The Magestone

33 Kasarian—events at Lormt (2nd Day, Moon of the Spotted Viper/3rd Day, Month of the Fringed Violet)

Mereth raised a devastating question: might there be other sorcerous posterns existing from ancient times? Morfew compounded the horror by reminding us of those far more substantial magical openings, the Gates, which led to and from strange, unthinkably distant sites such as the place whence Simon Tregarth sprang, or the hideous home nest of the Kolder. I exhorted the Lormt folk to plunder their archives for any word that might instruct us how to locate and seal such frightful breaches.

As I listened to their subsequent discussion on how to warn Estcarp’s Witches, my feelings were violently at odds. The very notion of meeting with those redoubtable crones made my skin crawl . . . yet I had to acknowledge the perverse sense of Gurborian’s own argument which I had overheard in Alizon Castle. When detestable magical forces were arrayed against you, was it not far better to have similarly empowered forces acting in your defense? Gurborian had schemed to pit Escore’s Dark mages against Estcarp’s Witches; surely I must admit the advantages of the reverse case. If Estcarp’s Witches could be marshaled—however weakened they might be—to respond on our behalf in countering the Escorian threat, then our faction would at least possess some magical Power to turn aside the horrid assaults we must expect to endure. I was privately much relieved that the Lormt folk renounced my participation in the mission to warn Estcarp’s Council of Witches.

As the Lormt folk arose to address their individual tasks, I accosted Duratan’s mate. Before I could return to Alizon, I had to make a vital request. “If you would assist me, Lady,” I said, “I should be grateful. I cannot appear at Krevonel Castle with my hair in this garish state.”

Somewhat to my surprise, Duratan’s mate smiled. “It seems almost a pity to bleach it,” she remarked. “You make a distinguished appearance with dark hair. . . .” Before I could protest, she hastily added, “I shall ask Master Pruett whether the silver nettle preparation we used to lighten Mereth’s hair can reverse the effects wrought by my shred-bark dye. Come along with me and we shall attempt to recover your proper baronial guise.”

Several times during the acrid herbal drenching that followed, I half-suspected I might drown. To my considerable relief, however, once I wiped the last of the rinsing water from my eyes, I saw from my reflection in the silver tray that my hair had been restored to its natural Alizonian hue.

After I had dried myself to a presentable state, I hurried back to Morfew’s chambers, where I found Mereth and Morfew diligently sorting through heaps of documents.

Morfew glanced up at me when I entered, and nodded in approval. “I must say,” he observed, “I prefer your authentic aspect. If you are determined to go back to Krevonel without being attacked on sight, you certainly could not bear that remarkable coloration suited to a Dalesman.”

“It is imperative that I return to Alizon,” I asserted. “I must strive to counter at their source those forces which seek to destroy our land. Just as your work lies here among Lormt’s archives, so mine awaits me at Krevonel.” I hesitated, reluctant to raise the subject. “I regret that in my unnatural passage through Elsenar’s postern from the Dales, I have lost my trader’s wallet containing the silver bars given me by Lord Ouen.”

Morfew chuckled. “You need not trouble yourself on that account,” he chuckled. “Lormt’s stores of silver are more than adequate for our rare disbursements. I expect Master Ouen to insist that you take your own Alizonian gold back with you—no, no, do not object. Your activities in Alizon will demand copious bribes, and we truly have no use for Alizonian gold here at Lormt.”

Mereth rapped with her staff. Morfew took her slate and read, “When you dispatch your nephews to bring us messages through the postern from Krevonel Castle, how will you explain to them the sensations they will experience during the transit? Will they not be unduly frightened?”

“That is a matter I have carefully considered,” I replied. “Fortunately, I know of a reliable posset which will render the pups so drowsy that they will not notice the eerie effects of their passage. I shall tell them they must traverse a way so secret that blindfolding and complete silence are obligatory. There will be no difficulty, and no harm to the pups.”

Morfew gathered up an armful of scrolls. “Master Ouen will be gratified to hear of your intentions in that regard,” he declared. “I must carry these documents to him, and observe his progress with the final version of the letter to be sent to the Council of Witches. Should I not see you again before your own departure, Kasarian, I wish you abundant hunting and the best of hounds for your pack.”

It was pleasing to hear the familiar Alizonian farewell. “Whatever you pursue, may your blade strike true,” I responded, touching my Line badge.

When we were left alone together, I gazed at Mereth. I would never have believed that I could feel such justified respect for an elderly female bred in the Dales . . . yet her very sire was Elsenar, my own distant Foresire. It was therefore understandable—although completely contrary to Alizonian tradition—that her wit and fighting prowess should be so remarkable.

I loosed the buckle of my belt and slipped off one of my sheathed daggers, which I presented to Mereth. “Lady,” I said, “your actions at Krevonel likely saved my life, thus by our ways obligating me to a blood debt—but by the peculiar interference of Elsenar’s magic, we both spring from his Line. We are like littermates far separated in time, and among such, no blood debts may be incurred. I therefore beg you to accept this parting gift as a token of my profound regard.”

Mereth at first appeared surprised, then a faint smile twitched the corners of her mouth. She took the dagger somewhat gingerly, and wrote on her slate, “I never expected to receive a kin gift from an Alizonder. Must I beware of its poisoned blade?”

“This was a favorite throwing knife of my eldest littermate,” I explained. “Its blade is clean.”

She wiped her slate, wrote again, and proffered it to me. “I thank you doubly, Kinsman, for the value blade and for your personal actions on my behalf. Had you not ably defended me, I should have been cruelly burned, if not stabbed and poisoned. I believe that both of us have been given ample reasons to modify our initial views of one another. By surviving severe danger together, we have learned to cooperate. Now an even greater challenge lies before us. As you embark upon your efforts, take with you this silver ring crafted in the Dales. Its design is simple, and should not attract unwelcome attention if you choose to wear it in Alizon.”

I bowed to her, and fitted the ring on my right hand’s least finger. “The decoration is handsome, Lady,” I said, “like the pattern of ribs on a bloodwine leaf. I shall wear it proudly.”

Mereth extended her slate to me for the last time. “As Morfew noted, we may not see one another again. You go forth into your perilous land, while I must bide at Lormt awaiting whatever befalls us here. Take with you therefore also my Farewell Blessing: To the day of your journey, a good dawn and sunset; to the endeavor, good fortune without a break. May the Light strengthen our resolve, and ward us against the Dark.”

I touched her ring-gift to my Line badge, and bowed. “I thank you for your Blessing, Lady,” I affirmed. “It is for me a second gift, for I have received none such before. I shall send you word of my progress with Volorian and the elder barons. It would likely be wise for you and Morfew to address any return messages to me in Alizonian, should the script chance to be seen by prying eyes.”

Mereth nodded her agreement. With a final bow, I took my leave of her. The elder’s key was ready to hand in my tunic pocket. I made my way directly to Lormt’s cellar.