The Cleric Quintet: In Sylvan Shadows

Chapter Three

 
Intrigue
The wizard Dorigen reached out tentatively for the door handle to the chambers of Aballister, her leader. Surprised by her own hesitancy to go to the man she considered her mentor and had formerly called her lover, Dorigen angrily grabbed the handle and walked in.
Aballister sat in his comfortable chair, gazing out a small window at the distant Shining Plains and at the new construction he had ordered begun at Castle Trinity. He seemed a wretched thing to Dorigen now, not nearly the vital, powerful wizard who had so captivated her and fanned her passions. Aballister was still powerful, but his strength lay in his magic and not in his body. His black hair lay matted to his head; his eyes, dark before, seemed like empty holes now, sunken deeply into his sharply featured face. Dorigen wondered how she ever could have found him alluring, could have lain beside the loose-skinned bag of bones she saw before her.
She shook the thoughts away and reminded herself that Aballister's tutoring had brought her considerable power, and that it had been worth it after all.
Aballister's impish familiar, a bat-winged creature named Druzil, perched on the desk behind the wizard, posing as a gargoylelike statue. A nervous-looking orc soldier stood before the desk, unaware that the creature just a few inches away was alive.
Dorigen hardly looked at the orc, focusing more on Druzil, a sneaky character whom Dorigen did not trust in the least. Druzil had been with Barjin when the priest had been defeated at the Edificant Library. The only reason that everyone in Castle Trinity wasn't muttering about the imp's role in bringing Barjin down was that few other than Aballister, Dorigen, and the castle's third wizard, Bogo Rath, even knew that Druzil existed. Aballister had declared that he would introduce Druzil to the castle's garrison, but Dorigen had managed to change his mind at least for the time being.
Dorigen looked back to the wizard's hollowed face and nearly sneered at the notion of his sudden and dangerous arrogance. Always before, Aballister had carefully guarded Druzil as his personal secret, and Dorigen wasn't certain she trusted so drastic a change in the man.
Aballister, this hollowed man who had somehow traded physical strength for magical power, had grown quite confident in the last few weeks. Barjin, as head of Castle Trinity's clerical order, had been Aballister's principal rival for control of the ruling triumvirate. Now Barjin was no more.
Druzil managed to slip a sly wink at Dorigen without alerting the oblivious orc.
Dorigen replied with a private scowl, then turned to Aballister. "You requested my presence?" she asked, sharp and to the point.
"I did," the wizard answered offhandedly, not bothering to look Dorigen's way. "Aballister," he mumbled to himself, then, "Bonaduce." He considered each word for a moment, then turned to Dorigen, his smile wide. "Or Aballister Bonaduce, perhaps? Do you have a preference, or should I use both names when I claim rule over the region?"
"That claim would be premature," Dorigen reminded him. "Our only expedition so far has failed utterly." She studied the orc soldier, no doubt one of Ragnor's personal attendants, then turned to stare back at Aballister, amazed that the wizard would be so brash with his new rival's henchmen standing before him.
"Patience," Aballister said, waving his hand derisively. "Ragnor is on Shilmista's border. When he chooses to march, the elves will be no more."
"The elves comprise but one part of our enemy," said Dorigen, again looking toward the trembling orc. Aballister waited a few moments, seeming to enjoy Dorigen's discomfort, then dismissed the wretched creature.
"Get word back to Ragnor that he has our blessings and the blessings of Talona," Aballister said. "And good fighting!" The orc spun and rushed from the room, slamming the door behind it.
Aballister clapped his hands with glee.
"Greetings, Mistress Magic," Druzil slurred his customary title for the female wizard. He unwrapped his leathery wings and stretched wide now that the orc was gone. "And how is your nose today?"
Dorigen winced at the remark. She was a handsome woman a bit too round for her liking, perhaps with fair, if a bit plain, features and small but remarkably lustrous eyes the color of pure amber. Her nose was her one disfigurement, though, the one weak spot of the wizard's vanity. In her earliest days practicing magic, Dorigen had executed a magically enhanced jump in the air. Her landing had been less than perfect, though, for she had overbalanced on her descent, slammed face first into the stone floor, and bent her nose halfway over her cheek. It had never grown straight since.
