The Thirteenth Scroll (10 page)

“Well, what am I supposed to do—you’ve never shown the slightest interest in my studies before. But, you’re… right,” she added
slowly, “and I’m sorry, Giraldus. I shouldn’t exclude you when you are interested.”

This rare apology from her melted the last of his anger. He dropped the reins of her horse and moved his in closer, so that
he could take her hand.

“Aurya,” he said softly, “come, let’s make camp again. I do trust you, and I know we share the same vision of the future.
All I ask is that you trust me the same way.”

Giraldus was delighted that Aurya not only let him take her hand, but then squeezed his in return. She leaned toward him,
turning her face up for his kiss with a demureness that made him realize he could never have left her. He would go anywhere
with her, follow whatever plan she devised—if only she would act like this more often.

“After we have made camp,” Aurya said once the kiss had ended, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know of
Tambryn’s words. Then you will see why it is the child that is important to us.”

“Yes,” Giraldus replied, “I want to hear it all—and let this be the last time there are secrets between us.”

Later that night, as they lay entwined in each other’s arms, Aurya smiled into the darkness. She was pleased with herself;
she knew she had played Giraldus in just the right way. Her timing had been perfect.

She had known that, at sometime during their journey, his years as a warrior, his habit of leadership and custom of receiving
obedience, would cause him to balk. She had not expected it quite so soon or over a matter that she considered trivial. But
since it had come, at least she had the intelligence to make use of it. And now, more than ever, he was hers—heart and body,
mind and will.

It had cost her so little; she almost laughed aloud. She would tell him all he wanted to know—she would even read the entire
scroll to him, though she knew that he would soon lose interest. Eventually, when it was her magic rather than her intelligence
that was needed, she would make him part of that, too.

Oh yes, she had a special part for Giraldus to play when magic became necessary, as she knew it would. Magic could be difficult,
draining, even dangerous to the wielder. But with Giraldus nearby to act as a reserve of energy, usable at her request, she
knew there was little she could not do.

It was all coming together just as she had planned, despite what the bishop had said about her needing to become more… acceptable…
in order to be Queen. That was what Giraldus wanted, she knew. He had said little about it since Elon had raised the subject,
but Aurya knew
Giraldus well enough to be certain it was never far from his thoughts. He was but biding his time.

And so was she. After they had found and destroyed the child would be time enough to decide the question of marriage. As she
had tonight, she would know how and when to act; she would make certain then, as she had now, that everything worked the way
she
wanted.

Regardless of what Elon, or the Church, or anyone said, Giraldus was hers. So was the crown. So was Aghamore.

Smiling still, Aurya closed her eyes and welcomed sleep. She wanted to dream of the future.

W
ith Cloud-Dancer by her side, Lysandra traveled through the Great Forest. Despite the many superstitions about the place,
all the stories she had heard as a child, Lysandra knew no fear. For almost ten years she had lived deep in the heart of this
forest and had found nothing but beauty and safety.

The inner
Sight
that had first come to her among these trees stayed with her now. It was as if the forest itself held the magic of this Gift.
Whether that was true or not,
Lysandra did not know; she accepted it with gratitude, for it made the journey easier.

She gathered the food to sustain her as she traveled. It was plentiful this time of year, as the warming of the air and the
soil triggered the growth of tender shoots and succulent mushrooms, and new growth showed her where edible roots lay buried.
Each day she gathered a little more than she needed to add to her bag of provisions, knowing that these extra portions might
save her from starvation somewhere on the long, unknown journey ahead.

She also added to her supply of medicines, especially when she chanced upon a stand of white willows. Their bark, brewed in
a tea, reduced both pain and fever better than any of the herbs she grew.

By day the wolf left her side only to hunt. At dusk, Lysandra carefully made a fire, for the nights were still chill, then
laid their bed on piles of fir needles and bracken to insulate them from the damp of the ground.

