Mistress of the Wind (Arucadi Series Book 1)

by E. Rose Sabin

  She recognized him. “Ruffian! What are you doing here?” She extended her hand and let the dog sniff it. Ruffian licked her fingers with evident joy. “Come on, fellow. You can help me find my way home.”

  The dog whined and hung his head. His tail lowered and swung slowly back and forth.

  “He just got here this morning. He’s not ready to leave.”

  She hadn’t heard Alair step outside behind her. Pointing at Ruffian, she said, “Why is he here? He belongs to the Widow Lee.”

  “He did, but he found his way to me.” He scratched the dog’s ears. “He’s eaten, warmed himself by the fire, and settled in quite comfortably. I don’t think you’ll persuade him to go back into the cold.”

  “You must have treated him more kindly than you’ve treated me.”

  “Then you must give me another chance to offer hospitality.” The mage smiled down at her, melting her anger. “Come back inside,” he urged. “Sit by the fire and tell me about Claid.”

  She allowed him to draw her into the house. Ruffian followed, and the door closed behind them. Alair led her back to the chair by the fire, took her pack and bundle, and set them to one side. She sat, and Ruffian plopped down at her feet. His tail thumped against the hardwood floor. Alair pulled up a second chair and settled into it, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  “So, Mistress Kyla Cren,” he said, “you have my rapt attention.”

  His use of her surname irritated her. Curse the man! He was so smug, so unbearably sure of himself. If it weren’t for Claid, she wouldn’t put up with him. She reached down, scratched Ruffian’s ears, fixed her attention on the dog, and launched into her tale.

  To his credit, Alair listened without interrupting.

  She’d intended to relate only the essential facts—the horde of mindstealers, Claid’s attempt to protect her, his capture, her escape. Somehow she found herself filling in more and more background. One thread led to another in an erratic, back-and-forth pattern. To explain their nearness to the mindstealer horde, she had to describe her attempt to warn the villagers. To explain why the villagers hadn’t been out working their fields when the horde descended, she had to tell how the ferebeasts’ stampede had destroyed the crops and driven the farmers to barricade themselves within Waddams. Next, of course, she needed to tell Alair why she and Claid had been traveling through the hills when the wind told her of the mindstealers. That led to the recounting of Claid’s mischievous spells and the townspeople’s reaction and her subsequent exile. Her tale expanded to include the books and why she’d kept them with her despite the urgency of her mission.

  Finished at last, she waited for his reaction.

  He said, “So it’s books you’re lugging in that heavy pack. Let’s see them.”

  “The books! What about the mindstealers? What about Claid? Do you think he’s dead?”

  “You can’t accept that Claid can protect himself. If he cares to, he can protect your town as well. He’s in no danger—he can’t die. The books are more important.”

  “Why do you insist that he can’t die? What is he?”

  Instead of answering, he sprang from his chair, startling Ruffian, who sat up and growled. Alair picked up the four books bundled in Kyla’s shift and worked at the knots. She tried to jerk the bundle away from him. “I tell you, Claid is in danger. I was there; I know. His spells only last a short time. And he’d already used up his power with the spells he’d done to control the ferebeasts and to rescue us from the villagers.”

  Alair regarded her with maddening amusement and did not release his hold on the books. “You said that after the mindstealers captured him he did ‘something’ that enabled you to escape from a horde of mindstealers and reach the safety of the hills. It should be obvious that the ‘something’ he did could have been no minor spell. At a time when he was supposedly helpless and drained, he provided powerful protection for you all the way across the valley. That was not the act of a being bereft of power. And, in fact, it’s not true that Claid’s spells are of brief duration. They last as long as he wants them to.”

  While he spoke, Alair worked at the knotted material. As his speech concluded, the knots yielded and the books tumbled free. He held up the wrinkled smock. “You may need this again.” He tossed it to her, gathered the four books, and returned to his chair. Ruffian settled down, gazing warily at his new master.

  Kyla crushed the white dress in her hands. “Are you heartless? However he did it, Claid used his power to save me, not himself. And what do you think the mindstealers were doing to him while he was using all his strength to protect me?”

