Count Scar - SA (41 page)

Once there, I paused to probe the silence carefully with my second ear. While not as familiar with the overall plan of Peyrefixade as the count or any of his knights, I knew this particular tower
well. It stood at the point on the castle commanding the best view of the road that led toward the House of my Order; indeed, on a clear day one could sometimes even glimpse the peak of great
Conaigue itself, far off beyond the rows of hills and mountains. If the tower was now being used as a sentry point by the occupiers, they'd place their watchmen in the topmost chamber, the same
room to which I had occasionally slipped away to gaze along that road that led to my Mother House during my months at Peyrefixade.

But there were other rooms lower down that I'd looked into briefly on one occasion—rooms that shouldn't interest enemy sentries, especially at night. My second ear confirmed this. There were
three men in the top room, playing at dice on the table near the fire, but the rest of the tower echoed with emptiness. I waited until one of the sentries threw a winning roll and began to rake in
the stakes with a clatter of coppers and a laugh, then pushed open the door to the stairs, stepped inside, and closed it after me. A single torch flickering in a bracket above gave me just enough light
to creep down two turns of the stair to a lower room.

This place was used only for storage nowadays, but the pictures and messages patiently scratched into the hard stone walls attested to its long service as a prison cell in times past. It would have
been pitch dark to any of the sentries if he'd stepped inside. But with the aid of my second eye, I was easily able to make my way among old chests and heaps of rusty mail to the far side of the
circular room. Once there, I paused to consider my next move.

Although there'd been precious little exertion about anything I'd done in the castle so far, my heart was pounding. Forcing myself to put aside my feelings of desperate urgency, I devoted a few
minutes to prayer and concentration to calm my poor body. It would not do to make any error in what I was about to attempt.

As soon as I felt in command of myself once more, I closed my true eyes (which were virtually useless in such a dark room anyway) and concentrated all my attention upon my second eyes and
ears in the way Brother Quercus had schooled me. Slowly a vision of the room I was in appeared inside my mind, as clear as if I were seeing it in broad daylight. Turning my attention to my
second ears, I found I could hear a family of mice in their nest deep inside a chest of old wall hangings next to me, and after a little more time, the very sounds of moths chewing at the rotting
fabric. Then another sound caught my attention. Sneaking along near a chest in the corner was the thing I sought: a rat.

The problem I faced was simple. I was about to work some major magic in a castle containing at least two Perfected Magians. These men were presumably at least as skilled as myself. I must find
a way to occupy their attention so that, with luck, they would not discover me before I had a chance to achieve my objective. Given the haste with which Count Caloran and I had left the duke's
camp, there had been no time to formulate any plan or make preparations. But thanks to the foresight of someone at the Mother House, I had the means of creating some excellent distractions with
me.

The method would be based on a prank I had seen played by some of the more unruly novices when I first joined the Order, one in which I had been too hesitant to join—though evidently Prior
Belthesar had been less timid in his day, since he'd used exactly this method to create the diversion that had allowed the count and me to get out of the dukes camp. Focusing my attention on the
rat's location, I reached into my cassock, took out a phial containing a powder that could briefly paralyze any living creature, and tossed out its contents. A moment later the rat's limp body was
in my hand. Working swiftly, I took the smaller of two telesmae from a certain pouch and bound it firmly to the rat's tail with a length of wire. Then I took the finding knife from my divination
box, touched it to the telesma, laid the rat on the floor, and waited. In about two minutes the rat jerked, shook himself, clawed at the wire in futile irritation, then scuttled away.

Now for the difficult part. I moved to the far side of the room and lowered myself down behind a big chest until I was seated on the dusty floor with my back braced, where my body would be
completely hidden even if a Magian should come to the door with a speculum capable of revealing a man wearing a cloak of shadows. Setting my divination box on the floor, I took out a small
tripod. I attached the mistletoe to the finding knife, suspended it from this tripod with a cord, then sprinkled on the copper dust. Once I was sure the blade was swinging perfectly level and free
with a good load of powdered copper, I got out the phial of discorporation. With such a recent memory of the process I was about to undergo I had to force myself to drink, but I got the cold poison
down. Settling myself against the chest as best I could, I closed my eyes and concentrated all my skill on the single objective of retaining my second vision and hearing through the process of
discorporation.

I knew it was working when I felt the cold again, worse this time. Like the cold of death—my death. After a moment I stood up in spectral form and turned to see my poor body, with no strong
soldiers arms to hold it, slumped loose against the chest with lolling jaw, looking unpleasantly like a corpse.

But now everything around me seemed to gleam with clarity. I began to feel the task before me might be possible after all. I would, however, need to scout my opposition before I undertook the
actual work. Effortlessly, I whisked up the spiral stairs to just outside the guardroom where the enemy watchmen sat arguing over the stakes for the next roll of the dice. Then I sent my spectral
self out through the wall and hung next to the tower. The back exercise yard seemed as bright as day, and I had only to concentrate my attention upon any spot to hear whatever sounds might be
there. I felt untouchable, invincible— which merely meant that my peril was severe.

Spector General Endaris, through skill and long practice, could sustain himself discorporate for long periods. But if I, a novice at the art, were to forget myself and remain out of my flesh for more
than about half an hour, my spectral body would disperse so that it and my selfhood would be lost forever. As to what might happen to a man and his soul if anyone should happen to discover and
destroy his helpless body while he was absent from it, that was a thing no book of Magian lore told, though there were dark legends.

