It took him six tries before he could pronounce it properly—Wulran was obviously no wizard, nor even much of a linguist. When at last he managed it the sudden cessation of pressure flung him upward from the courtyard pavement, but his guards caught him before he fell back to the stone.
Kilisha, still a trifle unsteady on her feet, watched it all with a broad smile on her face, and with guards standing respectfully at either side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The couch was kept restrained, under heavy guard, while Kilisha rested on a cot in one of the little watch-rooms below the parapet. The only intrusion on her recuperation was a message of gratitude from the overlord, assuring her that he was safe and telling her that at some point in the future, when time permitted, he would want to speak to her at length about the day’s events.
She blinked foolishly at the messenger, trying to absorb this—the overlord wanted to speak to her again?
Well, of course he did; naturally he would want an explanation of the whole affair. She thought she could provide that, once she was recovered a little—and once Ithanalin was restored to himself.
“Is there a reply, my lady?” the messenger asked.
“No, I…just my thanks,” she said. “I’m glad he’s safe.”
The messenger bowed and vanished, and Kilisha lay back, staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply as she let her strength return. A guardsman stood by the door, waiting for her to rise.
When she was sufficiently recovered to travel a dozen guardsmen carried the couch downstairs, loaded it onto a wagon, and tied it down securely. Then they escorted her and the couch home.
She rode on the wagon—but not on the couch. Adagan rode beside her, the only other passenger; Kelder had long since returned to his duties, and Opir, once he was sure his sister was intact and on her way back to Ithanalin’s shop, headed home on his own.
Kilisha’s long-delayed return found Yara and the children waiting anxiously; Telleth had been standing watch at the front window and called out when the wagon and its burden came in sight, whereupon the entire family had come swarming out into the street. Their faces all showed concern; even the spriggan seemed to be worried by her long absence and the presence of the soldiers.
The racket was enough to rouse the neighbors, as well; Nissitha emerged from her own front door before the wagon had come to a halt, and joined the party. They all gathered around the wagon as six of the soldiers unloaded the struggling couch, hefted it onto their shoulders, and brought it into the wizard’s parlor.
“What happened?” Yara asked, staring at the couch.
“She saved the overlord’s life,” one of the guardsmen said.
Kilisha, who had just clambered down from the wagon, blinked in surprise at that. She hadn’t thought of it that way at all; she had thought she had endangered the overlord’s life by triggering the couch’s rampage.
But really, how could she have avoided it? Perhaps if she had waited until Wulran wasn’t on the couch before she said anything…
But how could she have known he would be resting there, with his foot under the arm? And once the couch began running she had done everything she could to stop it without getting anyone killed.
Really, she had saved the overlord’s life.
This was quite a shocking realization, and for a moment she was too stunned to speak.
“I knew she would find the couch,” Nissitha said, standing by one of the wagon’s wheels.
Adagan, who was just then climbing down, looked at her and said, “You did not.”
Nissitha’s mouth fell open in surprise as she stared at him—and, Kilisha noticed, she had already been looking at Adagan, making the stare easier.
“Of course I did!” Nissitha managed, as a few of the soldiers—those who were not trying to maneuver the writhing couch through the doorway—turned to listen. “I’m a seer!”
“No, you did not,” Adagan repeated. “And no, you are not.”
Nissitha gaped at him again. “How dare you say that?” she demanded.
“I dare because I’m a witch, and can tell truth from falsehood, and I’m tired of hearing your self-serving lies,” Adagan said wearily. “A seer? You don’t even see what everyone else does, let alone anything more. You don’t realize everyone on the street knows you’re a fraud. You can’t see that I’ve no more interest in you than I would in a toad. Today Kilisha has performed the most astonishing feat of bravery I have ever seen, and deserves to have a moment to glory in it before attempting a complex and difficult spell on Ithanalin’s behalf, yet here you are, thrusting yourself forward and trying to take attention away from her. It’s disgusting. Why don’t you go away and let these soldiers do their jobs, and let Kilisha attend to her master?”
By the end of this speech not just Nissitha, but everyone in the street had fallen into stunned silence, staring at Adagan and listening to every word. When he finished Nissitha let out a strangled gasp, turned, and stamped back into her shop, slamming the door hard behind her.
Another brief silence fell; then Kilisha said, “That was cruel.”
Adagan let out a sigh. “I know,” he said. “She’ll never forgive me. But I’m tired of having her following me around, trying to seduce me, and she might have eventually gotten over anything less vicious.”
“I don’t think she’ll get over that any time soon,” Kilisha said, gazing at Nissitha’s door.
“I’m not sure I will, either,” Adagan said. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go home and throw up.”
“Of course,” Kilisha said.
She was watching Adagan walk away when one of the soldiers cleared his throat behind her. She turned.
The men had gotten the couch into the house and tied it down amid the rest of the furniture; now they were tossing extra ropes back onto the empty wagon.
“Is there anything else we can do for you, lady?” a soldier asked her.
Kilisha blinked at him for a moment, and then, startled by her own daring, said, “Yes, actually. Would you stand guard here for the next hour or so? I need to perform a spell, and it’s very important that no one interrupt me, and that nothing escape during that time.”
