by CJ Brightley
The window showed Ozor squeezing backward through a small window into the mill. Larine had Flutter speed the image to the point where he emerged from the same window and backed in the direction of the wrestling arena. The falcon reversed the flow of time in the window so it ran forward again. Larine watched, sick dread in her stomach.
Ozor sauntered casually past the mill, glanced idly up and down the deserted street, then darted behind a clump of flowering bushes that grew against the stone wall. The little window was overhead. He rose from the cover of the bushes and used a long, slender tool to release the catch on the shutters and pull them open. He ducked down again, peeked to make sure no one had come into view, then put his hands on the windowsill, boosted himself up, and shimmied through headfirst. It was a close fit—an adult couldn’t have done it.
Their viewpoint passed through the wall to reveal Ozor moving through the dark rooms of the mill, passing piled sacks of grain and flour. He reached the office and slipped through the unlocked door. Larine expected him to approach the large chest where the miller must store his coins until he could deposit them with the Bankers’ Guild, but it was secured with a heavy padlock, and Ozor ignored it. He went instead to a corner behind the big desk that dominated the room. A low bookshelf stood there. Grunting, Ozor dragged it away from the wall. He squeezed into the gap and knelt. Larine frowned and had Flutter move the window closer. Ozor inserted the same slender tool between two floorboards. He applied pressure, and one of the boards popped up.
In the dim light Larine could barely make out a cache of bulging moneybags. Ozor opened them in turn, extracting a few coins from each and tucking them into his purse. He carefully secured the bags so nothing appeared disturbed, set the floorboard in place, and wrestled the bookshelf back over the hidden compartment. After a final survey of the office, he nodded and headed back for the window where he’d entered.
Flutter let the sparkling sphere over Larine’s palm fade. She dropped her arm. Nothing she’d seen was a surprise, but witnessing it with her own eyes put a terrible finality on what had before been only supposition.
Without speaking, Dabiel put out her hand and a new window formed. It flickered through night after night, backward through time. In far too many of them, Larine saw a similar scene play out.
Hanion shook his head as the display continued. “What I don’t understand is why the thefts weren’t reported. The miller must have noticed the money was missing. If not from the weight of the sacks, when he did his accounts.”
Dabiel frowned at the image of Ozor moving the bookcase. “It’s a secret stash. Maybe he didn’t want to draw attention to his own misdeeds.” She glanced at Buttons. The window switched to a daylight scene. Larine looked away from the glare, but Dabiel studied the bright circle intently. “We’ll have to do a full investigation, but from what I’m seeing it looks like the master miller skims a little of each day’s take and secretes it before he records the total. I can’t tell from what I can see, but I suspect the mill’s scales are weighted. Each bag of grain appears a little lighter than it is, each sack of flour a little heavier. The miller pockets the difference in price.” She turned to Ozor. “Clever of you to figure it out. I assume you knew?”
Ozor sneered at her. “Of course I did. If you don’t want to get caught, you have to make sure nobody ever realizes there’s anything to look at. Master Korun wasn’t about to report a few missing coins to the Watch. That would have brought wizards to investigate, and they would have discovered everything.”
Hanion frowned at him. “As we have.”
Ozor scowled back. “Only because Mother decided to check on me like I was a baby.”
Hanion opened his mouth, but Dabiel laid a hand on his arm. “How did you manage to find out what Master Korun was doing, when he hid it so carefully?”
Ozor rolled his eyes. “It was obvious. He always lost money on the wrestling matches, but he laughed like it was a big joke. He was always buying new clothes from the fanciest tailors, and taking his friends to the most expensive restaurants, and treating everyone in the tavern to rounds of the best ale. None of the other millers could afford things like that. And I heard some master farmers complaining that the harvest was smaller than usual, so it wasn’t that he was doing lots of business. And a baker told a friend her bread wasn’t as good as it used to be, and she couldn’t figure out why. Her friend said the flour must be bad.” He beamed, proud of his cleverness. “Once I put it all together, it was just a matter of pretending I was interested in apprenticing with the Millers’ Guild so I could hang around the mill and have everyone show me what they did. I knew Master Korun must be hiding the money somewhere, so I kept my eyes open. When he showed me his office and how he keeps the accounts, I noticed scuff marks on the floor around that bookshelf. The first time I snuck in I didn’t have the right tool to get the floorboard up, but there were scratches along the edge, so I knew I was on the right track.”
