Then, the moment of creation. Knemet held his breath. The sleek little beast existed only as a complex rune, a charcoal sketch before the painting. He reached out to it and touched it with the tip of his wand. The image stilled, frozen as if in crystal. He began to follow each line and stroke of the rune with the tip of his wand. Bones and muscle came into reality in the heart of the rune. Skin covered with nearly invisible silver scales covered them. The fins, beak, and fangs he traced with loving care. Lastly, the eyes, saucerlike and out of proportion to the narrow skull, he redrew in gleaming gold. Inside the word, the beast came into being. Knemet gestured to it, and it rotated in air. Nodding, he caused the rune to shrink into the animal. It had its own reality now. As soon as the strokes of the rune touched the beast’s side, it took a shuddering breath and began to race in a circle, chasing its own tail. Knemet laughed with joy. He had done it!
“It must have a name,” he said. He had not named a creature in centuries, either. He tilted his head to one side to contemplate it. It was long, slender, and silver like a knife. It moved with the grace of a breeze. It was deadly, and it was inexorable. Kotyr, he thought. He tried the name on his tongue.
“Kotyr.” The chimera stopped its endless chase. The big, round eye on the left side of its head stared at him. “That will do. You are the first of your race, kotyr.” It seemed unmoved by the honor.
First it was, but not the last. Now that he had the template, Knemet drew one after another, then brought them into being in the tens, then the hundreds. They came to life wriggling and active. They ignored the natural animals, but sniffed one another curiously, sensing the image of the book’s rune in one another’s minds. Soon, the floor of the great chamber was a seething, glinting carpet of kotyrs. Tired but pleased, Knemet lowered his wand and turned to see them all. He tilted his head back to address the thraiks.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Hmmph!” the senior thraik grunted.
“You do not think much of them?” Knemet asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, these will lead you to your quarry. Pay heed when they call to you. Kotyrs! Let me hear your voices!”
The kotyrs responded with a shrill cry that could have shattered crystal. The thraiks let out a protest in reply. Knemet smiled.
“Go now!” he commanded the kotyrs. He opened the spell that sealed the chamber. The kotyrs slipped into crevices between the stones as though they were drops of water sinking into sand. He was pleased. Theirs was the signal that the thraiks would follow. Anywhere upon land or sea that the Compendium went, they could follow, with the thraiks close behind them.
“Away, my last and least creation!” he cried. “Find my treasure for me.”
The kotyrs shrieked their eagerness. Soon they were all gone.
Suddenly weary, Knemet hunched back to his great chair.
“In the meantime, let us see nature unbound.” He whisked a hand, and the barriers between the specimen animals fell.
Chapter Fourteen
ildi tried to stay awake as she was carried along, but wrapped as she was in darkness, she could see nothing. The thick fur pelt of the one carrying her was so warm and the musk scent so comforting that she felt her eyelids drifting closed again and again. This was the rescuer that Irithe had promised, of that she was now certain. She trusted him, and not just because the elf had said she could. Something about his rune just exuded honesty.
The rune itself was a curious one. She had not seen its like before. Tildi wished she could look it up in the book and see where its kind belonged on the face of Alada, but the book itself was out of her reach. She could see the book’s rune bobbing along beside her and her gigantic escort. If she hadn’t been wrapped up so close she could have stretched out an arm to touch it. Since she couldn’t, and she knew both of them were safe, she let herself drift off.
The next thing she knew, she had stopped moving. Fragrant, musky fur still surrounded her, but it was not the arms of the one who had saved her. She stretched out her hands and explored the darkness. Her head had been pillowed on her own folded cloak, but that was the only thing she recognized. She lay in a small enclosure like the inside of an egg, lined and padded with combings of fur like hanks of sheared sheep’s wool. The book’s rune was close by. Tildi reached out automatically to touch it. It was upright against the curved wall. The familiar voices greeted her in their ancient tongue when her fingers made contact with the smooth parchment. All was well.
No, not well, she realized, sitting upright. Her head touched the top of her shelter. The wardings that she and Serafina had built to hide them and the book from searchers—they had been broken! The rune that should have been over all of them on the slope had gone. Tildi remembered feeling vulnerable as she ran through the thick fog. A protective rune, a different one, had been established overhead, to protect her and the book. But where was Serafina? And where was Rin?
Beyond the fur-lined wall were dozens of runes. None of them were familiar. She felt shy about approaching strangers, but she must know where she was, and what had become of her friends.
The rounded opening of the egg was low to the ground. It was necessary to creep out on hands and knees. When Tildi stuck her nose out of the shelter, a cold wind almost nipped it off. Reluctant to leave the comforting warmth behind, she wriggled the rest of the way out and wrapped herself in her cloak. The book followed her. Despite the fact that her muscles were sore and her ankles were bruised from running, she pulled herself forward into the wind. It occurred to her how odd it was to feel cold. She had not noticed the weather for weeks, thanks to the book’s influence. Yet it seemed unchanged. All of the other elements of its presence seemed to be in place. The feeling of power that thrilled through her was unabated, and golden runes were written upon everything. The enormous trees around her reminded her of Silvertree, Master Wizard Olen’s home. Their runes incorporated a sense of wisdom and serenity, such as the giant tree possessed. They had the air of having been there since the earth was made. She laid a hand on one as though to ask it for permission to pass. The bark, formed in enormous scales each as large as a platter, felt smooth and welcoming.
