Sagaria (56 page)

“Look,” said Memo, distracting him from his dismal thoughts.

He followed the direction of the memorizer’s upraised paw.

“Ah,” said Flip glacially. “Someone’s drawn a bucket and spade on the wall. How interesting.”

“That’s not a bucket and spade.” The memorizer gave another of his infuriating don’t-you-know-anything? shrugs. “That’s a rune.”

“A rune?”

“A magical symbol.”

“I know. I was just—”

“You’ve already tested me once, remember?”

“So I did.”

“What this rune means,” said Memo importantly, “is that this is a magical door. Only a wizard who knows the opening spell can enter.”

Again, Flip looked back up the stairs. That small black dot in the distance didn’t look any closer now than it did last time, but there was no point in hanging around waiting for the door to open. When that happened it would be because Deicher was coming back out through it, and there was nowhere for them to hide. The wizard would see them and he’d squash them for sure.

With a sad sigh of resignation, Flip started for the bottom step.

“Wait,” called Memo.

Flip looked back over his shoulder at the memorizer, who was gleaming with triumph.

Memo chuckled. “What do you think my job is?”

“You’re a memo. Oh, I see.”

“I know every spell my master does. Four more, in fact, because I’ve not yet told him about the new ones I found in that last book. They’re all safely locked up in here.” Memo tapped the top of his head with a clenched paw.

“Ouch,” he added.

“But you’re not a wizard,” Flip objected. “I thought only wizards could do spells.”

“Okay, I’m not a wizard, but this is an enchanted rune. That means that anyone who knows the correct word can make the door open,” replied Memo portentously, proudly drawing himself up to his full height.

Flip looked at him skeptically.

“I’ve studied more rune books than probably anyone, I know hundreds of runes. This particular rune is very interesting because—”

Flip held up a paw. “Well, how about using your profound knowledge to open that door a little bit, then?”

Memo drew in a breath, puffing his chest out.

“Just a little bit,” stressed Flip. “I only want to be able to see through the crack.”

The memorizer looked at him in disappointment, but nodded. Sending the door crashing back against the wall would be impressive, but it would do nothing but draw attention to them. Memo might know more about runes than Deicher, but there probably wasn’t one anywhere in the countless grimoires he’d digested that dealt specifically with stopping yourself from being stomped flat by a descending boot.

“Okay,” he said weakly.

He stared at the door. “
Streborgling mancianus!
” he whispered, moving his paws through the air in the complex pattern of someone struggling with a faulty can opener.

“What?” said Flip, but even as he said the word, the wall swiveled silently by a few degrees, just enough that they could see flickering light through the opening.

“Wow,” said Memo. “It actually worked.”

“Sh,” warned Flip, tiptoeing forward.

The gap was just big enough for him to be able to squeeze through it. Memo followed him easily. By the light of a pair of guttering candles, they could see Deicher seated at a rickety wooden table, his forehead resting in his palms as he concentrated on a large, dark, polished stone in front of him. As they watched, the stone began to glow a deep, smoldering red. Flip found that the was holding his breath. The stone’s radiance grew until the walls of the little cell were the color of blood.

“Deicher,” said a susurrating voice that seemed to speak from the air. It was so quiet that Flip couldn’t be certain he’d actually heard it at all, and yet the word cut right through to his very core.

“What do you have for me, Deicher?”

The wizard lowered his head yet farther. “I am sorry to have disturbed you, Master, but I wished to tell you that all is going according to plan.” There was a slight quaver in Deicher’s voice. Clearly, even he was terrified by the person he was talking to. “That accursed brat of a boy should be in your hands by the end of the morrow.”

“I sincerely hope he is, my apprentice,” said the voice. It was as thin and piercing as the edge of a dagger.

“I will see to it, Master, that the others are … disposed of,” continued Deicher. “It should be easy. That old fool Fariam is blind to what is happening right in front of his eyes. He is making it almost too easy for me.”

“You have done well, Deicher. See that you continue to do so. By the end of the morrow. Do not fail me in this.”

“Indeed, Master.”

The glow of the stone began to ebb, but before it was completely gone, Flip noticed something that had escaped him before.

In the council chamber of the Elemental Orders, who knew how far above where he was hiding now, Deicher’s robe had looked white. Here in the light that was the color of blood, he could see that, in reality, the robe wasn’t white at all. That its whiteness was just an illusion, a glamour.

In reality, it was black.

As black as Deicher’s treacherous heart.

“Time to rise.”

Oh no it isn’t,
thought Sagandran, trying to bury his head deeper in the pillow. Why was every morning in Sagaria like this?

“The dawn will soon be upon us.”

Soon be upon you, perhaps.

The voice ringing around the dormitory was disgustingly, devastatingly, horrifically cheery. It made Sagandran realize that he’d rather face death by firing squad than open his eyes. If the world was going to be full of this hearty jolliness today, he’d rather not be a part of it.

“It looks as if it’s going to be a beautiful day.”

Sagandran’s thoughts plunged into the realms of unprintability.

Someone shook his shoulder. The touch was gentle and sympathetic.

“Come on, Sagandran. You can do it.”

This was a different voice, a familiar one. For its sake, he was prepared to open one eye, but only one.

Focusing it was another matter.

When the blur finally cleared, he discovered that he was looking up at the dark face of Perima, and at Perima’s grin. She was clutching a candle. As he watched, a blob of molten wax slowly oozed down its side toward her fingers.

“Watch out for—” he began.

She shifted her grip on the candle hastily. “Thanks.”

The sacrifices I make through my chivalrous impulses toward this girl, he thought,
surprised that his brain could string so many coherent words together. The act of warning her had jerked him into something like full wakefulness.

“What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Time to get up,” she answered helpfully.

