafina’s assistance, however, the chances of escape were likely to be nil. Tildi had to find out what the wizardess was thinking, but it was not easy. Serafina kept avoiding Tildi’s attempts to have private speech with her.
“Do you not think that this matter is one for wizards alone?” Tildi asked pointedly, drawing as far from her guard as she could. She gave the young woman a hopeful look and a tilt of her head, hoping not to look too obvious.
“They can listen to us,” Serafina said imperturbably. Her long, beautiful face was grave and her eyes sorrowful. Tildi felt her heart go out to the girl. She must still be in the shock of having lost her mother. Tildi felt ashamed for pressing her, but she was anxious to be away from Sharhava’s disapproval. “Without the necessary talent and experience, it would be no more use than an audience watching a musician learning to play.”
Tildi gave the guard a sideways glance. He looked scornful at the last statement, obviously thinking that anything a half-educated smallfolk could do, he could, too. Thankfully, he seemed to have missed the deeper meaning.
“I’m uncomfortable having them watching me,” Tildi said with another meaningful look. “I don’t want to make unnecessary mistakes.”
“You have performed difficult tasks in company before this,” Serafina said impatiently. “If I must admit it, I respected you when you stood up before the council to assist Master Olen. Mother guessed, of course, that you were a very new apprentice. If you can find a voice before wizards and kings, then practicing conjurations in the company of scholars should cause you no embarrassment whatsoever. If you make mistakes, you will learn something from them. Please stop wasting time.”
“But I want to discuss the appropriate uses of this new magic. I am concerned that I might not be able to manage this much . . . power. What if . . . what if it became necessary to wield it?”
Serafina sighed. Her eyes looked sad.
“There is a great risk anytime you consider making use of it,” she said. “I would employ any other means before you would rely upon the book, because there is a chance of unmaking or changing to anyone who alters the runes. Wherever it goes, the runes are as delicate as a rising cake. One wrong touch, and a living creature could collapse and die, entirely by accident. Recall what Master Olen’s friend from the south told us. I would rather have an unfortunate incident come to pass by my inaction than destroy an innocent being. It behooves you to think most carefully than most would about the outcome of any action you might perform.”
Tildi looked guiltily over her shoulder. The road’s surface had been churned up by their passage, but not as greatly as it had been the night before. The solution to have her nearest the rear and to spread out the party over a distance farther from the book’s influence had minimized the random changes wrought by so many feet.
Serafina followed her eyes.
“That will be a good practice for today. There are places where the runes have been unmade. Let us try to restore them as we go.” She spurred her horse away toward the front of the queue, leaving Tildi in the care of her single guard. Over the chinking of tack and the thudding of hooves on stones and earth, Tildi heard Sharhava’s unmistakable voice raised in some querulous complaint. Serafina dropped back again a few moments later. She nodded worriedly at Tildi.
“Here is the word for this entire road.” With the tip of her wand, the wizardess sketched a word upon the air between them, then drew the wand outward to make the symbol larger. “It will change in small details over the course of the day. Your object is to change it back to this state whenever it does. It may result in a surprise, if an animal is digging in it. You will cause the hole to fill up over and over again.”
Tildi giggled at the thought, and Serafina smiled like a girl of her own age. “I want you to concentrate upon it for an hour. I will keep track of the time. All you must do is remake the rune.”
Tildi checked the long, thin symbol as Serafina had scribed it against its counterpart in the book. It would have taken her three times as long to have written it as accurately as her teacher.
It was already altering. A slight curling at the top right looked like the symbol for water. It must be raining ahead. Hastily she drew her knife and smoothed down the edge. The rune returned to its original shape. Tildi was pleased with herself, then she thought about the possible consequences. She gave Serafina a worried look.
“Did I stop the rain?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” Serafina said. “We will see if we reach that area before the hour is up.”
Tildi had to keep an eye on the top right of her subject rune, for the rain in the image persisted a long while. In the meantime, she corrected several strange anomalies that popped up, some again and again.
“We are causing those,” Serafina observed. “It cannot be helped. Just keep at it. It’s good practice for you.”
“Can’t we just hide the rune or obscure it, so nothing can change it?” Tildi said, closing a fissure in the surface with a pinch of her fingers. The lines obeyed her so well that soon she felt as though she was working on a piece of her own embroidery.
“No. We can’t change them to be invulnerable against the influence of the book. Such was the magic of its creators. Its preponderance of power unlocks all runes.”
“Can’t we remove or destroy them from the things?”
“To destroy them is to destroy what they describe, what they brought into being. They will fade over time. Once we have passed, the ability to alter them will fade. Only adepts such as you and I will be able to see them thereafter.”
“There must be a way to make them different,” Tildi said stubbornly as she changed a stretch of road back to dirt from mud. Tildi scribbled on the rune in haste. The gooey substance coarsened to soil. Tildi was pleased. “I think there must be a way to alter the book itself.”
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 10
