The Thirteenth Scroll (33 page)

“Talog has them,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, Lysandra.
Let’s do what Talog says and get away from here. Sunrise is not far off—we need to find a place to make camp for the day.
Then we can hear whatever it is he says he must teach us. Are you certain you can walk now?”

“Yes,” she told him again. “I’ll keep up.”

She put her hand out, and immediately Cloud-Dancer slid his head beneath her waiting fingers. She took a few seconds to caress
him, running her hand across his head, ears, and neck, knowing—and letting him know—how lost she would be without him.

Then, as she heard the others begin to move again, Lysandra wound her fingers deeply into Cloud-Dancer’s fur. She drew again
upon their deep and mutual bond, on the love that kept him by her side, until their minds united and she could see through
his eyes once more.

Together, they followed Talog and Renan across the desolate boglands.

Finally
, Aurya thought, as Giraldus mounted his newly shod stallion.
Finally we can leave this little hole on the landscape and get moving again
.

Over the last day and a half her patience had been stretched, to its limit and past, while they waited for the blacksmith
and farrier to return from their hunting trip. The only thing that had kept her from lashing out—at Giraldus, at this whole
uncultured, uncomfortable, backwater village—was the time she spent studying the scroll.

She would not try a spell on it again; she had been lucky enough the first time that the scroll had not been completely destroyed,
and she would not underestimate Tambryn’s powers, or his intelligence, again. None of the tales she had heard ever mentioned
magic, but Aurya now knew Tambryn had been a mage of great power. It took
nothing less to set such a spell and have it maintain its cohesion through six centuries.

But though the Mirror Spell was protection against her magic, it had granted her a revelation that might well be the salvation
of her quest. She had been taking the words of the scroll too literally. She had indeed found that which was
hidden
—when she found the spell upon the scroll. And she had found the
forgotten
by realizing the truth about Tambryn himself.

This new knowledge would have filled her with satisfaction had it not been for the dream that had disturbed her sleep last
night. In it, she had seen two birds racing through the skies. One had been the black griffin of Giraldus’s crest. The other
had been a dove, a small bird by comparison, with bright white plumage and a body that was sleekly plump.

They were racing toward the same goal, a glowing spot upon the northern horizon. The griffin, much larger and more powerful,
soon overtook the dove and closed its black talons around the snowy body. But even as the griffin brought its long hooked
beak down to close upon its prey’s neck, to sever its head and destroy it in one swift move, the dove drove its own sharply
pointed beak into the griffin’s heart. Then, from the dove’s beak, bright flame erupted, shooting deep within the griffin’s
body and consuming it. In its death throes, the griffin released the dove to fly onward, free and unchallenged, to its goal.

Aurya had awakened from this dream two hours before dawn. Rising from beside the sleeping Giraldus, she wrapped a blanket
around herself and went to sit before the remnants of the fire, in the cramped and dingy room they had rented the night before.

The dream could only have one meaning. Someone else possessed a copy of Tambryn’s scroll and was also trying
to find the child. But whom? To that question she had no answer; she knew of no Baron or House that used a white dove as its
symbol.

Aurya stared into the embers, watching their red-orange glow slowly become covered and dimmed by ash, while she asked that
same question over and over. It was not until the glow was almost gone that she moved.

She grabbed the poker and quickly stirred the dying fire to life, adding new wood. Her heartbeat counted the seconds until
little tongues of flame began to appear, licking the undersides of the logs. Then, satisfied, Aurya sat back on her heels
thinking, trying to decide the best way to deal with this unexpected threat.

Magic was the only answer, but she must move carefully—the scroll had taught her that. And, who but another mage would own
the scrolls of someone like Tambryn, whose writings had been forbidden by the Church? To use magic against another who practiced
in the arcane could be very dangerous—and to use too strong a spell would drain her, both of body and power, leaving her defenseless.

