Rath and Storm Page 7

  The aboroth froze.

  I circled and watched. Hanna explained it to me later. The forge had turned the aboroth into a creature of artifice, a being, like Karn, that could be switched on or off. And the amulet, the Touchstone, was a switch.

  The pyramid on the foredeck continued to glow. From time to time, the aboroth began, creakily, to move. Gerrard would touch the amulet again, chant the words, and the aboroth would freeze once more.

  And it shrank. As we circled and watched, the aboroth was smaller and smaller. Gerrard rode its head all the way to the ground until the aboroth had shrunk into dust, into nothingness.

  Elves shook their bows and cheered. Mirri conjured a lightning bolt, just for effect. Thunder was a death knell for the aboroth.

  He resists what must be.

  I thought about those words. I thought about Captain Sisay, how she also might have known how to use the forge and the amulet. But would she have known how to use them together?

  Gerrard was no great sorcerer, but he had a touch with the Legacy—a touch like no one else aboard Weatherlight would have, not even when we recovered Sisay.

  He resists what must be. Gerrard had run away from the truth, from the sacrifices and pain that truth demands.

  So had I.

  I had judged Gerrard, as was my wont. But I had not judged myself.

  He resists what must be. Orim meant me. I was resisting what must be.

  Gerrard was a man of considerable flaws. But we needed him. Moreover, he needed us to help him become what he must be: a man worthy of the Legacy.

  As I landed in the meadow full of celebrating elves, Orim joined me on the bridge. I said, “He resists what must be. But what will be, will be.”

  She smiled gently.

  “That doesn’t mean I have to like him,” I grumbled. “Nor will I pretend to like him.”

  Again, she said nothing, only smiling that smile.

  “We need him,” I admitted with a sigh.

  Orim nodded and left me alone on the bridge again. I yanked hard on the lanyard that rang the ship’s bell. I rang impatiently, repeatedly, until Gerrard and Mirri said their goodbyes to the elves and got on board.

  And we left Llanowar by command of Gerrard, master of Weatherlight.

  May he yet grow to fill his boots.

  Here ends the Tale of Tahngarth

  Ilcaster had moved from the floor to a bundle of papers, where he perched, chin on his hand, as the old man spoke. Dimly, both could hear the patter of rain beating against the windows. The wind outside whirled in an angry gale, and within its moans could sometimes be heard the hiss and clatter of hail. It was as if the heavens themselves were assaulting the library. Yet the two figures were so absorbed—one in telling, the other in listening—that they no longer paid attention to the sounds without.

  “I think Gerrard must have been really clever,” the boy observed. “Imagine using two artifacts together like that. And he did to the aboroth with the Touchstone what Vuel had done to Karn once before.”

  The librarian nodded. “Yes. Perhaps that’s where Gerrard got his inspiration for that strategy. Or, perhaps, he did have a special way with the Legacy, some part of his mind that knew instinctively how each bit fit together to make a unified whole that was greater than the sum of its parts.”

  Ilcaster nodded. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it. It must have been—after all, he was heir to the Legacy.” He shifted his legs under him, stretched, and nestled down on the floor. The old man, looking at him, was reminded of a kitten curled at the feet of its owner.

  “So now that they had Mirri on board, was Weatherlight ready to travel to Rath and rescue the captain?” Ilcaster asked.

  “No. Mirri was ready to join the ship, but she was insufficiently skilled in magic to manipulate the crystal that would allow them to planeshift to Rath. Gerrard turned to Hanna, the ship’s navigator, but she too was unable to manipulate the crystal. They would need a wizard. Hanna’s father, Barrin—”

  The old man broke off. “Is there something the matter with your hearing, boy?” he growled testily.

  Ilcaster started and dropped the piece of parchment at which he’d been staring. “I’m sorry, Master,” he said. “I was wondering…is this a plan of the ship?”