"Greetings to yourself, imp," Dorigen replied. She moved right to the desk and began drumming her hand atop it, prominently displaying an onyx ring. Druzil knew what that ring could do, and he retreated into his leathery wings as though he expected Dorigen to loose its fiery magic at him then and there.
"I need no fights between my allies," Aballister said, seemingly amused by it all. "I have important decisions before me such as what to call myself when I have claimed my title."
Dorigen did not appreciate Aballister's overconfidence. "There remains Carradoon and the Edificant Library," she said grimly. She thought she saw Aballister flinch at the library's mention, but she couldn't be sure, for the wizard hid his emotions well in the hollowed features of his drained face.
"The men of Carradoon will surrender without a fight," Aballister reasoned. "They are fishermen and farmers, not warriors. You see, dear Dorigen, we must begin our preparations for what is to come after the conquest. Riatavin is not so far away, nor Westgate. We must establish our appearance as orderly and lawful rulers if we are to become accepted by the surrounding kingdoms."
"Aballister the diplomat?" Dorigen asked. "Orderly and lawful? Talona will not be pleased."
"It was I who met the goddess's avatar," Aballister reminded her sharply.
Dorigen hardly needed the reminder. It was that very meeting that had so changed Aballister, had turned his simple ambitions to excel at his craft into something more dire, more consuming. It was no coincidence that Dorigen had broken off her relationship with Aballister not long after that time of Arrival.
"Barjin is dead, and our clerics are in disarray," Aballister went on. "We cannot know how weakened Ragnor will become in his march. Would you have us begin a larger war with our surrounding kingdoms so soon after the first conquest is completed?"
"The first conquest has not yet begun," Dorigen dared to say.
Aballister seemed on the verge of an explosion, but he calmed quickly. "Of course," he agreed, seeming in that instant more his old, patient self. "Ragnor is on the edge of Shilmista, though, even now making forays into the elven wood."
"Have you considered the implications of his eventual march?" Dorigen asked. On the desk, Druzil sighed and nodded in agreement, as if the imp had been hoping that someone would point out the potential problems to the increasingly arrogant wizard.
"Ragnor is powerful," Dorigen began, "and the ogrillon holds little respect for magic-users."
"We could defeat him," Aballister reasoned.
Dorigen nodded her agreement. "Perhaps," she said, "but what would such a conflict cost Castle Trinity? I know you have shed no tears for Barjin and rightly so," she added, seeing Aballister's scowl. "But the priest's defeat has cost us dearly. If he and the curse had taken down the Edificant Library, then we could march on Carradoon even as Ragnor begins his assault on Shilmista. We cannot, though, not with the library's priests looking over the town. If Ragnor wins in the elven wood without incurring heavy losses, he will gain in prestige among the rabble. He might now be wondering how the neighboring kingdoms might deal with an ogrillon king."
The blunt words slapped Aballister as if Dorigen had hit him with a mace. He sat very still in his chair, staring ahead for a very long time.
He has known of this threat all along, came an unexpected message to Dorigen's mind. The woman glanced over to Druzil, who peeked at her from above his bat wings.
He has refused to accept it, the imp added, for he is too immersed in his debate over whether to call himself 'Aballister the Beneficent' or 'Bonaduce the Conqueror.'
Dorigen held no doubts that the imp was sincere in his sarcasm, but she could hardly believe that the familiar could be so bold with his master sitting right before him. Wisely, Dorigen did not reply. She pointedly looked away from the imp and back to the seated wizard.
"There can be no doubt that you are in control of Castle Trinity," Dorigen offered, "but we must continue with caution, for the seat has been a precarious one. What new cleric will rise in Barjin's place to lead the order? How strong will Ragnor become?"
"And what of Boygo Rath?" Aballister asked slyly, referring to the third and least adept wizard of Castle Trinity, whom both Aballister and Dorigen considered an upstart child. The wizard's real name was Bogo Rath, but Aballister and Dorigen referred to him as Boygo, even to his face. "And what of you?" Aballister added.