There were three bathrooms at one end of the dormitory. One was already in use and Perima was heading toward another, so Sagandran staggered into the third, wishing that whoever had put a sponge in his skull in place of his brain would hurry up and swap them back. He plonked himself down on the seat in the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, as he emerged face washed and teeth finger-brushed, he felt a little better about the prospects for the day. Sir Tombin, behaving as if there were no better time to be up and around than while the skies were still dark and
the stars still shining, was in the process of buckling on his sword. Perima had been quicker her ablutions than Sagandran, and was now giving the appearance of waiting impatiently for, you know, just ages. Samzing, Sagandran was pleased to notice, had the same sensible attitude toward mornings as himself, and was trying to get both feet into the same sock. Shano, whom Sagandran identified balefully as the owner of that merry voice, was standing in a corner watching the proceedings with a loathsome smile on his face.

“We’re ready,” said Sir Tombin finally, gazing around him with satisfaction.

“Where’s Flip?” said Perima.

Sagandran frowned. “Don’t say he’s wandered off somewhere.”

They quickly searched the dormitory and the bathrooms. Hoping that he wouldn’t see what he was dreading, Sagandran made a point of lifting each of the seats in the latter and peeking in. No pathetic little floating corpse greeted his eye.

Shano tapped his feet, his handsome face twisting into a mask of indecision. “We can’t afford to delay,” he said agitatedly. “The gate can be opened only at certain times. If we don’t move quickly, it will be another two or three days before we get another chance.”

Perima looked between Shano and Samzing. “Can’t either of you find him by magic?”

“I wish it were that easy,” Samzing replied glumly. He’d emerged victorious from the Great Sock Battle but still had the look of a doll dressed by a toddler. “I could cast another seeking spell, but it might be hours before we found him that way.”

Shano’s face cleared. “I could cast a seeking spell so he could find you,” he offered.

“Good idea,” said Samzing grumpily. He’d had to invent the spell that had called Snowmane from Wonderville. Now it seemed that every pipsqueak young wizard in Qarnapheeran could do the same spell as if it were a matter of course. That was the trouble with living so cut off from your professional peer group: you lost track of the latest research.

The younger wizard muttered various incantations in a language that sounded like extremely bad Latin, then waved his arms a couple of times. “There, that’s done. Now all we can do is hope he finds you before your, um, departure.”

The companions shrugged at each other. Sir Tombin and Samzing seemed philosophical about their little friend’s absence, but Perima looked as worried as Sagandran felt.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered to Sagandran as they followed Shano out through the door and started along the tiled corridor. “Where can he be?”

“I suppose he might be safer here than with us in the Shadow World,” said Sagandran, hoping to cheer her up.

“Hm,” was her only response. Her lips were set in a tight line.

Shano led them along the corridor, then up a short flight of stairs. After they’d traversed several more passageways and Sagandran had completely lost all sense of direction, they came to a much longer flight of stairs. They climbed up it, the tip of Sir Tombin’s scabbard tapping on the edge of each step.

At last, they were in a large, circular room, whose domed cupola showed that the sky was beginning to lighten. The floor was of dark marble brought to such a high polish that Sagandran could see the cupola reflected in it clearly enough to distinguish the pinpoints of the remaining stars, but he hardly had eyes for this. In the center of the room, dominating it, was a huge mirror framed with what looked like thick rope spun from gold. A couple of steps led up to the platform upon which the mirror stood. On the top of the mirror was a crystal with numberless facets that pulsed an unearthly blue light. He was reminded of the portal he’d found back in the Earthworld. An icy tingle ran up his spine and he shuddered. This must be the gateway to the Shadow World.

Fariam was standing beside the mirror, extending his arms in welcome. Beside him stood Renada, the female magician they’d last seen in the council chamber and off to one side, poised on one leg, was the strange birdlike man known as Fattanillo. Head to one side, he was regarding Samzing with bright inquisitiveness, following the magician’s every move. Sagandran recalled that the two had been good friends in bygone days.

“We have a friend here for you,” said Fariam, approaching them.

Flip
, thought Sagandran, his heart leaping, but instead there was a neigh from the far side of the room.

“Snowmane!” cried Perima. She ran across to throw her arm around the horse’s neck.

“How did you get him up here?” said Sir Tombin to Renada, who was smiling broadly at the girl hugging the horse.

“They are magicians, you know,” Samzing interrupted, sounded waspish. “I thought I was the one who’d not yet woken up properly, Quackie.”

Sir Tombin grinned. “You’re quite right, my dear fellow.”

“Yes,” said Renada. “Your animal was a little startled by the sudden transition up here to the Dimension Room, but otherwise he didn’t seem to mind. Fariam insisted that the horse go with you,” she said, nodding in the Grand Master’s direction.

“My senses tell me that Snowmane has an important role to play in the story that has yet to unfold,” explained Fariam.

Still murmuring endearments, Perima led the horse over to join the others.

Sagandran touched Snowmane’s nose lightly with the back of his fist, but then his attention drifted back toward the gateway.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Fariam reassuringly, seeing the direction of his gaze. He clapped lightly to attract everyone’s attention before continuing. “Of all the magical devices ever created in Qarnapheeran, my friends, this is almost certainly the most marvelous. It was made a long time ago by a group of our wizards whose power surpasses our imagination today. They were seeking to explore the realms beyond ours, beyond Sagaria. As you know, they found that the portal led not just to a realm of great beauty, the Earthworld, but also to a realm of great severity, the Shadow World. Even though they were aware that other gateways existed, the mages decided to seal off this one to prevent any of the denizens of the Shadow World entering our world and wreaking havoc. Of course, this has now come about through another of the portals. The time has arrived when we must unseal our own.”