Kilisha yawned, blinked, and then reluctantly said, "Thank you. You did well."
"Happy happy!"
"Now shut up and go downstairs." She knew she shouldn't tell even the tiniest part of her master to shut up, but the spriggan could be so stupid and annoying. . ..
The spriggan bounced away, and she groped for her robe.
A few moments later she was in the workshop, preparing the Lesser Spell of Invaded Dreams, which would let her send a message to one of her chosen assistants as he slept, a message that the recipient would, at least in theory, remember clearly when he woke up, without the fuzziness of ordinary dreams.
Unfortunately, she would have no way of knowing whether the spell had worked properly. If Kelder had been given late-night duty, or Adagan had sat up late working on his witchcraft, then her message might not go through—the recipient had to be asleep. If that happened she wouldn't know it until they failed to show up in the morning, so for those two she intended to use the much more difficult Greater Spell of Invaded Dreams—or at least at tempt it. For her brother Opir, who always liked his sleep, she could use the Lesser.
It took half an hour of ritual with her athame, incense, and a pinch of dust, but she was fairly certain it had gone properly and her message had been sent.
That done, she started on the Greater, directed at Kelder, which called for blood and silver as well as the other ingredients. For this one, by the end of over an hour of preparation she had worked herself into a trance, and although she knew she was still sitting cross-legged on the workshop floor she felt herself standing in a strange stone room where half a dozen men lay sleeping on narrow cots. This, she supposed, was a barracks room somewhere in the city, and the men were presumably soldiers.
One of them was Kelder. She called to him.
He sat up, startled, knocking his blanket aside, and she saw he was naked. She blushed, and almost let the spell break, but caught herself at the last instant.
"It's me," she said. "Ithanalin's apprentice, Kilisha. I'm in your dream."
"Well, that's nothing new," he said, pulling up his blanket.
"No, I ..." Then the meaning of his words sank in, and she blushed again. She gathered herself up mentally, then decided that she needed to assert her power a little more obviously. She waved her hands, and the barracks room disappeared. Kelder's uniform appeared, and the two of them were standing side by side on the city wall, looking out over the farms to the southeast.
Kilisha had never been on the city wall, though she had levitated high enough to see over it; she supposed she had somehow pulled this scene from Kelder's memory.
"This dream is magic," she said. "I'm using the Spell of Invaded Dreams to tell you that I want your help. I've learned that the couch is in the Fortress, and I would be grateful if you could meet me at the north door tomorrow morning, two hours before noon, and help me retrieve it."
"Two hours before noon? I think I have collection duty—"
"Tell your officer that Lady Nuvielle sent for you," Kilisha interrupted. "She's the one who found the couch and will be letting us into the Fortress."
"The treasurer herself found it? The overlord's aunt?"
"That's right," Kilisha said. "Please be there!" She twisted the spell's magic, and the two of them were standing at the north door of the Fortress, with the sun two-thirds of the way up the eastern sky. "Here, at this hour."
"I'll try," Kelder said. "If I remember."
"You'll remember," Kilisha told him. "That's how the spell works. That's how you'll know it was magic, and not just an ordinary dream."
"I think I've heard about that," Kelder said. "I'll be there, if I can."
Kilisha smiled at him. "Good!"
He smiled back. "Now what?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean here we are, in a perfectly good dream, and you've delivered your message—what do you want to do next? I see you can change the scenery, and make clothes appear and disappear; how long will the dream last? What else can we do?" He stepped toward her.
"I—I need to get some sleep," Kilisha said, pushing him away. "I'll see you in the morning." She broke the spell.
Then she sat there on the floor as the smoke dissipated and said, "Stupid. That was stupid. I should have ..."
But she didn't know what she should have done. The thought of spending more time with Kelder was certainly not unpleasant, but really, she had far more urgent things to deal with. And he had been dreadfully forward. . ..
But it was a dream, not real, and she couldn't decide whether that made his attentions more or less acceptable.