  Alair wasn’t listening. He opened a book and scanned its pages. “Excellent!” he said, running a finger down a page. “This book is a rare treasure.”

  She jumped to her feet and tried to snatch the book from him. He dodged her hand without looking up. The volume that had captured his interest was On Mastering the Intricacies of Mathematical Theory, the book she valued least. “Please,” she said desperately, “I’ll give you the book if you’ll only help Claid.”

  He smiled. “An attractive offer, but I’d be taking advantage of your ignorance.” Closing the book, he stood and, disregarding her enraged sputters, took her hand. “Come along. I see you’re too distraught to be satisfied by words. You’ll have to see for yourself that Claid is in no need of rescue.” He pulled her toward the door through which the housekeeper had earlier gone to fetch him.

  She went with him, too astounded to resist. “Claid is here? And you never told me?”

  “No, of course he isn’t here. I have no idea where he is. But I am a mage. In my laboratory I have a device that will allow me to locate Claid and see what the ne’er-do-well is up to.”

  His hand clasping hers, he took her through a dimly lit corridor that seemed too long for the size of the house. Ruffian padded behind them.

  A motionless figure stood in the shadowy hall. As their rapid pace brought them to it, Kyla saw it was the housekeeper. She neither moved nor spoke. Alair walked past her without a glance. Kyla’s hand brushed against the woman’s arm. At the feel of cold stone beneath her fingers, Kyla recoiled.

  Alair turned his head but did not slow his pace. “That’s only a statue,” he said.

  A statue! Why would he have a statue of his housekeeper? Puzzled and more than a little frightened, Kyla said nothing.

  They reached the end of the corridor and halted before a door. Alair released her hand. “Open,” he said to the door, which swung obediently inward.

  Alair and Kyla entered a brightly lit room filled with long cluttered tables arranged in three parallel rows. Ruffian paused in the doorway. The door began to swing shut. “Step lively, fellow,” the mage called as he crossed the room to stand before the first table.

  Ruffian sprang forward, tail barely clearing the door.

  “Sit,” the mage commanded. “Don’t move until we’re ready to leave.”

  The dog sat, ears back, tail twitching nervously, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Alair.

  “And you,” Alair said to Kyla in the same tone he’d used for the dog, “come here.”

  Furious, she glared at him and did not move.

  He looked at her as though puzzled, then rubbed his forehead. “I’ve never allowed anyone in my laboratory before. It’s … difficult,” he said. “Please don’t make it more so.”

  It was a poor apology, but it was pointless to wait for a better one. She crossed to the table, which was laden with odd objects. She stared in frank curiosity at the jumble. Fragile glass beakers lay next to iron tongs. A golden goblet gleamed incongruously in the midst of scales of various sizes, rods of metal and of glass, and a bit of moldy cheese. Many of the items seemed like nothing more than trash: jars filled with crumbled solids or murky liquids, scraps of leather, unusually shaped rocks, even a brainstone like the one that had held the mage’s mind. Nearly hidden among this apparently worthless clutter, Kyla spotted a delicate crystal sphere the size of
her thumbnail, its many facets glittering in the light.

  The light. Kyla gazed upward at the sunlike globe suspended from the high ceiling and radiating a bright golden light that illuminated the whole room. She looked away, blinking, blinded for a few seconds by the brilliance of the imitation sun.

  When her vision returned, she saw Alair dragging something out from under the table and clearing a space on the table for it by carelessly shoving things together.

  It was a square box of a hard, smooth, shiny material, about two hands high and two wide, with rounded edges. Kyla could see no latch or other way of opening it.

  “What is it?” she dared to ask.

  “A far-viewer.” Alair dusted it off and placed his fingertips against one side of it. His other hand found a flat metal rectangle among the clutter on the table, placed it beside the box, and tapped on it in a rhythmical pattern that Kyla guessed to be a mystical code.

