Her husky companion had remarkable eyes, large and very slanted and pure gold. No, Jain had never met him before. That was surprising, but a sorcerer did not forget faces. The man’s image was unnervingly solid, like rock. There could be no deception in the ambience—he truly must be as young and husky as he seemed, yet Jain had thought he knew everyone of his own generation in the College at least by sight. Clearly he had been mistaken. This stranger might be a little older than he. He might have been recruited while still very young and progressed very fast through the educational process. But he must have whistled through the junior ranks of recorder and archivist, or Jain would have met him somewhere, sometime. In short, he must be very highly gifted. Could he possibly be an archon?
Jain speeded up his approach. If the Thaile affair had attracted the attention of an archon, then it was serious indeed. He hoped his sudden agitation was not visible, but of course it would be. There were never more than eight archons at a time, and for some reason he had always assumed that they would be very old. He had never met any of them. He knew no one who had. He did not want to meet any of them, either, especially today.
He had never seen the imperturbable Mearn look so uneasy before. Uneasy? She was plain scared!
Long before he was within speaking distance, the man addressed him. “I am Archon Raim.” His thoughts struck like notes from a great bell. He was violating the College tradition that conversations should be held in mundane style whenever possible, as a concession to those with weaker Faculty.
“Honored, noble sir. ” Jain had no need to introduce himself, and a strong desire to vanish from Thume altogether. “Archivist, you interviewed the Thaile novice on the morning of her arrival.”
Jain was starting to sweat, and not only from the length of his strides as he hurried closer. “I did, sir.”
“You were instructed to establish what she recalled of the period deleted from her memory. You reported that she remembered nothing since before she met the man Leeb. ” “That is correct. ”
“Then explain why she now asks for him by name and demands to be reunited with him? ”
Still several paces away, Jain came to a dead halt, panting and gaping. “Impossible!”
The archon smiled thinly and dangerously. “Perhaps, but it is so. You offer no explanation?”
“None, sir!” Jain realized that he had spoken aloud. He began to walk again. This was what was behind the rebellion? This why the minx refused to go to the Defile? “The memories had been totally wiped. They had been excised as completely as the aftereffects of her pregnancy. I said all that in my report. It was one of the finest pieces of sorcery I have ever seen.” Mearn had credited it to Analyst Shole, who was an acknowledged expert in such matters.
“Obviously your judgment was faulty.”
“Yes, sir.” Jain shivered, and could think of nothing to say.
He was relieved when Mearn intervened—grateful, even, although he would never have imagined himself ever feeling grateful to the old hussy.
“Sir, is it possible that her unusually strong Faculty could have interfered with the results of the operation?”
“No.” The ambience flickered with annoyance. Evidently archons could think up such inanities for themselves. The gold eyes raked Jain as he finally reached the group. “You have not spoken with her since?”
“No, sir! Certainly not!”
“Someone has been meddling!” This time Raim’s anger was a rumble like distant surf. “The archons will assemble today at noon. In the Chapel. You will attend.”
Cold rivulets coursed down Jain’s skin. “I am not familiar with the Chapel—”
“Of course not. You will be summoned.” The archon vanished, his departure lighting the ambience with a blinding flash.
Jain and Mearn both jumped. Startled faces looked around everywhere in the Meeting Place. To use such naked sorcery within Thume was a crime of great magnitude. Only the Keeper unleashed power like that. That an archon would do so was more proof of severe trouble, and of more trouble in store.
Jain and Mearn exchanged worried looks. Don’t blame me, those looks said, and I have nothing to fear, and what do you think’s going on?
Jain cleared his throat harshly. “I don’t recall when the archons last assembled.”
She pouted. “Are you implying that I do? It was about three hundred years ago.”
2
Thaile lay on her bed, fully dressed but unable to find the energy to do anything at all. She would not have believed that a mere two days without food would make her so weak. Visions of melons and cutlets floated in her head. Mangoes and perch and rice cakes and breadfruit and . . . Where had she ever tasted breadfruit?
If Mistress Mearn marched in now and waved an egg at her, she would crawl on hands and knees all the way to the Defile to get it.
No she wouldn’t!
Leeb! My goodman, Leeb! Whoever or whatever you are, Leeb, I want you. I want to come back to you.
I will never give up.
She drifted in and out of a drowsiness that was not sleep. Never give up.
An explosion of terror jarred her awake. Someone was coming. The Feeling was unbearable, the worst agony she had ever sensed. It grew stronger and nearer. Footsteps thudded like drumbeats before they reached the porch—a heavy man, running hard, his tread uneven and staggering as if he had run a very long way. She soon realized that it was Mist, his normal aura warped off-key and distorted almost beyond recognition by the strength of his fear.
As she struggled upright on the bed, he tripped on the steps and crashed down on the porch. The whole cottage rocked. She scrambled to her feet and reeled unsteadily to the wall, through the doorway, and across the outer room.
She found him curled up as he must have landed, breathing hoarsely. Appalled, she knelt and laid a hand on his sweat-soaked hair.
“Mist? What’s wrong?” She could hardly think through the torrent of dread he was projecting. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh.
He shuddered violently, breath croaking and rattling. “Tell me!” she cried. “Speak, Mist!”
He raised a face the color of old snow. His eyes were round and his lips blue. He drooled like a dog.
“The Defile! You can’t imagine! Oh, Gods!”
She recoiled as he grabbed at her arm, crushing it with his big fingers.
“The Defile . . . whatever you do . . . don’t let them . . . Stay away from there!”
“Mist, you’re hurting me!”
A board creaked; a shadow fell across them both. “That is all the extra trouble we needed!” another voice snapped. A heavyset young man stood there, glaring down angrily at the unheeding novice. Either his emotions were masked or Mist’s distress was drowning them out.
“Who are you?” Thaile shouted. She tried to rise, but Mist still held her arm. She staggered, swaying with sudden dizziness, and had to steady herself with a hand on the floor.
Piercing gold eyes flashed fury at her. “Never mind! We’re leaving. I am sorry this young idiot disturbed you. Someone has been very careless.”
Her arm was held no longer; both men vanished simultaneously. The door behind her slammed in the wind. She tried to reach it and her limbs would not obey her. She sprawled on the planks. By the time her head stopped spinning and her heart calmed down to something like its normal pace, she had almost convinced herself that she was hallucinating. Just faintness caused by hunger, that was all!
Ignoring the bruises on her arm, the footprints on the grass, and the muddy marks on the stoop, she went back indoors.
3
The library complex stood on a high cliff overlooking the Morning Sea. The Scriptorium was one of the largest buildings, and the whole north wall was glass. Sorcerers could read and write perfectly well in complete darkness, of course, but that effort would have added to the occult noise they made in their labors, which was distracting enough already. The work hall was shielded. It would have been more pleasant had each of the many desks had its own shielding. Jain did not know why nobody had ever thought of that. Perhaps everybody did at some time or another and was scared to suggest the idea in case people thought they could not concentrate properly, which was why he didn’t.
He was having great difficulty concentrating that morning. He was supposed to be restoring some genealogical records dating from very early in the College’s history, not long after the War of the Five Warlocks. Every page had to be freed of the remains of preservation sorcery, upgraded to legibility, and then preserved again. It was a monotonous and yet exacting task, and he was miserably aware that he was making an unconscionable racket doing it. He felt sure that everyone else in the great room was laughing at him.