“I resolved, then, to press the matter no further and sealed the memory with the strongest binding I could muster. I pray it does not reawaken some unexpected hour as I dream on my bed and so change me forever.
“The hint of the word I had already written, however, and this I set about studying. As summer faded into a rainy fall, I came to discover the ancient feorh of water woven within the word. As you know, there is a way to command the simple feorh, or essence, of what water is: vatn. This is known and used by most wizards. The girl’s word (I only use the term “girl” because I am not sure what she was), however, was proof of a language older than existence itself. The word also indicated the existence of three additional words, as if the four together completed each other as do the sides of a square.
“At this point, I closed my books and stood in the doorway. It was a gloomy afternoon. Rain fell, blown by the wind from an iron-colored sky onto the soggy earth. Behind me, within the cottage, a fire burned on the hearth. Understanding bloomed in my mind. I had read the Lurian Codex when I was an apprentice, thinking it merely an entertaining collection of questionable history and quaint fables—the old tale of four words spoken in the darkness: wind, earth, sea, and fire. The four stillpoints that encompass existence. The four wanderers. The anbeorun. As I stood in my doorway, a sudden fear came to me. Fire, for example, is an amoral thing that can be used just as readily for good as it can for evil. A home can be warmed by fire or be destroyed by the same. The power I had seen unleashed at the isle of Lesser Tor could easily unmake the world. Her eyes, though, had been free of guile. They had been the serene eyes of a child. But if her power was turned toward evil, then there was no wizard, no creature in my knowledge, no army that would be able to stand against such might. Even worse, if there are four stillpoints that encompass all that is, then the danger is much greater. For though one might not turn to the shadow, there would still be three others that might fall.
“I am an old man as I set this ink to paper, but she still walks through my dreams.”
Severan stopped reading and closed the book. The night sky outside the window was studded with stars. The boy stirred the brazier into flame. They were both silent for a while as they stared into the coals.
“Sometimes,” said Jute, “I would run away from working the street and go down to the beach, sit on the rocks, and stare at the sea. I could sit there for hours. The waves going and coming back endlessly. She would have been out there all the time, wouldn’t she?”
“If Sarcorlan is to be believed, and I think he is. I’d wager he encountered the anbeorun of the sea. Of water.”
“And then the Juggler would beat me for not bringing in enough for the day.” The boy shrugged and forced a laugh. “I’d always go back, sooner or later.” He looked up. “But what has all of that, words and power and wizards, have to do with me doing my job?”
The old man sighed. “I’m afraid what was a simple job to you interfered with years of work done by Nio. He always was asking questions about the anbeorun. He told us some of his knowledge, grudgingly, for he needed our help in searching the university. We helped him, though we were all looking for different things. Books, words, bits of knowledge hidden in the ruins. He knew what he was looking for. A small wooden box. I daresay he spent years searching for it. I think he had some idea the box contained something to do with the anbeorun.”
“You mean no one ever opened it?” the boy asked.
“No. When Nio found the box, he couldn’t open it. The spell binding it shut was too strong. And he, mind you, is the strongest of us all. He didn’t say anything at first. Later, though, he told us. Reluctantly. He thought, I suppose, that one of us might have some insight he had not divined. The thing’s presence drove the servants mad and he’s lived in that house, alone, for the past two years, with the box secreted in his tower. We lost interest in it after a while, for we all hoped to find the Gerecednes manuscript of Staer Gemyndes. That was always our real goal. Not an old box.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Jute. “How could someone like him not be able to open a little box?”
“Just because someone’s a wizard, it doesn’t mean you can wave your hands and have pigs fly about. Though it would probably be simpler to sprout wings on a pig than to open that box.”
“I’m sure someone’ll figure it out someday,” mumbled Jute.
Severan looked at him curiously, but the boy would not meet his glance. Outside, the wind rattled at the window, as if it wanted to get inside the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
THE CONTENTS OF THE BOX
“Tonight’s the night, my good Dreccan.”
The Silentman rubbed his hands together.
“Not until the gold’s safely in our coffers,” said Dreccan Gor.
“Always the cautious one,” said the Silentman.
“I’m a Gor, and Gors are always cautious. I’d be that way even if you weren’t paying me.”
The Silentman and his advisor were hurrying along through the passage leading to the Guild court. Their shadows trailed behind them, for Dreccan was carrying a burning torch in his hand.
