The Thirteenth Scroll (32 page)

Dimmed by death and time now gone.

I claim the vision here revealed

And to my spell it now belongs.”

Again, Aurya looked down at the scroll. The words upon it started to glow, as if the ink with which they had been written
had been made of pure gold—been made of fire. The sight brought a look of triumph to Aurya’s face.

Then, to her horror, the glow of the ink became true flame, burning the parchment before her eyes.

She slapped at the scroll, heedless of the heat that scorched her palms. At the same time she quickly muttered a Spell of
Breaking, aimed not at Tambryn’s magic but at her own.

She felt the power she had sought to use begin to fade, taking the flames with it. As they died, Aurya understood what spell
had been set upon the scroll. Understood and knew there was no way around it.

Tambryn had set a Mirror Spell upon the scroll. Any magic she used in attempting to unlock its secrets would be reflected
away and turned backward. A Spell of Seeing resulted only in the words being confused; the attempt
to gain insight, illumination, only caused the meaning to be lost and burned away. Aurya, though angered that she had been
so impugned, could not help but feel a grudging admiration at Tambryn’s cleverness.

Well, she still had her knowledge and her wits. She unrolled the scroll once again to see how much damage had been done. It
was more than she hoped but not as much as she feared. She would draw upon her well-trained memory to fill in what had been
destroyed.

You haven’t defeated me yet, Tambryn
, she sent her thought out to his ancient spirit…

… and thought she heard the echo of his laughter in return.

It was Talog’s turn on watch. Daylight was dwindling toward darkness; the Great Light that burned his eyes had moved until
it was behind both trees and hills, bringing the Cryf a great feeling of relief. He hated this land of the Up-worlders more
with every hour he spent in it. The open air made him feel exposed and vulnerable, and he had seen nothing to compare with
the beauty of the Realm of the Cryf.

But Talog was warming toward his companions, especially Lysandra. He knew she had the Hand of the Divine upon her—even if
ofttimes she did not.

It was part of his training as a Guide to be silent, to watch and wait and listen. Each person revealed themselves more than
they knew. It was true for the Cryf, and Talog was learning that it held true for Up-worlders as well.

Many things about his companions still puzzled him, however, and he pondered them now while he was alone. Cloud-Dancer puzzled
Talog; he had never before seen such a creature. Did all healers have such companions?
he wondered. Was that why Renan and Lysandra were not Joined—because she was a Healer? Little as he knew about Up-worlders,
it was plain that they had the same feelings for each other that meant a male and female of the Cryf would go to the Guide
to say the words of Joining.

But Renan and Lysandra each tried to hide their feelings from the other. It made no sense to Talog. The only thing he could
guess was that it was forbidden for Healers to Join and that having a creature like Cloud-Dancer to protect her, proclaimed
her Healer status to all.

Talog shook his head. The ways of these Up-worlders made no sense at all.

The Great Light had sunk even lower and the soft darkness had begun. It was time to awaken the others. Talog had heard nothing
during his turn at watch except the calls of the Children of the Air and the scurry of small creatures searching for food.
He would have let Renan and Lysandra sleep on until the brightness of the Great Light was completely gone—but Renan had been
insistent that they not sleep overlong.

Talog wondered about these
soldiers
of whom Renan spoke. It was not a word he and Lysandra had shared during their language lessons. Perhaps they were like the
Up-worlders who had long ago invaded the Realm of the Cryf, filled with hearts of greed and destruction.

If so, then Renan is right to fear them
, Talog thought.
He said Up-worlders are not like that, but he fears them, too. I do not know if I
want
to find this One-Who-Is-Wisdom, who will unite our two worlds. The Cryf do not need the Up-worlders
.

But, perhaps, the Up-worlders need the Cryf
, he decided.
We walk always with the Divine, and our hearts do not lie. Eiddig-Sant has said it is right for us to be
again united, as in the first times. Eiddig-Sant is Guide and hears the Voice of the Divine. His words are always Truth
.

