Tildi dimpled. “I see you have been to at least one evening Meeting. If you have listened to the elders, you know they have all the answers to every question, right or wrong.”
He patted her on the hand. “I will bring cups.”
Chapter Eight
harhava’s order that she not cause offense left Tildi very much alone with her thoughts over the following days. They turned more to the Quarters all the time since Sharhava had made her threat. So much had been stripped away from Tildi that the thoughts of her now-lost home struck harder than they would have months ago.
Tildi stole a glance at her teacher. She had often noticed the young wizardess weeping when Serafina thought no one else could see. Tildi had done her best to give Serafina her best attention and tender what kindness she could offer. She knew Magpie had also sought to ease her loneliness, amusing her with tales and songs. Lakanta, in her rough, hearty way, had probably done more for the wizardess than any other by voicing outrageous threats against their captors. It let some of the pressure lift from their own thoughts of escape and revenge. In spite of her fears for her people, Tildi would never stop trying to turn her path southward, toward far-off Sheatovra, and that mysterious mountain fastness where the book belonged.
She did not fool herself into thinking such a task was without peril and hardship. Duty kept Tildi’s spirits up during the most difficult hours. She had made a promise to Olen, and she had never let a promise go unfulfilled unless it was impossible to keep. She did not count such things as promising her eldest brother Gosto never to whisper or giggle in Meeting when she was eight years old, for what child could remember to keep such a vow? Any oath she had taken once she reached maturity, though, she kept. She counted upon the native stubbornness with which she had been born to see her through this present ordeal and on to the goal of her journey, however she must accomplish it. Her reward would be rich: to rejoin Olen in his living home of Silvertree, and resume her studies of magic with him in that peaceful and nurturing environment. Not that she scorned Serafina’s teaching, but the wizardess had only assumed her as a student at the urging of her mother. Tildi knew Serafina had resented the task, and meant to lift it from her as soon as she possibly could, but Tildi had much to learn from the wizardess in the meantime.
Power was a strange feeling. She had never had any before. The knights knew more of the old words than Serafina did, but lacked comprehension of their function or how their variations worked. To them, what was written was an absolute, instead of a living language as the wizards used it. To keep her mind active, Tildi kept on with her spells, making fire, making objects float, and rebuilding the road as the hooves of the horses unmade it. She could not help that some of the knights, Auric especially, observed what she was doing, and began to put some of it to use, such as helping to move heavy logs for the evening campfire. She feared what Sharhava would do with the talent once she got used to having it.
To have more power than anyone in history save for the Shining Ones who had actually created the book was a daunting responsibility. Serafina’s warning of the corrupting influence of unlimited power made Tildi think a dozen times before attempting even the smallest spell. It had taken her a moment to allow herself to make fire to boil water for Serafina’s tea, and even more for each act of power since that day. The abbess might be ready to march in and change anything she wanted, but if she could only feel what Tildi did, the sense of the world Tildi received through the book, she might hesitate even to threaten. Tildi hoped so, anyhow. If it weren’t for Sharhava’s insane desire to remake the world from the way it was, Tildi would have welcomed the knights as an escort to the south. They were doughty fighters, that she had seen while in old Oron Castle, and they were unmoved by riches or personal power. Listening to tales in Olen’s household and along the way in Edynn’s company, she had learned far more about the ways of the world than she had ever known in quiet little Morningside Quarter. She was learning to make practical and dispassionate choices far beyond her simple beginnings. If only she didn’t have to, but who else was there to do it?
She felt tears prick at her eyes.
“What’s the matter, little one?”
The troubadour prince’s murmur interrupted her thoughts. He had brought his mare up beside Rin. The parts of her tack that might jingle had been tied up in scraps of cloth and braided grass to respect the order of silence. Tildi looked up into his curious yellow-green eyes, so startling in the deep tones of his face.
“She has been sad,” Rin said in a low voice, turning her flexible body to face them while still trotting forward. “I have noticed it. Perhaps you can cheer her up.”
“Anything,” Magpie said, bending down over his saddlebow. He fixed a meaningful look on her. “What may I do to help?”
“I wish you could,” Tildi said ruefully. “I wish anyone could.”
“I’m often told I’m good at giving advice. Let me try.”
“Well . . .” She looked past him at the nearest knight, who was trying to look as though he wasn’t straining to hear. With a will, she drove all thoughts of the poor beasts from her mind. She could not risk sounding discontented. Anything that might cause the abbess to wish to punish her for misbehavior was to be avoided. Tildi met Magpie’s eyes, and gave him a nod. His quick intelligence picked up at once on its significance. Magpie’s wry smile told her he, too, had noticed the knight’s scrutiny. She relaxed. “Tell me where I am. I ought to be enjoying this journey. I never went farther than fifty miles from the place I was born. This is so different than the Quarters. It’s . . . frustrating. I can see by the book that there is a great waterfall just a couple of miles that way, and I cannot go and see it for myself.”
Magpie waved an arm. “It’s as dainty as you are.”
“You are so much like my brother,” she said, blushing.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Oh, Pierin. He was very charming, you know. He always had four or five girls following after him like ducklings.”