Larine listened, both fascinated and horrified. She knew Ozor was observant, but she’d never realized just how much. She couldn’t help but be impressed by his ingenuity and persistence, despite her despair that it had been employed in a criminal pursuit.
Hanion shook his head in disgust. “Let’s get him back to the Hall. He can be tried tomorrow.” He grimaced at the brightening eastern horizon. “Later today, I mean. The Watch can arrest Master Korun, and we’ll try him, too.” The golden light pouring from his hand rotated Ozor until he was facing back the way they’d come. “Come along, Ozor. You’d better hope we find the rest of what you stole. If you’ve already spent it, you’re going to be working for the Millers’ Guild for months to repay the value. Perhaps they’ll set you and Korun to hauling sacks of grain side by side. That should give both of you plenty of opportunity to repent your crimes.” He chuckled grimly.
Dabiel nodded her agreement. Larine echoed the gesture, too numb and exhausted to do anything else. They followed Hanion as he and Thunder propelled Ozor back to the Hall.
11
Firstday, 27 Growing, 976, 11th hour
The door of the cabin opened, and Shiar’s second-in-command peered in. “Master Larine, the captain said to tell you we’re approaching the location the Guildmaster specified.”
Terror paralyzed Larine, but Daisy licked her hand, and the fear retreated enough to let her speak. “Thank you. I’ll let the other wizards know. We’ll be up on deck shortly.”
The woman eyed Larine and Daisy with something approaching awe and nodded. “I’ll inform the captain.”
As soon as the door closed, Larine clutched Daisy and buried her face in the fur of her shoulder. Dear Mother, Daisy. How am I supposed to do this? She’d hoped that when the time came the Mother’s peace would fill her, but it was nowhere to be found. Her stomach was a knot of wet rope, her pulse a sledgehammer wielded by a burly master mason laboring to break her skull open. Everything in her longed to go back to Dabiel’s office and respond to the Guildmaster’s request with a vehement refusal. She wanted to order Shiar to turn the ship around and flee back to Elathir. She’d burrow into Hanion’s warm embrace and they’d endure the storm together. The Mother’s Hall would survive the rising sea, even if the rest of the city washed away.
But that thought carried with it the images of destruction and death Dabiel had described seeing in her vision. Larine couldn’t escape them, no matter how much she tried to push them away. She sought comfort in her familiar’s mind, only to find the images there, too, relentless and inevitable.
Daisy licked her hands, her arms, her face. That’s how. By remembering what will happen if you don’t.
She was right. Larine forced herself to take a long, hard look at the nightmarish scene. Cold resolve formed, more slowly than she would have liked, but eventually it grew strong enough to chill her panic and restore bleak calm to her heart. She pulled away from Daisy, climbed out of the bunk, and used the sheet to wipe off the dog’s slobber. Let’s go.
She walked to the ster
n and opened the door of the captain’s suite. Dozens of eyes turned to look at her. Dozens of faces, human and animal, regarded her in mute appeal. They needed her to lead them, to encourage them the way Dabiel would have if she’d been here, to remind them it was the Mother who’d given them this task. She licked dry, cracked lips. “It’s time.”
They nodded silently and rose to filter out the door and follow her up the ramp. Wind and rain hit them when they reached the deck. The howling of the storm, that she’d thought was loud below, rose to deafening levels.
Larine stumbled to the side and grabbed a rail for support. She counted the wizards and familiars as they emerged. Vatrin’s ox came last, heaving himself up the ramp in a massive rush. When all thirty pairs were clustered around her, she beckoned and led them to the wheel, where Shiar was still fighting to hold the ship on course. He looked tired, but not yet at the end of his strength.
