by Linda McNabb
Tilly took an empty jar from a shelf and held it out in front of Calard. Zaine didn’t even see the man’s hand move, but suddenly the jar was in the man’s hand instead of his aunt’s.
“You want a jar of silvers?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in question and disbelief, his voice raised slightly in volume. “Then can the boy come with me?”
“I … I guess so,” Tilly replied with a frown. She had obviously not expected her demands to be taken seriously.
“Here.” Calard drew a pouch from his belt and tipped its contents into the jar. Silver pieces filled the jar halfway. He took another pouch from inside his heavily buttoned cloak and topped the rest of the jar up before handing it back to Tilly. “Is that enough?”
Tilly took the jar, her mouth shaped like an egg as she took out one of the coins. She looked at both sides of the silver coin and then bit it.
“Who is this?” she demanded, as she pointed to the picture of a young man stamped onto one side of the coin.
“The future king,” Calard replied bluntly. “Either you take that as payment for what the boy owes, or I take him anyway and you get nothing.”
“Then we will take the coins,” Tilly said, hugging the jar to her thin chest in case he tried to take it back.
“But Zaine may not wish to go,” Pretor said softly, and he turned to Zaine. “Do you want to go?”
Zaine stared from one face to the next as silence fell. He had wanted to leave the farm for years, but he didn’t want to leave with Calard. He wanted to go and be apprenticed to Davyn. The trouble was would Davyn still want him? The herbmaster had warned him about the book, but he hadn’t listened.
“The boy does not have a choice in the matter,” Calard snapped after several seconds. He started to walk across the room, the young man following him like a shadow. “It is the best thing that could have ever happened to him.”
Zaine stepped out of the way, moving over to where his uncle stood, not that the small farmer would be of much use if it came to brute force.
“We’ll be back first thing in the morning for him. Pack your things, boy.”
Calard and his shadow left the kitchen, not even shutting the door behind them, and silence fell again. Zaine couldn’t believe what had just happened. He felt like he had just been sold for a jar of silver coins. He looked over at his aunt who was still hugging the jar tightly. He knew she had never felt any love for him – but to sell him so easily like that?
“You’d best pack your bags, Zaine.” Pretor put his hand on Zaine’s shoulder and patted it comfortingly. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Zaine walked slowly to the open door and looked out. There was no sign of Calard or his young companion, and he frowned. They must have walked very fast to have made it clear over the hill already. He looked around at the growing shadows to see if they were lurking somewhere nearby, but there was no sign of them.
He pulled himself up the rope to his hayloft and sat staring out into the gathering darkness moodily. Why had his life changed so suddenly? Greed, that was all there was to it. If he hadn’t been tempted by the coins, he would have heeded Davyn’s warnings and kept clear of that book.
Davyn. There wasn’t going to be time to go see the old herbmaster in the morning and he didn’t want to leave without at least trying to apologise to his friend. He moved his leg out of the cramp it was developing and heard the jingle of the coins in his pocket. He had completely forgotten about the silvers Calard had given him. He stood up, suddenly determined that he was going to go and see Davyn before he left with Calard. The least he could do was to give him the coins.
It was a moonless night but he knew he would have no trouble finding his way there. He just had to wait until his aunt and uncle were asleep, for he could see Aunt Tilly’s shadow moving near the kitchen window, keeping an eye on the hayloft.
Zaine woke with a start, hardly able to believe that he had nodded off on such an important night. He didn’t have time to waste sleeping the night away! He looked out into the inky night, trying to judge how much of the night he had slept by the position of the stars. It was one of the things Davyn had taught him, and it was almost as accurate as the sun so long as he looked carefully at the lights studded in the sky.
Deciding that there were still a good four or five hours before dawn, he slipped silently down the rope. He headed into town, taking care not to step in a rabbit hole, then into the forest.
