Master of the Books

by James Moloney

  ‘I’d better go aboard and see what help they can offer us,’ the captain said to Finn. He looked at his own passengers, all of whom were drenched to the skin. ‘You three may as well come with me. They might have some dry clothes for you, at least.’

  While the longboat was being lowered, Marcel looked for the remnants of the storm. There were none; at least, there was no sign of it in the wind or the sea. Clouds couldn’t simply disappear though and when he looked above him he gasped at what he saw. The massive banks of steel grey were dissipating steadily away from them like ripples spreading out from a raindrop in the centre of a pond. How could wind drive the clouds in so many directions at once, he wondered.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a call to climb into the longboat. Onboard the other ship soon afterwards, he wasn’t the only one with questions.

  ‘How can your ship be untouched when mine was about to sink?’ their captain asked his counterpart.

  ‘Weather magic,’ the other captain replied with a smile. ‘We have a wizard onboard and he quelled the storm before it reached us.’

  ‘Can we meet this wizard?’ asked Finn. ‘His magic saved our lives.’

  Marcel winced in shame when he heard this, but he was as anxious as the rest to meet their saviour.

  ‘The wizard? Yes, you can meet him this minute. There he is,’ and with a simple nod, the captain pointed out the man only ten paces away across the deck.

  ‘But the woman and those children …’ Marcel said before he could stop himself.

  ‘Lady Liana is his wife,’ said the captain with a laugh, ‘and the little ones are their children. Please introduce yourselves while I hear about the damage to your ship.’

  The few wizards Marcel had met all wore long robes and stared out at the world through solemn eyes etched round with age and weariness. Not this man! He had an impressive bearing about him all the same, and his broad shoulders were a match for the chancellor’s. His voice, when he warned his children not to play near the open hatch, was deep but softened by a father’s affection. He saw the new arrivals walking towards him and stood to offer his hand.

  ‘My name is Rhys Tironel,’ he said with a hearty smile, and shook hands firmly with Finn and then Marcel. Taking Nicola’s hand more gently, he bowed.

  ‘You saved our lives, I think,’ said Finn, indicating his wet clothing with a helpless shrug.

  The wizard accepted their thanks modestly as the two captains joined them.

  ‘Without a mast their ship is at the mercy of further storms, Lord Tironel,’ the first captain said. ‘I suggest we tow it to a place where the mast can be replaced.’

  ‘Of course. Will it take us far out of our way?’

  ‘Not far, the nearest port is Cadell.’

  ‘The royal city of the Tamerlane?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I wish there was another but we have no choice.’

  ‘Then we’ll be a few days late arriving in Noam,’ Rhys Tironel said to his wife who had come to join them also.

  ‘Noam! That’s where we’re going.’ Marcel was as impatient as ever to see the curse lifted and talk of delays had disheartened him. Now an obvious solution seemed to present itself. Rhys Tironel saw it too.

  ‘You should join us then. Once we’ve seen this ship safely into Cadell, you can sail on with us while it’s being repaired.’

  ‘That’s a kind offer but we can’t accept it,’ said Finn.

  Marcel and Nicola both stared at him with a look that said, why not!

  Finn’s eyes fell on Nicola. ‘The young lady is away from home without her father’s permission and it’s my job to see that she returns to Elster at the first opportunity. We’ll wait in Cadell while our mast is repaired and in that time I should be able to find a ship to take her home.’

  ‘No, you won’t. I’m staying with Marcel,’ Nicola declared immediately.

  ‘With respect, Your Highness, King Pelham would expect me to send you back. The horse you used to escape from the capital will have been found by now. Your father will have guessed what you’re up to and he’ll have his soldiers searching every inch of Elsmouth to find you. When you arrive, they’ll escort you back to the palace.’

  Nicola’s face turned darker than the storm that had nearly sunk them. Before she spoke again though, she saw the bemused faces of the wizard and his wife and, not wanting to embarrass them, she moved away across the deck, making Finn follow. Even from a distance Marcel could hear much of what was said.