She sat there a moment longer, trying to forget about Kelder and concentrate on preparing a final iteration to contact Adagan. Finally she said, "Oh, to the Void with it. It's late and I'm tired and I'm not even sure it's his real name. I'll go down there in the morning."
"We go together?" the spriggan asked.
"Ask me in the morning," Kilisha said as she got to her feet and headed for the stairs.
She slept later than she had intended, and rushed through her breakfast. As she ate she tried to plan out the rest of the morning. Should she talk to Adagan first, then come back and get herself ready, or should she make her own preparations and then stop at Adagan's shop on the way?
Adagan, she decided, might have his own preparations to make. She would talk to him first.
She had just decided this when Yara asked her, "Did you reach everyone last night?"
"I talked to Kelder," she said, "and I sent Opir a message. I didn't get to Adagan."
"I'll send Telleth, then," Yara replied—and that, Kilisha saw, was the best solution all around.
When she had finished eating she went to the workshop, and as she began gathering supplies she heard the rear door slam as Telleth left on his errand.
Her athame was in the sheath on her belt, but everything else she needed would have to go in her belt pouch. She took a quick inventory of the little leather container.
There were the three potions she had prepared, with their smudged labels. She frowned, pulled them out, and found a pen, planning to make new labels.
Then she paused. Each vial held seven doses, all she had of each spell. What if one of them were to be spilled? She wanted to plan for every eventuality, for once. Maybe there was such a thing as being too cautious—but then she glanced over her shoulder at Ithanalin, crouching in the corner.
Things could go wrong. Things often did go wrong. Best to be ready when they did.
Accordingly, she found three more vials, smaller ones, and wrote new labels for them: strength, v'S LEV., t's LEV. Then she poured part of the contents of each of the original vials into the appropriate new container, so that she had, as best she could tell, four doses of each spell in the old vials and three of each in the new. She capped them all securely, wrapped them in a soft cloth, and tucked them back in the pouch.
Her vial of brimstone, useful for Thrindle's Combustion, was almost empty; she refilled it.
The tiny bottle of dragon's blood was still in its place; she debated adding more, but decided against it, as Ithanalin's supply was limited—and really, there was no point in taking the ingredients for any spell that required more than a few heartbeats to prepare, and the only really quick spell she knew that needed dragon's blood was Fendel's Spectacular Illusion. She could imagine how that might possibly be useful once, but not how repeating it could help.
There were a few fast spells that called for nothing more than a pinch of dust, and the bottom of the pouch looked a little too clean, so she quickly wiped a handful of powder and fluff from the tops of a row of jars, then poured it into the pouch.
The bit of chrysolite she kept ready for conjuring the Yellow Cloud was still in its rag wrapping, where it belonged.
That was everything in the pouch; she looked over the shelves above the workbench, trying to decide what to add—and trying to ignore the brown goo in the brass bowl atop the oil lamp. She had bee
n refilling that lamp faithfully ever since Ithanalin's accident, and the stuff in the bowl had cooked down from a liquid to an ugly paste that was now starting to dry out and crack; she hoped that wouldn't do anything terrible to whatever magic it might hold—if it held any, and wasn't just a forbidden sauce or gravy.
She spotted the big earthenware jar where the entire family stored any spiders they were able to catch and crush. There were at least two handy spells that called for powdered spider and took no more than half a minute, so she added an envelope of that, and then took a mummified bat's wing from the drawer and tucked that in, in case she wanted to use the Spell of Stupefaction.
If the couch wasn't feeling cooperative the Spell of Stupefaction might be very helpful. In fact, putting the Spell of Stupefaction in a potion, instead of Tracel's Levitation, might have been clever, but she hadn't thought of it at the time and it was too late now.
And of course, she couldn't really be sure it would work on something that was animated, but not truly alive.
The Displaced Whistle might be useful as a distraction, and she started to reach for the required curly seashell, but then she remembered that it also called for a fresh-plucked blade of grass. She could hardly hope to find grass growing inside the Fortress. She left the seashell where it was, and looked around thoughtfully.