"Do not doubt my loyalty," Dorigen assured him. "In your absence, I would indeed have designs on ruling the triumvirate, but I know my betters and have more patience than you believe. As for Boygo . . ." She let the thought hang and gave an amused look, as though the notion of the young upstart challenging the likes of Aballister Bonaduce was simply too ridiculous to consider.
Aballister's laughter showed that he wholeheartedly agreed. "The clerics and Ragnor, then," the wizard said, "and neither should pose too serious a threat if we are cautious and attentive."
"Ragnor is a long way from here," Dorigen reminded him, prompting an invitation.
Aballister looked at her carefully for a moment, as though trying to discern her agenda. "Ragnor will not easily accept your presence in his camp," the wizard remarked.
"I do not fear him," replied Dorigen. She clapped her hands sharply three times. Aballister's door opened again, and in strode a man nearly seven feet tall, with corded muscles obvious under his fine silken clothes. His hair hung, thick and blond, braided down over his shoulders, and his pale blue eyes stared ahead with incredible intensity. Aballister hardly recognized him, except for his bronze skin and the curious tattoo, a polar worm, he wore upon his forehead.
"Surely this cannot be . . ." the wizard began.
"Tiennek," Dorigen confirmed, "the barbarian I plucked from the shadows of the Great Glacier in far away Vaasa."
"Dear Dorigen," cried the wizard, his tone revealing sincere amazement, but also disdain, "you have civilized him!"
Tiennek growled.
"Perhaps a bit," Dorigen replied, "but I would not destroy Tiennek's spirit. That would serve neither my purpose nor my pleasure in keeping him at my side."
Aballister's jaw tightened at the remark. The image of his former lover in this huge man's arms did not sit well with him, not well at all. "Impressive," he admitted, "but be warned if you think him a match for Ragnor."
Again Tiennek growled softly.
"Take no offense," Aballister quickly added. The wizard had never been comfortable around Dorigen's dangerous pet. Under the lip of his great desk, he fingered a wand that would blast the barbarian apart if Tiennek even hinted at charging.
"Your barbarian companion is powerful beyond doubt, possibly the strongest human I have ever seen," the wizard continued, looking to Dorigen once more, "but I do doubt that any human could defeat Ragnor in combat. The ogrillon would kill him, and then you would have to go all the way back to the Great Glacier to catch yourself another one."
"I, too, have never seen mighty Ragnor bested," Dorigen admitted. "Perhaps you are correct in your assessment, but Tiennek would not prove an easy opponent. Within his breast beats the heart of a warrior of the White Worm, and I have given him much more than just that. I have disciplined him so that he might better use those savage powers. Ragnor would find himself hard-pressed to defeat this one, and even more so with me standing behind Tiennek." Again she drummed her fingers, displaying her deadly ring.
Aballister spent a long time considering Dorigen's claims, and Dorigen could see the doubts plainly upon his pale, wrinkled face. In truth, she doubted that Tiennek could stand up to Ragnor as well as she had proclaimed or that she, for all her magical prowess, could offer much help if Ragnor decided to do away with both of them out going to Shilmista was simply too important for the success of this campaign for Dorigen to accept such possibilities.
"Ragnor could become too powerful to control," she remarked. "By one count, he has five thousand at his command."
"We have three thousand," Aballister retorted, "a strong defensive position, and the services of three wizards!"
"Do you desire such a war?" Dorigen asked. "What title would you gain in fighting Ragnor and his soldiers?"
Aballister nodded grimly and put his sharp chin in his skinny hand. "Go to him, then," the wizard said at length. "Go to Shilmista and help our dear Ragnor. He should have a wizard at his side anyway, if he hopes to deal with the elves. I will watch the clerics and prepare for the next step in our conquest."
Dorigen didn't wait around to see if Aballister might reconsider. She bowed and started from the room.
"Dorigen," Aballister called after her. She stopped and clenched her fist at her side, somehow knowing that the wily wizard would throw a new complication her way.
"Take Druzil along with you," Aballister said as she turned back around. "With the imp beside you, you and I can communicate from time to time. I do not like to be left out of so important a matter as Ragnor's progress."