“Escape?” The soldier looked at one of his companions. “You mean the couch?”
“Or any of the other furniture, or the bowl, or the spoon, or one particular spriggan,” Kilisha said. “I need them all here.”
The guardsmen exchanged glances; then one turned up a palm. “As you say, lady.”
That settled, Kilisha entered the house smiling.
Yara met her in the parlor as the furniture bumped and clattered around her. “Kilisha, what happened?”
“I’ll tell you later, mistress,” Kilisha said. “Right now, I want to perform Javan’s Restorative before anything escapes again. Could you help me fetch everything I need?”
Yara started to say something—presumably, Kilisha thought, to reprimand this insubordinate apprentice—but then she stopped, frowned, and said, “What will you need?”
“The spriggan, the door-latch, the mirror, the bowl, the spoon, the rug, the bench, the couch, the chair, the coat-rack, the table—and Ithanalin,” she said. “In the parlor. Oh, and I’ll need incense and jewelweed and…well, I’ll get those.”
Fifteen minutes later everything was in place.
Attempting a spell of this difficulty so soon after the exhausting events at the Fortress might have been foolish, but Kilisha felt strangely invigorated, rather than tired; the ride home had given her time to recover, and Adagan had called her astonishingly brave, and the soldiers had said she had saved the overlord’s life, and she felt inspired. She could not bear to wait any longer to perform this act of wizardry and put an end to Ithanalin’s dispersal.
This particular performance of Javan’s Restorative turned out to be far and away the most difficult Kilisha had ever managed; the furniture kept trying to move about, the spriggan squeaked and struggled constantly as Yara held it in place, an
d simply coordinating so many pieces amid the clouds of magical smoke was a severe strain. Kilisha’s initial flush of vigor and enthusiasm faded quickly, and there were times she didn’t think she would be able to finish. The work dragged on and on, well past the hour she had asked of the soldiers, past sunset and suppertime, and still she worked.
And finally, when her reserves were completely exhausted and she knew she could do no more, a sudden silence fell across the furniture, and the clouds of magical smoke began to dissipate. Kilisha let out a breath and turned to her master.
Ithanalin straightened up from his crouch, stretched, smiled, then turned to her and said, “I’m impressed, apprentice. That was excellent.”
Kilisha smiled at him, and then fainted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Kilisha awoke in her own familiar little bed, with Telleth sitting beside her and a familiar spriggan standing on her feet. She opened her eyes and turned her head to see the morning sunlight through the window.
“She’s awake!” Telleth called, leaping up. “Dad! She’s awake!”
“Awake awake awake!” the spriggan squealed, jumping up and down on Kilisha’s ankle. She kicked it off, and it danced happily on the bed. By the time she looked up from the spriggan Telleth was on the stairs, heading down.
“Thank you, thank you!” the spriggan said. “Got wizard out of head!”
“I didn’t do it for you,” Kilisha retorted—but secretly, she was pleased that the spriggan hadn’t been hurt, and didn’t mind being back to itself. She brushed it off the bed, sat up, and reached for her robe.
A few minutes later she ambled down the stairs into the kitchen and found the entire household gathered around the breakfast table, waiting for her. Ithanalin rose from his chair as she entered.
“Kilisha,” he said, “I want to thank you. I saw most of what happened—I remember everything that happened to all the pieces, which is the oddest sensation. I remember you demanding that you be given the bowl and spoon, I remember you coaxing the coat-rack to follow you, I remember you chasing the bench, all of it.”
Kilisha swallowed hard. “You remember it all?”
Ithanalin nodded.
Kilisha remembered, too. She remembered yelling at various fragments of her master, chasing them recklessly through the streets, tricking them and trapping them and tying them up, lying to them and bribing them and threatening them. She remembered sitting on them. She remembered the love-spell on the rug, she remembered the spoon wrapped around her arm and trying to get under her clothes, she remembered holding the coat-rack over her head, and grabbing the spriggan by the throat…
“I’m sorry, Master,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
“Sorry?” Ithanalin chuckled. “Oh, don’t be foolish. I remember you doing what had to be done to collect a bunch of idiot fragments; any disrespect involved was entirely justified. I remember some rudeness, yes, but I remember persistence and ingenuity, as well. Most particularly, I remember the very fine performance you gave when I dove off the Fortress with the overlord—it was a remarkable display of courage and foresight. You must have put a great deal of thought and effort into preparing those potions! That was excellent work, worthy of a master wizard, let alone a journeyman. You’re clearly ready for more than just the Spell of the Obedient Object.”
“Thank you, Master,” Kilisha said, somewhat overwhelmed by this praise. Then a thought struck her. “You remember everything?”
“Yes, I think so. Why?”
“Could you tell me, then, how the couch got into the Fortress, and why?”
“Ah!” Ithanalin smiled and reached for his chair. “Well, I’m sure you know how sometimes when you’re working on a long spell odd, irrelevant thoughts will wander through your mind. That was happening as I stirred the mixture, and I was remembering an incident several years back when I spoke with someone who had once been a rat, who had told me about finding the legendary escape tunnel from the Fortress.”
