“Rin, you are a seasoned warrior, and I welcome your aid, but I have no right to throw this little one into danger that she is unprepared to handle.”
“Don’t, Edynn,” Tildi said, alarmed. She didn’t want to be sent back, not when she had talked herself into going! “I’m willing to take the risk.
I told you so, and I have not changed my mind. I have scores of my own to settle with him. I want to help catch him.”
Edynn shook her head. “We’ll stay closer to you. But now we have got an insurmountable problem,” she said, looking down over the bluff into the river below. “How far are we from the nearest bridge?”
Teryn consulted the map. “I reckon it to be about thirty-five miles to the northwest of here.”
“Yes, I imagined it was something like that. I put it to you that our thief did not go out of his way to take it. Nor could he have gained so much distance on us in an ordinary fashion. I fear we will have to fly, in hopes of catching up.”
“Fly?” Tildi asked nervously. She had not forgotten her ride on Sihine’s back. “Is there no other way?”
Edynn was resolute. “If our quarry has become aware of us, and is willing to attack, we have no time to lose in catching up with him. He has killed, and he is making use of the book. We need to make haste. I believe I can support all our beasts on the air for at least a while each day.”
Serafina looked worried. “Let me make the spell, Mother. I don’t wish you to put yourself at risk of exhaustion. You will want to be ready if we come upon the thief.” Tildi looked away, not wanting to embarrass Serafina by gazing at her with the admiration she felt. Once again she was impressed and touched by the solicitousness of daughter for mother. Serafina turned to her, the tender moment past. “And you can help, too, smallfolk,” she snapped. Tildi opened her mouth and closed it again. Sympathy warred with annoyance, but sympathy won.
“I would be glad to,” she said, keeping her temper under control. “Please tell me what to do.”
Serafina, mollified by Tildi’s easy acquiescence, taught her the spell to harden the air, so that each horse would find solid footing each time he or she set a hoof down. Tildi recited it several times before she succeeded. At last she was able to pat the air with her hand, and was pleased that it felt like solid ground under her palm. Under Serafina’s direction, she laid the charm on Rin’s feet and on Lakanta’s horse, Melune.
“Are we ready then?” Edynn beamed at her two apprentices. “Let’s go!”
She set her heels to her mare’s sides and rode straight for the cliff’s edge. Tildi held her breath as the wizardess stepped out into thin air. Instead of plummeting down to her death, she continued to ride out as
though she was on an invisible bridge. Teryn took a deep breath, and spurred after her, followed by Morag and the packhorse.
“Here goes nothing,” Lakanta said cheerfully. “Let’s see how good your work is, Tildi.”
“Race you!” Rin called. She burst into a running trot, easily outdistancing the stout horse.
“Unfair!” Lakanta’s voice receded behind them. Tildi held tight to Rin’s mane. The thundering of the centaur’s hooves echoed on the ground, then there was no noise. Tildi screwed her eyes shut, hoping that her spell would hold.
“Oh, this is marvelous! Such nice firm footing, like running on loam! Look down there, Tildi!” she cried. “The trees look like puffs of green smoke!”
Tildi opened her eyes. She took one look down, and resolutely stared straight up. They were miles above the land. The river was a blue thread, and all the plants had blurred together into masses of green and gold. Her heart pounded so much she could barely breathe. She tried to feel what her brothers’ delight would be at a treat like this, but all she wanted was to be back on the ground. The clouds above looked so soft. What would it be like when she fell?
“You can’t panic!” Edynn shouted to her. “You must guide us, Tildi! Think! Where is the book? Don’t look down.”
Easier said than done,
Tildi thought. With an effort of will, she pulled her chin down and squinted over Rin’s shoulder.
Concentrate on the rune in your mind,
she told herself firmly.
Only on that. Only on that.
A faint dot of gold glinted off to her right. “That way!” she cried, pointing toward it.
The others turned to follow her. Tildi kept her eyes focused upon the tiny point, and nothing else.
M
agpie knelt on the cold stone steps before the winged throne of his father, who left him in that uncomfortable pose for a very long time while the king attended to other business. Behind him, gentlemen and ladies in waiting, clad in their day-to-day court finery, stood in rows between the gilded pillars that held up the round ceiling of the royal receiving chamber, resplendent with its lapis lazuli and white quartz mosaic of a gigantic eagle in flight over a green and fertile landscape. Though they undoubtedly had urgent business they wanted to bring before the king they also waited with the semblance of patience, but their knees were not wearing out.
At last, he felt a touch on his shoulder, and rose, silently cursing the stiffness in his legs.
“So you’re back at last, are you?” his father demanded. “Well? What was the urgent summons in aid of?”
King Soliandur, lord of Orontae, looked his son up and down and shook his head in weary disapproval. Magpie had been given no time to change out of his dirty and worn riding clothes, and fervently wished he had a chance to wash his face, but the very young page who had scrambled to his horse’s side when he rattled into the courtyard an hour before had pleaded for him to attend His Majesty at once. Magpie had long since stopped smelling his own odor, but from the wrinkling of his father’s nostrils it must have been, well, breathtaking.