Suspicions concerning Druzil's role in Barjin's death hovered about Dorigen's thoughts, and she did not doubt for a moment that Aballister was sending the imp along to watch over her as much as Ragnor. But how could she argue? The hierarchy at Castle Trinity was specific, and Aballister ruled the wizard's leg of the triumvirate.
"A wise decision," she said.
More than you believe, came another of Druzil's intrusions. Dorigen hid well her surprise.
Aballister turned back to the small window and alternately muttered his names to see which would best serve him as king.
Less than an hour later, Dorigen walked out of Castle Trinity, Tiennek at her side and the bat-winged imp flapping lazily behind them, invisible through his own innate magic. Dorigen tried to hide her disdain as she passed the soldiers building the castle's new walls, fearing that Druzil might already be reporting back to his master.
Dorigen was not pleased by the construction and thought Aballister a fool for ordering it begun. Because of the enclave's secrecy it resembled no more than a natural outcropping of stone Castle Trinity had survived unmolested in the otherwise civilized region for several years. Travelers had walked right past the hidden castle on the northern slopes of the Snowflake Mountains without beginning to guess that a wondrous tunnel-and-chamber complex lay beneath their feet.
But, as with his nearly revealed secret of Druzil to the castle's common soldiers, Aballister was apparently feeling invulnerable. They would need the new walls, he had argued, if the final battles reached their gates. Dorigen favored secrecy, preferred that the fight never got this far north. She guessed, too, Aballister's real motivations. Again the senior wizard was thinking ahead, beyond the conquest. He did not really expect to be attacked at the castle, but knew that an impressive stronghold might help him in his diplomatic dealings with neighboring realms.
I share your thoughts, came Druzil's not-so-unexpected call. Dorigen turned abruptly on the imp, and frantic flaps revealed that he had darted to the side in a wild flurry.
"Apparently you do," the female wizard snarled, "for I was thinking of blasting you from the sky!"
"A thousand pardons," the imp said aloud, landing on the ground before Dorigen, becoming visible, and falling immediately into a low bow. "Forgive my intrusion, but your feelings were obvious. You like neither Aballister's plans nor the way he has behaved since Barjin's demise."
Dorigen did not reply, but purposely kept her features locked in an unforgiving grimace.
"You will come to learn that I am no enemy," the imp promised.
Dorigen hoped he spoke the truth, but she didn't believe him for a minute.
*****
Cadderly knew that his time was up as soon as Elbereth and Headmaster Avery entered his room, neither smiling.
"We leave today for Shilmista," Elbereth said.
"Farewell," Cadderly quipped.
Elbereth was not amused. "You will pack for the road," the elf prince ordered. "Carry little. Our pace will be swift and the mountain trails are not easy."
Cadderly frowned. He started to reply, but Avery, seeing the mounting tension between the two, cut him off. "A grand adventure for you, my young lad!" The portly headmaster beamed as he walked over and dropped his heavy hands on Cadderly's shoulders. "Time for you to see some of the land beyond our library doors."
"And what are you packing?" Cadderly asked, his sarcasm unrelenting.
His words stung Avery more than he had intended. "I wished to go," the headmaster replied sharply, rubbing a kerchief over his blotchy face. "I pleaded with Dean Thobicus to let me accompany you."
"Dean Thobicus refused?" Cadderly could not believe the placid dean would refuse any request from one of his headmasters.
"I refused," Elbereth explained.
Cadderly, incredulous, stared at him over Avery's shoulder.
"I am Prince of Shilmista," the elf reminded him. "None may enter my domain without my leave."
"Why would you refuse Headmaster Avery?" Cadderly dared to ask, right in the face of Avery's silent, and rather frantic, signals for him to let the matter drop.
"As I have told you," the elf replied, "our pace will be swift. Horses cannot carry us through all of the mountain passes, and I fear that the headmaster would not keep up. I'll not delay my return, and I do not wish to leave an exhausted man in the wild to die."
Cadderly had no rebuttal, and Avery's embarrassed expression pleaded with him not to press on.
"Just you and I?" Cadderly asked the elf, his tone revealing that he wasn't pleased by that thought.
"No," Avery answered. "Another has agreed to go along, at Prince Elbereth's request."
"Headmistress Pertelope?"
"Lady Maupoissant."