The trek through the forest took nearly four days, then another to walk around Crooked Lake, from which the province took
its name. On the other side, they crossed into the central province of Urlar. Here, where the ground leveled out, towns sprinkled
all the roads to Ballinrigh. To get to the kingdom’s capital, Lysandra had no choice but to follow the roads, but she did
her best to avoid the towns and human contact for as long as possible.

She planned, however, to stop in Granshae—the third biggest city in the province, and only twenty miles from Ballinrigh. It
would have taken Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer too long to circumvent it—and she needed to find a shop that would buy her mother’s
jewelry.

Still, Lysandra dreaded it, and she stood for several minutes outside Granshae’s walls. Even out here the presence of so many
people pounded at her in a cacophony
of minds and emotions she had not endured since running from her home village a decade before.

She did not like it; she did not want it; she could not avoid it.

Steeling her mind as best she could, she laid her fingers on Cloud-Dancer’s head, running her fingers deeply into his fur
for a stronger contact. Then, using his vision for guidance and his presence to give her strength, Lysandra headed for the
city gate.

Walking into the town of Granshae was like walking into a wall of both internal and external noise. More than ever, she relied
on Cloud-Dancer’s instincts to guide them through the moving maze of people. Even with his vision to orient her, Lysandra
found the onslaught of human presence overwhelming. All the people’s voices, their loud, quick actions and even quicker thoughts
that darted and flashed both around and through her, made Lysandra feel dazed. She held on to Cloud-Dancer ever more tightly.
People passing them began to take notice that it was no ordinary dog by her side and to give Lysandra a wide berth, but she
could still sense the startled thoughts and whispers that swept through the crowd.

“Come on, boy,” she said softly to Cloud-Dancer. “Let’s find what we need and get out of this place.”

Continuing to share his vision, she began to examine the storefronts as they walked down the straight main road. At last Lysandra
saw a store where she might be able to sell her meager supply of possessions.

The window of the shop displayed a myriad of goods, the majority designed to catch a woman’s eye. Hopeful, Lysandra entered.
She had only taken a few steps when a man’s voice shouted from the back of the store.

“You—girl,” he boomed, his voice stern, “no animals in here. Leave your dog outside.”

Lysandra kept walking, silently using the language of touch to signal Cloud-Dancer. She needed the man behind the counter,
whom she hoped was the owner of the store, to see both her blindness and her need for Cloud-Dancer’s presence. This would
be a trial run for what she was certain to face in Ballinrigh.

Through Cloud-Dancer’s eyes, Lysandra could see the man. He was portly and florid, with a bulbous nose and big muttonchop
whiskers that added even greater dimension to his already rotund face. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring angrily.
He opened his mouth to bellow at her again.

Then, as Lysandra watched, his expression changed. Though he remained wary of Cloud-Dancer’s presence, he had now taken note
of Lysandra’s sightless stare. The anger in his eyes slowly changed to pity. He cleared his throat as Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer
neared, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. But he stood his ground, not backing way from the sight of the wolf.

“What are you doing with that animal, girl?” he asked sharply. “Is it maging you’ve used to tame the wildness from him?”

Lysandra saw the man’s fingers flash in the ancient sign to ward off evil, and she almost smiled. His thoughts were easy to
hear as he wondered if she was a witch with her familiar.

She rummaged deep inside her bundle until she found the little packet of linen in which she had wrapped her mother’s finery.
She placed the package on the counter-top. Then, silently signaling Cloud-Dancer to sit, she released her hold on him and
reached to untie the cloth.

As soon as her fingertips left Cloud-Dancer’s head, his vision left her mind. She was plunged into complete and immediate
darkness. For one brief instant, she felt a wave
of panic. She fought it—and won—but her fingers still trembled slightly as she untied the knot and spread the jewelry on the
counter.

“I want to sell these,” she said. “I thought you might buy them, or tell me someone who will.”

Lysandra’s hand quickly dropped back to Cloud-Dancer’s head. She rubbed him affectionately behind one ear and opened her mind
to the gift of his vision.

The storeowner was eyeing the jewelry before him, picking up one piece then the next to examine them closely.

“Where did you get these, girl?” he asked. “Are they stolen? I’ll have nothing stolen in my store.”