For the first time in a few months Magpie took the opportunity to study his father. He was still a fine-looking man, with a sharp profile and wise eyes surrounded by lines. Time and care had claimed an inch from his height, which in his youth was the same as Magpie stood now. His thick, dark hair under the circle of his crown was shot with more silver than it had been when Magpie had departed, and the lines around his mouth had deepened. The knee-length tunic, embroidered with the sigil of their house, and worn over loose trousers woven of silk and trimmed with gold, seemed just a little too large for him. Cares were eroding him, like water wearing away a stone. Magpie felt deeply sorry for him, and chose to ignore the disapproving tone. He put on the most responsible expression he possessed and straightened his back. In ringing tones, he addressed his father but pitched his voice to fill the throne room to the banners hanging from the tops of the walls.
“Yes, Father. I have much important news to tell you. I attended the conference as your emissary. Lord Wizard Olen sends his greetings, from one noble prince to another.”
Soliandur, monarch of Orontae, lord of the High Lands, duke of the Wilds, protector of the first of the Noble Kingdoms of Humans, hissed through his teeth. He hated to think of his youngest son in any position of authority on behalf of the kingdom or himself. It took no imagination to understand that Soliandur was grateful that he had two older sons than the one he understood the least, and a handful of daughters, if it came to that. Magpie could disappear without a trace one day, and his father would be the most grateful among the mourners. Magpie’s mother, who smiled at him from behind her husband’s shoulder, often said that they were too much alike to get along. That was a comparison that Magpie devoutly hoped was not true. While he admitted that both of them
overthought matters to the point where a lesser being would scream for mercy, he prayed that there was not so much bitterness and disappointment existing at the bottom of his soul. He continued.
“In attendance were representatives of the realms of—”
“Enough!” Soliandur said sharply. Magpie fell instantly silent, wondering how he had made a misstep this time.
The king looked around the audience chamber at the court, regarding them all with an expression that Magpie found all too familiar: distrust.
“We will talk in private. Come with me,” Soliandur said.
Obediently, Magpie stood aside as his father swept down the stone stairs and off across the polished inlaid floor. His mother followed. With her light hair turning gently gray and her pale blue dress, Lottcheva was a shining silver presence that lightened her husband’s angry aura. She paused to touch Magpie’s cheek with her fingers.
“We’ll talk later,” she whispered. Magpie smiled at her. At least one of his parents was glad to see him safe and alive.
“Hem!” the prime minister cleared his throat to hurry them along. Magpie met his eyes and gave him a wry grin. He knew that Hawarti sympathized with him. They had worked closely together in the years since Magpie had attained his majority, and liked each other. Magpie would have been better pleased if his mother had said he had the same personality as the genial Lord Hawarti. He knew the same notion was in both their minds: it would be wrong to present the possibility of bad news in public. The king would not like it. He had lost his tolerance for bad news years before.
Magpie opened his stride to keep pace with the big man. Ahead of them, the pages and guards had had to break into a near run to stay ahead of the king. Doors flew open and curtains were swept aside as if by magic. The last door swung open half a pace before the king’s foot crossed the threshold. The guards drew their swords and held them by the hilts point up before them as His Majesty passed, then swung around to follow Hawarti and Magpie into the small room.
Magpie looked around him. Little had changed there over the years. The king’s privy chamber had been, in happier days, where Soliandur spent rest day afternoons reading documents sent to him by his regional governors and sister or brother monarchs as his children played on the floor about his feet, creeping underneath the priceless burgundy silk draperies or spinning the world globe in the corner. He had let them use
the royal seal and glass desk ornaments as playthings, and given them quills and ink to draw on the back of discarded letters. Magpie always felt a sense of loss to have been banned long since from the chamber unless specifically requested to come. Since the war the room had become Soliandur’s sanctuary.
If he had not been so proud,
Magpie thought sadly,
Soliandur would have been able to share his frustration and grief, and lessen the burden.
His father waved the guards back as he and the prime minister entered the chamber. The king sat down in the gold-trimmed, tapestry chair at the handsome bronze and wood desk that had been his father’s, his grandfather’s, and his great-grandmother’s before him. Hawarti took up his usual stance near the door, which the guards closed behind them as soon as Magpie had crossed the threshold.
“Well?” His Majesty demanded, not father but sovereign. Magpie was not invited to sit. No matter: he’d sat on his horse’s back for more than a week returning home. It was a relief to be able to stand.
“Master Wizard Olen sends his compliments, majesty. There is a grave threat abroad in Niombra, and he wishes to have all lands advised of it …”
Hours later, his throat dry as leather, Magpie croaked out the last words.
“ … He begs you, your ministers and governors, watchmen, or any sane and trusted observer to send word at once if any of them sees anything out of the ordinary that could be a manifestation of this very dangerous book’s power.”
Soliandur looked displeased. He had not shifted his pose or changed his expression during the entire recitation, as if he was a statue instead of a man.
“And is that all?”
