Renegade Wizards (7 page)

But it appeared as though she was nothing but a toy as far as her order was concerned. Not a weapon, but a plaything—a harlot—to seduce Par-Salian. The words slowly found their way out, consequences be damned, Ladonna thought.

“Really? And did I seduce the monsters that attacked me during the test to pass as well? Mm? Perhaps I seduced the books I studied to surrender their secrets?” she said, despite the venomous glare being leveled against her. “Perhaps I seduced Highmage Astathan when I passed his little trial to his satisfaction.”

“You forget yourself!” Reginald said.

“And your ignorance bores me,” Ladonna snapped. “Find some harlot plying her trade at the Palanthas docks to seduce Par-Salian. Replace me if you want, but I wish you luck explaining to the highmage why you need to find someone else to take my place. Especially since he complimented my skill,” she said proudly, almost to herself. “How many others will be able to claim the same? Will there be enough time for you to find out?”

Reginald and Ladonna stared at one another, neither blinking, neither surrendering. Ladonna, however, broke a sly, satisfied grin. She saw him working through the issues, deciding on the best course. His green eye was his window, but instead of a soul revealed, she could see the cogs and wheels beneath spinning and moving. What was also common knowledge was that Reginald’s ego was thickly armored. He was vain and self-centered, but he knew when to sacrifice personal opinion and face to accomplish his means. In the hierarchy of things, the Order of the Black Robes was above his own wishes, his own desires. That
was what made him calculating, and that was why Ladonna knew she’d bested him.

“So,” she asked, “since I’m no longer bound to the three things you wanted me to do, I am to do two things—locate the renegade Berthal and … what was that second thing?”

“Books?” Tythonnia repeated.

Yasmine of the Delving nodded. “Yes. We know the Black Robes lost very valuable books when three from their order joined Berthal.”

“Books of what?” Tythonnia asked. She glanced around the room, her eyes drinking in all the astrological parchments and the black ceiling painted with the stars. The three of them stood beneath the Book of Souls constellation, a good omen, Tythonnia thought, given the vow of the Red Robes to stand as the balance point between light and dark, good and evil.

“The nature of the books is unimportant,” Belize said. He was fidgeting, his thumb playing with his black goatee, his eyes thoughtful—scheming. “All that matters is that they are dangerous in the hands of renegades and, I might add, with the Black Robes as well.”

Tythonnia glanced at Yasmine to see her reaction, but she was listening to Belize. She deferred to him, her gaze almost loving and respectful. Tythonnia wondered if they entertained each other in bed, then quickly thrust the unwanted image from her mind. Personally, Belize turned her stomach.

“You’re saying I should … steal the books back?”

“Appropriate them,” Belize corrected. “For the safety of everyone involved. We think the Black Robes did not report their theft because the tomes were dangerous.”

Tythonnia suppressed the frustrated moan building in her throat. Belize was being deliberately vague and condescending in that power-hungry manner that seemed to grip small men with too-big ambitions. Yasmine of the Delving was
the head of her order and, as such, should have been the one instructing her. Belize shouldn’t even be there; his presence was an unwanted and annoying intrusion.

“What is it, Tythonnia?” Yasmine asked. She seemed genuinely concerned, though distracted. Her eyes drifted in to and out of focus.

“It’s just—” Tythonnia faltered, then made a deliberate effort to ignore Belize. She faced Yasmine. “I can’t do my duty if I don’t know more. What do the books look like? Are they books of rituals? Are they cursed?”

“I told you earlier, the precise nature of the books is unimportant,” Belize snapped.

“If they’re not important, we wouldn’t be looking for them,” Tythonnia said, her gaze fixed on Yasmine. She pleaded, hoping to shake Yasmine from her torpor, “Out of the three orders, we’re the ones who can’t afford to work in ignorance. We need all the facts so we can decide where the balance lies.”

“We’ve already decided where the balance lies,” Belize said, his agitation growing. “We’ve decided the books are to be retrieved to rest in our care, and as a member of the order, you are to carry out your duty without question. Frankly, we wouldn’t have chosen you to begin with, had it not been for Justarius’s injuries. But rest assured, if you will not do this, we’ll find someone else who can!”

“No.”

Yasmine’s statement was simple, strong, and without hesitation. And it saved Tythonnia from faltering under Belize’s threatening glare. Yasmine’s eyes seemed to regain their clarity, and even Belize acted surprised. He was ready to complain, but a glance from Yasmine stopped him. She was still master of the Red Robes, and he her servant.

“Highmage Astathan wants Tythonnia on this mission to provide a balance to the overly cautious Par-Salian and the volatile Ladonna. There is no other choice; there never
was.” Yasmine took both of Tythonnia’s hands in her own. “The books we seek are
The Scarred Path of the Gem, The Ways Lost
, and
Forgotten Tongues.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Tythonnia admitted.

“Few have. They are books masters read from when there is nothing else left for them to learn.”