“The job’s good as done,” said the Silentman. “And there’s nothing I like more than finishing a job. Unless it be gold. And the gold’ll be plentiful for this job. Plenty for everyone. At least for you and me.”
“Less a few coins here and there.”
“How’s that?” said the Silentman.
“Ronan will need his share, as will the Juggler. And Smede, of course.”
“I don’t grudge Ronan, he’s a faithful dog, and we can’t do without Smede to manage the books, curse his smelly little soul, but why’s that fat oaf getting a cut?”
“Because,” said Dreccan, trying to stay patient, “It was one of his boys that did the job in the first place. And then, of course, we had the little fellow done away with.”
“Pity we can’t do away with the Juggler as well. Why can’t we do that? Have Ronan cut his throat.”
“The Juggler, as you doubtlessly know, my lord, has proven to bring a consistent profit for us. His children sustain a steady stream of money into our coffers—”
“Then just have the children—”
“—and without his fatherly hand, I suspect that stream would dry up.”
“Right, right,” said the Silentman irritably. “This person needs that person to tell them what to do, and that other person needs someone else telling them how to do their job. Can’t any of our people think for themselves? Perhaps we should have a few murdered, just to keep the rest of ‘em on their toes.”
They came to the end of the passage. An iron door was set in the wall. It bore a knocker fashioned in the likeness of a horse’s head. There was no handle. Dreccan let the knocker fall. A deep bell-like tone rang out and echoed away. It sounded like a funeral knell. The door swung open for them.
“He should be here soon,” said Dreccan.
The Court of the Guild was dark and empty, but the lamps high on the walls winked on, one by one, at their entrance. The light slanted across carvings etched into the stone walls and filled them with shadow. The footsteps of the two men were the only sound in the court. The Silentman shivered, and it seemed to Dreccan that the man’s face trembled beneath the blur of his obscuring charm.
“Some days, old friend,” said the Silentman, “I miss the sunlight. We spend too much time down here in the dark.”
“Sunlight’s nice,” said Dreccan. “But gold is better.”
The Silentman sat down in his stone chair on the dais and drew his cloak about his knees. “The cold in this place gets into my bones and aches. I’m getting old. Damn the man, where is he?”
“If our client is a man,” said his advisor, frowning.
“What is he? A woman? An under-sized ogre? I don’t care what he is, as long as his gold’s good. Judging by the down payment, it’s very good.”
“I’d like to know,” said Dreccan. “There was something unne
rving about the fellow. Put me off my supper for days afterward.”
“Who cares? Hand it to me.” The Silentman turned the box over in his hands. “Strange, that such a little thing would command so much money. Have we ever gotten such a price, Dreccan? Never in my memory. It can’t be the box itself our client is interested in. Look at this ugly carving. No, it’s definitely what’s in the box that matters. I wonder what it is? At that price, I can’t imagine what it is.”
“Magic,” said Dreccan. “I’m sure of it. A book, or some object full of spells and power. These scholars and wizards, such as the old fools searching the university ruins, they’ll spend their whole lives in search of one word from older days. Whatever’s in that box is probably worth a lot more than just one word.”
“Dreccan?”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t try to open the thing, did you? Because this box won’t open. See here? It won’t open.”
“My lord!”
“I can’t help it. I had to try. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve never seen something locked that I didn’t want to open. At any rate, no harm done because this thing won’t open. Funny thing is, I can’t sense anything magic about this box at all.”
“It must have a locking spell on it. That’s magic enough for me.”
“Not necessarily so,” said the Silentman. “Might be a lever built into the wood. Push on the hawk’s beak or the like. Ingenious, some of these carpenter sorts. Though I’d have had the fellow whipped for making such ugly carvings.”
At that moment, the knocker on the door tolled. Both men jumped. The tone echoed through the empty court and then died away into silence.
“Welcome to the Court of the Guild!” said the Silentman.
There was no answer. The lamps seemed to dim and the room grew even colder than it was. The Silentman shivered and pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. The little box was heavy in his lap. He strained his eyes but he could not see anything in the gloom. But then he blinked and there was the figure. Just like before. It stood in front of the dais. He could have sworn, a second before, nothing had been there. Damn Dreccan! The advisor’s words had slipped into his mind and taken root. The figure was short and thin, shrouded in a cloak. The face was hooded and covered in shadow.
