Halcot nodded to himself. “What wisdom you showed, smallfolk, providing Prince Eremilandur with the means of restoring himself in the case of malign magic.”
“Truthfully, Your Highness,” Tildi said, “it was more of an accident than anything else.”
“Coupled with my curiosity,” Magpie said. “But I would not have been restored were it not for her three gifts.”
“You have my thanks, young woman,” Soliandur added. “Though I don’t understand what it is you did.” Tildi blushed.
“She rewrote me, Father,” Magpie said. “As if I was a story that ended badly.”
Soliandur gave him a sour look. “A pity she could not have given you more character.”
Magpie bowed. “Your servant, sire. Tildi could not create what Nature had failed to provide.”
“But I couldn’t save that poor young man, the knight. He didn’t write his rune down. He died.” Tildi shuddered, recalling how Bertin had looked when his overtaxed body had succumbed. “I wish I had done it for all of them.”
“Even the Scholardom, as cruelly as they treated you?” Olen asked, his curling brows high on his forehead.
“Yes,” Tildi said decisively, after a moment’s thought. “Even them. It was horrible. No one is evil enough to die in that fashion.”
“Well, then, who shall say we must not all have the same protection?” Olen asked. He pointed his staff toward a cupboard built into the wall. “Ano srdeg ia!”
A gleaming square like a piece of solid sunshine flew out and landed before the wizard. It was a sheet of polished gold or bronze half the height of a man. Its own rune glimmered in its surface like a reflection. “You see your new adornments, written large upon your bodies. We shall take copies, like good scribes, of all of our origins. Should the worst happen, each of us can be returned to our original state. That is not to say, returned from death. If you cross that border, my friends, there is no turning back. The body might be revived, but your spirit will have returned to Father Time. All of our fellows upon this task will be inscribed hereupon, to give us a record to which we may refer in case of an attack by an ill-intentioned wizard. What say you all? Are we agreed, then?”
A few nervous murmurs, then Halcot sat up. “Of course we want protection from malign magic. We are guarding against a wizard, aren’t we?”
“You are so easily persuaded by words,” Soliandur said, frowning. He gestured angrily at the sigil that glowed like a second heraldic device upon his slate-blue robes. “They are but words, a wizard’s trick—no offense to you, Master Olen.”
“None taken, but you ought to believe in your son’s own account of near disaster.”
“But how can a gleam of light be dangerous?”
Halcot cleared his throat. “Brother, trust my word! Ah, but you have not seen the Great Book before. I was present at the first council meeting.”
Soliandur pursed his lips. “My son represented me there, as you know. He returned with many stories such as one might hear around a feastday fire. I see a scroll that floats upon the air. That is little more than a ruse performed by prestidigitators to entertain me in my court.”
Halcot raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting that I am so easily fooled by a trick?”
“I cannot say what you find credible or incredible. I cannot believe in it. If the book is so powerful and dangerous, why has it not been destroyed?”
“It must not be destroyed,” Olen said. “Do you not realize that is how Orontae came to lose an entire river valley? That came from the ruin of a small piece of parchment from the book’s pages. There is tremendous power in words.”
“You would say that, Master Olen,” Soliandur said, his dark eyes snapping. “Such rhetoric is why magic has more influence in this land than it deserves.”
Magpie snorted. He thought his father had done with being unreasonably stubborn. He pointed toward the glimmering word that lay between them on the floor like an elegant hand-tied rug. “Father, if you want to test the power of the runes, run your foot through that one, then jump back. I am not certain what will happen.”
“I will not jump,” Soliandur said harshly. “A king does not flee shadows. Do not try to make me behave like a mountebank.”
“Very well, then, Father, allow me.”
Cautiously, Magpie scuffed his toe over the least little finger of the rune that he hoped only said deck. The subtleties of the ancient language were myriad. It would not do to destroy the ship that was to bear them to Sheatovra. The tendril of light detached and withered to nothingness. Soliandur looked down. Nothing seemed to have happened. A yell from one of the sailors made them all leap from their chairs and rush to the door.