  The old man took up the parchment and spread it out beneath the glow of the candle. “Indeed it is,” he grunted. “Here, don’t move that candle. You might get wax on it. There’s sufficient light to see by, even with my old eyes. There.”

  The two heads bent in unison over the parchment: one dark and curly, the other white-haired with patches of scalp showing through the strands.

  “See now,” said the librarian. His fingers danced over the page, touching, indicating, almost stroking. “This is the main deck of the ship. Notice that the sails are feathered back over the stern. The bridge was located about two-thirds of the way back along the deck, while the prow of the ship was taken up with the forward cabins. Along the hull were spines for landing and support, so that when the ship put down on land it wouldn’t tip over. Here’s the pilot’s station, and here—“his fingers hesitated for a moment”—here is where the power crystal was located.”

  Ilcaster nodded. “I see. And that’s what they needed Hanna’s father for.”

  The librarian shook his head. “Barrin might help them, so Hanna said. But she was reluctant to approach him, since she and her parent had been estranged for years.”

  “That sounds terribly sad. Why did father and daughter fight?”

  “Well, Barrin was a wizard, while Hanna had devoted much of her studies to artifacts. She was convinced that artifacts were a far truer art than wizardly magic. Indeed, she held magic in some contempt. She and her father had argued on the subject for many years, but neither had persuaded the other.”

  Ilcaster looked thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve heard of Tolaria,” he said. “I don’t remember seeing it on any maps. Where—?”

  “You won’t find it on maps of Dominaria,” interrupted the librarian. In fact, few people have ever been there, and the way to the island is fraught with danger. Some say that in past centuries, in years beyond count, some great disaster occurred there. Many spoke of it, but they avoided it. Hanna, though, knew the way, and Gerrard persuaded her that without a wizard, they were defeated before they even started. Reluctantly she agreed to guide Weatherlight to the island.

  “So Barrin joined the company?”

  “Well, no,” said the master with a knowing frown. “Matters turned out a bit differently than Hanna and Gerrard expected.”

  One of the things that made Barrin such an excellent teacher was his practice of bringing me into his study from time to time to evaluate my progress. I’m always delighted to hear such an expert recount my virtues, so these sessions in his tower were something I looked forward to with great anticipation.

  At the last such session, seated behind his desk of blue jade, he began, as he always did, “Ertai, you are a most, ah, astonishing apprentice.”

  “Yes,” I acknowledged. I was seated before him, but I let my gaze wander out the window, down into the Lotus Vale where the fields of flowers shifted colors in the breeze. Such a sentence was preliminary to a discussion of my recent accomplishments. It was a formula. Not that I tired of hearing it.

  “Your memory of spells, your subtle sense of shifting energies, your artfulness as a young wizard all continue to amaze me. You are a credit to this island and to all who have studied the magical arts here.”

  “I know,” I said. And I knew as well the words that always came next: You have tremendous native ability.

  I was so accustomed to these words following the others that when he said, “However, there is one difficulty,” I said, “Thank you.”

  “Ertai.”

  I turned to find his gray eyes studying me. “I mean…” I said, and stopped.
I opened my mouth again, but no words came out. After a momentary struggle, I managed to utter in a strangled voice, “Difficulty?”

  What about my tremendous native ability? I wanted to add.

  If Barrin noticed my changed voice, he gave no sign of it. “A difficulty, yes. A shortcoming, if you will.”

  “A shortcoming?”

  He looked as if this discussion pained him. “This isn’t easy to confront you with.”

  Confront me. As if I had committed some crime. “Master Barrin, I stand falsely accused. I am, as you know, scrupulously honest—”

  “There we touch on the matter,” he said, leaning forward. “Ertai, this does have to do with your ‘honesty.’ Some would call it by other names.”

