Something like impatience edged his voice.
She nodded, reluctantly, distracted.
“What do you recall of your childhood?”
The question was so simple and direct, it pulled her out of her own whirlpool of thought.
“I remember lots of things,” she said.
“Of course,” he said, “but I mean from when you were very little.”
“You mean when I was a baby?”
“A toddler, let us say. What are your earliest memories?”
She didn’t like the question. It probed at her unpleasantly. He was after something, but she couldn’t see what.
“It’s hard to say. Just glimpses, I suppose. Of the sea. The light tower. The white walls of the cenobitum. I remember the first time I flew, but that was not so very long ago.”
“I’m sure you do,” Saveric said. “A memorable event. But I mean earlier. Do you remember the day you came to Saldemer?”
“No, I was a baby, so I wouldn’t remember. Obviously.”
“Obviously. Picture your earliest memory, just whatever comes to you. Take a moment. Close your eyes—don’t worry, my staff is over there.”
She was not concerned that he would attack her. If he really was dangerous, it would be in some other way. She closed her eyes and sorted through memories. She chose one, and opened her eyes again.
“Do you have one?”
“I do.”
“How old are you, in this memory?”
She shrugged. “Eight or nine, I guess.”
An instant of surprise crossed his face, followed by a look of confirmation.
“Nothing younger? Age six or five, let us say?”
“No. Nobody remembers when they were little.”
“Indeed,” the wizard said quietly. “Just so.” He looked at her for some time. She fretted under the gaze. Was that pity? Or calculation? She felt as if she were being weighed on scales she could neither see nor understand. Silence settled, then Saveric cocked his head.
“Your friends look for you. They are worried.”
Then she heard it, the deep tones of an elf chevalier calling her name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Redoubt
“When he sees me, he may attack. I must beg your protection, Talysse. You see I leave my staff on the ground.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“I trust you, whether or not you believe in me. You want answers above all, and I am the only one who can take you to them.”
Talysse stood and placed herself between Saveric and the sound of voices. She noted he had moved closer to his staff. So, she thought, you don’t trust me as much as you pretend.
“Lyssie!”
A gnome’s shriek is high and sharp, but to Talysse it sounded as sweet as birdsong. Detta rushed toward her, then stopped suddenly and pointed.
“Him.”
“Yes, him. It’s all right, Detta. We’ve been talking. He’s going to help us.”
“Do you want me not to kill him, then?”
Gonsallo appeared on the far side of the little meadow, only a few steps from the wizard, his knife at the ready.
“Please do not,” Talysse said quickly.
Jehan burst into the scene, complete with armor and sword. He seemed to take in the situation with a single glance. He lowered his sword but did not sheathe it, positioning himself between Saveric and Talysse.
“I am glad you are safe,” he said.
“Could we not take him prisoner?” Gonsallo inquired. “Capturing is not killing.”
Talysse spent the next half hour persuading her friends that Saveric was not going to hurt her; on the contrary, he was going to help. Saveric remained silent, letting her make his case.
They all argued against it, of course. He had tried multiple times to take her by force. He was treacherous. He would turn on them all at the first opportunity, the way the dwarf had done.
That stung. Talysse was ashamed that she had abandoned her friends. She chose not to say anything about how close she’d come to falling, though Detta did fuss over her scratches. Jehan chose to stay silent about that.
In the end, one fact was incontrovertible: They were deep in the mountains without supplies, and the wizard was their best hope of finding the Redoubt.
“It is not far,” Saveric said when at last he spoke. “Less than a day away, if you but go in the right direction.”
Saveric proved as good as his word. He led them through a narrow, almost trackless valley thick with trees, then onto a plateau completely ringed with mountains. He pointed to the tallest.
“I saw it from the air, earlier,” Talysse said.
Saveric glanced at her. “You possess a marvelous gift, Talysse.”
She didn’t reply to this, suspecting flattery.