“Escape tunnel?” Telleth asked from his seat at the table, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” Ithanalin said, sitting down again. “When the Fortress was built, during the Great War, the possibility of a long siege by Northern forces was considered, and a secret tunnel was built from deep in the Fortress crypts to a nearby cave, so that messengers could slip in and out undetected. After the war knowledge of the tunnel’s location was lost, but this rat—well, former rat—had rediscovered it, and she told me where it was, and I was thinking about that when that tax collector started pounding on the door.”
“Kelder, you mean,” Kilisha said, as she took her own seat at the table. It was hard for her to think of him as just a tax collector again, but of course that was all he was to Ithanalin.
Kilisha knew that Kelder was at least a friend to her now, and well on the way to becoming something more. She felt pleased and warm at the thought, but brushed it aside to listen to her master’s explanation.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Ithanalin said. “At any rate, when I realized it was a tax collector interrupting my work I was somewhat annoyed, and the thought occurred to me that perhaps I could trade my knowledge of the tunnel’s whereabouts to the overlord for a lifetime exemption from our taxes. That was foremost in my mind when I tripped, and that thought became the driving obsession of two of my fragments—the one in the bench, and the one in the couch. Both wanted to meet the overlord to discuss it, but only the couch remembered where the tunnel is. So the couch was able to slip inside unseen, while the bench roamed uselessly about, looking for an entrance, until you apprehended it. And that was why I—that is, why the couch would not release the overlord. I wanted to make my bargain with him, but of course, I had no way to say so. It was quite frustrating, really.” He sighed. “Most of my pieces were frustrated. The latch had my social instincts, and wanted to invite everyone in, and you kept demanding it stay locked. The chair wanted to cooperate with everything—that’s why it was eager to follow the other pieces, but it was dreadfully confused about you, and couldn’t decide whether you were trying to harm it or not. I’m afraid it had very little of my intelligence.”
That all made a remarkable amount of sense to Kilisha, but it also left several new questions—where was the secret tunnel mouth? Who was this former rat?
But there were always new questions, and there was no hurry about answering them all.
One more did come immediately to mind, though. She glanced at the workshop door and asked, “What was in that brass bowl?”
Ithanalin flushed, and cast an unhappy look at Yara before saying, “Soup. Spiced beef soup. That was to have been my lunch when I completed the spell.”
Kilisha had begun to suspect as much when it had done nothing after days of neglect, but it was still a relief to have the mystery explained.
“The only magic on it was the Spell of the Obedient Object, to make it chime when it was ready to eat,” Ithanalin said hastily, looking at his wife again. “And I wasn’t going to let anyone else eat any of it, so I didn’t think it violated my promise…”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Yara said, waving a hand in dismissal. “We’re all safe and sound.”
Ithanalin relaxed at that, and turned back to Kilisha. “I think there can be no question that you are ready to complete your apprenticeship,” he said. “I will be happy to teach you whatever spells I can between now and your eighteenth birthday, but whenever you feel you’re ready after that, I will certify you to the Guild and you will be free to go.”
“Ah…” Kilisha began, startled. “But there are still so many spells…”
“You’re welcome to stay and learn them as a journeyman, if you choose.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Thank you, apprentice. You saved my life.”
“And the overlord,” Telleth said happily.
“Is Kilisha going to go away?” Pirra asked, suddenly woebegone.
“Not for months,” Yara said. “And not if she doesn’t want
to.”
“I’ll have to go eventually,” Kilisha said. “To make way for another apprentice, if nothing else.”
“Well, there’s no hurry about that,” Ithanalin said. “It’s almost two years yet before Telleth’s twelfth birthday, and he needn’t start until he’s almost thirteen.” He gazed proudly at his son.
“Uh…” Telleth’s smile vanished; he suddenly slumped in his seat and looked helplessly at his mother.
Ithanalin looked at the boy, then at Yara, then back at Telleth. “What is it?” he asked.
“Well, Dad,” Telleth said hesitantly. “I…uh…” He looked at Yara again, then pleadingly at Kilisha.
Kilisha had no idea what Telleth wanted of her, and turned up an empty palm.
“Come on, lad, what is it?” Ithanalin demanded.
Telleth swallowed, then said, “Well, Dad, the truth is that you…well, when I was five you turned me into a squid, and a sixnight ago you trapped yourself in a bunch of runaway furniture, and yesterday you almost got the overlord himself killed. Wizardry is dangerous.” He looked down at his plate and poked at his food. “I was thinking I might try another line of work…”
His voice trailed off.
Ithanalin stared at him for a moment, then said, “Well, it’s your choice, of course. And it is dangerous.”
Kilisha remembered plunging from the fortress parapet with nothing but a tiny vial of Tracel’s Adaptable Potion to keep her from a gruesome death on the rocks below. She remembered the feel of Javan’s Restorative coming apart around her when the spriggan interrupted her. She remembered the coat-rack threatening her with an uncurled hook, the bench careening along Fortress Street, the couch galloping wildly through the Fortress, and a dozen other bizarre scenes she had recently survived. Dangerous? Undoubtedly. She smiled.
“Of course it’s dangerous,” she said. “That’s what makes it fun!”
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