“You’re a harsh one,” Magpie said with a wry grin. “If he was like me, then they couldn’t help themselves, could they? What about a tune?” He held up a rough-carved pipe. “I made this last evening. It’s not pretty, but it is well tuned.”
“Play, Prince,” Rin said, swiveling her tall ears upright. “There’s little to interest me on a straight road when I cannot run.”
Magpie twinkled at her. “I know an excellent song about racing that I learned from the merfolk. You’ll have to imagine the words, because I can’t sing and play at the same time. How I wish I hadn’t left my jitar behind!”
“You were thinking of something else,” Lakanta reminded him, urging her fat pony, Melune, to Tessera’s side.
“So I was,” he said gravely. “Attend the minstrel, if you please.” He put the pipe to his lips.
A stream of liquid sound trilled from the instrument, and a matching burst of gold threads filled the page beneath Tildi’s fingertips. She was delighted. She had no idea that music would have an image at all.
Magpie helped lighten the long days on the road, and Tildi was grateful to him. He reminded her not only of Pierin, but of all of her brothers rolled into one. He appeared to be such a clown, but his feelings and his intelligence ran deeper than anyone knew. He missed little, with his poet’s eye, and he had a kindly heart.
He was upset with Inbecca, whom he saw as having assisted the knights in their terrible work.
Inbecca was upset with herself, too. Tildi watched her following Magpie with her eyes filled with the deepest longing. Tildi had never been in love, but her brother Pierin had always been enamored of this girl or that, and she knew all the signs. Unlike his puppy crushes that lasted only weeks at a time, this was true.
In fact, she knew much more about Inbecca and Magpie and all of the others. The truth was there in their runes. She could read people like stories. Surely anyone who had that knowledge could pick up the surface facts, but because the book talked to her sh
e had insights into her companions’ emotions and thoughts. The way the ideographs moved and changed told her so much. A part of her was mortified at the invasion of their privacy. Another part felt removed from the turmoil, observing rather than empathizing. The warm cocoon that the book wrapped around her gave her that perspective, but separated her from feelings that she normally would have had.
From that inner knowledge she saw the frustration of her friends and companions. They suffered many different feelings, too. Rin was eager to be off, to run south to her people and race across the plains. Tildi found the rune in the Great Book and was delighted by the extent of the Windmanes’ realm. Yet Rin was earnest in her refusal to leave Tildi to the mercies of the knights. The part of Tildi that felt loved her for her loyalty. Lakanta had disposed of her responsibilities and was prepared to stay by her until the end. She had protectively motherly—no—auntly feelings toward Tildi. Serafina was in turmoil, and Tildi purposely refused to concentrate further upon her. Her teacher deserved to work through her sorrow without a voyeur, however well meaning, following every nuance. The voices kept urging her to read more, but she turned her attention to her surroundings.
Tildi glanced up from the scroll to see the abbess’s eyes fixed upon her with an angry scowl between them. Tildi felt her heart jump in surprise. Sharhava had been watching her. What had she seen? Had Tildi done anything to make her suspicious? Could she read her rune the way Tildi could read others? She dropped her eyes to the book. Sharhava’s sigil seemed to glow with anger, even in her written image.
Tildi regretted horribly the ability that Sharhava and the others possessed with the book in their reach. If she had the courage, she would escape. Sharhava had changed over the last days, becoming more surly and snappish. Tildi feared the abbess’s chancy temper would get the better of her. After the situation with the beasts, she was striking out—her rune showed it—because of a hollow place within her. Tildi didn’t know enough about the woman to understand what was troubling her. It was difficult enough just to stay out of her way.
She and the others must get free of the Scholardom. She could not allow the knights to harm other creatures the way they had the poor beasts. Yet she could not let Sharhava invade the Quarters. Tildi felt more trapped than ever before. She felt that she could not go on indefinitely in that fashion. Something must be done. Perhaps Olen would find them.
What is it that you lack?” Sharhava asked Brouse, the almoner, once the knights’ morning meal had been served at their latest campsite on the fourth day. “We are near to Rainbownham.”
“Every kind of supply is running short,” Brouse said, rocking back on his heels on the thin grass. The stout man had lost some inches since they had set out from Oron Castle. His round cheeks were slowly receding to reveal high, molded cheekbones. “We need flour, meat, and salt, at the very least. Wine. Oil. Butter. Tubers, potatoes, turnips and such, would keep well in the food packs, and provide sustaining meals for us all. My staff can pick greens for a while more, but few young shoots are sprouting. It’s fair and away autumn, Abbess. We need everything.”
“We’ll need more money than we have to make it comfortably to the Scriptorium,” Loisan said, consulting with Rachine, who kept the communal purse. “We had not counted on such a long journey, truth be told, not without being able to come and go freely within towns and villages.”
“Well, then, you need an expert to help stretch the coins as far as possible,” Lakanta said, bustling up to the almoner. With him balanced on his heels, he was eye to eye with her. “I couldn’t help but overhear, since you always speak as though none of us can understand you. You fine ladies and gentlemen are used to having servants go out and bargain with the farmers and traders in the market, but out here on the road they know you must accept the price they name, or travel miles in another direction. I know all the merchants and farmers along these roads. I’ll know who’s holding back on the freshest produce and the soundest goods. It’s my profession, after all. You may as well let me do the deals for you. Send me.”