Finally, Aurya settled upon a spell that would only work if the one against whom it was cast carried any unresolved doubts.
If he or she were moving with confidence, completely convinced of their course and action, the spell would dissolve into the
ether. But, if such doubts existed, this spell would find them, cast a cloud of darkness and malaise that would keep its victim
mired.

Once the fire was burning brightly, Aurya focused her eyes and mind upon the flames as she called forth her place of power
and began to Cast…

Now, in the bright light of late morning, as she and Giraldus rode away from the little village of Fintra, she was certain
she had made the right choice. She needed
all of her strength today if they were to reach the town where Giraldus’s soldiers were to be waiting.

Tonight
, she thought as her horse settled into its smooth canter,
when I’ll have time afterward to sleep and regain my strength, perhaps I’ll try a Spell of Finding. That will show me just
who this white dove is—and then I’ll know how to stop him
. No one
will get to the child before I do… No one
.

W
hen Talog finally led the others out of the bogs, Renan released a silent sigh of relief. The sun was up, but thankfully it
was a dark and cloudy day. Although the heavy overcast signaled a spring storm by nightfall, it also meant they could cover
some extra distance before needing to stop.

Renan was still worried about Lysandra. She insisted she was fine now and that whatever strange humor had taken hold of her
earlier had passed, but she still looked… “deflated” was the word that came to Renan’s mind.

She looks as if a part of her has been drained away
, he kept thinking every time he glanced at her.
But what
part? Of purpose? Of self? How can I—we
, he reminded himself—
help her get it back?

He was relieved when they finally found a safe place to settle for the day. This time it was a cave, one of many etched into
a tall stony ridge on the north border of the boglands. The cave they chose required a small amount of climbing to reach,
but it was safer than one close to the ground, where anything might enter while they slept.

Renan and Talog helped first Cloud-Dancer and then Lysandra clamber up to the cave. Then Renan signaled Talog to follow them.

“I’ll find some wood for a fire,” he said softly, aware of how sound might carry.

Foraging in solitude gave Renan a chance to sort through some of his feelings. They were in an uproar. Just a short time ago,
he had thought all of his major life-decisions were made, his future in place. But now, it seemed that each day something
new happened to call them into question.

Lysandra was at the heart of most of his turmoil. His feelings for her grew with every day he spent in her company, until
now his respect and admiration had deepened into something infinitely richer. They were also the very reasons he would never
speak of his feelings to her.

He would never put Lysandra into the emotionally uncomfortable—or spiritually dangerous—position of being the unacknowledged
“hearth-mate” of a priest who held his vows in little esteem. Renan knew that many of his brethren thought nothing of such
a relationship, especially in the more isolated parishes. In a Church where younger sons and daughters were given into the
Religious life at ages as young as five or six and for reasons of economics rather than true vocation, such abuses were inevitable
—and frequently overlooked by the disciplinary hierarchy.

But Renan was not one of these. He had sought out this life of his own accord, with a willing heart and a belief that this
was the vocation he was meant to follow. Now, whatever his feelings elsewhere, he must honor the dictates and responsibilities
of that decision.

The greatest danger to his vows was not Lysandra; it was Lady Aurya. She threatened not his vocation, but something that went
even deeper. It was the vow that had sent him into the Church and that defined who he was and what he wanted to be.

Before all this was over, he feared it would be something he would be forced to break.

But he was not the only one to whom Lady Aurya posed a danger. Lysandra’s recent behavior, so completely out of character,
could only be of Aurya’s design. He could not say how she knew of their presence, or what spell she used against Lysandra,
but the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that it was her handiwork.

He was also increasingly convinced that she and her companions were on the same quest to find the Font of Wisdom. This made
it all the more imperative that his party be the first to find the child. Aurya’s purposes could bode no good for either the
child or the kingdom. Whatever plans she might have once she could claim whatever powers the Font of Wisdom might hold, they
no doubt began with putting Baron Giraldus on the throne of Aghamore.