“Welcome to my court,” said the Silentman.
The figure bowed its head but said nothing.
“I trust you’ve found your visit to Hearne profitable—that is, if you’re not from our city? I hope you haven’t minded the wait. These jobs can be difficult, you know, arranging all the details and—”
“No apologies are necessary,” said the figure. The voice was low and muted. There was something peculiar about the sound, as if it were coming through water from a long way off. An obscuring charm, thought the Silentman to himself. A powerful one, too. Well, I won’t grudge him that. After all, I use them myself.
“This is the appointed day,” continued the figure. It paused and its head turned from the Silentman to Dreccan and then back. “Where’s the box?”
“Right here,” said the Silentman. “And our gold?”
“First the box. Was it found where I said it was?”
“Precisely,” said Dreccan. “Right where you said.”
The Silentman nodded. “A child could’ve waltzed in and lifted it.”
“It took a great deal of skill,” said Dreccan hastily, “our best men. And not without danger. Sadly, we lost one on the job.”
The hooded face turned to him.
“Was the box opened?”
“Of course not,” said the Silentman. “We followed your instructions to the letter. The Guild’s about business, sir. When we accept a contract, we keep our word. We’re known through all of Tormay for—”
“Put it on the steps.”
Feeling somewhat disgruntled, the Silentman placed the box on the dais steps and then retreated back to his chair. The little fellow obviously did not trust them. The figure crouched over the box but did not touch it. The hood lowered until it was almost touching the carved hawk’s head on the lid. And then, the figure sniffed sharply. It straightened up.
“What have you done?!” said the figure.
“What do you mean?” said the Silentman. “We’ve got you your box, haven’t we? Where’s our gold now?”
“Your gold?” said the figure. “Curse your gold! You’ve opened the box!”
“You must be mistaken,” said the Silentman. “No one’s opened the blasted thing.”
“The box has been opened, and what was once within is now gone. You’ll not get your gold!”
“Here now,” said the Silentman. “How do I know you’re telling the truth and not just trying to swindle us out of our gold, hey? What about that? I wasn’t born yesterday!”
“Fool! I would happily give you the wealth of the entire world for what was once in this box. I would have filled this court with gold. But you have brought your doom upon you. You and this accursed city!”
“Doom?” said the Silentman, alarmed at these words. “What do you mean by that?”
“Death,” said the figure. “Death, and something worse. Unless you can do one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Bring the person who opened the box. Bring them alive and you yourself shall live.”
The Silentman gulped and mopped his forehead. The person who opened the box?
“Certainly,” he said. “Anything you want. Anything at all.”
“It isn’t what I want. My wants are nothing. It’s what my master wants. And he is coming.”
“Oh, he is? And when do you think—”
“Find the person who opened the box. Quickly, for you do not know what you have done. The power that was inside the box is beyond your imagining, the power to destroy, the power to bring to life in a single breath. The power to preserve. Do you not know that all of Tormay is as dross in comparison to what that box held? Find the person who opened it. My master is coming soon!”
The Silentman opened his mouth to say something—he was not sure what—but the figure was gone. The lamplight flared and the shadows in the court retreated.
“Ronan,” said Dreccan, after what seemed like a long silence.
“Find him!” The Silentman pounded his fist on his chair. “Find him now!”
“And what of the boy?” said Dreccan.
“What do you mean?” said the Silentman. “The boy’s dead. Ronan killed him.”
“But you heard what he said.”
“What are you babbling about? I want that gold!”
“The power to destroy.” Dreccan’s face was pale in the lamplight. “The power to destroy, the power to bring to life in a single breath. The power to preserve.”
When the Silentman spoke. His voice was slow and tired.
“Then maybe it isn’t just Ronan we need to find.”
This story continues in
The Shadow at the Gate.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Jen Ballinger for copy-editing this book. Also, thanks to Daichi Ito for designing the cover, and Bryan Ballinger for drawing the map. I greatly appreciate the time and honesty of my test readers: Jaemen Kennedy, Frank Troya, Wayne and Jessica Collingwood, Scott Mathias, Dave Palshaw, Rob and Sandra Kammerzell, and the various long-suffering members of the Bunn family (David, Michael, Jodi, Benjamin, Micha, Megan and, of course, Jessica).
The Hawk And His Boy Page 23