“All secure,” Glyndon said, leaning his staff against the wall.
“Thank you,” Kayl replied with a glance at the window.
“My pleasure,” Glyndon said, and bowed.
“Sit down and let me tell you what’s been happening.”
Glyndon settled himself cross-legged on the floor beside the children and looked at her. Kayl took a deep breath and started. She covered most of the important things she had learned at the Star Hall, stopping occasionally to clarify something for Mark or Dara. She hesitated briefly when she came to Barthelmy’s revelation about the waning power of the Sisterhood’s magic, then included it in her narrative anyway. The Sisterhood might not trust Glyndon, but Kayl did.
She did not, however, mention whatever had happened to her memory; that would have to wait until she could speak with Glyndon alone. She did not want Mark and Dara fussing over her, or casting worried looks at her back, and they would certainly do both if she let them get the idea that something was wrong with her.
Glyndon stopped her only once. “Are you sure you want these two to have all the details?” he asked, nodding at Mark and Dara.
The children made protesting noises. Kayl raised a hand to stop them and said, “One way or another, this is going to affect Mark and Dara as much as it affects me. I want them to understand what’s happening. And they’re old enough to be trusted not to let things slip in the wrong places.”
Mark and Dara exchanged glances and sat up straighter, looking solemn. Kayl went back to her narrative. When she reached the Ri Astar Diary and the Elder Mothers’ cryptic comments regarding it, Glyndon turned white. She looked at him inquiringly, but he gestured for her to finish. She did so, then said, “Now, Glyndon, why did the Ri Astar Diary hit you so hard?”
“I have to see that scroll, Kayl,” Glyndon said. “I have to. If it’s that old, if it has information about the Tower, I might be able to understand…” His voice trailed off and he gestured aimlessly with one hand.
Kayl stared at him, appalled by her own thoughtlessness. She had been so intent on the Sisterhood and its plans that she had forgotten Glydon’s visions. “I can try, Glyndon,” she said after a moment. “But you know how the Sisterhood feels about Varnans.”
“You say they spoke of a crystal?” Glyndon said as though he had not heard. “I have to see that book!”
“Glyndon!” Kayl said sharply.
He blinked, then looked at her. “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “It’s just that, well, it means a lot to me.”
“I can see that. I’ll do what I can.” Kayl sat up suddenly. “Which reminds me, I have something else I want you to look at. Kevran’s rod.”
“You have it with you?” Glyndon said, sounding surprised.
“Did you think I’d leave it at the inn for the Magicseekers to find?” Kayl snagged the bundle with the rod in the bottom and dug through it until she found the carefully wrapped package.
“What is it?” Mark demanded, staring at the oilcloth as if he could see through it if he looked hard enough.
“It’s the rod your father used to channel his magic,” Kayl said. She looked at Glyndon. “Every time I touch it, I… remember things. Mainly the trip to the Tower.”
“It shouldn’t be doing that. You’re sure it’s the rod itself, not just associations?” Glyndon said. There were harsh edges to his voice, but his tone was gentle.
“I’m sure.”
“Can I try it?” Mark asked.
“No.” Kayl passed the package to Glyndon, taking care not to dislodge the wrappings.
Glyndon stared at it for a moment. “I suppose I’d better look at it,” he said finally, and laid back the folds of oilcloth.
Mark leaned forward eagerly as the dark, shiny wood came into view. Dara was looking at Kayl with a troubled frown. “Mother, why didn’t you ever tell us about any of this?” she said.
“There was no reason to,” Kayl said.
“There was no reason not to!”
“I thought there was.”
“What?”
“I don’t think this is the time to go into it. Later—”
“Later, later, you always say you’ll explain later and you never do!” Dara said angrily.
“That’s enough, Dara,” Kayl said quietly. “I said we’d discuss it later, and that’s the end of the matter.”
Dara sat back on her heels, her expression mutinous. Kayl waited until she was sure her daughter was not going to try to press matters, then turned away, feeling tired and a little guilty.