He was moving carefully down the track that led to Davyn’s cottage when a thought occurred to him. He didn’t have to go with Calard at all. Just because Tilly said so it didn’t mean he had to go. She wasn’t really his aunt and this stranger meant nothing to him. So far as Zaine was concerned, the man had no right to say when or where he should go. Tilly had her money and he doubted that she would give it back even if the stranger wanted it. It was probably buried somewhere in a field by now.
Yes, that’s what he would do. He would go and see Davyn, give him some of the coins and then head south. He would need to keep some of the coins now that he would be out on the road by himself.
Davyn’s cottage stood out like a black hole in the dark forest around him, and he approached it slowly. Should he just bang on the door and wake Davyn up? Perhaps he could wait until Davyn woke up and be waiting on the doorstep, or maybe he could leave the old herbmaster a note with the coins?
Zaine was still trying to decide what to do when he heard a noise behind him. He turned quickly to see what it was. Another twig snapped and he peered into the darkness.
The noise stopped and Zaine decided he would go inside Davyn’s cottage after all, as the forest wasn’t the safest place to be wandering around at night. He had almost reached the door when he felt a presence behind him, only a step away, and he lunged for the door, intending to outrun whatever it was.
“Not so fast, young one!” a voice snarled softly, and someone grabbed Zaine’s collar firmly, pulling him back. “We don’t want to give him a chance to get away now do we?”
Zaine realised it was Calard’s voice and he frowned in confusion. What was Calard doing out here in the forest? And what did he mean about not giving Davyn a chance to get away?
“Does he live here?” Calard demanded as he pulled Zaine a short distance from the door.
“Who?” Zaine asked, confused and annoyed that the man had ruined his plans of running away.
“The one who taught you runeweaving,” Calard replied, as if it had been obvious.
“I just wanted to say goodbye to a friend,” Zaine said loudly, hoping that Davyn would hear him. If this man meant harm to the old herbmaster, it would be Zaine’s fault for leading him there.
“Well, let’s go in shall we?” Calard replied, and he strode forward, dragging Zaine after him. He kicked the door open with a solid thump that would have been loud enough to wake a deaf man. “Are you in there, runeweaver?”
When there was no reply from inside the dark cottage, Calard threw something inside. It rolled along the stone floor and then flooded the small cottage with light. Zaine tried to see what caused such a bright light, but it hurt his eyes to try to look directly at it. He blinked and could only see yellow spots before his eyes for a few seconds.
“Davyn! Get out!” Zaine called, realising it was probably too late to warn the herbmaster but feeling he had to try. Looking around the small cottage, however, he realised that it was empty. Davyn was not there. There was nothing to show that anyone had ever lived there; even the bottles of herbs from the worktable had gone. The herbmaster didn’t usually take everything with him when he went away, so it looked like he had gone for good this time.
“Davyn?” Calard turned to look at Zaine with surprise, and then he shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t be the same Davyn. He is far too important to be living in a tiny town like this, in a horrible little cottage. Whoever your tutor was, he’s gone and is probably halfway across the countryside by now.”
Calard still had a firm hold on Zaine’s arm, and h
e turned to leave the cottage, the light fading as they walked out the door, sinking them into total darkness once more.
“You’ll stay in town with us for the rest of the night,” Calard informed him. “We can’t have you wandering around in the night getting lost now, can we?”
Zaine didn’t bother to reply. He should have known that you never get anything for free. Calard took Zaine back to the village and up to the largest room that the small inn had. His young companion was sitting up at a table, obviously waiting for Calard’s return.
“Tercel, watch over the boy for me, will you? He doesn’t understand what a great thing he is being offered.” Calard pushed Zaine inside the room and then shut the door, leaving Tercel and Zaine alone in the room.
“You’re a fool to try to turn down his offer,” Tercel sneered. “It’s the best thing that could ever happen to you.”
