Sartor (33 page)

She stared, aghast.
Warded!
No, it was worse than
that. This ward was stronger even than a mirror ward, which was the most
formidable type of ward she knew.

There was nothing for it. She tightened her coat and hood,
drew her gloves back on, and fixed her attention on the wall nearest that
tower. The she transferred. When the transfer-nausea faded, the cold bit into
her with fangs of ice. She looked down at crystallized moss along the worn
sentry path at her feet, and then up at the tower. Smooth white stone gleamed
beneath ivy. She could always try to bring the thrice-damned thing down. Fire
was useless against rock. Was there a loose stone somewhere? Some rubble or
mortar that could be shifted?

No. She bent and picked up a pebble. Transferring something
solid into the wall might at best make cracks—if she judged the distance
right—but it would suffice as a test.

She performed the spell, keeping her gaze on the smooth
tower wall at eye level, finished, and felt the snap of power—

The stone shattered into dust, which the wind dashed away in
a blink. She bent, picked up a smaller stone, and this time attempted to
transfer it inside the tower.

Magic glowed, blue and threatening. It flashed in echo far
in the distance, against one of the mountains.

Her stone landed with a
thok!
at her feet.

Two ineffectual tries, the transfer, and the cold left her
feeling as brittle as old leaves. With the last of her strength, she
transferred back to her spot by the fire and stood there until she’d
recovered, her hands out and head bowed to hide the reaction. Hide her defeat. Hide
the fact that no amount of magic that she could concoct any time soon was going
to make any difference to that level of power.

She closed her eyes. It wasn’t just this tower. The
weird, mysterious magic of whatever origin that she’d heard so much about
was real, and furthermore it was free again. Free, and maybe even stronger than
it had been, after the long binding.

Maybe this was why Detlev had dropped the matter into her
hands. He might know that he wasn’t going to prevail, so he was in effect
leaving someone else in charge of a disaster. No—that was too easy. This
is
Sartor
. Its loss would catch the eye of Them, in the Garden of the
Twelve.

If that was so, then the logical conclusion was that Detlev
expected her power to be great enough to prevail here.

Once, the idea would have pleased her. That was before she
stood on this frozen rampart and nearly destroyed herself concocting spells
that had about as much strength as a firefly in a rainstorm.

She had better think of something else.

She summoned one of the runners. “I am going to set
wards over the roads connecting to the city. Then I will return to the base to
make more preparations. Tell Kessler he’s in command here.”

And she transferred out.

o0o

Lilah finished exploring a very old cave with Hinder and his
friends, had a good swim at a falls, and then returned to watch Rel drilling
Mendaen’s group.

Lilah sighed inwardly. She’d already decided that a
few lessons with one of those swords wasn’t going to make her any good at
all, even with a great teacher like Rel. Nothing was going to fix the fact that
she also needed years of practice.

So she’d just stay out of the way.

Yet she wanted to ask Rel some questions. But he was so...
so... what was he? He looked so stern. No, not stern. Formidable. Yes, that was
the word. Though from Atan’s reactions the brief times Lilah saw Rel and Atan
together, he couldn’t be all that formidable. Atan had actually laughed,
which meant he had to be making jokes, even though you sure couldn’t tell
from looking at him. Deon at home was like that—made her funniest cracks
with a very straight face. Maybe it was just the fact that he was so tall and
strong-looking, and his face reminded her of those old stone carvings of
ancient heroes.

As she stood there in doubt, the drill broke up and the
sweaty kids flopped down on their mats to rest, or went to get something to eat
and drink. Up above, Atan came out of her little stone room with the newly-arrived
magician lady, who wore a rumpled dress and bare feet, even though her brown
skin and hair made it clear she was not morvende. The mage went off in the
other direction with some grownups, leaving magic lessons above, sword practice
below.

Atan looked tired as she whispered to her little cousin, who
had been playing nearby. They walked hand in hand to get some food. Lilah took
a step to join them, but then Irza crowded in behind them, and Lilah hung back.
Every time Irza was there, she always talked about dukes and duchesses and
Sartor’s great days. Atan liked hearing about the family she never got to
meet, so Lilah didn’t want to interrupt.

