The Thirteenth Scroll (31 page)

“We was told to wait here, and here we wait.”

“I say I be tired of waitin’.” The first man’s voice grew louder. “We all is. Giraldus is a soldier hisself. He’d not grudge
us a bit of comfort to pass the hours. Right, lads?”

Renan listened to the murmur of agreement, startled by the mention of the Baron of Kilgarriff. He slowly eased his head far
enough around the tree for one eye to look at the men. They were lounging in various attitudes of boredom around a bit of
a campfire—all except one, who was pacing angrily.

Renan knew in an instant that the men were soldiers, though they wore neither uniform nor heraldic device. Both their own
clothing and the trappings of their horses, tethered a few feet away, were carefully unremarkable and the black griffin of
Kilgarriff was nowhere to be seen. Even so, the way they moved, the way all of them had long swords, not daggers or hunting
knives, laid carefully within reach, even the order of command they obviously followed, said these were trained soldiers with
a lifetime of service—and Renan did not want to think what they might be hunting.

“Giraldus might understand,” the quieter man who was certainly their leader replied, “but
she
wouldn’t. We was told to be waitin’ on the edge of the woods outside the town of Diamor, and here we be waiting—unless ye
be the one what wants to explain to
her
why we disobeyed.”

The first man, for all his anger, did not reply. But Renan had seen and heard enough. The
she
of whom the soldiers spoke could only be the Lady Aurya.

But what were she and the Baron doing in Rathreagh? And with soldiers? He would have expected them in Kilgarriff, preparing
to follow Giraldus in his bid for the throne.

Or perhaps they were; Renan’s heart grew cold with this new thought. Aurya’s use of magic, her adherence to the old ways and
hatred for the Church, were well-known throughout the kingdom. If she was as well learned as her reputation proclaimed, Renan
could only guess at the resources
and contacts she might have outside of Aghamore. What if she, too, possessed copies of Tambryn’s scrolls, and was searching
for the Font of Wisdom? Were Aurya, Giraldus, and the soldiers the “
dogs of darkness”
whom both Tambryn and Dewi-Sant had warned would be “
biting their heels”?

The scroll and the Holy Words had also both warned to “
beware the rise of the Third House”;
that meant Kilgarriff. But what could Lady Aurya want with the Font of Wisdom whose rise was supposed to “
vanquish the rise of the Third House”
—what, except destroy it?

Renan knew he had to get back to the others, wake them, and get them moving. Whether Aurya and Giraldus were an hour, a day
or even a week behind them, they were too close. Yet Renan found himself paralyzed with unexpected fear.

Renan knew the dark side of magic—the magic Lady Aurya practiced. Running from it—even into the Church—was no protection,
it seemed. It was here, hard on his heels, and even after all these years, even though his life was now dedicated to the service
of Light, Darkness threatened to overtake him again.

He struggled with his fears, forcing them—and his memories—back into the hiding place. Now he knew why he had been unable
to sleep; that long-disused part of himself, the part where magic lay in chosen somnolence these last twenty years, had felt
and responded to Aurya’s nearness and the magic she brought with her.

For a long moment, Renan felt both powerless and hopeless. But then, from somewhere, new life and strength began to fill him.
It started down deep, in that still, small place where resides the core of personal truth.

Down in that place of deepest solitude, Renan found he was no longer alone. The Light was there… and in
that Light was hope… and hope looked at him with eyes that were the rich blue color of forget-me-nots.

R
enan woke Lysandra first. Mindful of how the soldiers’ voices had reached him, he kept his voice to the barest whisper as
he told her of what he had learned. She agreed that there was no time to rest; they would have to wake Talog and put some
distance between themselves and Giraldus’s men. They could only hope that Giraldus and Aurya were days rather than hours behind
them.

It was a hope not a certainty. Until they had reached their destination, found the child, and were safely away again, they
would have to eat on the move, rest only when they could go no farther and only for the shortest time possible… and pray that
their strength did not fail them.