She stepped close. He bellowed in her ear, his voice barely audible above the wind. “This is it, as near as I can reckon.”
He turned his ear toward her, and she shouted as loud as she could. “Turn north and keep pace with the storm. Hold that course, until—” She didn’t know how to finish.
He nodded curtly. “As long as you need.”
“After we’re done, turn around and sail out of the storm. Head back to Elathir when it’s safe.”
He signaled his assent. Larine took a deep breath and turned to the other wizards. “To the front,” she shouted, sweeping her hand forward.
She didn’t know if they could hear, but they nodded and followed. Larine led them forward. As the ship swung around and the wind shifted until it came from behind, the waves stopped crashing over the deck and instead rolled beneath. The wizards clustered in the bow.
Larine swallowed hard, clutched a big fold of skin at the nape of Daisy’s neck, and raised her other hand. Golden light poured out, spreading into a huge, diffuse cloud. Daisy guided it to gather great masses of air and hurl them forward. The dog drew a steady stream of energy from Larine, at a rate they could sustain for several hours before nearing exhaustion.
All around, her fellow wizards did the same. They spread out, some going to the port and starboard rails, others drifting toward the stern. The shimmering gold cloud engulfing the ship grew into a sphere more than two thousand feet in diameter. The waves before them drove with slightly greater speed toward the purple and green darkness ahead. Larine could perceive no other effect. The storm was so huge, and their efforts so tiny in comparison. How could they possibly make a difference?
The Mother promised, Daisy reminded her. The dog raised her head and basked in the wind. Her tail thumped Larine’s legs. We may not be able to see what we’re accomplishing, but if we follow her instructions, it will be enough.
Larine tried to believe her, but it was hard. It didn’t get any easier over the next three hours. She and Daisy kept up a steady effort the whole time, with only the briefest of breaks to shake out the muscles of her arms, gulp a few draughts of water, and bolt as much bread, meat, and cheese as they could swallow. The rest of the wizards maintained the same pace.
At length it became harder and harder to keep her hand up and her grip on Daisy tight. Larine fought the knowledge as long as she could, but eventually she could no longer deny that they were nearing the end of their strength. If they stopped now, ate a hearty meal, and slept for a full night, they would recover fully and be able to produce another effort the equal of what they’d already done. But that would be too late. The storm would reach land this afternoon, and they hadn’t yet moved it far enough to miss Elathir. In order to keep going now, they’d have to spend the reserves that couldn’t be replaced.
Should she ask someone to go first? She couldn’t bear the thought, but if no one stepped forward soon, she’d have to. They needed to continue generating a steady wind for as long as possible.
Time wore on. Larine’s vision dimmed and swam. She gasped for breath. Daisy relented a bit, slowing the flow of energy from her bones and muscles until her head cleared and she caught her balance.
Blast it, she couldn’t wait any longer. Larine swallowed hard and turned blindly to the nearest wizard and familiar. Let the choice be random, if she had to make it.
Before she could speak, a hand fell on her shoulder. She swiveled to see Tirar looking at her, grave and bleak, but with an odd light in his eyes. “We’ll go first,” he mouthed, his voice barely reaching her ears.
She reached to clasp his hand. He gripped hers. She tried to pour strength and resolve into him, but to her surprise it was as if he was giving back more than he received. She nodded, gave him a shaky smile, and released him. He bent his head to touch his familiar’s, settled the cat more firmly in the crook of his elbow, and strode to the point of the prow.
One by one the other wizards and familiars ceased their efforts and turned to look. Those who’d dispersed around the ship returned, until they were all together, watching. The sailors going about their business on the deck and aloft paused and fixed their eyes on the pair. Other sailors gathered, drawn by the spreading tension. Motion flickered in the corner of Larine’s eye. A quick glance revealed Shiar standing just behind and to one side of her, staring at Tirar in grim fascination.