  The box cleared. Kyla gasped. A scene formed within it. She drew closer and stared at the clear, three-dimensional image. The scene was so distinct that she could see the leaves sway gently as if stirred by a light breeze. She recognized the clump of caronut trees where she and Claid had rested the day they left the village. She imagined she heard the burble of the nearby brook.

  Claid lazed on the grass beneath the trees, playing his pipes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DANNEL

  Kyla felt both anger and relief as she gazed at the mage’s box. Especially, she felt humiliated. The peaceful scene revealed no trace of mindstealers. Claid had deceived her, made a fool of her. Alair had been right all along …

  Had been if what she saw in the mysterious box was an actual scene and not a wizardly trick. Perhaps the mage was making her the butt of a monstrous joke. Perhaps Alair had Claid imprisoned somehow within that box.

  She scowled at the image. “Can you prove that’s real? That Claid is where that thing shows him at this instant, doing what I see?”

  Within the box the tiny image of Claid shifted, put down the pipes, and reached for a handful of caronuts from a pile beside him.

  Alair chuckled and gestured at the box. “Look at the shameless scamp! If you can doubt it’s really he, you have totally misread him.”

  Unsatisfied, she drew herself up and met his gaze. “You constantly accuse me of misunderstanding Claid. Perhaps I do. I don’t have your powers. I can only judge him by his actions—and you by yours. Yes, Claid worked spells that got me exiled from the village, and I was furious with him, but then he kept the villagers from hurting me. He cared for my books and wouldn’t let me leave them behind. He helped me return to Waddams to warn the people about the mindstealers. He controlled the ferebeast so I could ride it. He saved me from the mindstealers. However badly they turned out, I believe he meant the spells only as pranks. They were all short-lasting—well, except maybe for his frightening the Widow Lee’s cow and dog into running away.” She paused and glanced at Ruffian sitting patiently on his haunches, his gaze fixed on Alair. “The cow wandered home, but Ruffian—why did he come all the way up here? Was that Claid’s doing or yours?”

  “I assume Claid sent him, and he could well have killed the dog, forcing him to make such a long and difficult journey. That prank was not harmless. Nor was transforming the eggs that were your farmer friend’s livelihood.”

  “But they changed back—at least, Claid said they would.”

  “You didn’t see them change back,” Alair reminded her. “You only took Claid’s word for it. Would the villagers have been so angry when you returned if all the harm had been undone?”

  Kyla opened her mouth, shut it again. He could be right, but she had no intention of yielding. “I want to see Claid in person, not in this magic box,” she demanded. “I know he played tricks, and he wasn’t always truthful, but he did save my life, and he treated me with kindness and respect.”

  “Claid—respectful?” Alair laughed. “Only if it suited his purpose.”

  “And you? Does it ever suit yours to be kind and courteous?”

  The scene in the magic box winked out; the box turned black. The laboratory shook, glass containers rocked, and liquids sloshed and spilled. The mage loomed beside her, twice his normal size. “Woman,” he thundered, “who are you to demand respect from a mage?”

  Kyla stood firm, fists on hips, chin thrust out. “I am Kyla Cren, Windspeaker. I bade the wind bring me here to Starwind Peak and it did. With power from the wind I rescued you from the mindstealers when you were mindless and helpless.”

  Alair shrank to his normal proportions. “Go!” he gestured toward the door. “Call the wind and let it take you to Claid. I’ve shown you where he is. Go and learn that I speak the truth.”

  Kyla could not do what he ordered, not with night coming and snow falling. She doubted that she could snare the wind that howled and shrieked around this high, snow-swept peak. She dared not try to ride it through darkness, but she couldn’t let Alair sense her misgivings.

  “If you’re such a great mage that you’re above being decent to people, it should be an easy matter for you to transport Claid here. I came all this way for your help, and I won’t leave until I know he’s safe.”

  “I’m busy.”

  Kyla folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll stay here until you can find the time.”

  He shrugged. “Please yourself. I’ll take you back to the sitting room to wait while Melita prepares a room for you. Tomorrow I’ll try to make time to fetch Claid.”

  Realizing she’d get no more concessions from the mage, Kyla swept toward the closed door. A chain hanging to one side of it brought her to a halt. She reached for it.