The thought recalled me to the urgency of my task. Floating up until I was higher even than the keep, I began to survey the castle for hints of Magian presence. Almost at once, to my shock, I saw
a light in the chapel and sensed the presence of magic there. I sent my spectral body gliding swiftly down until it was hovering just outside the window and halted, stunned, as I encountered a
veritable spiderweb of magic lines. Projecting my second vision inside, I discovered a hideous profanation. The lesser battle telesma of the Magus de Cuza, which took the form of a breastplate set
with twelve square-cut tiles of obsidian, had been laid upon the altar, where it lay vibrating with a gorgeous but frightening magical pattern! And two men in robes were standing with their
hands resting upon it—both of them Perfected Magians.

"You were wrong, the great telesma must be hidden elsewhere," one of them said after a minute, in Nabarrese-accented Auccitan, as he took his hands away. "I told you the old Magus would
never have concealed it here in his own chamber of worship; that would have been too obvious."

"And you've proved right," said the other in pure Auccitan as he removed his own hands. He had a dark bruise down one side of his face. "But this room has been a consecrated chapel to the infidel
faith since our grandfathers lost this castle. There was always the possibility that cursed infidel mage-priest Malkior, or whatever his name is, might have located the great telesma himself during
his months here and hidden it in this room."

"And betray not only his lord but his own infidel Order?" The first one laughed. "Well, you certainly hold a poor opinion of the fellow!—and by the way, his name is Melchior, as you well know.

I think you are merely holding a grudge over the fact that he was able to knock you off your horse and help the count escape despite your best magic. Besides, our little Raymbaud has proven
surprisingly adroit in using the telesmae and other things we provided him. He would have discovered it if that had occurred."

"Even if he had, I wouldn't put it past him to keep the thing a secret and try to turn it to his own advantage. I don't trust that fellow at all."

"Nor does Lord Gavain. But I don't consider Raymbaud such a bad fellow. The problem with you and Lord Gavain is that you didn't grow up in Nabarra, having to practice the arts of deception
your whole lives. If you'd passed as a loyal member of Prince Alfonso's own court as Raymbaud and I have, in the very belly of the monster, you'd understand better how a man can play false to
all about him and yet still be true at the core."

"Well, I still don't think we can rely on either his soundness or his use of magic. He certainly failed in his attempt to use his first fire telesma to assassinate the count; the infidel Magian
thwarted him there with little difficulty. Of course, you had no better success at that job using those footpads you hired in the duke's city, and came close to having this Melchior catch you
standing over a fresh corpse into the bargain. He's the one we should have tried to eliminate."

"Now, now, I won't hear a word against Magian Melchior. His own grandfather was the close friend of our own dear master when both were pupils of the great de Cuza, and he died faithful in
the flames. I think he could have potential for us yet—what is it, what's the matter?"

"I have an odd feeling," said the one I'd knocked down. "As if there were magic about."

"Of course there is. The Magus's lesser telesma lies before us upon the unclean infidel altar. You and I have spent the last half hour plucking at the lines of magic radiating from it in hope of
waking an echo from its great mate. There are lines of magic in the very air."

"No, I tell you this is something else! We must immediately—"

I did not stay to learn what they must do immediately. A finding spell, doubtless. It would be directed specifically at locating another magic worker, so Count Caloran should be safe from it. And
so would I—exactly as long as I remained in a discorporate condition. But the situation had become even more urgent. Now that I was no longer concentrating every ounce of attention on the
Magians in the chapel, I could perceive that the sensation of deadly cold, the only sensation within my spectral form, had most definitely increased. The period remaining before I must reenter my
forsaken body or be forever lost was growing shorter by the moment.

Still, it had been worth expending a portion of my limited time eavesdropping at the chapel window. I now knew I would have to contend with the powers of two, but only two, Perfected
Magians as soon as I reentered my body— for if there were a third in Peyrefixade, he would certainly have been with them to help search for the great telesma. There was also a good side to their
having detected some hint of my presence, since they would now temporarily put aside their efforts to find the great telesma while they searched for me. I must use that time to find it myself.

The first order of business was to distract them, which meant I must activate the telesma I had attached to the rat. In the flesh, I could have activated the thing at a distance by speaking the
required charm, but in my discorporate condition I would need to be in the presence of the telesma itself. Like a wisp of fog on the night wind, I whirled back across the courtyard to the rear tower
and straight through the lower wall into the chamber where my finding knife was hanging from the tripod. I rested one spectral hand upon the tripod and thought the proper words to activate the
finding knife. In my discorporate condition, my retained second vision could see not only the fine spray of copper that leaped from its point once it had found the proper direction, but the line of
magic this was indicating as well. As soon as I saw it, I glided swiftly along that fine, passing straight through walls and empty air until I found my rat slinking along one of the ramparts.

Focusing all my attention upon the little telesma, I "touched" it with my spectral hand and thought the command that would waken its stored power. An instant later the hideous form of a
skeletal warrior, clad in full mail and wielding a bloody ax, materialized directly above the rat. The creature took one look and fled with a high-pitched scream, while the illusory monster stalked
stiffly away along the parapet.

The thing would only retain its apparent substantiality for a few minutes, but as soon as it dispersed, the telesma would produce another horror wherever the rat happened to be at that moment.

These random outbursts of magic, along with the confusion and alarm the illusory monsters would cause among the soldiers, would keep the Magians busy for a while. With luck, they would also
create some cover for Count Caloran.

Back in the tower room, I faced my poor abandoned body and reached out my spectral fingers to "touch" the conviare that hung at my belt. "Your spectral form is simply an ephemeral thickening
of the air, created from your memory of your physical body," Spector General Endaris had said. "But even though your ghost hand could not so much as lift a penny, touching an object with it is
still the best way to focus your attention so you can grip it using those powers that actually work better when you're discorporate." By which he'd meant Magian powers.