Although he did not know who the Lady Aurya was, Talog accepted Renan’s statement about the need for speed and silence, uttering
not a single complaint about the daylight. Renan was grateful and he wished that he had something more to offer the Cryf to
protect his sensitive eyes.

It now became imperative to avoid any towns—not an easy thing to do in such a marsh-and bog-ridden place as Rathreagh, where
the towns were built wherever solid land
presented itself. However, Renan wanted no rumors of their passing to reach the ears of those who followed.

He consulted his map often. That Giraldus or Lady Aurya possessed a copy of the scroll made him fear that she also possessed
some chart or map that showed her the lay of the bogs. Lacking that, Giraldus’s party would be slowed by having to stay to
the roads. Even Lady Aurya’s magic could not change all of Rathreagh into solid ground, and horses could not run through bogs.
That was Renan’s one hope.

They marched for two hours before he called a halt. By now, he hoped, they had put enough distance between themselves and
the soldiers to be able to wait out the rest of the daylight.

“Keep the fire as small as possible,” he told Lysandra as she began piling sticks around the tinder she had collected, “and
try to find wood that is very dry so that it doesn’t smoke overmuch.” Even as he spoke, he realized that Lysandra knew what
she was doing better than he. But there was no sense taking any chances. If Giraldus and Aurya had arrived, and the company
was on the move, Renan did not want to give them a signal toward which they might aim.

While Lysandra tended to the fire and a meal, Renan brought the maps over to Talog. He wanted the Cryf’s eye to make certain
he was not missing anything.

“We’ve reached the end of the woods, at least for a time,” Renan told him. “But I think we’re safe here until nightfall. The
safest way I see is to go by the road for a time, here.” He traced it on the map. “But the
fastest
is across another area of bogs. What do you think?”

Squinting in the shaded daylight, Talog also studied the map. “The ones who follow, take they the road?” he asked.

“Yes,” Renan answered. “Their horses will keep them to the roads, but also means they can travel faster.”

“Then we shall follow this path,” Talog said. His finger began to trace a trail through the bogs. “Seest thou how it goes?
In the first times, when Up-worlders were few, the Cryf also walked here. There will be signs to grant guidance unto our steps.”

“Signs?” Renan said, new hope flaring. “You will recognize them?”

Talog gave his sharp single nod. “I shall guide,” he said. “But the Great Light hideth the marks, for Cryf travel not in the
time of the Great Light.”

“Then it’s back to traveling at night,” Renan said. “But I think from now on, we’ll do best to sleep in rounds, with one of
us as guard.”

Renan was watching Lysandra as he spoke. He had learned to read her body signals and knew that right now her
Sight
was active. He knew also that she was listening closely, even though her hands were busy elsewhere. As always, she brought
them a cup of hot tea. This one was familiar, smelling slightly of apples.

“Chamomile,” he said even before he took a sip. Lysandra smiled at him. At the sight Renan felt an instant of light-headedness,
as if his heart was racing far too fast. She did not smile often enough, he decided, wanting to think of ways to make and
keep her smiling forever.

There’s little enough reason to smile here
, he thought quickly.
Perhaps when all this is over
… But when all this was over, they would go their separate ways. He would not see her or know if she smiled.

The thought gave Renan a stabbing pain, making him feel as ill as just a moment before he had been elated. Once more he shied
away from these thoughts and made
himself return Lysandra’s smile so she would not
see
or feel his private turmoil.

“You see,” he said aloud, “I’m learning.”

“Oh?” Lysandra’s smile broadened, revealing a little dimple in one cheek that Renan had not seen before. “Then why did I choose
this herb and not another?”

Renan swallowed around the lump that constricted his throat. “That,” he said, “I do not know.”

“But you should,” Lysandra said. “Chamomile grows everywhere, an easily found and harvested herb that should be in every kitchen.
There’s so much that can be done with it, but best of all is this tea. It soothes and calms. I thought that if we’re to try
and sleep again, this might help.”