In the pale light of sunrise, they saw a sailor, legs akimbo, straddling a gap in the deck, his body half changed between man and wolf. He clutched a pail of varnish to his chest with one arm. The kings looked toward his feet. A board in the deck had gone missing. The seaman spat.
“What in the void? Wizards! Curse them!” He must have felt eyes upon him, for he looked up. At the sight of two kings, a prince, a centaur princess, and two master wizards looking at him, he assumed full wolf shape and leaped away from his precarious post. “Respect, sirs and ladies, respect to you!”
His mates, who had been distracted from their own tasks at the sound of his yell, came to examine the hole and exclaim over it. They had a brief discussion, then one ran to get a new timber to lay in place, and another for hammer and nails to secure it.
“It is more subtle than I thought,” Halcot said. “I’d never have guessed that each board has its own name in the word.”
“It’s straightforward,” Magpie said, offering an apologetic grin to the sailors, now busy measuring the wood, “though I cannot read the language well. Master Olen will probably come and take me by the ear for meddling blindly.”
“I think I can forgive you,” Olen said mildly. “A demonstration was very much in order. Wasn’t it, my lord Soliandur?”
The king of Orontae was solemn. “This gives me much to think about.” He eyed his son closely. “A good deal to think about. The rune upon that gold sheet will heal one?”
“No, sir,” Magpie said. “But it will give Tildi the model she needs to restore you.”
Soliandur shook his head. “Such a lot to think about. How would one ever guess that the world would turn upon such ordinary things as a book and a smallfolk girl?”
“As you will, my lord,” Olen said. “Let us rest for a time. We will reconvene later today, when the rest of our party is complete.”
“Complete?” Halcot echoed. “With the arrival of Mistress Summerbee and her companions, we are complete.”
“Not so, my lord,” Olen said. “And I hope to add a further ally later on. That remains to be seen. Oh, indeed, yes.” He waved a hand. The werewolves measuring the piece of wood jumped, and the missing plank reappeared just where it had been before.
Across the deck, Magpie heard a muttered curse from one of the seamen. “Wizards.”
The kotyrs began to diverge from their initial instruction to head in the direction of the last known location of the Compendium. Knemet let them follow their noses. He had no idea if the bearers had continued toward the southwest, or if they had another goal altogether. So much of the continent still lay before them. The thousands of silver ribbon-shaped chimera spread out across the landscape, seeking the rune, the meaning of and the reason for their existence.
A kotyr in the southeastern ranges of Ivirenn detected a sign of the rune and nearly went mad with excitement racing toward it. In Knemet’s mind, he saw the ground racing beneath him, the sky wheeling overhead. He had flown on pegasus-back that swiftly only once. One of Boma’s special creations, the winged steed was too much for a non-horseman to handle. All the Makers had tried their luck on the pegasus’s back, and returned to earth terrified or exhilarated. The wealthy merchant who had commissioned them took them away, laughing. Still, that moment of breathless excitement was nev
er to be forgotten. Knemet had it then, without having to risk his neck on high. What was it that the kotyr had detected?
The competing visions in every part of his mind almost made him dizzy. Knemet let go of them so he could concentrate upon the one that offered promise. The kotyr raced over stony, unfruitful wastes, glided over knobbly roots and through grasslands upon which grazed herd animals who glanced up at him, then went back to their browsing. Knemet became aware that more of the kotyrs had picked up the same scent. Near. It was near! Had the book made it to the western banks of the Arown?
The kotyr overtopped a huge stone at the edge of a field. Knemet had one glimpse of the expanse of golden crops before it dived down into the earth. The sunlight disappeared. Knemet’s mind’s eye, unlike his body’s, needed no time to adapt to the darkness. Tiny runes, each with its own mark of creation, became streaks as the kotyr tunneled toward its prize. What were the wizardesses doing underground with the Compendium? Knemet wondered. He did not attempt to redirect the lithe beasts. They knew what they were doing. They had only one objective in their lives.