Tirar thrust his hand skyward. A blaze of gold shot from his fingers and billowed into an enormous glowing cloud. Larine caught her breath. Wind blasted across the ship, slamming into her back, whipping her hair into her face. Tirar stood in the center of the light and the wind, cat clutched to his chest, both of them burning like a candle flame, glorious and terrible.
It went on and on, longer than Larine would have believed possible. She sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around Daisy. The dog whined low in her throat and licked the tears from Larine’s cheek.
Finally the gold light waned and went out. Helmed stepped forward to catch Tirar’s body as it crumpled. Jesia gently received the cat that slid from his limp arms. All the wizards bowed their heads in respect as they carried Tirar and his familiar to Larine. Helmed regarded her gravely. “Where should we put them?”
Larine stared at the bodies. Fat and muscle tissue had burned away, leaving skin draped loose over bone. The remains were hideous, shriveled and skeletal, and yet somehow what was left of Tirar’s face bore an expression so transcendent it caught Larine’s breath and tightened her throat. He’d died looking into the face of the Mother, and her glory was reflected in his discarded flesh.
She shivered and looked away. “Below, in the office,” she shouted over the wailing wind, looking at Shiar for confirmation. He nodded. Helmed inclined his head and strode toward the stern. Jesia set her hand on Larine’s arm for a moment, then followed him. Their familiars, a deer and a goat, trotted side by side in their wake.
Larine turned back to the rest of the wizards, fighting the knowledge that every solemn face turned to regard her would soon be as gaunt and lifeless as Tirar’s. And then hers would be, too.
Before she could say anything, a wizard glanced at the bluejay on her wrist, took a deep breath, and turned to stride to the prow. Gold light erupted from them. Wind howled and masses of air surged forward, driving the storm foot by precious foot up the coast.
12
Fifthday, 12 Greening, 976
Larine dropped a generous tip into Kalvanen’s cup. The singer’s tenor voice was nowhere near as good as Semira’s soprano, but it was pleasant enough, and he accompanied himself on a small harp with skillful fingers. More important to Larine, he had an easy-going temperament and a calming, encouraging influence on his audience. In the year since he’d taken over as the Hall’s usual evening entertainment, Larine had enjoyed the music far more than she had during Semira’s tenure.
He raised an eyebrow as he settled his harp in his lap. “I take it you have a request? Or several, for that amount.”
Larine glanced around to make sure no one was listening and lowered her voice. “I’d appreciate it if for the rest of the evening you
could avoid anything Semira favored.”
Kalvanen’s other eyebrow rose to join the first. “Easy enough.” His eyes darted past Larine. “I don’t suppose I need to ask why.”
Her face warmed, but there was no point trying to contradict his assumption. “It’s been more than a year.”
“That it has.” He plucked an arpeggio. The sweet notes shimmered in the air. “I’ll do what I can. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Larine took a deep breath, dropped her hand to Daisy’s head for courage, and made her way across the dining hall through the relaxing, socializing wizards. She approached the round table near the wall where Hanion sat alone, leafing through a thick book with frequent pauses to take notes. She strove to keep her voice casual. “Mind if I join you?”
Hanion jerked his head up. He blinked, swallowed, glanced around. “Sure.” He shrugged. “If you don’t mind the quiet.
“Not at all.” Larine settled into the seat next to him. “What are you working on?”
Hanion waved vaguely at the tomes spread around him on the table. “Dabiel asked me to research the techniques the Herders’ Guild uses to develop new breeds. She thinks we may be able to help them identify which animals are most resistant to certain diseases so they can be bred and pass the advantage to their offspring.” His voice quickened with interest. “It seems straightforward enough, except apparently that sort of inheritance is more complicated than you’d think. But if we can understand it well enough to implement her idea, Dabiel thinks we can cut back on the amount of time and energy the Wizards’ Guild spends fighting disease outbreaks in the herds. And reduce the number of times we have to refuse because we’re too busy with human patients.”