Danica! The name came like a mule's kick into Cadderly's face. He straightened, eyes wide, and tried to figure out when Elbereth had found the chance to invite Danica along. His Danica! And she had accepted! Cadderly had to wonder if Danica had known that he, too, would be venturing to the wood before she had agreed to go.
"Why does that so surprise you?" Elbereth asked, a slight trace of sarcasm in his melodic voice. "Do you doubt -
"I doubt nothing where Danica is concerned," Cadderly was quick to reply. His scowl turned to an expression of confusion as he realized the many implications of his claim.
"Easy, lad," Avery said, holding him steady. "Danica agreed to go along only when she learned that you would be accompanying Prince Elbereth."
"As you wish," Elbereth added slyly, and Avery joined Cadderly in scowling at the elf, both knowing that Elbereth had made that last remark to throw some doubts at Cadderly.
"We shall depart in an hour," Elbereth said, standing impassively, fully composed. His black hair and silver eyes shone in the morning light, which streamed through Cadderly's window. "You will come then with whatever you have packed and silently endure any hardships resulting from what you have neglected to take along." The tall, proud elf turned and walked away without another word.
"I am starting to dislike him," Cadderly admitted, easing away from Avery's grip.
"He fears for his homeland," the headmaster explained.
"He is arrogant."
"Most elves are," said Avery. "It comes from living so long. Makes them believe they have experienced so much more than anyone else, and, thus, that they are wiser than anyone else."
"Have they, and are they?" Cadderly asked, his shoulders slumping a bit. He hadn't considered that fact about Prince Elbereth, that the elf had seen more in his life than Cadderly ever would, and probably would live on long after Cadderly's body was no more than a pile of dust.
"Some have, and they are indeed wise, I would presume," replied Avery, "but not most. The elves have become increasingly untrusting and xenophobic. They keep to their own, and to their own lands, and know little beyond their borders. I first met Prince Elbereth three decades ago and would guess that I have learned much more than he in that time. He seems much the same as he did then, in body and attitude.
"Well," Avery continued, turning for the door, "I will leave you to your packing. Elbereth said an hour, and I would not expect him to wait one moment longer!"
"I would not care to live through centuries," Cadderly remarked just before the headmaster exited the room. "But, then," the young scholar continued when Avery turned back to him, "I am not certain that I have begun to live at all."
Avery studied Cadderly for a long while, caught off guard by the unexpected words. He had noticed a change in Cadderly since the incident with Barjin, but this was the most dramatic evidence that something deeply troubled the young scholar. Avery waited a few moments longer, then, seeing that Cadderly had nothing further to offer, shrugged and closed the door.
Cadderly sat unblinking on his bed. The world was going too fast for him. Why had Elbereth asked Danica along? Why had it fallen upon him to kill Barjin? The world was going too fast.
And he was going too slow, he soon realized. He would find enough time on the road for contemplations; right now he had to prepare himself for the journey, before Elbereth pulled him out of the library with only the clothes on his back.
He stuffed a pack with extra clothing and his writing kit, then placed in his magical light tube, a narrow, cylindrical device which, when uncapped, issued a beam of light that Cadderly could widen or narrow with a turn of the wrist.
Satisfied with the pack, the young scholar donned his blue silk traveling cloak and wide-brimmed hat, banded in red and set with the eye-over-candle holy symbol of Deneir in its center. He took up his ram's-head walking stick and headed for the hall.
At the doorway, he turned back, stopped by the cries of his conscience.
Cadderly looked down to his feathered ring, as if that might offer him some relief from what he knew he must do. The ring's base was circular and hollow, holding a tiny vial of drow-style sleep poison, which Cadderly had brewed. The point of the tiny dart was a cat's claw and, once fitted into the hollow shaft of Cadderly's walking stick, it became a potent weapon indeed.
But Cadderly couldn't count on that. Using the blowgun required time to set the dart, and he wasn't even certain of its potency anymore. Drow poison did not last long on the surface world, and though Cadderly had taken great pains to protect his investment, placing the sealed vials into a strong box enchanted with a darkness spell, many weeks had passed since its creation.
Reluctantly the young scholar walked back to the wardrobe and put his hand on the door handle. He looked around helplessly, as if searching for some way out of this trap.