More kotyrs joined the first, circling the rune with the satisfaction of hounds who had brought down their prey. Knemet spotted a curl of white parchment. The book was there! He made ready to summon the thraiks. Then, as the kotyrs circled around, he had a better view of the object.
The rune that drew them came from a small roll of parchment. It protruded from what remained of a rotted leather pouch. Clutching it in the pebbly bones of what had been a long, slender hand was a skeleton. By what was left of a dark green wool tunic and a heavy leather hood, it was that of a man, probably a scholar. Knemet was not a fanciful man, but the clothes looked like those of a well-to-do scholar. By the appearance of the remains, he had been dead a very long time. The other contents of the bag had been ruthlessly turned out and scattered beneath the body. The kotyr rooted through the murdered man’s possessions a second time after his shameful and shallow burial, then raced away, unmoved, the victim still unfound by his grieving loved ones, themselves fifty years dead.
Such scrutiny gave Knemet little satisfaction. He saw through their eyes, first time in how long since he had seen the outside world. But it meant he would see through all subterfuge. The Compendium could not be hidden from the kotyrs. So far they had eluded him by means of the simplest spell possible. He was rusty. It didn’t matter now. He would find the book and get it back.
Chapter Twenty-one
he book spun in air, its pages reeling from one spindle to the other, gleaming white in the noonday sun. Tildi barely felt that she was controlling it. It seemed as though it was delighted to display its gorgeous illuminations to an interested audience. Serafina stayed close to her to offer advice, but it was scarcely needed. She knew how to keep it hovering with a mere thought, and was able to stop it unfurling the moment she was asked. Magpie sat at a distance from the small circle, his fingers making tunes on the jitar strings to which the book appeared to dance. The kings watched from their carved seats with mild curiosity, but Olen was rapt. His curly eyebrows contorted into more shapes than Tildi could ever have credited.
“What the Shining Ones created was a work of art, Tildi,” he said. “Well and truly I can see why one was never in danger of mistaking a copy for the real thing. For how could you ever see the sun, then believe in the light from a candlewick?” He shook his head. “It would require lifetimes of study just to peruse it, let alone begin to understand how those wizards of old were able to set such a spell in motion. To have everything in the world perfectly represented, so perfectly that the runes change with the changing of the object is a marvel. No one had ever succeeded before in capturing all of reality in a symbolic fashion as they had, and none since. At least, none of whom I have heard. I must be fair, of course, but I believe my sources are fairly comprehensive. Will you roll it back to the Necklace Mountains? I would like to see that image again. I believe they have changed significantly since the map I have at home was drawn.”
Tildi urged the scroll to turn, taking up yards of the shimmering white parchment until it was open to the rune he wished to examine.
“What draftsmanship,” Olen said. “Do you think that it began with one wizard who had a talent for calligraphy, or did the talent develop as they enlarged upon their idea for a comprehensive volume?”
“I couldn’t say, master,” Tildi said.
“Nor I,” Serafina said. “I wish we could ask the Makers. I have so many questions.”
“As have I,” Olen said. “Even studying the copies I found myself wishing that their time was not so long gone. I can find images of them in my crystals and bowls, using ancient scrying spells, but I get so little that it frustrates me. Ah, but that is a scholar of magic for you. The more we know, the more we want to know!”
Tildi felt as though she had come home. Seeing Master Olen in the midst of the white wooden bulkheads reminded her of the happy days she had lived in Silvertree. He had returned to his familiar ways of discussing magic as though she were an old compadre of his instead of the rawest student he had ever taught. Serafina, too, felt the pull of his companionable manner. She started out a trifle suspicious that he would look down upon her, as one might be of a known authority in one’s chosen subject, but Olen never threw one’s shortcomings back at one. Serafina began to relax. Tildi saw her warm to him. What gave her the greatest confidence was his having her take responsibility for inscribing the crew’s runes upon the sheet of gold.