“Are they spellbooks?”

“No … something far more powerful. They are books of knowledge, collections of papers and diary pages and treatises, all works dealing with the years before the Cataclysm shattered the world. They are powerful precisely because anyone can read and understand them and put their knowledge to use.”

“So … they’re books on Wyldling magic.”

“No,” Yasmine explained. “More like an accounting of the past. A tally of things missing.”

“Why does Berthal want them?” Tythonnia asked.

“We think he is searching for something,” Yasmine of the Delving said, “though we don’t know what. All we do know is that if he wants it so badly, we cannot allow him to have it. He misbalances the already uneven scales. We must know what he wants … and why he wants it. That way, we can keep that knowledge out of his hands and out of the hands of anyone else who would dare use it for their own gains.”

Tythonnia nodded. “All right, I’ll find your books.” Then, as an afterthought to irk Belize, she added. “I live to serve you, Mistress Yasmine of the Delving.” But Yasmine’s eyes seemed remote again, lost in a maze of her own thoughts. Belize, however, appeared angry, and made no secret of his feelings as he glared at Tythonnia.

“Highmage Astathan?” the servant asked as he collected the tea glasses from the table. “Do you need anything else tonight?”

“It’s morning,” Astathan said, staring out at the curtain of purple overtaking the horizon. “The days move more quickly now, you know. Or maybe it is my advanced age, moving quickly, forcing me to pay for my actions.”

The servant nodded politely and tried to show deference. Something obviously troubled Astathan, a weight that pressed upon his shoulders and made heavy his entire body. “I’ll be turning in soon,” he said with almost a whisper.

“As you wish,” the servant with sea-blue eyes said. He carried the glasses to the large bronze door, and was about to leave when Astathan spoke again.

“Tomorrow I commit three students to hardship … perhaps even death. And they go willingly,” Astathan said. He shook his head. “What a burden that power is, that good men and women will die for you. How terrible a thing, loyalty.”

The chamber was quiet as Astathan ruminated aloud on those things only he saw, those tortured thoughts he alone was privy to. What he endured those past centuries, the servant did not know. But he could imagine … indeed, he’d seen the centuries pass with his own eyes. Only his was the blessing of knowing what tomorrow brought and knowing he could escape it. Still, he had to wonder—why was Astathan sharing his thoughts with him?

“The three renegades haven’t experienced much of the outside world. We haven’t sheltered them, but they’ve been weaned on a diet of study. I wonder if the hardship of the road ahead might not be too much for them. We’ve risen from the muck of the Cataclysm, but I wouldn’t call these enlightened times either. They face many dangers.”

The highmage studied the servant, piercing him with a furious gaze. Those eyes, the servant realized, those eyes could divine most answers. “Watch over them,” Astathan said.

“Highmage?” the servant asked.

“You’re here for them, aren’t you?”

The servant said nothing, his counsel better kept in silence. He was confused, however, uncertain of what Astathan wanted. Or better yet, why.

“I’m tired and perhaps I look forward to my sleep a bit too much,” Astathan said finally. He ran a slender finger along the leather binding of a book on the table. “So do this old elf the courtesy of not refuting what I know is true. I know what you are, Journeyman. I have lived long enough to have seen you before … looking much the same as you do now, perhaps younger now than when I last saw you. One does not lead the Wizards of High Sorcery for so long without learning a dangerous secret or two.”

“I see,” the servant said. Part of him wanted to deny the charges; it was one of the first things taught to him, to deny and conceal. But it was obvious that the Journeyman’s masquerade as a humble academy servant was at an end.

“I’ve had some most interesting … conversations with your predecessors. I’ve also fought one of your kind before, someone who wasn’t there just to observe, though I did not realize that until much later.”

The Journeyman said nothing, choosing instead to remain quiet, to listen, but the comment puzzled him. What did the highmage mean by “his kind”? He knew himself to be the only one traveling as he was, observing and recording history through time. It was feasible that others might have done it before him, or after.

“Or perhaps you are the first,” Astathan mused, studying his expression. “Yes, perhaps you are … no matter. You are here to watch, but can you do more? Will you do more?”

“I can’t alter what’s already happened,” the Journeyman said, hazarding a neutral response.

“So you’ve said before,” Astathan remarked. “But you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a question that already exists … an uncertainty. The uncertainty directs you; that much I know. Therein is your leeway.” Astathan stood
and straightened his back with a slight groan. He ambled to the door. “The three renegades travel tomorrow, before the dawn. They’ll stay parallel to the road until they reach Palanthas. After that, it’s anybody’s guess where fate will direct them. In watching over them, perhaps your questions will be answered. Perhaps uncertainty will guide you to act for their benefit.”

With that, Astathan left the room and the Journeyman alone to his troubled thoughts. There was no reason to maintain the charade any more, however, and he set the glasses down. He had to prepare for the upcoming journey.

A Man of Shadows