He must not fail in his year quest.
Cadderly opened the wardrobe door, picked a wide strap from among dozens of hanging leather ties, and belted it around his waist. It sported a wide, shallow holster on one side, which held a single-hand crossbow of dark elf design. Cadderly took out a bandolier next, and found some comfort in the fact that only three explosive darts remained. Nearly two score other darts were in the bandolier it was designed to hold as many as fifty but their centers were hollow and empty, not yet fitted with the tiny vials of Oil of Impact that gave the loaded three their wicked punch.
Despite his ambivalent feelings, Cadderly couldn't resist undoing the small leather tie and taking out the crossbow. It was an instrument of beauty, perfectly tooled by Ivan and Pikel. That beauty paled beside Barjin's dead eyes, though, for this was the same weapon that Cadderly had used on that fateful day. He had fired at a mummy, trying to destroy the undead monster as it tried to destroy Barjin. One shot had slipped through the mummy's meager wrappings, though, thudding into helpless Barjin's chest as he lay propped against a wall.
Cadderly distinctly remembered the sound as that dart collapsed on the magical vial and exploded, a sharp echo that had followed him every day and every night.
"Belago asked me to give you this," came a voice from the doorway. Cadderly turned and was surprised to see Kierkan Rufo, tall and angular and tilting, standing in the doorway. Although they had once been friends, Rufo had pretty much avoided Cadderly in the last few weeks.
Cadderly winced as Rufo held out a small ceramic container, for he knew what was inside. Belago's alchemy shop had been blown up during the confusion of the chaos curse, and the alchemist had thought the formula for the Oil of Impact lost in the flames. Not lamenting the loss, Cadderly had lied and told Belago that he did not remember where he had found the formula, but the alchemist, determined to reward Cadderly for his heroics against the evil priest, had vowed to recover it.
The same trapped, resigned expression he had worn when retrieving the crossbow crossed Cadderly's face as he took the flask. The container was heavy; Cadderly guessed that he could fill perhaps twenty more darts with this amount. He searched for some way out; he thought of letting the flask slip to the floor, feigning an accident, but reconsidered that course immediately, knowing the potentially catastrophic consequences.
"You are surprised to see me," Kierkan Rufo said in his monotone voice. His dark hair clung tightly to his head; his dark eyes sparkled like little points of shimmering blackness.
"You have not been around lately," Cadderly replied, turning his head up to look the taller man in the face. "Are you angry with me?"
"I . . ." Rufo stammered, his angular features contorting uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his matted black hair. "The curse affected me deeply," he explained.
"Forget the curse," Cadderly advised him, feeling some sympathy, but not too much, for Rufo's actions during the curse had not been above suspicion. The tall man had even made advances toward Danica, which the young woman had promptly discouraged by beating Rufo severely.
"We shall talk more when I return," Cadderly said. "I have no time "
"It was I who pushed you down the stairs," Rufo announced unexpectedly. Cadderly's reply caught in his throat, and his mouth hung open. He had suspected Rufo, but never expected an admission.
"Many acted unwisely during the curse," Cadderly managed to say after a long silence.
"It was before the curse," Rufo reminded him. In fact, that action had set in motion the events leading to the curse.
"Why are you telling me this?" Cadderly demanded, his gray eyes narrowing angrily. "And why did you do it?"
Rufo shrugged and looked away. "The evil priest, I suppose," he whispered. "He caught me in the wine cellar while you were looking down the secret stairway to the lower levels."
"Then forget the incident," said Cadderly with as little anger as he could, "and accept no blame. Barjin was a powerful adversary, with tricks and charms beyond our comprehension."
"I cannot forget it," Rufo replied.
"Then why do you come to me?" Cadderly snapped. "Am I to forgive you? All right, then, I do. You are forgiven. Your conscience is cleared." Cadderly pushed by, heading for the hall.
Rufo grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him about. "I cannot ask your forgiveness until I have forgiven myself," he explained, and his wounded expression touched Cadderly.
"We all have cause to forgive ourselves," Cadderly remarked, glancing down to the flask in his hands. His gaze betrayed his haunting thoughts of Barjin's death.