She tiptoed over the needle-strewn ground toward the yellow firelight that illuminated the circle of thick trees as if they were the ribs of a horn lantern. Low voices murmured together, rising and falling like music. The speakers were visible only as large shadows, spangled with runes, which fell upon the thick bushes that surrounded the fire. As she approached, the voices stopped. She felt at her belt for her knife. With shock, she realized that the sheath was empty. The knife had surely fallen from her hand when she was running away from the fighting. Her pack had been in Rin’s saddlebags. She had nothing now but the clothes on her back and the boots on her feet. Ah, but the book was there. It nudged up against her as if to offer comfort.
She touched it and felt contentment thrumming through it like a heartbeat, she thought. Yes. It was not the only heartbeat here. A humming seemed to resound in the very ground she walked on. She must find her friends. They could find an explanation for the noise.
She had only taken a couple of steps before an enormous shape loomed over her. Tildi gasped. She looked up to see a broad furred face. It was not a werewolf, but an upright animal half again the size and easily twice the breadth, with a blunter muzzle, round ears, brown-black fur, and small, gentle, light brown eyes. Colored beads had been woven into its fur: at the sides of its face, in patterns on the massive chest, and in a fringe on the upper arms below the shoulders.
“We heard you stirring,” it said in a voice so deep it seemed to add to the humming.
“How? I was trying not to make any noise,” Tildi said. Her voice sounded like a bird’s peeping in her ears, in contrast to the big beast’s deep bass.
The red-brown lips drew back and showed a set of fanged teeth that were the equal and better of any werewolf’s.
“You make your own rhythm in the pulse of the earth,” it said. It put out an enormous paw, held p
alm out, to her. Thick, dark fur sprouted in between wrinkled, black leather pads that marked his fingers. Her hand was smaller than the oval pad at the base of his thumb. Timidly, she reached up but recoiled before touching it. He closed the distance, and she felt the warmth of his skin against hers.
“Do not fear contact with us, little one.”
“I might hurt you,” Tildi said. “You don’t know . . . I have a power in me. It burns flesh.”
The big beast grinned, his white fangs glinting. “Not now. We heard the disharmony in your part of the eternal rhythm and sang while you slept until you belonged again to the earth. You will no longer harm anyone unless you mean to do so. I cannot speak to your treasure,” he added, nodding solemnly toward the book. “It will defend itself as it will. It is too ancient for us. But you are as you were.”
Tildi sagged. “What a relief!” she exclaimed. “You don’t know what a worry that’s been to me. Oh, manners! I’m Tildi Summerbee.”
“I know your name. I knew it before I brought you here. I am Jorjevo. You are welcome among the bearkin. Komorosh told us about you. You met him at Olen’s council. He is one of us.”
“Komorosh?” Tildi thought back hard, and came up with the image of a taciturn man with hollow cheeks who huddled in a huge fur cloak. He never seemed to be warm, though the council chamber had been cozy. “I thought he was human. Oh, but you change, don’t you?”
Jorjevo smiled, his kind eyes patient. “No, we remain as you see us. Whereas the werewolves are ruled by the moons, we are as constant as the land. Komorosh took the shape of a human by enchantment so he could relate to humans. Our Makers, the ones who created our shape as well as yours, and the book that you guard, left only a few traits of our human forebears inside us—intelligence, manual skills, and speech. We are more patient and sensitive than the hairless ones, less subject to the elements. That comes from our bear ancestors. We feel we belong more to the forests, to the direct creations of Mother Nature. We could not live in cities or towns, as you do.”
“Then you knew you were . . . were made up by the Makers,” Tildi said, feeling her words were inadequate for the concept. “We smallfolk didn’t know, or if any of us did, they never let on to the rest of us. You have no idea what a disgrace they would consider it to be! As far as our schoolmasters are concerned, we sprang into being on the first day.”
Jorjevo smiled with delight. “How very funny not to want to know the rolls of ancestors. We keep records going back more than a hundred and fifteen centuries. Alas, many of our grandparents before the change were poor archivists. Annals before that are spotty, but since then we have been most careful.”
“I would love to see your archives,” Tildi said. “I can only name my grandfathers back about eight generations.”
“It would be our pleasure. In return, our archivists would like to see your treasure,” Jorjevo said, indicating the book floating along beside her. “They are fascinated by the runes they wear.”
“Oh, be careful!” Tildi exclaimed, suddenly alarmed. She had a vision of curious bearkin distorting like reflections in a pool. “They must not try and change them—the most horrible things happen if you do.”
“We know,” Jorjevo assured her gravely. “Komorosh had plenty of time to warn us since your departure from the council. We will be careful. Come and sit by the fire with us. We await your friends.”
Tildi was appalled that she had let her mind wander from her companions’ safety. “Are they all right?” she asked.