“You believe that?” Zaine asked as he walked over to the table where Tercel sat. A small oil lamp sat on the table and lit the room dimly. Tercel looked to be about sixteen. He had sandy brown hair and well-tanned skin, but his eyes held a streak of evil that made Zaine shiver.
“I know it.” Tercel stood up and walked over to a small bed by the wall. “You’d better get some sleep before we leave.”
Zaine sat down on a chair, drew his legs up and rested his chin on his knees, he wasn’t going to sleep. He watched Tercel lie down and shut his eyes, with one open just a fraction as if he were still watching everything that went on even as he slept.
Morning came far sooner than Zaine expected, and he knew he must have dozed off a few times without meaning to. A soft knock at the door made him just about leap from the seat. He walked over to the door. To his utter disgust he realised that Calard had not locked the door. He could have escaped hours ago!
“Breakfast,” a voice called through the door, and Zaine opened it. He recognised the girl who carried the tray. She nodded at him. “I hear you’re leaving town.”
“So it seems,” Zaine replied dryly.
“It must be exciting to be going to work for a king,” she said in a rush as she laid the food on the table.
“I guess that depends what you’re doing and whether you want to go.” Zaine didn’t mean to be blunt, but he just wasn’t in the mood to talk, and she blushed and left the room.
“Surely you know why the king needs you?” Tercel had woken up and was sitting up. “All runeweavers are needed when there’s a contest for the crown.”
“What’s a runeweaver?” Zaine asked absentmindedly as he looked at the huge breakfast. He wondered who else was coming to join them, for this couldn’t be just for the two of them.
“You are,” Tercel replied with a sneer. “Don’t try to fool me.”
“Me?” Zaine laughed and picked up a fresh roll, stuffing it into his mouth as he remembered that he had missed his meal last night. “I’m just a poor boy who worked on a farm and was sold for a jar of silver coins.”
“You knew the rune book,” Tercel pointed out.
“Is that what those designs are? I wondered what they were. What do they do?” Zaine decided that he might just find out some things that Calard probably wouldn’t tell him.
“Didn’t your tutor tell you?” Tercel looked puzzled and unsure whether he should be telling Zaine anything.
“I found the book. Nobody taught me anything.” Zaine figured that it wasn’t really a lie. He had found the book by accident and Davyn had certainly never encouraged him to look at it – far from it.
“You learnt all that by yourself?” Tercel sounded disbelieving. Then he boasted, “I did the first two pages in just over a year.”
“How far are you now?” Zaine asked, wondering if this young man could tell him how to get past the page he had been stuck on. Not that he would probably get the chance to try it, but he just wanted to know.
“I’m eight pages into it,” Tercel replied proudly, and Zaine felt his mouth twitch in annoyance. Tercel was about where he himself was four years ago; he would be no help at all. “What about you?”
“Somewhere like that, too,” Zaine replied evasively. He still didn’t want to reveal how much of the book he knew until he knew what it was he had learnt. Although he knew now they were runes, that didn’t help him as he had no idea what that meant.
They ate breakfast in silence until Calard came to fetch them a short while later.
“I’ve had the carriage brought round to the front,” he said shortly. “Be downstairs soon.”
“A carriage?” Zaine queried. He had just assumed that they would be walking north, this man must be either very wealthy or his claim of being the king’s voice was true.
“The king’s personal runeweaver does not walk,” Tercel replied as they left the room.
The carriage was large, needing two horses to pull it, and far more comfortable than the farm cart that Zaine was sometimes allowed to drive. Zaine and Tercel sat inside the carriage and a few minutes later Calard joined them. A driver stepped up to the seat up front, and the carriage moved off.
“Anything you’ve left behind at the farm can be replaced,” Calard said as the carriage turned onto the north route, bypassing the farm completely.