The rod lay on the bare floorboards. Glyndon knelt beside it, scrutinizing it with his hands clasped behind his back to avoid an accidental touch. He looked up as Kayl’s head turned. “Nothing’s changed in its appearance, and I can’t find any traces of magic lingering on it. Would you mind demonstrating?”
“If you insist,” Kayl said. Seeing Glyndon’s expression, she added quickly, “It’s not that bad, Glyndon. They’re only memories. Just tell me when.”
Glyndon started to say something, then stopped short and simply gestured Kayl toward the rod. She leaned over and brushed her fingers across it.
The man was tall and lean, with gray eyes and dark hair that was just beginning to show streaks of gray. Kayl watching him closely as he talked, letting her companions ask most of the questions.
“Yes, I know the mountains well,” he told Beshara. His voice was smooth as currant wine, and surprisingly deep for such a lean man. “I’ve lived in them all my life.”
Kayl blinked. Was there an undercurrent of anger in his last few words? Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward as Beshara smiled and said, “Would you feel capable of acting as our guide, then?”
“I’m capable enough,” the man said pleasantly, “but I’m no guide. I can direct you, though, if that’s what you need.”
“That is what we need. Among other things,” Beshara murmured.
“This is ridiculous,” Barthelmy snapped. “Ask him what we want to know, or let him go, but in the stars’ name stop sidling around the question!”
“Barthelmy.” Evla put a soothing hand on her arm.
“She has a point,” Kevran said quietly.
Beshara glanced at him and shrugged. “Oh, very well, do as you like.”
Kevran turned to the dark-haired man, who had been watching the exchange with interest. “We are, as you may have guessed, searching for something. We know it is somewhere in the Windhome Mountains, and we suspect that it is… unusual.”
“Not much of a description,” the man commented.
“No, but we are hoping you can suggest a place to start looking.” Kevran smiled wryly. “The Windhome Mountains are a lot to search, otherwise.”
The dark-haired man hesitated. “There’s a place I know of,” he said, and stopped.
“Tell us. Please,” Varevice said.
“It’s a valley, a little less than two weeks’ ride north and east of here,” the man said reluctantly. “There’s a tower… It’s an evil place; no one lives there. Those who know of it avoid it.”
Kevran exchanged glances with Beshara and Varevice. “It’s somewhere to start, and it’s in the right area,” he said. He turned back to the dark-haired man. “Can you tell us how to find it? We’ll pay well for the information.”
The man looked startled, and his eyes darkened. For a moment, Kayl thought he was going to refuse; then he said, “I will tell you how to reach the valley, but I will not take your money for it.”
“So?” Beshara raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “As you wish. Are you lettered? Write out your directions, then, and give them to Kevran there in the morning, and we will thank you for it.”
The man nodded and turned away. As he passed Kayl on his way out, she heard him mutter, “For this, there should be no thanks.”
* * *
Kayl’s fingers bumped against the floor of the room, and she blinked. Mark and Dara were looking at her with wary fascination. “That was weird,” Mark sai
d tentatively.
Kayl smiled at him. “You don’t know how right you are.” She looked at Glyndon. “Did you find out anything?”
“Something happened, but I’m not sure what,” Glyndon admitted. “What was it like?”
“Like daydreaming, I suppose,” Kayl said. “I remembered the inn where Beshara found the man who told us about the Tower and the valley.”
“Mmm.” Glyndon looked down at the rod. “I suppose the next step is obvious,” he said, half to himself. As he spoke, he reached forward. Kayl’s protest was a fraction of a second too late to keep him from touching the rod.
Glyndon went white to the lips. Kayl knocked his hand away from the rod, then caught him as he swayed sideways and almost fell on top of it. He gasped and went limp in her arms. Frightened, she shook him. He did not move at once, and for a moment, she thought he had lost consciousness. Then he shuddered and pushed himself back up to his knees.
Kayl steadied him briefly, then let her hand drop. “See if there’s any water left in the wash pitcher, Mark,” she said.
