Ithanalin’s Restoration

Chapter Thirty-two

Kilisha awoke in her own familiar little bed, with Telleth sitting beside her and a familiar spriggan standing on her feet. She opened her eyes and turned her head to see the morning sunlight through the window.

“She’s awake!” Telleth called, leaping up. “Dad! She’s awake!”

“Awake awake awake!” the spriggan squealed, jumping up and down on Kilisha’s ankle. She kicked it off, and it danced happily on the bed. By the time she looked up from the spriggan Telleth was on the stairs, heading down.

“Thank you, thank you!” the spriggan said. “Got wizard out of head!”

“I didn’t do it for you” Kilisha retorted-but secretly, she was pleased that the spriggan hadn’t been hurt, and didn’t mind being back to itself. She brushed it off the bed, sat up, and reached for her robe.

A few minutes later she ambled down the stairs into the kitchen and found the entire household gathered around the breakfast table, waiting for her. Ithanalin rose from his chair as she entered.

“Kilisha,” he said, “I want to thank you. I saw most of what happened-I remember everything that happened to all the pieces, which is the oddest sensation. I remember you demanding that you be given the bowl and spoon, I remember you coaxing the coatrack to follow you, I remember you chasing the bench, all of it.”

Kilisha swallowed hard. “You remember it all?”

Ithanalin nodded.

Kilisha remembered, too. She remembered yelling at various fragments of her master, chasing them recklessly through the streets, tricking them and trapping them and tying them up, lying to them and bribing them and threatening them. She remembered sitting on them. She remembered the love spell on the rug, she remembered the spoon wrapped around her arm and trying to get under her clothes, she remembered holding the coatrack over her head, and grabbing the spriggan by the throat...

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“Sorry?” Ithanalin chuckled. “Oh, don’t be foolish. I remember you doing what had to be done to collect a bunch of idiot fragments; any disrespect involved was entirely justified. I remember some rudeness, yes, but I remember persistence and ingenuity, as well. Most particularly, I remember the very fine performance you gave when I dove off the Fortress with the overlord-it was a remarkable display of courage and foresight. You must have put a great deal of thought and effort into preparing those potions! That was excellent work, worthy of a master wizard, let alone a journeyman. You’re clearly ready for more than just the Spell of the Obedient Object.”

“Thank you, Master,” Kilisha said, somewhat overwhelmed by this praise. Then a thought struck her. “You remember every-thing?”

“Yes, I think so. Why?”

“Could you tell me, then, how the couch got into the Fortress, and why?”

“Ah!” Ithanalin smiled and reached for his chair. “Well, I’m sure you know how sometimes when you’re working on a long spell odd, irrelevant thoughts will wander through your mind. That was happening as I stirred the mixture, and I was remembering an incident several years back when I spoke with someone who had once been a rat, who had told me about rinding the legendary escape tunnel from the Fortress.”

“Escape tunnel?” Telleth asked from his seat at the table, his eyes wide.

“Yes,” Ithanalin said, sitting down again. “When the Fortress was built, during the Great War, the possibility of a long siege by Northern forces was considered, and a secret tunnel was built from deep in the Fortress crypts to a nearby cave, so that messengers could slip in and out undetected. After the war knowledge of the tunnel’s location was lost, but this rat-well, former rat-had rediscovered it, and she told me where it was, and I was thinking about that when that tax collector started pounding on the door.”

“Kelder, you mean,” Kilisha said, as she took her own scat at the table. It was hard for her to think of him as just a tax collector again, but of course that was all he was to Ithanalin.