  ‘Duty to return … King worried sick …’ These words were Finn’s. From Nicola came, ‘Can’t give me orders … mission too important … knight as young as you …’

  Lord Tironel turned to his wife with raised eyebrows and a playful smirk on his lips. ‘I haven’t heard two people enjoy an argument as much as that since you and I settled on a wedding date.’

  Enjoy! thought Marcel, but he didn’t dwell on the word. Rhys Tironel was eyeing him closely and he could guess why. Better to confess before the man asked him.

  ‘The storm was my mistake. I conjured a wind to take us to Noam but it became too powerful.’

  The wizard nodded, then turned to his wife who saw the silent message in his eyes and went off to speak with her children. The two captains had also departed, leaving Rhys and Marcel alone.

  ‘I could feel the poorly made magic when I calmed the storm,’ Lord Tironel said. ‘Now I know who was responsible.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Marcel as his spirits sank even further. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve messed up a spell.’

  Rhys Tironel put his hand on Marcel’s shoulder and gave out a sympathetic laugh. ‘I made mistakes at first too. Don’t you have anyone to guide you?’

  Marcel shook his head. ‘I’ve had to learn all my magic from Lord Alwyn’s books.’

  ‘Lord Alwyn,’ murmured the wizard as Finn and Nicola joined them again. It seemed they’d reached a compromise, which Nicola announced bluntly.

  ‘If we don’t find a ship bound for Elster before ours is ready to sail again, then I’m coming with you to Noam.’

  Finn didn’t look pleased with the deal they’d struck but seemed relieved that the argument was over. ‘Are you going to Noam to consult the Grand Master as well?’ he asked Rhys Tironel.

  The wizard stared at him blankly. ‘Lord Denulde?’

  Marcel wondered why such a simple question should catch him out like this. ‘Yes, that’s him. There’s something we want him to do for us. Isn’t that why you’re going to Noam, to see the Grand Master?’

  This time Rhys Tironel remained silent for long, uncomfortable seconds and when finally he spoke his voice was low and melancholy. ‘I’m afraid the Master of Noam died three weeks ago. The news hasn’t reached your part of the world, it seems. If you were hoping to consult Lord Denulde, then you are too late.’

  Marcel let out a deep sigh, as though his heart had deflated inside his chest. How could he save Fergus now when the best chance to break the curse had died along with the Grand Master of Noam?

  Nicola knew none of this, of course. She had muscled her way into this journey with an entirely different aim in mind. ‘Then there’ll be no new Book of Lies,’ she said cheerfully and the radiance in her face was a match for the sunshine that had chased away the storm. She pressed closer to her brother’s side and took an eager grip on his arm. ‘I’m sorry for the poor man, Marcel, really I am, but this is better than I’d hoped for. I’ve won,’ she said, goading Finn. ‘You were going to let some dusty old magic choose a husband for me, but it can’t happen now.’

  Her petulant words jarred in Marcel’s ear and his skin began to prickle with embarrassment. ‘That’s enough, Nicola. There’s no need to gloat.’

  He searched Finn’s face, looking for signs of anger. He was a proud young soldier who’d risked his life to save them during the storm. He shouldn’t be humiliated like this. But if Finn was boiling inside, he kept the heat well hidden.

  He bowed respectfully, saying, ‘Yes, it s
eems you’ve won, Your Highness. There is no point in going to Noam, not if Denulde is dead.’ He straightened up and let his left hand rest on the hilt of his sword in a movement so natural it was almost graceful. ‘My only wish is to see you both safely back to Elster.’

  The dignity of his response only made Nicola’s outburst seem more childish. She knew it too, and with a sudden rush of tears stormed away to the rail on the far side of the ship, leaving Marcel more embarrassed than ever.

  ‘My sister is a princess, but she doesn’t always act like one,’ he said to Rhys Tironel.

  ‘A princess, from Elster,’ said the wizard, as though he was thinking out loud. ‘You mentioned Lord Alwyn a moment ago, and the princess spoke of the Book of Lies. You’re the young sorcerer they speak of, aren’t you, the one who faced down the great dragon when war threatened your father’s kingdom?’

  Marcel nodded, though without any pride in what he had somehow managed to achieve a year ago.

  ‘Were you really going to Noam to make a book like Lord Alwyn’s?’