“So it might,” Renan agreed.
And we need every bit of help we can find
, he thought.
I wish sleep were the only problem we faced
.

At that moment, while Renan and the others once more settled to rest and the soldiers waited with bored anticipation, Aurya
and Giraldus were stuck in a small town where Giraldus’s stallion had thrown a shoe. Now the town’s blacksmith must be found—and
the farrier, if they were not one and the same—the smithy fired and a new shoe made while the horse’s hoof was prepared.

But neither man was in town. They and several others, having no immediate work to hold them, had gone hunting. When they would
return, no one knew; they had been gone two days already.

While Giraldus cursed and paced and drank too much of the local ale, Aurya studied the scroll. The three swans carved into
the bridge at Yembo, the swans she was certain were the Three Sisters mentioned in Tambryn’s words, had been pointing north.
North they had come—but she
had neither seen nor discovered anything to fulfill more of the scroll’s words. There was nothing
hidden
that she had found, nothing
forgotten
that she had discovered.

What clue was she missing, she wondered, and what was supposed to come next on their journey? Would she even know it if she
saw it? If she did not, would they still be able to find the child they sought?

No
, she told herself as she unrolled the scroll onto the little table in the back corner of the local pub,
failure is one thing I will
not
accept
.

Giraldus was up at the bar talking with the innkeeper. His voice had grown more strident with the ale he had consumed. It
easily filled the near-empty room and grated on Aurya’s nerves.

She could order him to silence and he would obey—but what a waste of magic that would be, she thought. She tried to make herself
ignore Giraldus’s voice—but it continued to cut into her thoughts until the last thread of her patience snapped. Willpower
was not enough; she would have to take more active measures. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Two… three… four times,
each breath taking her more deeply within, down to that silent place where magic dwelt. Six… seven… eight breaths… she could
feel the power within her start to throb in answer to her call. Ten… eleven… twelve.

There, power wielded and wielder met and merged. It was only a little need she called upon, but the power within her was like
a living thing. The feeling of it, like sweet fire in her veins, made Aurya smile.

She brought the power upward with her, out of its resting place. She wrapped herself in it, willing that any observer would
look unseeing past her. Most of all, it would muffle the sounds she did not wish to hear. She needed to be undisturbed—nor
did she care to have any curious
eyes light upon the scroll. With the spell in place, even Giraldus would not bother her.

Under her breath, Aurya began to chant the spell she needed.

“Light that is bidden now shine,

Reveal the knowledge to most eyes blind.

Folly bound and wisdom freed,

Hide no truth away from me.

Of Ancient words on parchment

Penned by the seer’s hand,

Let me with Tambryn’s eyes behold,

To see and understand.”

Aurya rolled the scroll out farther, confident that she would now be granted a fresh understanding of its contents. She had
thought her years of study would be enough and magic would not be needed to read the meanings of Tambryn’s words. But she
had not known that Tambryn wielded magic along with his prophetic gift. Her failed Spell of Binding had taught her otherwise.
And if Tambryn had set a magic seal upon his words, she would use magic to unlock it.

Wrapped now in magic, Spell of Seeing cast, she went back to the prophecy of the Three Sisters, expecting sudden insight to
flood her. Instead, the words became garbled in her mind. Sentences written in words she knew suddenly made no sense. It was
as if some unseen hand was taking the words and rearranging them into incoherent nonsense.

Magic;
she could nearly smell it wafting up from the ink, nearly see it outlining the letters in power. Well, she was not undone
yet. If more power was needed, she had more—
much
more—to call upon. She would break whatever
spell of protection Tambryn had laid upon and around his words.

Once more Aurya closed her eyes, calling up the magic within herself. It came, ready at her call. She spread her hands out,
fingers extended, over the scroll and began again to chant.

“Magic bound by Seer’s hand,

I summon thee to my cause.

Magic set on thee today

Be stronger than the spell that was.

Old magic broken, Seer’s power