Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

  Borya laid a canvas pack on the table. “It should fit in here,” he said. “There’s room for some of the scrolls, too, if you think they’re important.” Blaine slipped the Tollerby box into the pack, along with the more unusual scrolls, and tied it shut.

  “Let’s take a look at the top floor, then get back to the lyceum before the weather shifts,” Geir said.

  It grew colder as they climbed, so Blaine was not surprised to find that the windows on the topmost floor of the observatory were broken, leaving it exposed to the elements. A telescope remained, but it had been left to the weather long enough that Blaine was sure it was ruined. If the scholars had left scrolls or other papers on the rain-roughened desk, they had long ago blown away or been destroyed by the birds that had claimed the observatory for their own.

  “Let’s hope there was nothing of value here,” Geir said. “We’ll make a quick search and then it’s time to go.”

  They made their way carefully down the winding stairs, then paused in the entranceway to secure themselves to the rope once more. Blaine shivered as Geir opened the door and reached out a hand to steady himself. His head spun for a moment as the fever raged inside him. The wind had picked up, and snow had begun to fall heavily. Clouds drifted across the moon, deepening the shadows. A layer of fresh snow covered the paving stones outside the observatory’s doorway, making the footing slippery.

  Once again, they filed down the steep rocky steps. While Blaine had been able to force his attention away from the sheer drop on the way up, it was impossible to descend without being constantly aware that the right side of the steps fell away into nothingness. Snow made the footing tricky, and by the time they were a third of the way down, Blaine’s left hand was bruised and cut from grasping the stone cliff side to steady him. His injured leg threatened to buckle under him, and the gash in his arm made his grip too weak to trust. Even Borya moved cautiously, though Geir seemed unaffected by either the weather or the steep descent.

  Borya may have grown up on the flatlands, but he has the dexterity of a mountain goat, Blaine thought. Geir could have probably levitated up here on his own. The mines in Velant were as steep, but too dark for us to see the drop-offs, and belowground we didn’t have snow, thank the gods.

  Blaine’s boot slipped on an icy stair, and he grabbed for the rock wall an instant too late. “Watch out!” he shouted, but he was already falling over the side, into the shadows. Blaine flailed, trying to reach a handhold, and the sharp rock sliced into his skin. For an awful moment, he feared he would pull the others with him, but then he jerked to a halt as the rope caught around his waist, nearly causing him to heave up his dinner. He swung back to slam against the rocky side of the steps with a bone-jarring thud.

  “Still with us, Blaine?” Borya called.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Blaine responded, catching his breath as his heart thudded.

  “I’m going to pull you up,” Geir said. “I can’t levitate down with both of you. Grip the rope – it will make it easier on you,” he added. Blaine kicked against the rock to right himself and hung on to the rope as Geir lifted hand over hand. Finally, Blaine scrabbled back onto the narrow staircase.

  “Thank the gods for the rope. Though I was afraid you’d be pulled with me,” he said, still feeling his heart pounding in his throat.

  “Even if both of you fell, you wouldn’t budge me,” Geir assured him, “though it would be uncomfortable for everyone.”

  “I managed to grab a handhold, but you gave me a nasty jolt,” Borya said. “Glad we had the rope.”

  The rest of the descent went without incident, though Blaine was glad for the darkness, because he was certain he was still shaking even after they reached the ground. His fever was making it difficult to think clearly, and while he was likely to have bruises and rope burns from the mishap on the stairs, the injuries from the fight with the gryps were painful enough that he barely noticed.

  Blaine had not thought that after Edgeland he would ever feel cold again, but the wind was bitter, and small ice crystals in the air stung his face. He was grateful when they reached the lyceum and stepped into the entranceway. Kestel and Piran rushed out to meet them.

  “Well?” Kestel asked, eyes bright with curiosity. “Did you find anything?”

  Blaine untied Borya’s pack and carefully withdrew the Tollerby box. “I’ve got a puzzle for Verran,” he said. “Everything else was out in the open. Makes me wonder what they thought was important enough to lock up.”

  Kestel led them up the stairs into the library, where a fire danced in the fireplace and the room smelled of dinner and old parchment. Blaine was glad that Kestel was in the front, otherwise she might have noticed the limp he could no longer hide. He wondered if he looked as pale as he felt.

  When they reached the library, Blaine, Geir, and Borya recounted their search of the observatory, and Blaine was grateful they did not dwell on his mishap. Kestel gave him a worried glance but said nothing.

  “Oh, that’s a beauty,” Verran said when he finally had the chance to examine the box. “Inlaid mahogany, hidden hinges, and the scrollwork on the lock itself is magnificent.”

  “Just open the bloody thing,” Piran grumbled.

  Verran sighed. “Barbarian.”

  Piran leaned toward him. “You know I am. So get going before I find a big rock and smash it open.”

  “No appreciation for fine art,” Verran muttered, but he bent to his task. He worked in silence for several moments, and they could hear the quiet clicking of the mechanism. “You’ve got to give me space when I open the lock,” he warned. “These Tollerby mechanisms shoot out a dart, just in case you’re the wrong person.”