Ash might be useful; the Polychrome Smoke used ash. Usually she assumed that she would be able to find that readily wherever she went, but perhaps the overlord's hearth was cleaned regularly— especially since it was still summer, and not yet chilly enough to really need a fire even at night. She made a quick trip to the kitchen and returned with a vial of fine gray powder from the stove.
She hoped that this would be enough; she couldn't think of any other quick spells she knew. If she had time for anything more elaborate, anything requiring extensive preparation or other ingredients, she would just have to come back here, or ask another magician for help.
Of course, she might want things other than magic. She added the linen purse containing all her money—which came to six bits in copper and one in silver, hardly enough to be useful in bribing the Fortress guards, but it might be useful somewhere. Ordinarily she let the little bag hang from her belt, but this was not the time to worry about cutpurses, so into the pouch it went.
If she needed a blade, her athame would work as well as any other knife—or better, really, as it was stronger and sharper than an ordinary knife, and had its ability to keep her free of any bonds.
She looked down at the pouch for a moment, trying to guess what more she might need, and could not think of anything.
Her plan was to go to the overlord's apartments with Lady Nuvielle, bringing Kelder and Opir and Adagan with her, then to simply carry the couch out. Getting it home from the Fortress might involve leading it, or hiring a wagon, or perhaps even levitating it—it would depend on circumstances.
Leading it might call for a rope. That wouldn't fit in the pouch, but she intended to bring plenty of rope. Most of the household's lighter cords were already in use holding the other furniture, but there was the coil of rope she had used to bring back the bench and chair—she had replaced it with shorter, lighter strands when tying them to the line in the chimney.
She straightened up, fastened her belt and pouch and knife securely around her waist, and slung the rope on her shoulder. Then she told Ithanalin, "It won't be much longer, Master," and marched out into the morning sun.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Adagan was waiting at his door, just as Kilisha had hoped he would be, and the two of them strolled down Wizard Street together, then turned north on Cross Avenue.
As they walked Kilisha asked Adagan what magic he had brought, and was answered with a rambling disquisition on how witchcraft differed from wizardry in requiring no specific ingredients or preparatory rituals.
"What about herbs?" Kilisha asked as they rounded the corner from Cross Avenue onto the East Road . "Or those crystals?"
"Oh, well, that's not the same thing," Adagan said. "The crystals are just to aid in focusing the mind, and the herbs—that's really herbalism, not true witchcraft. Most of us learn some of that, but it's not really the same thing."
"So you know two kinds of magic? I thought the Brotherhood didn't approve of that—and I know the Wizards' Guild doesn't."
"No, no, it's all still witchcraft!"
"You just said it wasn't."
"But it's .. . well, herbalism isn't really magic.,. ."
"Don't let Urrel hear you say that."
"But it isn't! Herbalism is just the knowledge of the natural properties of plants, while magic is the altering of nature!"
"Oh, I don't accept that," Kilisha said. "How are you defining nature?"
That debate lasted until they reached Market Street, where they crossed to the Old East Road, which wound its way up the hill toward the Fortress.
It wasn't quite as steep as Steep Street, but it was steep enough that the conversation faded away for a time; both were saving their breath for climbing.
As they neared Fortress Street, though, and the gray stone walls towered ahead of them, Kilisha asked, "Why didn't you levitate up here?" She didn't look at Adagan as she spoke; she was trying to gauge the sun's angle from the shadows on the pavement. "Because it would take just as much energy as walking," he replied. "Witchcraft doesn't create energy, just redirects it."
"And that's different from herbalism?" The shadows looked right; Kilisha judged that it was very close to the appointed time of two hours before noon.
Adagan refused to revive the argument and instead retorted, "Why didn't you levitate?"
"I'm saving my spells for later, just in case," Kilisha replied. "Besides, it wouldn't be very polite to leave you behind." The truth was that it hadn't occurred to her.
"I thought you didn't have the ingredients. You wizards always need your strange powders and stones and smoke."