Talog stood and turned to awaken the others, knowing he would obey the directions of Eiddig. He would help Renan and Lysandra
find the one for whom they searched. He would help them even to the point of sacrificing his own life for their safety, for
that was his duty. But in his deepest heart and for the first time in his life, he had doubted the wisdom of the Holy Words—and
that doubt shook him to the very core of whom he had always thought he was.

T
he College of Bishops had just voted again by secret ballot. The count had come up five to four. Elon needed only one more
vote to make the six he needed to affirm Giraldus as the Church’s choice for the throne.

One more vote
, Elon thought as he looked around the room, studying the faces of his brother bishops.
But whom? Which ones do I need to woo and win—and how much longer will this take?

Most of their faces remained impassive, telling him nothing. The Archbishop’s support he knew he had, and
he was fairly certain of Farnagh, Dromkeen, and Lininch. They would vote for whomever the Archbishop favored. And, of course,
he voted for Kilgarriff. That was five—who still voted against him?

He looked at them individually. Bresal of Rathreagh was ever his enemy and would vote against him no matter the cause. Elon
dismissed him completely. But what of the others? he wondered.

That left the bishops of Sylaun, Tievebrack, and Camlough. Elon dismissed Dwyer of Camlough as he had Bresal of Rathreagh.
But Sylaun and Tievebrack might still be won over. One of them
must
be won over; Elon would allow himself no failure. And it must be done quickly. All must be ready when Aurya and Giraldus
returned.

What did he know of Sylaun and Tievebrack that he could use against them? Mago was young for a bishop, barely past forty,
appointed to his See of Tievebrack shortly before King Anri’s death. He was still filled with the ideals that a few more years
of politics would dim. Gairiad of Sylaun, by contrast, was not much younger than the Archbishop. Elon would not be surprised
to hear of his retirement soon.

But both were still human. Both had failings and passions just as other men did. Elon intended to find out what they were
and use that knowledge any way he must.

I’ll ask Thomas
, he thought.
Servants love to talk about their masters. What he doesn’t know yet, he can find out far more easily than I
.

Thomas had already proved himself to be a worthy and willing instrument—now he would become the perfect weapon wielded in
a master’s hand.

* * *

Lysandra missed her home and her garden. She missed the peaceful rhythm of her everyday existence as it had been. But most
of all, she missed her bed.

She was tired of sleeping on the hard ground. Here in Rathreagh, where stone was barely covered by a layer of poor soil, finding
any comfort while she tried to sleep was proving to be impossible.

Nor were there enough hours of sleep. The necessity of keeping on the move, never knowing how close Giraldus might be, meant
that they made camp later, broke camp earlier, and had fewer stops in between. Even though the boats of the Cryf had shortened
their journey by several days, each evening when she rose again from sleep that was too brief and far too unrefreshing, the
road ahead felt intolerably long.

They had taken a rest while Talog scoured the path ahead for the ancient Cryf signs left to mark safe passage. He had shown
some to Lysandra and Renan. In the light of day, they could not be seen. Even at night, they seemed to her like nothing more
than small reflective particles of the rock shining in the moonlight.

But Talog recognized them and could read the message they conveyed. Without his help Lysandra knew that she and Renan would
have been quickly lost. Each day she became more grateful the young Cryf was with them.

I must tell Talog
, she thought in the abstract way of the weary.
I don’t think he realizes how important he is to us or how much we need him
.

Talog’s part in this journey was obvious and likewise Renan’s, who possessed and understood both the Scroll of Tambryn and
the maps that guided them.
But why am I here?
Lysandra wondered, as she had numerous times before.
Renan and Talog could make this journey faster without me. What is it I’m supposed to do?

Self-doubt was something Lysandra had learned to face; to be blind
and
full of doubt would have paralyzed her, even in the secluded life she lived. But ever since the beginning of the journey—called
forth by a power she did not understand, to go to a place she did not know—doubts assailed her at every turn. Now, more weary
than she would have believed possible, a kingdom away from everything that was home to her and with no end to this journey
yet in sight, doubts grew insidious tendrils though her mind, almost overwhelming her before she realized their existence.