“It is some distance yet. We need to keep going.”
They camped next to a shallow pond coated with lily pads. No one spoke more than a few words at a time. Everyone just watched everyone else.
Talysse was as cautious as the others, but she could see no other way. If they’d still had their supplies and the pony—she cursed the dwarf—then they might have searched on their own. Without the supplies, they could not last more than a few days. She chose to accept the risk while staying suspicious.
They set out early the next morning. The wizard picked up a trail that wound among aspen trees. The lowest branches were a good ten feet above the ground, and there was no underbrush. Talysse could see a hundred yards or more; it was a forest of pillars. More than once she saw red deer with wide horns like those of a cow. They stood in groups, gazing solemnly, like spectators at a funeral.
The ground slanted upward steadily. After an hour, the aspen gave way to pine and then to bare rock. Their destination lay just ahead. Talysse found her heart was pounding with the thought that Remigius was somewhere inside.
The mountain rose in cliffs that climbed one above another, bare of grass or trees, a great fist of stone thrust skyward. The upper reaches were covered in snow. The wind blew hard up there, and a wide veil of spray trailed out like white hair. Gray stone plunged downward, split into crevices and shelves by the actions of sun, wind, and snow. Ice sparkled in places; in others, deep shadows clung. At its feet lay a wide jumble of boulders and lesser stones, shed from the cliffs, through which an uneven path wound.
The path ended at a tower that was set into the mountain itself, with only a single, sharp angle protruding from the gray cliff. Utterly unadorned, pierced almost at random by narrow windows, it jutted out like a shoulder, its body cloaked in stone. The cliffs were gray, but the tower had been built of darker stuff, as if it had been dug from deeper within the earth. A single door stood at ground level.
“Dwarf-built,” Jehan said. “No one else can build so strong or so ugly.”
Talysse had pictured a great castle with tall towers and blue roofs, mighty walls surmounted by flags, but this was just a tower, plain, as isolated as a lighthouse.
“You look disappointed,” Saveric said, smiling slightly.
“I thought it would be bigger,” she said. “Grander.”
“I will make in grander in song,” Gonsallo said. He hummed a couple of notes. “…and Pireinic pennants o’er-topped the tower…”
“It is a strong position,” Jehan observed, “but where are its defenders?” He looked meaningfully at Saveric. “Why does the wizard not strike us?”
“Perhaps he wants us to enter his lair,” Saveric said, “though I doubt it.”
“You would have us walk into a trap?”
“I am not afraid of his traps,” Saveric said.
Talysse stepped forward, walking purposefully to the entrance.
“Wait! What are you doing?” Jehan cried out.
“I’ve come for answers,” Talysse said, without looking back. “I won’t get them standing out here.”
Gonsallo looked at Jehan and shrugged. Detta was already trotting after.
One ordinary door stood at gro
und level. Over the entrance, cut into the limestone, was carved:
sol amics dins
Talysse read them aloud. “I do not know these words,” she said.
“Only friends within,” Gonsallo said. “It is Catalan. I would have expected Latin. I wonder what it means.”
“No enemy has ever taken the Redoubt,” Saveric said.
“We’re not exactly friends,” Talysse said.
“No, but once I was,” Saveric said, “and I had a key. Let us see if it still works.”
He stepped to the weathered door and touched his staff to it. Nothing happened.
“Perhaps he has changed the lock,” Jehan said dryly.
Gonsallo, peering upward, said, “I can climb that, then open the door from within.”
“The Redoubt is as filled with magic spells as it is with stone,” Saveric said. “Were you to climb, its defenses would make short work of you. Now be silent. I must think.”
Talysse eyed the walls as well. She felt outward, running her hand over the wind that swept up from the valley. She could ride them to the very top of the Redoubt, if she wished.
The wizard cocked his head to one side, then gestured with his staff. Three muffled thumps sounded. Saveric said, “Ah,” and pushed. The door swung wide. Cool air flowed from the interior like a stream from a cave. On the cool current, or beneath it, came a thrumming sound.