Renan admitted that, alone, Giraldus might make a passable, perhaps even a good King. But Aurya was by his side and partner
in every aspect of his life. It was well-known that in the ruling of Kilgarriff, Aurya’s whims
were Giraldus’s laws. What that promised for Aghamore’s future was not something Renan wished to see.

As great a threat as that might be, the more immediate danger lay in Aurya’s knowledge of Renan and the others. Her weapon
was magic—and he feared that only more magic could turn it aside.

Filled with this dread, his heart now as heavy as his laden arms, Renan headed back toward the cave where the others waited.
He did not yet know how much he would tell them—he would wait to hear what Talog had to say—but he did know they must do all
in their power to keep the child they sought away from Aurya. If they failed, then just as both the scroll and the Holy Words
of the Cryf had forewarned, a future of darkness awaited the people of Aghamore.

It was not until the fire was going and their food had been cooked that Renan again asked Talog about the danger he had mentioned
in the bog. The young Cryf’s face grew grave as he set aside his cup of chamomile tea.

“We face now a troubled path,” he began, “and not only such danger as can be found upon thy maps. I ask thy forgiveness that
I saw not the warning marks left by the ancient ones. Had I seen with clearer eyes, never would we have rested in that place.
It be a place of greatest evil.”

Although Talog’s use and understanding of their language had greatly improved, he still used the archaic form of many words,
and Renan was not certain Talog meant
evil
. How could a place be evil? Dangerous, yes—but evil?

“I don’t understand,” he said. “People can be evil, certainly, or they can do evil
deeds
—but how can you say a place is evil? Are you sure of the word?”

Now Talog looked as confused as Renan. “Do not Up-worlders have holy places? Have ye no places wherein the Spirit of the Divine
may be felt?”

Renan considered carefully. Certainly there were churches and even great cathedrals—but were they holy
places
or were they places
made
holy by the people and the practices they contained? Yet throughout history, all religions had mentioned places where the
Divine, by whatever name, was said to abide. Mount Sinai for the ancient Hebrews or Delphi where the Oracle of the Greeks
and Romans prophesied, to name just two.

“Yes,” he said at last to answer Talog’s question. “Yes, we do.”

“Why then dost thou not believe some places may be evil?” Talog asked.

Renan had to acknowledge it was a fair question. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

“The Cryf know,” Talog stated, “for the Divine hath made us to know. The land speaketh always unto us, and those of wisest
hearts have learned to listen. Always do the Cryf feel of the land both the good and the evil therein.

“At the time of the beginning, all was good, all was holy. In perfection all was made and in perfection did abide and the
First Ones of all living things did live in peace unto one another, for peace is the Gift of the Divine Who giveth all Life.
Even the First Ones of the Cryf and the Up-worlders did know peace together and fear did not yet grow in any hearts.

“But peace did not satisfy every heart and thus greed was born into the world. Though it saddened the Divine to behold it,
it was left to be, for the Gift of Life had been freely given. Greed be a thing of greatest danger, for it cometh never alone.
With greed cometh jealousy,
envy, selfishness, and these give birth unto anger, hatred, and fear. Thus was the peace of the first times destroyed.

“Then did the First Ones of the Cryf cry out unto the Divine, pleading to be set free from the world wherein greed abideth.
Then did the Divine lead the Cryf unto the Realm and did place us as guards upon the peace that abideth there.”

Renan realized, fascinated, that Talog was telling him the Cryf story of Creation.
How much is he not saying?
he wondered, certain that Talog was telling it in a much-abbreviated form. Was he doing so because of his listener’s lack
of knowledge in the history of the Cryf, as one would tell a child, or because of his own limited, though increasing, vocabulary?

“Are there Cryf in other lands?” he asked Talog. “Are there other Realms?”

The young Cryf shook his head. “The Divine did gather the Cryf from every land to enter unto the Realm. These did become the
twelve Clans of the Cryf who now live together. We came, led by the Hand of the Divine, unto this place thou callest Ag-ha-more.”
He pronounced it slowly, each syllable separately formed to make certain he said it correctly.