“That’s not necessary,” Glyndon said, raising his head.
Mark looked uncertainly from Glyndon to his mother. Kayl nodded. Glyndon was still white, but she could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was going to be stubborn, and there was no point in getting Mark caught in a tug-of-war.
“Thank you,” Glyndon said as Mark settled back. He looked at Kayl and there was a gleam of amusement on his face. “I do believe you are right about this thing,” he said, indicating the rod.
“Good of you to admit it,” Kayl said, grinning back at him in relief. She wanted to ask what he had seen or remembered, but could not quite bring herself to do so.
“The question now is why.” Glyndon stared speculatively at the rod, curiosity chasing the signs of strain from his face.
“Kevran said something once, a long time ago…. I wonder if he ever did it?”
“Glyndon!” Kayl said in much the same tone she used to Mark and Dara. “Make sense.”
“Hmmm? Oh. It’s just an idea. Kevran was experimenting for a while with using different woods and herbs and so on as channels. He said once that he was going to have a compartment made in his rod, so he could see what effects he could get by using two different things at once.”
As he spoke, Glyndon picked up the oiled cloth that had wrapped the rod. He covered his hands with it and picked up the rod. For a long moment, he studied it, turning it over and staring down the length of it, then shifting it so the light caught it at different angles. Then he let his breath out in a little exclamation of satisfaction. He slid his hands along the oiled cloth to either end of the rod and gave a sudden, sharp twist.
The center of the rod came apart along a clean line. Kayl leaned forward. The joining had been painstakingly made; when the two halves were fitted together the crack was all but invisible. The left half of the rod ended in a short, grooved protuberance like the tang of a knife, but the right half of the rod had been hollowed out for some way. Kayl could see dried moss filling the cavity.
Glyndon set the solid half of the rod on the floor. “Have you got something I can use to pull this out?” he asked, indicating the moss-packed hole. “Under the circumstances, I’d rather not use my fingers.”
“Here,” Mark said before Kayl could reply. He pulled his dagger from his belt and offered it hilt-first to Glyndon. “Will this do?”
“Very well, I think,” Glyndon said, taking the dagger. He picked at the moss with the dagger’s point, then turned the rod over and shook it.
A shower of powdery moss fragments fell out of the hole. Glyndon muttered something and hit the rod sharply with the hilt of the dagger. A wad of moss dropped out and something hit the floor with a rattle. Kayl leaned forward. Something gleamed up at her from the center of the dry debris.
It was a piece of crystal about the size of her thumbnail.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Kayl leaned closer, staring at the crystal. Three sides were perfectly flat and intersected at right angles, forming three straight edges. The fourth side was slightly curved and had an irregular rim, as though the crystal had been chipped… or as though it was a chip of something larger.
She looked up. Glyndon was staring at the bit of crystal and his face was gray. For a moment she thought he was ‘seeing’ things again, and she went cold. “Glyndon?” she said softly. “Do you know what that is?”
“I—no, it can’t be—I don’t—”
“Glyndon! What’s the matter with you? What can’t it be?”
“It can’t be from the Twisted Tower,” Glyndon whispered, his eyes still fixed on the piece of crystal. “It can’t be!”
“Is it magic?” Mark said curiously. “It doesn’t look like anything special to me.”
“Do you think you can tell whether something is magic just by staring at it?” Dara said scornfully.
“Don’t touch it!” Kayl said as Mark leaned forward, frowning.
“I wasn’t going to,” Mark said in an injured tone. “I was just looking.”
“Look from a little farther away, then.” Kayl turned to Glyndon, who had recovered some of his color. “The same thought occurred to me—that crystal the Elder Mothers were talking about. But Kevran couldn’t have found anything in the Tower without the rest of us knowing.”
“I suppose so,” Glyndon said without conviction.
Kayl gave him a sharp look. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Glyndon’s head came up. “Quite a lot,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “Unless you’ve spent a couple of years studying on Varna since the last time we met.”