“I didn’t steal them. They belonged to my mother.”

“If she wants them sold, why didn’t she bring them here herself? Did she think a blind girl would trick more money out of
me? I’ll tell you now, girl—pity is pity, business is business, and I’ll not mix up the two.”

“My mother is dead,” Lysandra stated matter-of-factly, “and my father… and I don’t want your pity,” she added as she reached
to scoop up her possessions.

She did not want the storekeeper’s pity—just his money in a fair price. It seemed, however, she would have to go somewhere
else. Then, just as her hand touched the corner of the linen, the man stopped her.

Despite his statement, his face did wear a look of pity. “I’ll buy your baubles,” he said, “and for a good amount. I’m an
honest businessman, and to my mind that works in both the selling and the buying.”

Lysandra could feel there was no deceit in the man; he meant what he was saying and was proud of the honesty he proclaimed.
Lysandra nodded, accepting his word.

“How much then?” she asked.

“Well now, these are all of an older style—but they’re
well made and of quality materials. I’ll give you one gold angel and two silver sovereigns for them.”

Lysandra considered. It was a good sum; a silver sovereign was worth twenty silver pennies or one hundred copper ones, and
a gold angel—that was worth one hundred silver pennies or twenty-five gold ones. It seemed a fortune—but would it be enough
to buy food and lodging in Ballinrigh?

She drew a deep breath. “All right,” she said aloud, “I’ll take it… and, thank you.”

The man before her began rummaging through a drawer behind the counter. Lysandra could hear the chink of coins of different
sizes, weights, and metals. Finally, he held them out to her.

“I said I’m an honest man and I meant it,” he began, “but there’s many you’ll meet who won’t be. You’d best memorize the feel
of these coins well, so you know what you’ve been given and what’s due you in return.”

He placed one, then another of the coins into Lysandra’s outstretched palm, pointing out their differences. She ran her sensitive
fingers over them, feeling the size and weight, tracing the images on their fronts and backs.

“Do you know the feel now, so that no one can fool you?” he asked.

“I do,” Lysandra replied with confidence.

“Then put them somewhere safe, girl, where clever fingers can’t steal them. As I said, there are many about with dishonesty
in their hearts—and not all of them travel as outlaws.”

“How can I thank you for
your
honesty?” Lysandra asked. His kindness was an unlooked-for boon.

“No need, no need,” the shopkeeper replied gruffly. “In my day a man was
expected
to be honest, in all his dealings. You could count on a man’s handshake same as a
contract, and his word was a sacred vow… and to cheat someone afflicted—you’ll pardon my bluntness, ‘tis but the truth—was
nothing less than a sin against society and before God. All that’s changed these last years, and there’s no telling where
it’ll end. You best keep that in mind.”

Thanking the man again, Lysandra left the store. She felt somewhat better, more prepared for what might wait ahead.

On her way through the town, she stopped at a vendor’s stall and spent some of her new money on supplies, things it was too
early to harvest from the land but that would keep her a few days when she reached Ballinrigh.

The road beyond Granshae was a busy one, and at night the other travelers made camp wherever they stopped. But Lysandra and
Cloud-Dancer left the road to find a wilder place to rest, in quiet and in peace, glad to be under trees once again.

Cloud-Dancer ran down a rabbit for his supper; Lysandra nibbled on the fare she had just bought. Then, with a small fire beside
them for warmth and a pile of bracken underneath their bedding to keep them from the damp, they settled to their rest.

At first her sleep was peaceful, with neither dreams nor memories to plague her. Then suddenly, a snarl close to her face
shattered her slumber.

Lysandra’s eyes flew open—but not to darkness. In the full impact of her
Sight
, she was confronted with Cloud-Dancer standing over her, teeth bared and hackles raised. For one brief instant, her heart
thumped wildly against her chest.

Then she
saw
that he stood not in the attitude of attack, but of protection. Everything else around them was silent. No night bird called
or leaf rustled; even the fire
gave forth no crackle of ember or flame. The silence was filled with eerie anticipation.