So she turned away and discovered Rel alone, neatening the
pile of practice sticks that the younger ones had thrown down when they ran off
to get their meal.

Since no one was around, Lilah decided to try talking to
him.

“Rel, do you mind a question?” she asked.

The craggy face turned. His expression didn’t change,
at least not overtly, but there was something in the way his dark brows curved
upward and his eyes crinkled that made her think he was smiling inside.

“How about we swap, one for one?” he said, his
voice a low rumble.

Lilah nodded, surprised. “Me? I mean, sure, but wouldn’t
it be better to ask one of the grownups or Atan?”

Rel dropped down to sit with his back to the stone, and laid
his sword gently beside him. “Maybe,” he said. Now a shadow quirked
at the corners of his mouth, definitely a smile, if not very much of one. “Go
ahead. You first.”

“I wanted to hear more about those kids you mentioned
before. The ones our age who have adventures. Where do they live? What are they
like?”

“They live in Mearsies Heili, which is on Toar. Some
distance north, and about halfway around the world either east or west. As for
what they’re like...” He shrugged. “They love jokes and fun,
but at the same time they’re fierce in defending their little kingdom.”

“Like Atan and Mendaen,” Lilah said.

Rel nodded, smiling inwardly. He’d spent his time
drilling these Sartoran kids until they were woozy from exhaustion. He never
told them that they wouldn’t be good enough, that a few days’
sweating out blade drills and footwork—no matter how long or how
earnestly they worked at it—was not going to prepare them to face
Norsunder.

They were going to face Norsunder anyway, if his decoy plan
didn’t work. So he drilled them and also listened to them talk, trying to
figure out how they thought. There was a lot about honor, for instance. Some of
that was what he thought of as real, that is, a groping toward a greater good,
but the rest of the honor-talk was the familiar, desperate not-quite-bragging
that was akin to beating one’s sword blade against a shield, a courage
booster, a way to brace oneself to face almost certain defeat.

Then, of course, there were the one or two who had a
tendency to make well-rehearsed speeches about honor and glory, as if invisible
heralds were hiding behind rocks, noting them down.

Lilah was different. She really did remind him of the
Mearsiean kids. The honor talk seemed to embarrass her. She certainly didn’t
add to it.

So, when she said, her slanted eyes apprehensive, “Your
turn. You had a question?”

“Yep. And I don’t want to accidentally stumble
over someone’s honor without knowing it.”

“Oh,” Lilah said.

“My question concerns Dorea, who told me she’s a
curtain runner. What’s that?”

Lilah gasped, then clapped her hand over her mouth lest a
snicker escape. “I
can
answer that,” she whispered. “But
it’s only because I had to read so much Sartoran history. It’s a
very old fashioned custom—at least, we don’t have it in Sarendan
anymore. Maybe they still do in other countries. But in Eidervaen and the other
big cities, only people at the highest rank issue invitations for parties and
things. Everyone else either has their parlor curtains open when they want
company after the late morning bells and before evening bells, or have them
closed if they don’t want company. Like if they’re going out to
visit.”

“So a curtain runner does what? Opens and closes the
curtains?” Rel asked. “Or does it take two or three for that job?”

“No!” Lilah saw the quirk deepen beside his
mouth. He was making a joke! “The runner goes about whatever streets he
or she is told and sees who is home and who not, and returns with the news, and
then the people decide who they’ll call on. I guess runners could be sent
out many times in a day, no matter what the weather, and they were expected to
be accurate and fast,” Lilah added. “And some were good at peeking
inside and seeing who was there, but they weren’t supposed to be caught
at it. That would be vulgar.”

Rel nodded. “Now I see why Dorea mentioned it. She’s
got amazing endurance.”

A new voice interrupted. “Anyone hungry?”

Rel and Lilah looked up. Here was Atan, alone. Lilah glanced
past her and discovered little Julian sitting with Irza and her sister close on
either side, like two pieces of bread outside of a piece of cheese. Julian’s
round face turned, her eyes wistful, then Irza whispered something, and the
little girl turned back.

