Knemet, woken from his restless meditation by the sudden change in vision, was excited, a sensation long lost from him. He sprang up from his chair and threw his arms to the sky. This time, he felt that the kotyrs had found their true mark. The image was tiny, but they did not make mistakes. He did not create them to make mistakes. He focused upon what was within their sight. A ship, midstream, sails puffed out against the wind. Its hull clove the water like a blade. It moved more rapidly than the other craft on the water, much more rapidly. Wizards were at work here. He flew toward it in his mind’s eye. The kotyrs saw what the thraiks never could: this ship was protected by warding to defeat magical sight. But anyone within sight would have noticed this vessel, could not have taken their eyes off it. It was decorated all over by golden runes, the runes of creation that he and his colleagues had set free by creating the Compendium. The book must be on board. He urged the lead kotyr to surface and focused upon the ship. At his command it leaped into the air. Could he see the scroll through its wide eyes?
He recognized her from Nemeth’s visions: long dark hair, golden skin like an elf’s, slender as a sapling. She was younger than he had thought. The man was unknown to him, but he bore the marks of wisdom and wit, silver hair and bright, curious green eyes. Knemet saw some of the others from the seer’s visions as well, the other two wizardesses: the magnificent centaur woman with flashing green eyes, and the sturdy dwarf woman with her thick gold braids. Apart from them was the smallfolk, a tiny, scared creature sitting on the deck. Their kind did not have magic. Good. One fewer opponent to concern himself with.
Over the wizards’ heads flew the object of his quest. The Compendium, half open, dancing in the air like a pennant. His heart pounded in his chest. At last!
He called out. “I see it, my children!” The thraiks kicked off from their eyries above him and flew around impatiently in circles. “Go! I will guide your hand. Go now! Bring it to me intact! Do not destroy it before I can.”
The air above him tore open, and they vanished into it.
Eels,” called Captain Betiss, pointing off the starboard rail. “We’ll have a roast of them for dinner. Cast nets!”
The crew howled their assent and raced to obey his orders. The merchant captain bowed to Olen and the kings who approached him with crossed arms and legs akimbo, watching the leaping silver shapes.
“If such a meal would please your honors,” he said. “I apologize for not asking.”
“Sir, a guest is glad for whatever his host chooses to regale him with,” Olen said, his eyes twinkling from under his curling brows. “Do you not agree, my lords?”
“Course I do,” Halcot said bluffly. “Means I’ve eaten some rotten food on my travels, but never gone hungry. Not in your halls, brother,” he said, slapping Soliandur on the back.
“I am gratified to hear it, brother,” the Orontavian king said dryly. “My cooks do well for us. I have no complaints of them.”
Olen turned to Tildi, who hastily stood up at the approach of the two kings.
“Tildi, has your family eaten eels? Do you have a suggestion as to their preparation?”
Tildi felt herself blush. “I used to stew them most of the time,” she said. “My brothers liked it that way.”
Haroun was eager to please his illustrious visitors. “We will stew our catch if you choose.”
“No, please,” Tildi said, embarrassed to be deferred to by two kings and two wizards. “Whatever you would like.”
“Roasted it is, then,” Olen said. “We must return to our spell.”
Haroun shouted more orders, and three sailors threw out a bundle that spread out into a huge net. It slapped onto the water’s surface and was dragged underneath by the current.
Tildi glanced over the stern of the ship at the tame cloud that blew into their sails. The werewolf crew had come to terms with having their own wind source, and were even enjoying tacking a bit to the right and left to test the ship’s maneuverability at that speed. Even the horses had ceased to fear the deck rocking beneath their feet. Olen had taken over the responsibility for the ships’ runes, leaving her to concentrate upon the making of her wand.
At Serafina’s instruction, she had rubbed the twig smooth with oil. She didn’t want to peel it and lose the beautiful silver bark that reminded her so much of her master’s home, but the young wizardess assured her it would not affect the finished implement.
“As long as the shape is there, suited for pointing, you can ornament it as you choose, or not.” Serafina smiled and removed her own wand from the pouch at her belt. The white willow wood had been etched with a delicate pattern like withies, tiny leaves fanned over the surface like lace.