  They moved away from the table, and Verran gently angled the box as he depressed the lock. A small dart shot out with deadly speed and thudded into the wood of the bookshelf. Verran straightened, laced his fingers, and cracked his knuckles, then stood over the box grinning. “Let’s see what was so important,” he said as he opened the lid.

  Inside was a curled scrap of old parchment. Kestel reached in and carefully unrolled the parchment, then sharply drew in her breath. “I think it’s part of one of Valtyr’s maps,” she said, holding the paper to Blaine. “It’s the right age, and it has symbols that match the ones on the obsidian disks. But I’m not sure why they thought it needed to be locked away.”

  Blaine cleared away the remnants of dinner and pushed aside the heavy, wood-bound book that had nearly fallen on Kestel, then he spread out the torn map. He was growing unsteady on his feet and wished for nothing more than the chance to lie down, but instead he pulled up a chair and turned his attention to the maps.

  Kestel, Zaryae, and Illarion crowded behind him. “Long ago, there were four maps made by a mage named Valtyr,” Blaine said for the benefit of Illarion’s troupe. “Three of them were stolen. We’ve found two of them: one of Edgeland, and one of the Continent.”

  “Where are those maps now?” Illarion asked.

  “We have the Edgeland map with us,” Blaine replied. “Connor has his map of the Continent, and another disk. We were separated from him and from Lord Penhallow when we were attacked by Lord Reese’s talishte.”

  “I have a tracing of that map,” Kestel said and produced the thin silk scarf onto which she had marked the main nodes and null places from Connor’s map. “This map from the observatory would be the third of Valtyr’s missing maps.”

  Blaine studied the yellowed parchment. “This is a star map – or part of one,” he said. “Similar to what I was trying to re-create at Glenreith. Look, there’s Torven’s constellation, and Esthrane’s stars, Woman in Childbirth.” The map clearly showed and named the stars and also gave the faint tracing for the fanciful pictures that had been ascribed to the constellations long ago.

  Illarion bent closer for a better look. “If I’m not mistaken, some of the stars are noted differently from the others. Look,” he said, pointing to the top star in Torven’s K-shaped grouping, the tip of the conju
ror’s outstretched wand. “This star is noted with two concentric circles. While this one,” he said, noting the star at the bottom of the left foot, “has only a hollow circle. Most of the rest of the stars are marked with a solid circle.”

  “We know that the pattern of null and powerful places on the Continent correlated to the patterns of the constellations for Torven, Charrot, and Esthrane,” Kestel mused. “Do you think the stars themselves may have figured in the magic?”

  “Of course they do,” Zaryae answered. “This star, Arktoriphe,” she said, pointing to the tip in Torven’s wand, “has very strong magic. When it’s overhead, both magic and divination are easier to work, with better results.”

  She pointed to the star in the heel of Torven’s foot. “But this star, Letikonon, is bad magic. When it’s brightest, magic dims. Seers can’t read the signs. Working magic becomes dangerous.”

  “But we’ve only got part of the map,” Kestel said, straightening. “We don’t even know whether we’ve got the most important part or not. And for all we know, the other piece could have been destroyed centuries ago.”

  “Or maybe the most important piece was salvaged,” Blaine countered. “There’s no way of knowing. It would help to find the fourth map.”

  “The night’s still young, and we’ve got nowhere else to go,” Kestel said, stretching. “Why don’t we see what we can find here in the library?”

  “I agree,” Geir said. “While the lyceum is a comfortable shelter from the storm, it would be unwise to stay long. Best to find what we can and be on our way as soon as possible.”

  “All right, I’m game,” Piran replied. “What are we looking for?”

  Blaine drew a deep breath and looked around the library. Its walls were covered with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and each of the shelves was full. “Maps, for starters. If you find anything that looks like a disk, give a shout. Beyond that,” he said, and gave a shrug, “if a book seems to call to you, perhaps it’s our spirits at work.”

  The others set about their tasks, but Kestel hung back. She laid a hand on his arm. “You don’t look so good,” she said worriedly. She raised the back of her hand to touch his forehead, and her eyes widened in concern. “You’re hot with fever.”

  Blaine shrugged. “Just tired. I’ll be all right.” Kestel’s expression let him know that she did not believe him.

  The next few candlemarks passed in near-silence as they worked. From time to time, someone would select a book and lay it to the side for closer inspection. Blaine remained alert to the movement of the shadows, but for now, they were still.

  Kestel carefully laid out Ifrem’s map of Edgeland and the drawing she had made on a silk shawl that allowed her to overlay that map with Connor’s map of the Continent. She took out the two disks and began to compare them to the markings on the maps. The heavy wood-bound book was useful for anchoring the top of Ifrem’s map to keep it from curling, and she used some coins from her pouch to secure the bottom corners. After a few moments, she left the study table and began to rummage in the drawers of a nearby desk until she found blank parchment, a quill, and ink so she could note her findings.