  I thought about that. “If you mean what some of the other apprentices say, they are wrong,” I said tentatively. “They accuse me of boasting. However, I merely tell the truth, and it sounds like boasting to them. Can I help it that their skills are meager compared to my—”

  I was going to say my tremendous native ability, but Barrin interrupted me once more. “I don’t think it’s a matter of your trampling on the feelings of others. The truth is, Ertai, I think the feelings of others are all but invisible to you. Brilliant though you may be with spells, in social relations you are a little…slow.”

  “Slow?” Me? Absurd.

  “This is a shortcoming you must address, especially now that everything is about to change.”

  “Change, Master Barrin?”

  “That’s the first part of the change. Call me Barrin, plain and simple. You’ve long since earned your vestments as a wizard adept.” He stood and went to an oaken wardrobe that bore the jagged sigil of lightning on its doors. With a wave of his hands, he discharged the spell into the ceiling and the clear blue sky above. The island of Tolaria crackled and boomed with the flash and thunder, and sparks of electricity still danced between the doors as he opened them.

  “Your tunic and chain,” he said, bringing them to me. “Put them on.”

  Some wizards may doubt they will earn this moment. I never had. All my previous discomfiture vanished. The only question remaining in my mind was if Barrin could bear to lose me as a student.

  I slipped the tunic over my shoulders and fastened the chain about me. I would look quite elegant wearing them. No surprise. I wear most anything with elegance. It’s a matter of posture, you see, and a handsome build.

  “And now,” Barrin said, “I must point you toward an opportunity.” And he began to speak.

  There were three strangers in Tolaria; strangers to me, at any rate. One was Barrin’s daughter, who had returned after a long absence. Another was a Benalish master-at-arms who wore throwing knives and a swagger. Last was a cat warrior whom I’d seen in Barrin’s garden, sunning herself on the stones.

  “The Benalish is called Gerrard,” said Barrin. “He is heir to a collection of artifacts known as the Legacy. You know, of course, what I am talking about, how important these objects are.”

  In truth I’d paid little attention to artifacts during my studies. There are few artifacts that can do anything a good spell can’t do. Magical machines are a crutch for lesser wizards.

  As these thoughts passed through my head, Barrin told me about an airship called Weatherlight, on which these three served as crew. For the present, Gerrard was serving as the ship’s captain. The craft’s previous captain, Sisay, had been abducted and spirited to another world, a plane called Rath.

  By means of its Thran crystal, Barrin observed, Weatherlight could travel to Rath, provided a sufficiently powerful wizard could be found to calibrate the crystal. Then, as Barrin continued, I confess my mind wandered a little and I thought of travel to other planes—a fascinating prospect and one I hope to someday achieve.

  “She has pleaded with me to join the crew,” Barrin said.

  “Who?”

  “My daughter,” snapped my teacher irritably. “Weren’t you listening? But the Benalish has suggested that instead they take you. I agree with him. It’s a chance for you to test your skills outside of Tolaria.”

  And to spread my reputation beyond Tolaria, I thought. “Excellent.”

  “No doubt you are wondering what the problem is between my daughter and myself that keeps me from going,” Barrin said.

  I wasn’t, in fact, the least bit curious, but Barrin continued. “All the time she has been here, she has not once met my eyes—”

  “Surely,” I said hastily, “this is a private matter?”

  He looked at me steadily. “Why, yes it is,” he said. “I…thank you for understanding that.”

  I nodded.

  “My daughter is an expert in magical machineries. You might want to review what you know of artifacts before you meet her.”

  “Not necessary,” I assured him.

  “Do remember what I’ve said about your honesty, Ertai. Keep more of your observations to yourself. You’ll do all right, I think.”

  “Better than all right, I’m sure.”

  On my way down from the tower, I stopped in the niche where a mirror was hung. To my reflection, draped becomingly in the new tunic and chain, I said, “And you have tremendous native ability.”

  * * *

  —

  When I met the crew of Weatherlight they were hastily wolfing a meal, refilling water pouches, and replenishing other supplies. I kept in mind what Barrin had said. It was, after all, better for them to discover my remarkable talents for themselves, and gradually so they might not be too overcome. After a first course of roasted duck, I sat in silence, only nodding now and then as Barrin introduced me and praised my skills.