“I can wait,” Lilah said.

Rel lifted a shoulder. “So can I. Turn anyone into a
snake today?”

He said it with no change in expression, and Atan replied in
her quiet, serious voice, “Rocks. Half a hundred fewer morvende, lots
more rocks.”

“So that’s where they get ’em all,”
Rel said, and smacked his hand against the rock he leaned against. “Did I
know this one?”

“A nosy traveler,” Atan said.

Lilah’s mouth opened. They were joking! Just like
Lilah had joked with her fellow adventurers in Sarendan! She gawked in
surprise. Nobody’d
ever
gotten Atan to joke like that before!

Then, without any change in his face, Rel said, “We’re
looking as good as we can.” His voice had changed slightly, and he tipped
his head. This time the chin pointed in Mendaen’s direction. He was
serious again.

So was Atan. “And I finished preparing my spells,”
she said. Swallowed. No, tried to swallow. She discovered her throat was too
dry, that it hurt, that saying the words would make it real.

But she said them anyway. “So I guess this is it. After
we get a good sleep, we’re starting for Eidervaen.”

Atan’s inner nightmare began when Rel appeared to say
goodbye. He didn’t stay long, only smiled, lifted his hand, and said,
“Fare well. We’ll meet again in the city.”

He walked away. Atan watched him go, surprised at the sharp
sense of loss that hurt behind her ribs.

She tried to banish it by keeping busy, making certain
everyone was ready, had eaten, had thanked their hosts, and had dressed warmly.
But her wish to depart with good spirits and gratitude expressed toward their
morvende hosts smashed against Julian’s sudden, shockingly wild weeping.
“I won’t stay, I won’t, I won’t!” Her voice rose
to a shrill screech.

She pushed away from Coral, Hinder’s mother, who had
been so kind to Julian, and whom Julian had seemed to like.

Atan stared in dismay, unable to move, even to speak. The
line of kids had frozen, everyone looking back. At her. For a decision.

Atan didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t take a
six year old into Eidervaen, not with Norsundrians swarming everywhere!

Irza left the line and marched up to Julian. “You
said
you would stay with Coral,” she said in a coaxing voice that did not
quite hide her exasperation.

“I thought everybody was staying,” Julian howled.
“You can’t leave me!”

“You are being willful and troublesome,” Irza
whispered, but her voice carried. She didn’t care if anyone heard,
because it was
true
.

Atan gripped her hands tightly together. She understood that
Julian was being both willful and troublesome, but was that a bad thing when
you were six and you thought you were being abandoned?

It’s a dangerous thing
, Atan thought.
I
would be completely wrong to bring a six year old. But aren’t I just as
wrong to bring these others, some of whom are only a few years older?

“I
won’t
stay, I
won’t
stay,” Julian sobbed. “Atan, you
promised
...”

Irza knelt down and took Julian’s shoulders.
“Can’t you see we don’t want you on this quest?” she
hissed.

Atan’s nerves flared. She didn’t want to see how
many agreed—she pushed forward, held out her hands, hoping no one else
saw how they trembled, and said, “Julian, come with me. But you will have
to be as a mouse when we need you to. All right?”

Julian shoved past Irza and ran to Atan, and though she
still hiccoughed, and her face was wet with tears and snot, she was no longer
crying.

Atan said over her head to Coral, “I’m
sorry.”

Hinder’s mother looked sad, but all she said was,
“The child seems to need you. And you are all in danger.”

Her soft words hit Atan like an invisible fist. Atan drew in
a breath. “Let’s be quick.”

The trip didn’t take long. Julian clung tightly to
Atan’s hand, but when it came time to move up the last tunnel in the
dark, Arlas and Irza caught up, and Arlas whispered to Julian, “We do
want you, Julian. We do, it’s just we didn’t want you in danger,
and that’s where we’re going.”

Irza said, “That’s right.”

Julian replied, “I will be quiet as a mouse.”
She hiccoughed. “But you promised, Atan. You promised.”

“What did I promise?” Atan asked. “I
didn’t think I promised to take you into danger.”

To Julian, that meant nothing. “You promised not to
leave me behind.”