  Since Marcel seemed reluctant, Finn stepped in to answer. ‘Yes, Lord Tironel. We hoped that the Grand Master would help Marcel create a new Book of Lies. King Pelham wants to find a good man to marry his daughter and such a book can see into a man’s heart.’

  ‘There are safer ways to do that,’ Rhys Tironel replied. ‘Not as easy, perhaps, but surely you must know the dangers that come with such magic, Marcel. The Grand Master respected Lord Alwyn’s powers but he was wary of the Book of Lies. Many sorcerers were. Lord Denulde wouldn’t have helped you, I’m afraid.’

  What did that matter? Marcel was only interested in finding a way to save Fergus from torment and death. Perhaps the truth showed too clearly in his face, or maybe Lord Tironel had magic that Marcel couldn’t imagine. Whatever the cause, the wizard’s next words left him stunned and painfully exposed.

  ‘You weren’t going to Noam to create a new Book of Lies, were you, Marcel?’

  ‘Of course he was,’ said Finn.

  Rhys Tironel held up his hand. ‘Let the boy speak for himself.’

  There was no magic in the movement of his hand, but Marcel felt strangely protected by it. ‘No, I was going to Noam to break a spell that I cast over all of Elster.’

  Finn gasped silently and his face hardened. He’d thrown off Nicola’s insults without a care, but Marcel saw suspicion creeping into his features now. He switched his eyes to Rhys Tironel instead.

  ‘I found the spell in a book written by Lord Denulde. I shouldn’t have used it. Someone close to me might die horribly if the spell isn’t broken. I was hoping the Grand Master would show me how.’

  An idea came to him, a shard of hope among his shattered plans. ‘There must be a new Grand Master soon. He might already be there, as clever and powerful as Lord Denulde. Do you think he’ll help me break the spell?’

  ‘He would if he knew how, Marcel,’ said Rhys Tironel, ‘but only the sorcerer who first conjures a new magic knows how to rescind it.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought too, but if I go to Noam anyway, maybe the new Grand Master can find a way.’

  ‘No, Marcel, the Grand Master can’t help you save your friend.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Lord Tironel stared across the wide ocean to the east, betraying a hint of weariness as though he was daunted by what awaited him over the waves. When he faced Marcel once more he delivered an answer that settled the matter. ‘Because I am the new Grand Master of Noam.’

  CHAPTER 11

  Miss Breda

  FERGUS SAT ON A stone fence at the edge of a paddock and looked down at a village not far ahead. A castle kept watch over it from a hill nearby, its pale brown walls reminding him of the palace in Elstenwyck. Behind him, Gadfly ripped luscious grasses from the roadside and ground them noisily between her teeth. ‘Lucky beast,’ he said over his shoulder. Fergus hadn’t eaten since the day before yesterday.

  That was part of the reason he’d thought of Elstenwyck. In the palace he could eat three large meals a day plus whatever he stole from under the noses of the kind-hearted cooks. Since leaving Stig’s farm he’d lost the fat that Marla’s generous meals had added to his frame. He was lean and wiry now, and still as strong as he’d ever been, but for how much longer? The enchanted sword hung from his belt. He practised with it every day, but what use was such a weapon if he was too weak to fight Damon when the moment came?

  And what was the rest of the reason he thought of Elstenwyck? A cold breeze chilled his back and above him, against a backdrop of high, wispy clouds, he could see the birds migrating to their winter home. Last winter he’d found a home for himself, and even if he hadn’t exactly chosen it, Stig’s house had kept him from the bitter snow. But his real home, where Marcel and Nicola and his father, King Pelham, awaited him, was closed to him until he found Damon.

  After Damon had escaped from him so narrowly, Fergus was forced to wait three days until the fog lifted and he could begin a search. He’d flown on Gadfly’s back above every waterway and across every shallow lake without finding a single trace. Resting on a beach where the Marshes mingled brackishly with the sea, he had met some young children foraging for mussels who told him of a ship that had come close in to shore.

  ‘Two men rowed out to it in a funny little boat. The waves swamped them and we thought they’d drown,’ one of the youngsters told him, breathlessly. ‘But the sailors threw out a line and dragged them both aboard.’