Kilisha knew that Kelder was at least a friend to her now, and well on the way to becoming something more. She felt pleased and warm at the thought, but brushed it aside to listen to her master’s explanation.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Ithanalin said. “At any rate, when I realized it was a tax collector interrupting my work I was somewhat annoyed, and the thought occurred to me that perhaps I could trade my knowledge of the tunnel’s whereabouts to the overlord for a lifetime exemption from our taxes. That was foremost in my mind when I tripped, and that thought became the driving obsession of two of my fragments-the one in the bench, and the one in the couch. Both wanted to meet the overlord to discuss it, but only the couch remembered where the tunnel is. So the couch was able to slip inside unseen, while the bench roamed uselessly about, looking for an entrance, until you apprehended it. And that was why I-that is, why the couch would not release the overlord. I wanted to make my bargain with him, but of course, I had no way to say so. It was quite frustrating, really.” He sighed. “Most of my pieces were frustrated. The latch had my social instincts, and wanted to invite everyone in, and you kept demanding it stay locked. The chair wanted to cooperate with everything-that’s why it was eager to follow the other pieces, but it was dreadfully confused about you, and couldn’t decide whether you were trying to harm it or not. I’m afraid it had very little of my intelligence.”

That all made a remarkable amount of sense to Kilisha, but it also left several new questions-where was the secret tunnel mouth? Who was this former rat?

But there were always new questions, and there was no hurry about answering them all.

One more did come immediately to mind, though. She glanced at the workshop door and asked, “What was in that brass bowl?”

Ithanalin flushed, and cast an unhappy look at Yara before saying, “Soup. Spiced beef soup. That was to have been my lunch when I completed the spell.”

Kilisha had begun to suspect as much when it had done nothing after days of neglect, but it was still a relief to have the mystery explained.

“The only magic on it was the Spell of the Obedient Object, to make it chime when it was ready to eat,” Ithanalin said hastily, looking at his wife again. “And I wasn’t going to let anyone else eat any of it, so I didn’t think it violated my promise-”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Yara said, waving a hand in dismissal. “We’re all safe and sound.”

Ithanalin relaxed at that, and turned back to Kilisha. “I think there can be no question that you are ready to complete your apprenticeship,” he said. “I will be happy to teach you whatever spells I can between now and your eighteenth birthday, but whenever you feel you’re ready after that, I will certify you to the Guild and you will be free to go.”

“Ah...” Kilisha began, startled. “But there arc still so many spells...”

“You’re welcome to stay and learn them as a journeyman, if you choose.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Thank you, Apprentice. You saved my life.”

“And the overlord,” Telleth said happily.

“Is Kilisha going to go away?” Pirra asked, suddenly woebegone.

“Not for months,” Yara said. “And not if she doesn’t want to.”

“I’ll have to go eventually,” Kilisha said. “To make way for another apprentice, if nothing else.”

“Well, there’s no hurry about that,” Ithanalin said. “It’s almost two years yet before Telleth’s twelfth birthday, and he needn’t start until he’s almost thirteen.” He gazed proudly at his son.

“Uh...” Telleth’s smile vanished; he suddenly slumped in his seat and looked helplessly at his mother.

Ithanalin looked at the boy, then at Yara, then back at Telleth. “What is it?” he asked.

“Well, Dad,” Telleth said hesitantly. “I... uh...” He looked at Yara again, then pleadingly at Kilisha.

Kilisha had no idea what Telleth wanted of her, and turned up an empty palm.

“Come on, lad, what is it?” Ithanalin demanded.

Telleth swallowed, then said, “Well, Dad, the truth is that you... well, when I was five you turned me into a squid, and a sixnight ago you trapped yourself in a bunch of runaway furniture, and yesterday you almost got the overlord himself killed. Wizardry is dangerous.” He looked down at his plate and poked at his food. “I was thinking I might try another line of work...”

His voice trailed off.

Ithanalin stared at him for a moment, then said, “Well, it’s your choice, of course. And it is dangerous.”

Kilisha remembered plunging from the Fortress parapet with nothing but a tiny vial of Tracel’s Adaptable Potion to keep her from a gruesome death on the rocks below. She remembered the feel of Javan’s Restorative coming apart around her when the sprig-gan interrupted her. She remembered the coatrack threatening her with an uncurled hook, the bench careening along Fortress Street, the couch galloping wildly through the Fortress, and a dozen other bizarre scenes she had recently survived. Dangerous? Undoubtedly. She smiled.

“Of course it’s dangerous,” she said. “That’s what makes it fun!”