“Strife has been abroad tonight, but not on the road along which I brought you,” he said. “Come. The others want to meet you.”
He reached down to her. Tildi put her hand in his huge paw and wrapped her fingers around one finger, as though she were a toddler walking with her father. How wonderful it was to make contact with another living being, and not be afraid that she would burn it to death!
There!” Serafina exclaimed, pointing ahead. “Runes! We have found her.”
Magpie was almost asleep over Tessera’s neck, but the excitement in the wizardess’s voice brought him out of his daze. He had grown used to the dim, charcoal-gray landscape that he only saw in detail out of the corner of his eyes, as if the features picked out faintly by the stars and the full moon receding somewhere to his right kept slipping furtively away from him. Ahead, the path, the trees, and, however improbable it was and had been, the sky were wildly decorated with gold-tinted squiggles, curlicues, and dashes. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“You did not trust me,” Irithe said wryly, dropping back so she ran between Rin and Serafina’s horse. “No matter.”
“Don’t you ever get tired?” Lakanta asked, letting out a huge yawn. Her mare snorted and shook her head.
“I will rest when I stop,” the elf said. She took the bridle of Serafina’s mare and jogged to a halt. She looked up at them, her eyes dark pools in her pale face. “They already know you are coming. I must go now. You will be safe from this point onward. I wish you well. I hope we wayfarers will meet again. Tell Tildi to think of the new stories she will have to tell at The Groaning Board.”
Magpie grinned. “I will tell her. Thank you for your assistance. You have done us great service.”
“You won’t guide us the rest of the way?” Serafina asked peevishly.
Irithe tilted her head. “Do you really need me to? You’d have to be blind not to find your way from here.”
Magpie saw Serafina’s face turn sour and spoke up hastily before she could say something.
“We will be fine,” he said. “I have been on this road before. Good wayfaring to you. I hope we do meet again.”
“And I,” Serafina said with a shamefaced glance at him. He knew she did not intend to lose her temper. “You have my gratitude for your skilled guidance. If ever I can repay the kindness, you have but to ask.”
“And I,” Rin added. “A Windmane does not forget such obligations.”
“This favor was for another,” Irithe said, shaking her head. “But I will keep your offers in mind. Goodbye.”
She backed away from them a few paces, and vanished into the darkness like smoke dissipating in the wind. Though his eyes were used to the night, Magpie blinked several times.
“When I think of all the instances in which such an exit would have been useful . . .” Lakanta said, letting out a whistle. “Sometimes I don’t think they’re completely solid, elves.”
Rin danced suddenly, lifting her hooves rapidly. “The ground is shaking. I do not like it.”
“Humming,” Serafina said, putting out her hand as if feeling the air. “I feel it, too, like a tuning fork, or a harpstring plucked and left to ring.”
Teryn and Morag drew their swords. Teryn nodded to her soldier, who trotted to the rear of the group. She looked around uneasily, not knowing from which direction to guard.
“What is it?” Magpie said, feeling the vibrations in his hands and his teeth.
“Well, well,” Lakanta said with a chuckle. “I’d no idea we were so far south.”
“You know what this is?” Serafina asked.
Lakanta laid her reins on Melune’s neck. “Nothing to do but wait and be patient,” she said.
“For what?”
“For us.”
The deep voice seemed to come from the depths of the earth. It did not jar with the low vibration filling the air, but sounded in harmony with it. Magpie’s head snapped around on his neck to see the speaker, and found the group was surrounded by tree trunks. Not trees, he realized, as he peered at the huge, almost cylindrical shapes, but creatures, big, furry creatures. He picked out features in the faint light, especially rounded ears on the massive heads, shoulders like mountains, and eyes that regarded them solemnly from either side of a wide muzzle like a hound’s. They remained silent, massive, and forbidding. To Magpie it felt as if they had grown there from the bedrock, and had always been there, like stones.
“Are we intruding?” Serafina asked as her mare dance
d nervously.
“I’d say not,” Lakanta replied. “I’ve found over the years that there’s no one home when they don’t want to see you. This is where the elf led us, no mistake. Greetings to you! I’m Lakanta. My goodness, how long’s it been?”
“Since springtime,” the deep voice said. One of the gigantic shapes stepped forward. Serafina held forth her staff, and green light lit the blunt muzzle and showed the small eyes to be a gentle brown. “I greet you. I heard your song.”
“Happy to sing it, Jorjevo,” Lakanta said, grinning. She swung down off Melune’s back and went to throw her arms around the beast. Her short arms made it less than a third around his shaggy frame. Magpie could now see that the speaker was one of the bearkin. If werewolves were rare in Orontae, bearkin were almost a lost legend. He grinned. “You haven’t got a smallfolk who ought to be with us, do you?”
“She has been pacing with impatience to see you,” Jorjevo said. “How fast these little ones move!”
“We would see her, if it is not an imposition,” Rin said.
“How can I prevent her?” Jorjevo said, his small eyes twinkling.
A commotion erupted from behind the circle of thick-furred legs. A small hand pushed through and caught the light.
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