  “Don’t touch that!” Alair’s sharp call stayed her hand. The door swung open.

  Ignoring the open door, she looked closely at the chain. Made of sturdy iron links about the thickness of a man’s thumb, it descended from a hole in the ceiling, hung to the floor, twisted around and through a large metal ring, and, pulled taut, stretched along the wall about a finger’s width above the floor. She was turning to follow it when Alair’s hands clamped down on her shoulders. He swung her back toward the door and pushed her from the room.

  “Come, Ruffian,” he ordered.

  The dog bounded into the corridor, and the door slammed shut behind them.

  “It is not for those who claim to know no magic to inquire into the secrets of a mage,” he said.

  “Claid told me of a chain—” she began.

  “Claid lies,” he snapped.

  She didn’t answer, but pulled free of his grasp and marched in front of him, her head held high.

  The secrets of a mage. She’d touched several of the puzzling objects in the laboratory and he’d said nothing, yet her interest in the chain alarmed him. Had Claid spoken the truth? Did the chain hold the secret of Alair’s power over him? She resolved to return and examine the chain, to find a way to free Claid from Alair’s power.

  Back in the sitting room, Alair motioned her toward a chair. While she sat, he picked up the book on mathematical theory. “I want to study this.”

  She didn’t answer. He hesitated and his gaze softened. She thought he was about to speak, but he turned abruptly and left the room, taking the book.

  Kyla sank into the chair by the fire. Ruffian sat beside her, his large head resting on her knee, his eyes gazing sorrowfully up at her. She scratched his ears, and he gave a contented sigh.

  “I will find a way to take you with me when I leave,” she promised. “You don’t deserve having to put up with that terrible man, and he has no right to keep you. I wonder if he really did feed you. He certainly hasn’t offered to feed me anything.”

  She was hungry. She’d eaten nothing all day and little the day before. “If the housekeeper doesn’t offer something, I’ll have to swallow my pride and ask her to fix me a meal. Maybe Alair intends to starve me into leaving. He’s heartless enough.” She scratched the dog’s head. “What shall I do, Ruffian? Claid told me t
o come here and ask Alair for help.”

  Ruffian thumped the floor with his tail.

  “Too bad you can’t tell me what you’ve seen here.”

  Still scratching Ruffian’s ears, she stared moodily into the fire. A log collapsed in a shower of sparks. The others glowed red and would soon burn out. A poker leaned against the stone fireplace, but the woodbin was empty. Already the room was growing chilly. Where was the housekeeper?

  It seemed odd that Alair, with all his reputed magic skills, should live in this poorly furnished house. “Probably can’t keep servants,” she muttered to the dog. “Too bad-tempered. The housekeeper stays because she’s as ill-natured as he … or maybe there’s another reason.” She thought of the statue in the hallway. “Maybe he uses the statue in a magic spell to force her to stay. Maybe that’s why she’s so irritable. Suppose he binds me that way? He could right now be carving a statue of me so he can make me his slave.”

  She shivered, reached down, and hugged the dog. Ruffian licked her cheek as if to calm her fears.

  “I thought you might be lonely, but I see you’ve found a friend.”

  Startled, Kyla sat up and peered into the gloom. She hadn’t heard the door open, hadn’t heard the stranger enter, but a tall, dark-skinned young man came toward her out of the shadows. He walked stiffly, as if doubtful of his welcome. “May I join you?” He put his hand on the back of the empty chair. “It’s not often I have someone to talk to.”

  His shy smile reassured her. She nodded. Beside her, Ruffian wagged his tail.

  The young man started to ease his slender frame into the chair, got halfway down, and sprang up. “The fire’s almost out!” he said as if announcing a momentous discovery. “What can Alair be thinking of, leaving you here in a cold room? I’ll be right back.”

  He melted so swiftly into the shadows from which he’d come that Kyla rubbed her eyes. Had she been dreaming?

  “A fine watchdog you are,” she scolded Ruffian. “Letting someone sneak up on me like that. I guess you know him, though.”