It was as if the darkness of her eyes now dropped a veil over her heart. For all Renan’s talk of her being Prophecy’s Hand,
she had done very little—certainly nothing more than, as a healer, she might have done anytime, anywhere. She wanted to curl
up beside the rock on which she sat and not move until Renan and Talog completed the rest of the journey and found her on
the way back.

It was Cloud-Dancer who got her moving again. When the others, having consulted the maps, stood and were ready to go, Cloud-Dancer
began nudging Lysandra, butting her gently with his nose and head as a female might a recalcitrant pup.

Lysandra did not stand. She merely ran a hand absently through his fur, continuing to stare sightlessly at nothing. She felt
as if iron weights had been tied to her arms and legs. But Cloud-Dancer would not accept her stillness. He became more and
more insistent, nudging her harder and, when that did not work, taking the cloth of her sleeve into his teeth and pulling.

Annoyance finally cut through the fog that had enveloped Lysandra, and she realized what she had been doing. Already once
in her life she had dwelt in that place
of unremembered blackness. She had vowed never to make it her home again.

She stood, shaking her head to clear it, to deny power to the gloom that threatened to hold her captive. But her inner voice
still whispered, telling her to sit down again, sit and do nothing, that the others did not need her and could do just as
well without her…

Once more, Cloud-Dancer took the cloth of her sleeve between his teeth. This time he growled as he tugged. When that did not
bring the response he wanted, he sat down and released her sleeve. He tilted his head slightly, looking at her with puzzled
eyes for one brief moment, then raised his head and sent out a long howl.

Lysandra heard it as if from far away. But second by second it grew louder until, finally, it began to pierce its way into
her consciousness. Then Renan and Talog were beside her, too. She could not see their faces, but the concern in their voices—especially
in Renan’s—she could not miss.

Once more she shook her head. Everything still felt and sounded muffled. She
wanted
to respond to the questions the others were asking her; she
wanted
to throw off their touch and stride forward, showing them and herself that she could emerge from this cocoon of bleakness
that somehow held her fast.

Suddenly, Renan swept her up in his arms and they hurried away from the place where she had been sitting. As the distance
grew, Lysandra felt her mind slowly,
finally
, clearing. Her thoughts became her own again.

It felt wonderful—warm and safe and comforting—to be held like this in Renan’s arms, and she allowed herself the luxury of
it for a few seconds longer. She could hear his heart beating, feel his chest rise and fall with his breath. She felt that
she could stay this way indefinitely…

He’s a
priest, she reminded her heart, which kept refusing to remember it.

She stirred in his arms. “I’m all right now,” she said aloud. “You… you can put me down. I can walk on my own again.”

“Are you sure?” Renan asked, still holding her.

Lysandra heard the concern that rang through his voice, but she would not allow herself to read special meaning into it.
Being kind and concerned is part of what he is
, she reminded herself.

“Yes,” she answered, “I’m sure. I’m all right now.”

Renan put her down, setting her carefully on her feet and not truly letting go until he was certain she was steady.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what happened. I just suddenly couldn’t think or move or…”

“That place,” Talog said, startling her. She must still be fuzzy, she thought, to have neither heard his footsteps nor felt
his nearness.

“What about the place?” Renan asked. She heard Talog’s sharp exhale.

“It is truth, then, as Eiddig sayeth,” the young Cryf replied, his voice both sad and amazed. “Up-worlders know not the power
that dwells within the land.”

“What power?” repeated Renan. “Talog, we don’t understand.”

“Come,” Talog responded. “Let us go farther away. Then shall I teach ye what all Cryf know as Truth. Hath the Healer strength
to walk?”

“Yes,” Lysandra told him. “But my things, my medicines… I left them.”

Worry turned Lysandra’s voice sharp and discordant; again she felt Renan’s comforting touch, light and gentle upon her shoulder.