"I have a potion right here," Kilisha said, patting her pouch. "But it would only lift me, and I didn't want to leave you behind."
"I'd have levitated if you did," Adagan said. "It doesn't take more energy than climbing, it just doesn't take any less."
"Ah. I'm sorry I didn't suggest it, then, but there's no point now."
And in fact, there wasn't, as they had reached Fortress Street . Kilisha turned right and led the way to the north door.
Kelder was waiting for them, chatting idly with the guards, and Kilisha, remembering the dream they had shared, almost blushed at the sight of him.
There was no sign of Opir. Kilisha wondered whether the dream had reached him. There was no sign of Lady Nuvielle, either, which was rather more important.
Kelder fell silent and watched their approach, then said, "I haven't seen the treasurer yet."
"She'll be here," Kilisha said, not meeting Kelder's eyes. She hoped her certainty wasn't misplaced. She didn't really know Lady Nuvielle, but she assumed anyone the overlord trusted to manage the city's finances must be fairly reliable. Wulran III wouldn't have given her the job just because she was his aunt; for one thing, he had plenty of aunts to choose from. Wulran's father, Doran IV, had had eleven sisters, ten of whom were still alive, and eight of whom were still in the city. Nuvielle was one of those eight, and had been chosen for her current job, so Kilisha assumed she must be at least reasonably trustworthy.
Opir she wasn't quite so certain of. Her brother was generally sensible enough, but he had been known to miss an appointment or two. She looked worriedly down the street that dropped away steeply behind her, then realized she was looking north down the Old Coast Road, which was not a route Opir would use, any more than she had.
Then a metallic thumping sounded, and the heavy door swung open. Two more guards appeared in the opening, stepping out onto the pavement, blinking in the bright sun.
Behind them came Lady Nuvielle, attired in a gown like nothing Kilisha had ever seen before. This was not the velvet dress she wore when going about the city
on business, a dress that had impressed Kilisha as exceptionally beautiful; no, this was what she wore at home, when she had no need to worry about dusty streets or adventurous thieves.
It was made in layers—an outer layer of fine white lace and gold filigree over a dress of blue silk, and here and there the silk was slashed dramatically to reveal a golden lining. Kilisha could not help staring at this elaborate garment.
Kelder, she noticed, was staring, as well—but not at the dress, exactly. She felt a twinge of jealousy.
She silently chastised herself; she was taking that dream too seriously. Kelder had every right to admire a beautiful woman.
Adagan seemed unimpressed with Nuvielle's appearance; he bowed, belatedly reminding Kilisha of her own manners. "My lady," she said as she curtsied.
"Kilisha," Nuvielle said. "I'm pleased to see you; do come in! And introduce me to your companions."
Kilisha rose, and took a last desperate glance down Fortress Street, and saw Opir hurrying toward them.
"This is Kelder, one of your tax collectors," Kilisha said. "He was the one who was at the door when the spell went awry."
Kelder bowed. "Kelder Goran's son of Sixth Company, my lady."
Kilisha was pleased she had remembered that name from when Kelder had given it to the Fortress guard a few days earlier; without the patronymic she could not have invoked the Spell of Invaded Dreams, since there were so many Kelders in the World. She smiled at him at the memory of that dream. But Lady Nuvielle was waiting, so Kilisha turned and said, "And this is Adagan the Witch, one of my neighbors. He and Kelder have been aiding me in the search for the missing couch, and have agreed to help me capture it and carry it home."
"Kilisha!" Opir called, as he came trotting up. "And my brother, Opir of Eastgate," Kilisha said. "Opir, this is Nuvielle, Lady Treasurer, who has found my master's couch." Opir bowed hastily.
"And is this everyone, then?" Nuvielle asked. "Yes, my lady," Kilisha said.
"You know, I would have assigned a few guardsmen to carry the couch for you, had you asked."
"Oh." Kilisha felt her cheeks grow warm. "I hadn't thought of... I wouldn't want to trouble you, my lady. The couch is my responsibility."
Ethshar 08 - Ithanalin's Restoration Page 21