Tildi admired it, but couldn’t make up her mind whether to carve hers or leave it plain. The longer she dithered, the more impatient she became. She was so eager to have it done that she had just about decided upon leaving it as it was.
Good enough for a plain-thinking smallfolk, she thought practically.
“I won’t carve it,” she told Serafina at last.
“Very well then,” the wizardess said. “Let it go to hover in the air. It should rest upon the merest whisper of power. Good. Hold your hands just away from either end and concentrate upon it.” She nodded approval as Tildi placed her hands in the air. “You will have the tool you make, so keep your thoughts clear and pure, so that spells that flow through the wand are not obstructed in any way. Flawed wands can burst with the effort of trying to force magic through them.”
The notion alarmed Tildi so much she had to force herself to stop worrying about it so she could empty her mind. The book seemed excited about her work. It dipped close as though it was looking over her shoulder. Tildi smiled at it as she would at a friend. The voices sounded encouraging, but there was a note of warning in them. Indeed they might warn her; Olen said that to create a wand was to put a part of one into another object so that it would understand her will and aid her when she used it to work magic. But how much?
She closed her eyes and thought about putting herself into the slender stick.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Olen said, his voice full of horror. He sprang up and waved his staff to attract Haroun’s attention. “Silver armor—poison! Captain! Captain, cut loose those nets!”
How hospitable, Knemet thought, seeing the seines draped alongside the ship’s hull. They were providing a ladder for his hounds. He aimed them for the great scroll itself. He could almost weep at the sight of his long-lost treasure. They would pinpoint it for the poor, magic-blinded thraiks.
Like silver arrows fired in a barrage, they poured up over the side of the ship and made for the Compendium. Knemet saw the faces of the moonfolk. Like all of their kind, they responded swiftly to stimulus. His sight of them had risen only half a man height before they all began to change to their wolf shapes.
“Make for the Compendium,” he ordered the kotyrs. “Surround it so there is no mistake. The thraiks are coming.”
The kotyrs slithered between the legs of the horses on deck. The sensitive animals screamed their terror and bucked furiously, kicking and biting at the grooms who strove to calm them. Knemet was glad of the distraction; half the crew would be unable to hurry to the aid of the Compendium before his servants reached it.
“To me, Rabantae!” shouted a tall man with golden hair and beard. He raised his sword above his head, then ran to the aid of the smallfolk girl.
Human guards in red-and-white livery came from every corner of the ship and hurried toward the stern. Some of them had been exercising horses and had to hand over their frightened charges to other humans. With their captain at the head, they forced their way toward the Compendium. To protect it, Knemet supposed. He sneered. What were twenty men? He had hundreds of kotyrs, and thousands more on the way.
The centaur maiden, her jewel-like eyes flashing in her dark face, seemed to discern the kotyrs’ intention—little surprise for one of her breed. She wound her way among her equine kin, dodging thrashing h
ooves and snapping jaws, seeking to follow. That would not do.
“Bite the horses! Not all of them. That one, the chestnut, and that white one.”
The kotyr in which his vision dwelt at that moment obeyed his will with relish. It snapped its narrow jaws around the ankle bones and bounded onward. Knemet sought the eyes of one of his creatures farther back, and saw the two horses foam suddenly at the mouth. Their caretakers exclaimed hoarsely and tried to separate their moaning charges from the others. Their fear infected the others, who began to scream and try to break away from their handlers. The hysteria impeded the soldiers, who were forced to retreat away from the suffering animals.
“Poison!” cried the senior wizard. “Avoid their bite!”
The dwarf wizardess avoided the thrashing horses by clambering up on the rail and running along it as if she were a squirrel. Knemet sent three kotyrs squirming toward her. A bite would put her out of the way. The fewer defenders with whom he had to engage, the better. She was warned, though. She grabbed up a stout pin from a rack and advanced upon them fearlessly. He ordered the kotyrs to attack her. One sprang, but her aim was good. She smacked it in midair and sent it flying into the waters of the Arown. The other two soon followed their fellow over the side. They swam after the ship, keening their frustration. Knemet commanded others to attack the dwarf woman, but had little interest in her. She did not have the book, and that was all he cared for.