“No,” Sharhava said, looking alarmed. “We do not need your help.”
“But we also need food,” Lakanta pointed out. “Do I trust you to buy for us?”
“You will,” Sharhava said. She turned a cold eye upon Tildi, who cringed. “I do not wish Scholardom business discussed in the marketplace.” She gestured to her knights. “Take her back with the others.”
“Are you accusing me of gossip?” Lakanta sputtered as two burly men in blue and white habits lifted her by the arms. “You’ll get nothing but rotten potatoes and spoiled meat, if you aren’t wise to all the tricks. What is wrong in your head that you can’t see that?” She continued her protest while they carried her back to her pony and deposited her on the ground beside it. She picked herself up and brushed gravel and grass off the back of her skirts. “Ugh! I do hate stubborn people.”
When Brouse and his crew returned in the afternoon, their horses laden with sacks, the dwarf woman could hardly help herself.
“I told you so!” she crowed as she turned over scrawny roots and wilted vegetables. She held up a clutch of greens, thin roots dangling, in one hand, and a limp brown knob in the other. “Oh, for the love of stone, look at these carrots! If these had been children you would have said they were too young to go out without their mam! Except these potatoes could be their grandparents, so old they are. And spoiled oats! Give these to your horses, and you’ll have a month of colic with them. I would bet every hair on my head that you bought that lot from a skinny man with a thin beard and eyebrows like the peak of a roof, eh? Made it sound like he’d give you a better price than anyone in Rainbownham? Aha! You did! You were cheated raw. Do you still have your boots? It’d be a wonder if you do.”
The knights blushed scarlet. Tildi could tell that it was on the tip of their tongues to ask if she could do better, and every one of them knew she could. Shamefacedly, one of Brouse’s aides brought a couple of the sacks to Morag. The soldier with the misshapen face accepted them without saying a word and retired to the far end of the campsite to prepare dinner. For once, Tildi thought wryly, she would not be able to blame the bad taste of the meal on his cooking.
“I’m coming with you the next time,” Lakanta declared, pounding her forefinger into her other palm. “You all claim to be scholars, and a lot of books I am sure you’ve read, but you don’t know a thing about your fellow humans.”
“We’ve news as well, Abbess,” Lar Mey said. His cheeks were red with shame.
“Tell me,” said Sharhava.
Tales of the cataclysm have spread widely,” the young knight said with a sideways glance at Magpie. “Rumor is mixed freely with the stories of eyewitnesses. Most of the displaced survivors did not stop until they reached Mimalda. The king is distraught.”
“My father? Why?” Magpie asked, shouldering into the circle of knights.
Mey turned to him and met his gaze seriously.
“Highness, it is known that you departed your betrothal secretly. Word spread as soon as it occurred. Rumor had it that you fled into the north, for what reason it was not really known.”
Magpie’s face went dusky red, and he slewed a glance sideways toward Inbecca. “I should have realized it was an irresistible topic for gossip.”
“Aye.” The knight turned to the abbess. “The groom disappeared. That would be important news at any time. Thereafter, we departed to follow him, with the bride in train. That brought more talk. Within days, the terrible destruction of the land took place in the shadow of the ruined castle. Many people and cattle were swallowed up. Whole farms—whole villages—vanished. We have not been seen since that day. I must report we were greeted with shock once we let it be known who we were. We are all believed to be dead. I assured them that we were not dead,” he said dryly. “Word will get back to your father, highness, and to your royal mother, Lar Inbecca. They will be greatly relieved.”
Inbecca held her head proudly, though her face was bri
ght pink with shame. “I thank you.”
“I should go back to my father and explain,” Magpie said, ruffling his tricolored hair with an agitated hand. “He will be displeased, but that is nothing new.”
“I am certain that he will rejoice that you still live,” Rin said. Magpie offered her a grateful look.
The abbess waved an impatient hand to silence them.
“You did not speak of our business,” Sharhava said.
“No, Abbess,” Mey said, looking displeased that she would even consider him to have a loose tongue. “They knew nothing of these.” He gestured toward Tildi and her friends. “Our secrets are safe.”
“Did any of the villagers follow you?”
“Several wished to, Abbess, to make certain that the prince and princess were indeed alive,” Mey said. “We led them on a roundabout path through the woods until they all turned back. I swear to you none came as far as the edge of the book’s influence.”
“Well done,” Sharhava said. Mey held himself up proudly. The abbess turned to Serafina. “It seems your devotion is to be repaid. You wished to accompany the smallfolk. I had said the rest of you may leave at any time. I now insist that you all come as far as the Scriptorium. Once the Great Book is installed behind our walls, then you may depart, if you choose. Until then, you will remain in our charge. Anyone who attempts to flee will be killed.”
“What?” Rin said. “You threaten a princess of the Windmanes?”
“You do not dictate my movements,” Serafina said furiously. “How dare you try to command a wizard of the council?” Sharhava snorted.
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 16