The werewolves accepted the explanation that it would protect them against transformation with little concern. Most of them had found occasion to overhear Tildi’s description of the battle in Oron Castle. She had no doubt that the story had spread to those not near enough to listen.
“We change with the moons, will we or won’t we,” Captain Betiss said with a shrug. “Such a notion might frighten you humans, but not us. So we change a little more than usual.”
Tildi had sneaked a glance at Morag, who waited his turn with the rest of his company in the belly of the ship. She was glad no one had dragged him forward to tell his story. The Rabantavians all knew it, and if the werewolves accepted it casually, that was up to them.
“Will you at least permit us to offer you such protection as we would give to our own company?” Serafina asked.
Haroun Betiss showed a glint of the humor that Olen said he had. “If it makes you feel better. What do you want us to do?”
Most of the work fell to Tildi. Serafina had instructed each of the crew to come forward one at a time. Tildi’s task was to copy the rune onto the imperishable metal. Serafina stood over her with an eagle’s eye, correcting her anytime she made a mistake. Tildi made a few, but her practice at restoring the roads and forests along their long journey had made her a speedy and expert draftswoman. One after another, she sketched the complex sigils onto the gleaming surface beneath the names of the two kings and the rest of Tildi’s companions, tweaking lines and scrollwork where it was needed. Olen oversaw the entire process, rendering each of the runes into metal as soon as both Serafina and Tildi were satisfied with it. A few, like Morag, stopped to stroke his or her finished name on the surface.
When they had finished, the metal square resembled an enlarged view of a leaf in the Great Book, though all of gold instead of just the words. Olen had sent it whisking away to safekeeping in the cupboard in his cabin. Of course, nothing could equal the actual object. Tildi reached up to touch the silken surface of the parchment, still whirling in the air like a ribbon of cloud.
Olen glanced at her with a wise expression. “You are going to find it difficult to give up, aren’t you?”
Tildi bowed her head. Every time she thought of parting with the book, it wrenched at her heart. Sometimes she awoke at night to find herself staring at the sky, foreseeing a bleak future without the warm presence of the scroll, or the encouraging wisdom of the voices. “I’m sorry, master.”
He placed his long hand on her shoulder. “Don’t b
e. Older and more experienced hands than you would have difficulty letting go of such a wonder. I only hope it does not cost you more than you are willing to give.”
Tildi straightened up. A Summerbee kept her bond, no matter what. “I will give what is needed.”
Olen smiled. “You have hidden depths, my dear. I was fortunate in my choice of apprentices. Wasn’t I, Mistress Serafina?”
Serafina gave Tildi a stern look. “I would expect no less, master. And I must say, she has been assiduous in her lessons, though her mind does wander on occasion.”
“You have schooled her well in my absence,” Olen said. “Your mother would be proud.”
The young wizardess paused. “I hope so.”
“You may depend upon it. I knew her many centuries. She had great hopes for you. You are fulfilling them.”
“I don’t know how I can ever aspire to be a second Edynn,” Serafina said.
Olen smiled. “She wanted you to be the one Serafina. As this young lady will someday be the Tildi. If she continues her studies.”
Both of them fixed their gazes on her. Tildi crouched, wondering how she could escape being the focus of two such masterful teachers. One at a time had been much easier to take!
A thin howl sounded from the top of the mast. Tildi looked up at the werewolf sitting in the small basket above the furled sails, his nose pointed to the sky. The captain came rushing up from belowdeck and cried out a question in their tongue. The lookout yipped, his yellow eyes glinting in his dark-furred face. The captain turned to bark, literally, his orders at his crew. The others looked joyful. The gangplank was laid down again. The people on the dock who had been hanging about since Tildi’s wonder-working looked up at them hopefully, but a handful of the werewolf sailors stood guard upon the ramp.
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 36
