Part 10 (1/2)

Otorin shrugged. ”Something innocuous. An inquiry about crop rotation in the south, perhaps. It'll give the others something to worry about.”

Darius shook his head and his lips curled up. ”I'm glad you're on our side,” he said.

chAptep 6

1.

m arrod Courtak rode toward the mountains of Talis- man, leaving the preparations for putting down the re- bellion behind him. Tok had been right, he thought;

there had been trouble brewing and now his own cousin had attacked Spa.r.s.edale. He had never met his relatives and had no feelings for them, but he was not pleased at being kin to traitors. Nor was he particularly pleased with this slow trip to Celador. He had been spoiled by the almost instantaneous trips through Interim on the back of a unicorn, but there were no unicorns on Strand at the moment. Peltia, his favorite, came back occasion- ally to introduce a new crop of foals. Her mother, Amarine, came more rarely still and then only to visit Marianna. Nastrus was the most constant of them, but he was off on one of his explorations. Jarrod's mind s.h.i.+ed away from the thought of Beldun. He no longer had nightmares about killing Beldun, but the memory, though buried deep, was still there.

The quiet of the morning had been dispelled by the clopping of horses' hooves and the creak of cart wheels.

Jarrod rode slightly ahead of the rest. Their presence, too, was an irritant. If he had had his own way he would have traveled alone, but these days his dignity de- manded an entourage of servants and men-at-arms. It was almost enough to make him miss the overfaithful Sandroz. Sandroz had finally gone home, though. Times had changed.

54 The soldiers behind him on the raised road that ran through the leagues of rice paddies were testament to that. Since the war's end, bands of ”st.u.r.dy beggars,” as the broadsheets called them, roamed the countryside stealing from farmers and waylaying travelers. Most of them were former fighting men who had no taste for peacetime occupations. They were the scourge of every country, but, if the tales were to be believed, were par- ticularly active in the Empire. Merchants now banded together in caravans and hired bravos of their own.

Off to the left, atop a gentle rise, was one of the new lantern houses that were all the rage. Monuments to their owners' egos, they appeared to be more gla.s.s than masonry. Not a shutter or a pail of damp clay to be found in them, no fortifications, commanding nothing but a view. They were impressive, especially at night when they could be seen from leagues away, that much Jarrod had to admit, but, if Darius of Gwyndryth was right and war came again, of what use would they be?

He shook his head and urged his horse into a canter along the elevated roadway. The column adjusted its pace and the driver of the baggage cart swore and cracked his whip.

Celador, as they approached it from the east, seemed unchanged. There were no new dwellings outside the walls and the delicate spires still pointed ethereally at the sky. There were guards at the gates, but they were offered no challenge. No wardcorn blew a welcome or a warning. The courts, as the party clopped their way through them, were crowded and progress was slow.

People took no notice of Jarrod. Celador was the un- official center of the Discipline, and Magicians were a common sight. The welcome at the stables, where Jar- rod was remembered for the unicorns, was warm. He hoped that it was a good omen for his coming meeting with the Archmage.

55.

”His Excellence, the Mage Courtak,” the Duty Boy announced in a stentorian voice worthy of a Court Chamberlain.

As Jarrod advanced into the well-remembered cham- ber, Ragnor roused himself and the sharp-faced cat that had been curled up on his lap jumped down and stretched. It had been a while since Jarrod had seen him and he hoped that the shock he felt did not show on his face. The long, white hair had dwindled to wispy strands that revealed the pink scalp. The face was lined, but then it always had been. Now it was blotched as well. There were little, vertical lines around the mouth that Jarrod didn't remember. The neck was scraggy and the skin loose. The mouth seemed too small, but when Ragnor smiled Jarrod realized that it was because there weren't too many teeth left.

”Come in, lad, come in,” the Archmage said some- what indistinctly, beckoning with a long, bony finger.

”Ptill up a chair.” He waited while Jarrod complied and then rang a bell. ”When the Duty Boy comes, ask for a b.u.mper of sherris.”

”Thank you, sir, but it's a bit early for me.”

”It's not for you.” Ragnor leaned forward conspira- torially. ”My prison guard of a Wisewoman has forbid- den me spirits. Says it affects my balance. Since I can't get around as well as I used to, I'd be obliged if you'd go along with this little deception. Pleasures are few and fleeting at my age.”

”Now,” he said when the Duty Boy had left and the thick gla.s.s was safely cradled in his hands, ”what brings you to Celador? I thought the Commission was poised on the brink of decision.”

”Not entirely,” Jarrod replied and launched into an account of what had transpired.

”You did well,” Ragnor said when he was finished, ”though I do think you might have consulted me first.”

56 ”I'm sorry, sir. It was a spontaneous move on my part. I'd had an unusual dream the night before, and, during the session, a kind of compulsion came over me.”

”Dream?” Ragnor said sharply. ”What sort of

dream?”

”I was out on the Alien Plain, all alone, shut in by gra.s.s. When I got clear of the gra.s.s 1 saw a large build- ing of some kind up in the mountains. It kept appearing and disappearing, but it seemed to offer refuge. I tried to climb up to it, but things kept getting in the way. I finally lost my footing and fell. That's when I woke up.”