“Do you hear that?” Talysse asked.
“Hear what, Lyssie?” Detta replied.
“What are you hearing?” Saveric asked sharply.
Talysse shrugged. “A kind of humming.”
“Like a song?” Gonsallo asked.
“No, not at all. Something deep, as if the stone itself hums.” The air flowing from the darkness was scented with secrets.
“Why do you look at me so?” she demanded. Saveric was searching her face.
“I apologize,” the wizard said. “I was… lost in thought for a moment.”
Talysse raised an eyebrow. Something about the statement felt false, but she couldn’t quite say what. She turned again to the entrance. It was time. She wished the hum would go away.
Talysse went inside, Detta following so closely she rested one hand at Talysse’s belt. Gonsallo came next, then Saveric and Jehan, for the entry was narrow.
The way curved sharply. The floor was uneven, so Talysse put one hand to the wall. Her hand passed over openings that might have been windows, but they were all dark. She was about to ask the wizard for light when the passage curved again. She saw a glow ahead. A few more steps, and she was outside again.
This was the gatehouse yard. No door could she see, but steps rose to left and right, covered by scores of arrow slits in the walls.
“No entry save up the stairs,” Jehan said. “Good design.”
“Damned dangerous in winter,” Gonsallo said. “Give me towns and taverns, thank you.”
“Where is everyone?” Talysse asked.
“Oc, I wondered that myself.”
“This is where Remigius retreats from the world,” Saveric said, “so he does not bring the world with him. He is usually alone.”
“Only friends within,” Gonsallo quoted the inscription.
“That is strange,” Jehan said. “Great men always have servants.”
“Wizards are unlike other men,” Saveric said.
Jehan grumbled a reply.
Impatience gnawed at Talysse. She trotted up the stairs. At least the Redoubt does not see us as enemies, she thought, and then thought that was a strange thing to think. This was a stone tower, not a living being.
They climbed. At each level the stairs opened into a single room, dimly lit from some outside source. The rooms were mostly empty: a table here and there, broken; a bench, overturned; shelves that might once have held books but now held only dust and spiders. But the fourth floor was different. It was larger, well-furnished.
Its ceiling was very high. Bookshelves climbed the walls, with faded tapestries between them. Its windows were open to let in light and air. Its unbroken tables held manuscripts, jars, and bottles. A bowl of soup or porridge sat among the bottles. Near the center was a single chair, on which sat an old man in brown robes with a blanket over his lap.
He looked older than she remembered. His beard was longer, unkempt, shot through with gray. His head hung down as if he was weary, and the splotches under his eyes were as dark as bruises. He glanced up as the group entered, and nodded.
“Remigius.” Talysse had often thought about their meeting. In her imagination she would scream his name in anger, or call it out joyfully. Now the moment had come, she spoke his name dully, with effort. She felt herself weighted down by the air. Her voice sounded drowned out by the thrumming inside her head.
“Colleague.” Saveric limped forward and Remigius sat up straight.
Saveric turned to face the others. He stood at Remigius’ side, leaning against the chair, the black staff in his other hand, like a mage adviser to an aged king.
“You have come many long miles, Talysse, and you’ve brought many questions. I beg you to wait only a moment more before asking them.”
“Be wary,” Jehan whispered. Talysse nodded, but she wasn’t thinking of Saveric. Something in the room felt like it was reaching out for her.
“I must try a thing first,” Saveric said. “I believe I know what will happen, but still I must try. Will you stand and wait? I promise, you will come to no harm.”
Remigius squirmed. He put his hands on the thick arms of the chair, trying to get up. Saveric put a hand on his shoulder and the old man sagged down again.
“I set my staff aside,” Saveric said. He moved to a table and lay it across a scattering of parchments, then displayed his hands. “You see my hands are empty.” He spoke as if giving a demonstration to a roomful of students. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gonsallo casually ease over to one side of the room.