Zaine looked over in the direction of the farm. He hadn’t meant to leave like this at all. He didn’t think Tilly would care if he was gone, but he regretted not saying goodbye to Pretor. Just as he went to pull his eyes away from the rolling hills he saw someone standing by a tree not far from the road. Davyn! He almost yelled out to him, but then remembered how keen Calard had been to meet the herbmaster and he stilled the words in his throat. Instead, he raised his hand in farewell, watching until Davyn was out of sight.
CHAPTER FOUR - BAD LUCK COMES IN THREES
Zaine sat in silence for over an hour as the carriage rumbled down the dirt road that marked the main road north. Neither Calard nor Tercel tried to start a conversation with him, but his interest was drawn, however, when Calard brought out the black book and handed it to Tercel.
“You’ve much to learn. You must know at least ten pages of the book before they begin the selection for the contests or you won’t even be considered. As it is you’ve no chance unless you study every day.” Calard’s comments were said without any softness to take the edge off his blunt assessment of the young man’s ability.
“Why would he want to be in the contest anyway?” Zaine asked, trying hard not to stare at the book that Tercel had just opened. “What do you win?”
“Win? Why the crown for your king, of course.” Tercel looked up from the first page.
“Surely there are more experienced rune-eaters … or whatever you called them? Why would you have any chance at all?” Zaine was deliberately trying to bait them into an argument to find out all he could about where he was going.
“Runeweavers,” Calard corrected him in a drawl which said he wasn’t going to let Zaine annoy him. “And he will be just as important in the contest as me if he can learn enough of the book.”
“Master Calard can do ninety pages,” Tercel added, and his master gave him a look that said he should keep quiet about that.
“Ninety?” Zaine tried hard not to let his utter shock show in his voice, but he failed miserably. He could do almost ten more than that.
“I know. It’s amazing isn’t it?” Tercel had misunderstood Zaine’s shock, as had Calard by the smug look on his face. “Learning more than three a year is virtually unheard of once you reach page ten.”
“Impressive,” Zaine commented with a forced look of awe and sank back into the well-padded seat, wondering what it all meant. He knew more than the man opposite him, and Calard was his prince’s own runeweaver. He still hadn’t asked what a runeweaver was supposed to be able to do, but Tercel was concentrating hard on the book and Calard had shut his eyes, feigning sleep.
A jolt shook the carriage and it lurched heavily to one side with a loud crunching and grinding noise that told Zaine one of the wheels had fallen off. He ste
adied himself against the side of the carriage as they lurched to a stop.
“What’s going on?” Calard snapped and he threw open the door of the carriage which was now listing heavily to one side.
“Wheel broke, sir,” the driver replied apologetically. “We must have hit a rock.”
Zaine stepped out of the carriage, after Calard and Tercel, and looked at the broken and splintered wheel which lay a short distance behind them. He looked at the dirt road they had been travelling on, and, although it wasn’t smooth, there didn’t appear to be any rocks large enough to smash a wheel as solid as theirs was.
“Looks like we’re walking back to town,” Zaine said with a sigh and a shrug. He wasn’t in any hurry to get where they were going, and the longer it took, the better he liked it. Even so, he had a distinct feeling they were being watched, and he looked around at the empty dirt road, lined by small clumps of trees, but saw nobody.
“Master Calard can fix it,” Tercel said confidently.
“What with?” Zaine asked, about to point out that they had no woodworking tools.
“Runes, of course. What did you think?” Tercel obviously thought Zaine had been joking, and he walked over to where his master was bent over the wheel.
Zaine frowned. How would the designs fix a wheel? He followed Tercel and stood a few feet back from the wheel, watching carefully. Calard had placed all the pieces of the wheel back together so that it looked like a wheel again, but it was still broken. Zaine knew that it would fall apart if he tried to lift it.
Calard dipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a small stick of what looked like black chalk and began to draw on the flat side of the wheel. Zaine recognised the designs Calard was drawing. He had traced them a thousand times or more, and he named them all silently as they were drawn. Each one linked to the one next to it and formed an unbroken circle of designs – runes; he corrected himself – which completely covered the wheel.