  The three travelers each spoke in turn of their personal histories. When Gerrard told me of his mastery of arms, I did not note how meager an accomplishment this was compared to my mastery of a more difficult subject at, frankly, a somewhat younger age. When Hanna told me of her archeological studies at the Argivian University and her interest in artifacts, I did not casually instruct her in the vast limitations of artifacts. When Mirri mentioned that she had, with difficulty, learned to cast lightning, I did not call her attention to the many Tolarian children who do so easily before the age of eight.

  All three recounted their long journey to Tolaria in the storm-tossed sea. They had trouble lifting the magical veil that hides the island from most mortal eyes. Hanna had been born here, but that helped hardly at all. Merfolk attacked them, and then after they left their ship moored on the shore, they struggled through life-sapping Pendrell mists to the island’s sunny heart. I thought of sympathizing with what must have been an ordeal for a party with such limited abilities. Instead, I merely observed that Gerrard had not mentioned his own magical training.

  “You can feel that I’ve had experience in the magical arts?” Gerrard asked.

  “My sense of the shifting energies around people is unusual in its subtlety.”

  “It’s true,” Barrin said. He seemed pleased. I was apparently on the right track toward correcting what he supposed to be a “shortcoming,” though I still thought that honesty could hardly be counted as a flaw.

  “Ertai has,” Barrin continued, “tremendous native ability.”

  “That may be so,” said his daughter, “but our needs are specialized.”

  “I should think your needs were general,” I said. “I sense no remarkable talents in any of you.”

  The cat warrior clicked her teeth together. She narrowed her green eyes. “I think we’ve been insulted,” she said softly.

  “More wine?” asked Barrin, standing to take up the bottle. “Hanna? Mirri, will you have a drop more? Ertai, give me your goblet.”

  “Insulted?” I said. “When is the simple truth an insult? I mean only that your enemies, by snatching your captain across the planes, demonstrate significant magical power. Do you think you can match such fo
es with a childish lightning bolt or two?”

  The cat warrior stood, and her chair rattled to the floor. She flexed her hands, unsheathing her claws.

  “Easy, Mirri,” said Gerrard, touching her arm. To me he said, “Perhaps you mean no offense, but you might choose your words more carefully.”

  “I am meticulous in my choice of words,” I assured him. “I always say just what I mean.”

  “Then we will be as frank,” Gerrard told me. “What we need is a wizard, one who can set the Thran crystal and get our ship to Rath. Can you do that?”

  “It would be far more elegant to make a direct translation to Rath, to open the gate between the planes without resorting to some mere artifact.”

  Hanna’s face grew red. “Artifacts,” she said, “are the most efficient, the most reliable…”

  “Wait,” Gerrard said. “Can you do that? Can you make a direct translation to Rath?”

  “Certainly.”

  Barrin raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Not at present,” I amended. “But it is within my grasp. Perhaps in another year.”

  “We don’t have a year,” said Gerrard. “Sisay needs us now. Could you set the Thran crystal aboard Weatherlight?”

  “Sir, there is no magical obstacle that will not in the end yield to me.”

  “But the crystal—?”

  “Take him!” Barrin shouted. He seemed surprised by his own enthusiasm and said more softly, “Ertai is quite astonishing, really. Give him a try!”

  Gerrard looked from Barrin, to me, to Mirri, who still had not reclaimed her seat. But it was Hanna, staring intently at her empty plate, who spoke. She said, “We’ll take him if he passes a test.”

  * * *

  —

  As a volunteer for Weatherlight crew, I expected nothing in return except whatever fame my exploits would inevitably bring me. And the crew expected me to submit to a test? Barrin had already declined to join them. Other adepts, even those recently promoted, would expect payment in gold, and Weatherlight did not offer gold to its crew. I was not only their best choice, but their only choice. Obviously.