"I wish to come with you," Rufo said.
Cadderly could not reply for many moments; Rufo was full of surprises this day!
"I must regain my dignity," the angular man explained. "As with you, I must see this threat, or whatever it may be, through to its conclusion. Only then will I forgive my actions of five weeks ago." Cadderly started to drift toward the hall, but Rufo determinedly pulled him back.
"The dwarven brothers are gone," Rufo reminded him. "And the druid Newander is dead. You may need help."
"You are asking the wrong person," Cadderly replied. "Dean Thobicus - "
"Dean Thobicus left the choice to Headmaster Avery," Rufo interrupted, "and Avery left it to you. I may go with your permission, so say they, and Prince Elbereth has agreed as well."
Cadderly hesitated and thought it over for just a few moments. After all that had happened, he wasn't certain he trusted Rufo, but he couldn't ignore the pleading look in the angular man's dark eyes.
"You have less than half an hour to prepare your gear," he said. Rufo's dark face brightened.
"I am already packed."
Somehow, Cadderly wasn't surprised.
Elbereth and Danica were waiting for Cadderly outside the library's ornate double doors. There, too, were Avery, Pertelope, and two spare horses apparently the headmasters had expected Cadderly to allow Rufo along.
Danica flashed a wide smile Cadderly's way, but it dissipated immediately and her full lips turned down into a scowl when she saw Rufo coming out the doors on Cadderly's heels.
Cadderly offered only a shrug for an explanation as he mounted the horse next to Danica's.
The monk's visage softened as she watched Rufo fumble with his horse. The man was so awkward, and Danica was not without pity. She nodded Cadderly's way; she too determined that she would put the past behind her and concentrate on the road ahead.
"You will see many sights along the road and in the elven wood," Pertelope said to Cadderly as she moved beside his horse. Cadderly tried not to notice the carefree headmistress's prudish dress, but her long gloves seemed out of place, especially in a summer day's warmth.
"Wondrous sights," Pertelope continued. "I know you will learn more in your short time away from the library than in all the years you have been here."
Cadderly looked at her curiously, not certain of how to take her strange words.
"You will see," Pertelope explained, and she tried hard to hide a chuckle, not wanting to mock the young scholar. "There is more to life than the adventures of others, dear Cadderly, and more to living than reading books.
"But, when you find some empty time out there . . ." she continued, and she produced a large tome from under her robes. Cadderly knew the book as soon as she handed it to him, for he, like all priests of his order, had studied the work since his first days in the library: the Tome of Universal Harmony, the most holy book of Deneir.
"For good fortunes?" he asked, still confused.
"For reading," Pertelope replied sharply.
"But - "
"I am sure you have the work memorized," Pertelope interrupted, "but I doubt that you have ever truly read it."
Cadderly wondered if he looked as stupid as he felt. He consciously forced himself to close his hanging jaw.
"Words can be read in many ways," Pertelope said, and she pulled herself up enough to peck Cadderly on the cheek. "That was for good fortunes," the headmistress explained, throwing a wink Danica's way.
"I wish I were going with you!" Headmaster Avery cried suddenly. "Oh, to see Shilmista again!" He wiped a kerchief over his eyes and then over his chubby face.
"You may not," Elbereth said coldly, tiring of the lengthy farewell. He touched the reigns of Temmerisa, his shining white stallion, and the mighty horse kicked off, a thousand bells jingling with each step. Kierkan Rufo fell in behind the elf and Danica, too, started away.
Cadderly looked from the Tome of Universal Harmony to Headmistress Pertelope and smiled.
"Your perceptions of the world will change often as you grow," Pertelope said quietly, so that the others would not hear. "And while the words in the book remain the same, your reading of them will not. Deneir's heart is a poet's heart, and a poet's heart drifts with the shadows of the clouds."
Cadderly held the thick book in both hands. His perceptions of the world, of morality, had indeed changed. He had killed a man, and had somehow found his first adventure beyond the thousands he had read about in books of legend.
"Read it," Pertelope told him gravely. She turned back to the library, hooked Avery by the arm, and dragged him along.
Cadderly's mount took its first step, and the young priest was on his way.