“All?” Magpie echoed, his dry throat rasping. “I hate to say it in such dire terms, my lord, but it’s not a doomsayer’s fantasy to say this book could bring about the end of the world.”
The king waved a hand. “Olen has always exaggerated everything. And even if this book is dangerous, then what does it matter? Knowing about the book won’t change anything, and won’t help us in any way. All it can bring is more trouble.”
“Sir, I have seen a demonstration of what the book represents. It is the most incredible magic—”
“There, you see, you have said the word yourself:
incredible
. I don’t
believe in it. Ah!” He held up his hand to forestall Magpie’s protest. “And any other powers he may want to ascribe to it are obviously a collusion between himself and his apprentice.”
“Tildi. But it’s not a trick …”
Soliandur wrinkled his nose. “Of course, it’s a trick! It’s clear he wants it for himself, boy, and he wants to scare the rest of us out of wanting to do the same. That way, if we come upon it, we’ll turn it over to him and be grateful to do it. Don’t you see that? Can’t you tell when you’re being played?” A pained expression passed over the king’s face.
Magpie refrained from saying that the king had not been played, he had played himself, and continued to suffer for it, long after most people had gone about their business. Because Magpie loved and respected him, he felt sorry for him, but kept that sentiment to himself. It would only make things worse.
“I … understand, my lord. I only report the events that occurred in the meeting, for your information. Whether you take action upon any of what I have told you is, of course, your decision. I only want to help.”
“Help?” Soliandur echoed, with heavy sarcasm. “If you really wish to help, see if you cannot find it in your heart to visit your fiancée. There you may
help
.”
“Has she sent word?” Magpie asked, his heart sinking.
“Of course she has sent word! Not that she should need to. What kind of unnatural man are you, when you make no effort to communicate with the woman to whom you have pledged marriage?”
“Father, because the matter is so likely to provoke overreaction in public, Olen asked that the conference be kept confidential except among trusted and thoughtful advisers. I didn’t want to send a message that might have been read in transit, and would surely have been seen by servants or others after it was delivered, that would have included my destination or my task.”
“And yet you were about to announce the event to the entire court, like a herald!” Soliandur spat.
Magpie bent his head. “You received me and asked me for my report in the audience chamber, Father.” Soliandur frowned.
“Blame me for it, will you?”
Magpie glanced up at Hawarti, standing at His Majesty’s shoulder. The prime minister sent him a look full of sympathy. There had been trouble while he was gone, and he was going to take the blame for it. Never mind; it was only one more stone in the load.
Magpie straightened his shoulders. “Forgive me. I should have insisted that I must tell you alone. You have other matters to concentrate upon.”
Soliandur reddened. “Don’t patronize me, boy.” He waved a hand. “Go. If the girl has any sense she’ll send you away, but it won’t be because I let you shirk your duties. Go.”
“Yes, my lord.” Magpie bowed deeply. “I’ll try to keep her from regretting accepting my suit.”
“Go!”
M
agpie strode back into the courtyard in search of Tessera, but the multicolored mare wasn’t where he had tethered her. He searched the stables, dodging around grooms walking horses, until he found Covani, the stable master, overseeing the shoeing of a skittish mare. He asked about his missing horse.
“My lord, she was caked with sweat and dust,” the master groom said, with a reproachful frown. He was a rangy man with wide-set brown eyes, not unlike his equine charges. “She’s getting a bath and a sound rubdown, then out to pasture for a nice, calm feed. You’ve ridden her too hard without giving her a good clean for too long.”
Magpie sighed. “That I have. There was no good place or time to care for her along the road. But I have to ride to Levrenn within the hour. How long until she’ll be ready?”
“I’ll find you another steed, sir.”
“What about Tessera?”
The horseman shook his head. “You may push yourself like a machine, sir, but you can’t expect a horse to run forever on no rest. She’d break her heart open for you and bleed out her last drop, but it’s not fair to ask her, sir. She needs rest and care.” The master ostler gave him a summing glance. “It would not hurt you at all to have the same. Unless the matter is urgent?”
Magpie grinned wryly. “No, and you’re right. I’ll go and be curried and eat my oats. I’ll be much more presentable to my ladylove that way. If I can stay out of my father’s path I’ll go in the morning.”
“That’s wise thinking, sir,” the master ostler said. With a sudden broad smile, he added, “I’m not supposed to know it, but the stableboys skip out work and nap on the hay bales back behind the tack barn just under the eaves. If another couple of bales happened to be occupied this afternoon I wouldn’t be able to tell who it was.”
Magpie laughed. “I may yet have to take you up on your hospitality, Master Covani.”
He did not have to go to any great lengths to avoid his father. As it was a workday, His Majesty would be in the audience room or his private office all day, then dine in state, with visitors of rank, if there were any. Magpie felt fortunate to recognize on one of the closed carriages at the side of the stable yard the family sigil of a wealthy mine owner who lived in Breckon, the eastern province of Orontae, where his brother Ganidur was governor. That would keep Soliandur’s attention firmly placed, and he wouldn’t be on the lookout for an errant son.