“Glyndon! Be serious. Did Kevran go back to the Tower that first night, when I thought he was helping you?”
“No,” Glyndon said flatly. His voice held an undercurrent of relief. “Kevran was with me all night.”
“Then there’s no way that crystal could be from the Twisted Tower. None.” Kayl wondered whether she was trying harder to convince Glyndon or to convince herself. She looked down at the crystal again and said slowly, “I suppose you’re sure that this is what was making Kevran’s rod do whatever it was doing?”
“Quite sure.” Glyndon picked up the two halves of the rod, one in each hand, and joined them together again. “See? There’s nothing special about it now.”
“It was Father’s!” Dara said indignantly.
“Then can I have it?” Mark said almost simultaneously.
“Not now,” Kayl said to Mark. She was beginning to wish she had sent the children somewhere else, anywhere else, while she and Glyndon discussed the rod. Not that she had anywhere to send them. She looked down at the crystal and sighed. “I suppose we ought to make sure,” she said, half to herself, and reached toward it.
“Kayl!” Glyndon said in alarm. He bent forward hastily, also reaching for the crystal. Simultaneously, their fingers touched it.
The circular room was full of light. Large, arched windows were spaced at regular intervals around the curving walls, providing an uninspiring view of the dead valley below. The side wall where the stairway came up was covered with a tapestry in cream and crimson, and more tapestries hung between the windows. A cream-colored frieze circled the wall just below the high, domed ceiling. The only furnishings were a marble bench on one side and the waist-high pedestal in the center of the room, where the huge crystal cube rested. The place should have seemed pleasant and airy; instead, Kayl felt as if she were standing in a tomb.
The wizards were all clustered around the pedestal, muttering over the crystal. Kevran was taking measurements, while Glyndon hunched over one side, feeling for any irregularities in the surface. Varevice and Beshara seemed to be arguing about something; Evla was staring into the cube as if she were in a trance. Only Barthelmy and Kayl hung back. Barthelmy watched Odevan standing behind his mistress in an attitude of respectful attention. Kayl prowled the perimeter of the room, looking for conventional, nonmagical th
reats.
“I give up,” Kevran said at last. “The thing’s a perfect cube, as near as I can tell, and that’s all I can tell.”
“You’ve done better than I have,” Varevice said sourly. “I’ve done every spell I can think of, and that lump of rock is still just a lump of rock.”
“Odevan!” Beshara said peremptorily. “Can you see anything?”
The sklathran’sy came forward and pressed his long, spidery fingers against the top of the crystal. “No, Mistress.”
“Could it be witch-glass?” Evla asked. “I can’t think of anything else that’s so dead to magic.”
Beshara looked speculatively at the Crystal. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re probably right. It’s a pity, in a way; we’ll have to destroy it now.”
“Destroy it?” Glyndon said, looking up from his crouch beside the cube. “Why?”
“Beshara’s right,” Varevice said reluctantly. “If it is witch-glass, a lump this size would account for that odd echo in the Elder Mothers’ seeing spells.”
“Not to mention the blur in the ones the High Mage cast,” Beshara put in. “I’m afraid the only way of stopping the interference is to break the cube up into smaller chunks.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Glyndon said. “Especially since we still aren’t sure what this really is.”
“Have you some alternate suggestion?” Beshara asked sweetly.
“We could try breaking off a small piece to test,” Kevran said. “That ought to at least tell us what the cube is made of.”
“But that will spoil the cube!” Glyndon objected.
“I don’t like the idea either, but I think it’s the only way we’ll ever find out what we need to know,” Varevice said.
“And it’s better than just breaking it up.”
Evla nodded agreement. Glyndon looked from one to another, then threw up his hands. “All right, then, go ahead. You will anyway. Just don’t slip and hit me instead.” He crouched and began again his examination of the Crystal’s surface, his palms pressed flat against one vertical side of the cube.
[Lyra 04] - Caught in Crystal Page 17