Prologue~Ch. 1~Ch. 2~Ch. 3~Ch. 4~Ch. 5~Ch. 6~Ch. 7~Ch. 8~Ch. 9~Ch. 10~
Ch. 11~Ch. 12~Ch. 13~Ch. 14~Ch. 15~
A mote of blue witch light danced around the massive wooden bed high in the north tower of the castle, chasing the dust motes that appeared in the beam of late afternoon sun that shone through the narrow window. The man in the bed stirred restlessly. The mote paused and then zipped over to hover above his face. The man muttered something unintelligible and stirred again; there was rapid movement beneath his eyelids, as though he was struggling to awaken. The mote hummed happily and then vanished with a quiet popping sound.
By the time the old wizard finished climbing the twisting staircase to the tower room, the man was awake and sitting up in the bed. “What time is it?”
“Don’t you mean, ‘what day is it?’” the old wizard asked, puffing slightly. He lowered himself into an armchair near the bed.
“What day? It’s been days?” The man swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “What—”
“What did you expect, casting your spell while standing on a Well?” the wizard asked angrily. “What were you thinking?” Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, “Did it work?”
“I—I can’t be sure,” the man answered slowly.
“Kiran—”
“Do not use that name!” the man said furiously. “Kiranthus has been dead for twenty-five years.”
“Fine, Thackery, when you’re feeling up to it, you may join me in the scrying chamber.” The wizard struggled to his feet and then vanished.
Thackery sat on the edge of his bed, head resting in his hands, waiting for the spinning to stop. It was a good thing they were between terms in the school. One of the first things they taught the budding magic-users who flocked to the school was to never, ever, cast a spell near a Well.
The magical Wells of Power were useful for replenishing one’s energy, but even the most advanced wizard used extreme caution around them. He knew better, of course, but he’d been impatient. Farena’s amulet had activated weeks ago. A retrieval spell would have taken far too long to craft; there were so many factors to consider.
Heaving a sigh, he managed to get to his feet and made his way slowly to the window. Even after all these years, the view still took him by surprise. Instead of the lush fields and vast forests of his homeland, he looked out over the harsh beauty of the desert. Although there was a cooling spell built into the walls of the castle, the heat beyond its walls never failed to take him by surprise. It was a good thing he seldom needed to go beyond the walls.
Stiffening his spine he turned from the window and left the room. Paran would be getting impatient, waiting for him in the scrying chamber, and to be honest he was a little impatient himself to know the results of his spell.
Where the scrying chamber in Paran’s keep had been in the dungeon, the one in this castle was in the south tower. Paran had chosen the location himself, claiming that the higher altitude was more conducive to the energy needed for proper scrying. Still weak from the back lash from spell-casting on the Well, Thackery was out of breath by the time he reached the top of the tower.
“You’re out of shape,” Paran told him. He had already set up his favorite scrying bowl on the stand in the centre of the room. It was large and shallow, made of thin, black marble. Thackery had no idea where it came from, it was already here when he’d arrived ten years ago.
Thackery raised an eyebrow. “And you used magic instead of climbing all those stairs. What would your students say?”
Paran snorted. “My students know better than to question my comings and goings. Are you ready?”
Mouth suddenly gone dry, Thackery nodded. Without being asked, he went over to the cabinet that was filled with crystal balls, stacks of bowls, and bottles and jars of various liquids, and returned with a large urn. His hands were shaking and Paran took the urn from him, filling the bowl with a pale yellow oil. They stood side by side, hands resting lightly on the edge of the bowl. Paran began chanting.
The oil shivered and then started to swirl in the bowl. Faster and faster it spun until a small whirlpool formed. The whirlpool began to expand, wider and wider, leaving a clear space in the centre of the oil. The two men leaned forward.
Images flowed across the oil, moving too fast to make any sense of. There was a blinding flash. The men lost their hold on the bowl as they reeled backwards in shock, and the spell was broken.
“This is what comes of using wild magic,” Paran said, shaking his head to clear the spots in front of his eyes.
“It was going too fast for me to tell. Did it work? Was my retrieval successful?”
“I believe so,” Paran said slowly, “But there was something else . . . Fetch me the essence of pedrian.”
Thackery went back to the cabinet and returned with a small, stoppered vial. Paran added three drops of the blue liquid to the oil and then motioned to Thackery to join him. This time he waved his hands over the bowl while chanting. The oil boiled into a froth and then cleared again. A picture formed and they both leaned over it.
“It’s the northern continent,” Paran said, after a few minutes. “I’m not sure what part, however.”
“It looks familiar,” Thackery said. “I think I’ve—no!” His eyes widened. “It’s Ghren. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Ghren,” Paran mused. “Didn’t hold the position of Royal Tutor there at one time? I remember you writing about your student, Dominic. He was quite promising, I recall. Perhaps we could contact him and—”
Thackery was already shaking his head. “Dominic disappeared right before I did. It’s one of the reasons I’m no longer welcome there.”
“This is not good, my boy. You retrieved your daughter, but you didn’t bring her far enough. She’s there, trapped in Ghren.”
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