He scanned the stern where he had seen the book from the water. It was no longer flying free. Where was it? He let his mind drift from kotyr to kotyr, looking for the precious scroll. Did the human wizardess have it? No, it was in the hands of the smallfolk. The girl clutched it to her like a baby. All to the good. He was curious that it did not burn her, as it did anyone who had not been involved in its making, but never mind. She could not keep it from his minions. The golden-skinned wizardess spread out her hands, and a thin dome like half a bubble formed over the girl. Knemet smiled grimly. Not enough. Not against his forces.
The sky tore open in a black gash, shocking against the clear blue. The dozen or so thraiks flitted through it and circled. The lord thraik let out a questing cry.
“Thraiks!” came the cry from a hundred throats.
“Get it!” he ordered, his words echoed upward to the hunters in the shrill voices of his silver hounds. “You can see the kotyrs! Go to where they are! The smallfolk girl has it.”
The thraiks were uneasy diving for a target they could not see. The book’s rune was still concealed from them by the wardings. Knemet repeated his order. The thraiks had no choice but to obey. They dove for the girl. She stared up at them, large brown eyes pinned open with terror. She did not move. All to the good, Knemet thought.
The wizard, glowing even in the kotyrs’ vision like the noonday sun overhead, was at her side in moments. He fell to one knee, his arms raised. Suddenly the thraiks bounced away from the girl. Knemet cursed. The man had erected a near-impenetrable ward in half a second. The winged beasts rose, keening their displeasure. Arrows whistled toward the thraiks. Two missiles struck their marks, but the rest arced harmlessly below them and plunged into the river. The thraiks descended again, kicking fruitlessly at the warding. The girl cowered low over the precious Compendium.
Three of the guards reached the girl’s side. Together with their lord, they began to stab and slash at the kotyrs. The captain, a stern woman with blue eyes, gutted one with a sweep of her blade and flung the still wriggling body at the others. Knemet growled, forcing more to leap at her, but her thick mailed gloves and sturdy leather armor turned aside their bites. Her soldiers swept them off her and stamped them into the deck with stout boots.
The wizard stood up, forming a rune between his hands. He flung it at Knemet—no, at his kotyrs. They staggered backward, but only a few feet. A deep breath, and they surged forward again. The wizard looked surprised. Knemet was pleased. He had given his creation a good deal of resistance to magic. Was it enough to force their way through the warding? He commanded them to keep on with the attack.
All at once, defenders from all over the ship were rushing to aid the wizard and the girl. The werewolves threw their netsful of kotyrs over the side and sought to catch more. They howled in pain as the snakelike creatures evaded the traps and sprang at their would-be captors. The human wizardess made her way to those who were wounded, and wove runes of healing over them.
Shouting came from the second ship. The thraiks sailed wide of the first vessel, keening their confusion. At his order, they dove again, making for the girl and the book in her arms. It would take time, but with the help of the kotyrs they could beat their way through the spell. Knemet was prepared to be patient.
The second ship hove near to the first. A huge wave leaped up between them, cascading water over the horses in the belly of the ship. The grayhaired wizard made a gesture. Over a bridge consisting of a single glowing rune, humans in blue-and-white leaped from rail to rail, swords or war hammers in hand. They ran to surround the smallfolk girl.
Some of the blue-and-white-clad soldiers, still on the second vessel, had stepped into bows and snapped the strings into place. At the word of their female commander, they nocked a second flight of arrows and loosed. Knemet ordered the thraiks to get out of range. The thraiks were only too glad to obey. They clapped their great wings and sailed high. Only one arrow found its mark, in the leg of one of the smaller and younger flyers that had been too slow. It shrieked in pain and gnawed at the shaft. Knemet ignored it. He must have the book.
He commanded the kotyrs forward. Frustrated at being made to withdraw from their designated prey, they attacked anyone within reach. The wizards were too well warded, but the many warriors were vulnerable.