  Geir’s ability to climb and levitate meant he was the choice to examine the topmost volumes. Borya took his turn at watch, taking up a position in the darkened entranceway. That left the others to divide up the bookcases.

  “Here’s hoping that the information we need is in a language we can read,” Verran muttered, paging through a volume in a language Blaine did not recognize. “It could take forever to look through all the books that aren’t written in the Common Tongue or in Donderan.”

  “A map is a map,” Piran said. “If you find something that looks like that damn map of Ifrem’s, it doesn’t bloody matter what language it’s in.” He gestured toward where Kestel was comparing the maps. “It’s not as if we can read all the squiggles and marks anyway.”

  “The null spots and places of power on the star map definitely match up to my drawing of Connor’s map,” Kestel announced, glowing with pride. She put her hands at the small of her back and bent backward, stretching. “And from what I can tell, there are several places, both null and powerful, that are like the lyceum – not main cities or manor houses. A few of them are completely in the wilderness, either in the mountains or out on the far plains.”

  “Good hiding places, perhaps, if you were being hunted by the king,” Geir remarked. “The Knights were warriors, and many of them were talishte. Being in the wilderness would be a small price to pay for safety.”

  Outside, the wind whipped through the ruined upper floor, howling past the opening where the stairs had been. Geir and Borya maneuvered a few large wooden panels into place to keep the cold gusts from sweeping through the entranceway, but the storm still whistled across the broken timbers.

  “Blaine, Kestel, come here,” Geir called suddenly. “Bring a lantern.” Blaine and the others moved into the large foyer.

  “Look at the ceiling,” Geir said.

  Blaine lifted the lantern. He could make out a random patter of dots. “All right…” he said skeptically.

  “Now come up onto the stairway, and look down at the mosaic on the floor,” Geir replied.

  “I’ll go,” Kestel said quietly, guessing that Blaine had no desire to climb more steps. She took the lantern and moved to where Geir stood.

  For the first time in several candlemarks, Blaine noticed that the shadows seemed to move on their own again, shifting even when his lantern did not reach their depths. Our ghost friends are interested in what we find, he thought.

  From the top of the stairs, Kestel looked at the floor below. “Down there, it just looks like a rather pretty bunch of colors,” she said. “But from up here —”

  “It’s a map of the Continent,” Geir finished. “And I’m betting that the dots overhead match the star map.”

  Piran had followed them out to the entranceway. “I don’t get it,” he said. “If the maps are a big secret, why make them into something everyone sees?”

  Kestel chuckled. “It’s called ‘hiding in plain sight,’” she replied. “So what if the lyceum had a map of the Continent on the floor? No one would think anything of it, unless they knew about Valtyr’s maps. Even if someone figured out that the dots were stars, who would care? They’d expect to see sky over land.”

  “This building is old,” Geir said. “Whoever created the ceiling and floor art would have done it before the maps were stolen.”

  “I’ve got the tracing of Connor’s map of the Continent, showing the places of power,” Kestel said excitedly. “In daylight, we can find a way to transfer the tracing to the map on the floor.” She looked upward. “Then, if we take the tracing up to the ceiling, we should be able to match the places of power and no-power to the stars. That should give us the missing portion of the star map,” she said with a grin.

  “But what does that tell us?” Piran grumbled. “That we don’t already know?”

  “It shows the position of the stars over the land at a specific time of the year,” Illarion answered. “From that, an astronomer could calculate the date – and the location.”

  “The time of year is important for a mage,” Zaryae said. “The solstice and the equinox are dates of great power, and many mages plan their workings for those dates because the magic is strongest then.”

  Blaine looked to Illarion. “We’re not far out from the solstice. If the Cataclysm disrupted the magic, would the solstice be our best shot to bind the magic again?”

  “It’s something to consider,” Illarion replied. “But if you believe the solstice would help you restore the magic, it doesn’t leave much time to figure out exactly how you’re supposed to do that.”

  They filed back into the library, and Blaine sank into a chair by the fire, while Geir began to pace. Blaine stretched out his injured leg, trying to find a comfortable position. He rested his hand on his thigh, then quickly moved it when even the light pressure was too painful to b
ear.

  “Magic waxes and wanes for many reasons,” Zaryae said. She had taken a seat next to the fireplace, and the flickering flames cast her face in light and shadow. “The time of day, the weather, the skill, and the power of the one wielding the power – and the time of the year.”

  The wind tore at the shutters, whistling across the slats, while outside the storm raged, and the wind made the fire billow. Somewhere in an adjacent room, a loose shutter banged against the stone walls.

  “So magic is stronger some days than others?” Blaine mused. He looked to Geir and Illarion. “And an astrologer could tell the date by the position of the stars?”

  Both men nodded. “Certainly, if the stars and their positions were detailed enough.”

  “Which means that the entranceway marks a particular date,” Verran said, his previous reluctance gone now that he was warm. “But we have no way to know what was special about that date. It might not have anything to do with bringing back magic. Maybe it’s the date the lyceum was built, or the head mage’s birthday.”