“Lyssie?” Detta looked up at her. “What is happening?”
“We’ll see, tante.”
“Observe,” Saveric said. He took four steps to a place in the room seemingly like any other, but the humming grew still louder as he did so. Talysse saw Remigius’ mouth working, but no sound came out.
Saveric reached out to what appeared to be empty air, and a staff formed out of nothing. It looked ordinary enough, made of some gray material that looked very much like stone, taller than Saveric, with a clear gem at the top the size of a fist. The staff stood perfectly vertical and hung a foot above the floor. Saveric reached for it, but his hand passed to one side as if he had missed his aim. He tried again. The staff did not move, but neither could he lay hold of it.
Talysse struggled to keep her feet. From the moment the staff had appeared, the vibration in her ears had grown to a crescendo. It shivered through her like the howl of a wolf. She knew at once the reason why Saveric could not touch it.
Only she could.
The wizard stepped away. His face, contorted by effort, smoothed into a forced smile.
“I knew,” he said. His voice was resigned, tinged with sadness or regret. “But I had to try. Remigius has locked the thing away, you see. It cannot be touched by human hand. Nor elf nor dwarf.” He pretended a bow to Detta. “Nor gnome.”
“I heard it,” Talysse said. She stared at the thing, which had not disappeared.
“Indeed? I knew something was distracting you. You heard it, and now you have seen it. The Stave of the Archmage Turpin. The prize your patron,” he drawled the word, “would have kept from you.”
Talysse leaned against the table to steady herself. “Remigius, please,” she begged, “tell me what is happening.”
Again Remigius struggled like a netted fish, then again slumped.
“I’ve restrained him,” Saveric said as he took up his black-and-crimson staff.
“Ah!” Jehan said, short and sharp. “Blackguard.”
“Peace, elf. I did it only that I might have a chance to speak first—that truth might sp
eak before falsehood—and so Talysse could reclaim what is her…” He looked at Remigius. “…her birthright? Shall we call it that?”
Remigius struggled frantically, uselessly. He was held by invisible chains and his tongue was frozen.
“First things first. Talysse, come. I believe this is yours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lies, and a Truth
The Stave called to her, pulled at her like an out-rushing tide. The air in the room was still, but she felt as if a great wind buffeted her, that she might be pitched to the floor at any wrong step.
“Lyssie, don’t,” Detta urged. “I don’t like it.”
“Caution, demoiselle,” Gonsallo said, tension in his voice.
She looked for Jehan and saw he had moved to the other wall, so that he and Gonsallo stood upon Saveric’s flanks.
“I believe the young lady will not need the protection of a chevalier and a trovador,” Saveric said smoothly. He did not take his eyes from Talysse. He held out a hand in invitation. His eyes shone with greed.
She walked over to the Stave. Her stomach was filled with cold, and water ran in her veins. Her head tumbled and all thought was drowned by the awful hum.
“There. Just there,” Saveric urged. “You know exactly, don’t you, child?”
The word “child” rankled, but distantly. She reached out. Nothing could be easier. The moment her hand closed around the Stave, everything became ordinary.
The hum ceased, and she could breathe again. The Stave, which no longer floated, felt surprisingly light. She set the end onto the stone floor. The clear gem was a foot or more above the top of her head.
“Can you sense its power?” Saveric asked, and he could not keep eagerness from the words.
She nodded. “I sense… something. It’s familiar, like I’ve found a thing I didn’t know was lost.”
“That’s because it was hidden from you.” He pointed dramatically at Remigius. “By him.”
“Why?”
“Ask him yourself,” Saveric said. “Ask him why he has kept you from your true self.”
Saveric touched Remigius with the black staff. Crimson snakes writhed for a moment along its length, then Remigius shook violently and cried out, half rose, then fell back.
A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale Page 25