  ‘Bent Dalid has helped Damon sail to the Outer Kingdoms,’ he’d told Gadfly, and pointed the horse across the ocean in pursuit. Where had they gone ashore though? The coastline of the Outer Kingdoms ran for hundreds of miles. He had asked at every inn, enquired of every traveller he met on the roads, watched the comings and goings through the gates at every castle and grand palace along the way. All summer he had searched, for nothing.

  ‘It’s as if Damon has disappeared off the face of the earth,’ he’d complained to Gadfly. By then he was destitute once more. A horse could feed on the plentiful summer grass, but Fergus needed more than the fruit he stole from orchards after dark, and he hadn’t forgotten what a poor thief he was. He’d found work here and there for a day or two, and once or twice he’d begged for a crust of bread in the street. The humiliation had been worse than a hornet’s sting.

  It was at times like this, perched on this stone wall, alone and desperately hungry, that he admitted the truth to himself. He couldn’t go on like this; his search for Damon had failed.

  He mounted Gadfly and guided her back onto the road. ‘See that village,’ he said. ‘That’s the last one. If we don’t find Damon hiding down there, then you can fly me up among the ducks and the geese, all the way back to Elstenwyck.’

  Judging by the freshly painted houses and the late-season flowers in their window boxes, the village was a prosperous one. Fergus watched the path leading towards the castle, thinking that Damon would seek its comforts ahead of the village, but there was no sign of him and no eyes brightened at his description. He was heading back into the village, his mind set firmly on food, when a familiar face appeared briefly in a window overlooking the street. No, not Damon, but a surprise all the same.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  Fergus tethered Gadfly in a quiet lane further along the street and waited for a second glimpse to be sure he was right. The window remained closed, but an hour later there she was, emerging from the front door. Leaving Gadfly in the lane, he hurried after her along the street and when he was close enough called, ‘Tilwith.’

  The woman spun round instantly to reveal a face crammed to overflowing with a fiery anger. ‘Who called me that name?’

  There was only Fergus behind her and she quickly recognised him. ‘The boy from the forest,’ she said, looking about anxiously until she was sure that no one had heard. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘I have my own wings,’ he answered wryly.

  ‘You’ll have your own g
ravestone if you mention that name again. I’m Miss Breda these days. Now make like you’ve never seen me before and get on your way.’

  Tilwith turned to continue her swaggering progress towards the high street. Free of the grime and misery of her life with the giant, she’d become quite beautiful, made all the more noticeable by the bright green skirt and the red blouse trimmed with lace. Other women of the village wore the same fresh colours, but Tilwith outshone them all.

  ‘That woman along the street …’ he said to the next person to pass by.

  ‘You mean Miss Breda?’ replied the man, who was pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with turnips.

  ‘Yes, that’s her name. What do you know about her?’

  ‘Oh, just what others could tell you. She only arrived here a few months ago. As lovely a woman as ever you’ll meet, and she’s soon to be married too.’

  ‘Married!’

  ‘Yes, to Burgher William. You must know him, he buys and sells all the wool shorn in the district. Richest man in these parts — except for Lord Partridge, of course,’ he added with a nod towards the castle.

  ‘This Burgher William can’t have known her for long?’

  ‘Ah, but it was love at first sight, they say.’

  ‘I’ll bet it was — just like magic,’ said Fergus and his lips curled into a smile.

  ‘Well, well, our old friend’s been busy,’ he announced to Gadfly as he untied her reins shortly afterwards. ‘And she could turn out to be quite useful too.’

  HE NEEDED TO SPEAK with the witch alone and this wasn’t easy since she stayed indoors for the rest of that day, and in the evening Burgher William brought around his friends to spend the night eating and drinking with his beloved.

  It was well after midnight before Burgher William left, but Fergus was too impatient to wait until morning, when the whole day might turn out like the last. ‘There’s only one thing for it,’ he told Gadfly and, jumping onto her back, he forced her out into the deserted street. The added height meant he could clamber onto the roof below the dormer window where he’d first spied Tilwith’s face. They’ll hang me as a burglar this time, was his final thought before prising open the window.