At his word, the kotyrs leaped at their throats.
Chapter Twenty-five
aster Olen, help us over!” shouted Magpie. Tildi saw the elder wizard throw a hand in the direction of the stern of each ship. The bags of wind collapsed, and the ships juddered to an amble as the sails sagged.
The Eclipse maneuvered close, its wolf-faced captain anxious at the wheel. Olen raised his staff, and a long, narrow rune bridged the rails between Eclipse and Corona. The Scholardom was already crowding the side. A few had bows up, firing at the thraiks. The evil, winged monsters hovered just out of range, howling defiance. Tildi was terrified of them, but she was more frightened still of the snakelike creatures that filled the deck.
“What are they?” she cried.
“I don’t know,” Olen said. “I have never seen their like, and I have looked at thousands of species over hundreds of years. Their bite is poisonous. That’s a rare trait. They aren’t eels, and they certainly aren’t snakes. I am afraid we are dealing with an entirely new species.” To Tildi’s amazement, he sounded curious rather than alarmed or frightened.
A writhing cluster surrounded them, flinging themselves at the warding over and over. The pale gray wall of force knocked them away like a backhand blow, but there were always more to try again. Tildi cringed every time they did it. The Rabantavian guard streamed up the ship’s ladder and formed around them. The silver-skinned creatures slithered to avoid them, but the guards drove them back with kicks and sword point. It did not keep them back. The warriors did their best to scoop them up and fling them overboard without getting bitten.
Serafina hurried among them to heal those who had already sampled the intruders’ poison. Olen had called for her to join them within the spell’s protective bubble, but she shook her head firmly. Tildi admired her bravery. The sight of the thraiks made her shiver uncontrollably.
“Are you injured?” Captain Teryn shouted to Tildi.
“I am all right!” Tildi reassured her, trying to bring her terrors under control. She worried about the two kings. Surely they should be inside the wards with her. She looked around for Halcot and Soliandur. They stood with their backs to the protective spell wall. Slate-blue and scarlet-red halberds, black and golden manes, they moved like longtime bro
thers in arms, defending one another—and her. Tildi knew from Magpie’s quiet stories that they had been enemies only a few years ago. Had it been this mission that brought them together as allies? Olen noticed them as well, and opened his hand. The walls of the ward opened farther, encompassing the two men. The silver eels shrieked as they threw themselves against the magical barrier. King Halcot’s jaw fell.
“What just happened?” he demanded.
“This is a minor annoyance, my lords,” Olen said. “I see no reason to risk the crowned heads of two nations.”
“Minor annoyance!” Soliandur echoed, his dark eyes glaring. “There are thraiks out there!”
“Who do not seem to be attacking anyone else, did you notice? All they want is Tildi and her treasure.”
“Guard the Great Book!” Tildi heard Sharhava’s voice high and clear over all others.
“You see?” Olen said. “She has discerned their one aim.”
The blue-and-white habits joined the red and white tunics in the circle around her. Tildi feared for their safety. There seemed to be an endless stream of the snake-things. The creatures’ screaming tore at her nerves. Their huge eyes fixed upon her like starving dogs. She knew they would do anything to get at her.
Her eyes just as hungry, Sharhava forced her way through them and peered in through the gray wall. “We will keep you safe, Mistress Summerbee. Do not fear.”
“I won’t,” Tildi promised. Before the words left her lips, Sharhava had turned away to concentrate upon her defense.
“We should be out there with her,” Halcot said. “She is the sister of queens. My armor is better than theirs.”
“And mine!” added Soliandur.
Olen shook his head. “They may not have your armor, but they have the advantage of having practiced using the book’s magic, my lords. See.”
“Repel!” Sharhava shouted. At her side, Loisan barked her orders in a louder voice. The knights responded by holding out their shield-hands. The silver creatures, captured in mid-leap, flew backward several feet, landing on the deck. They sprang up, hissing, and redoubled their effort, only to be met by the swords and hammers of the Scholardom.
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 41
