‘No. The magic should have brought tears. Something is wrong, Shira.’
‘You are very tired. You performed for over two hours last night.’
‘You have put the cart before the horse, pretty one. I performed for two hours because something had changed. You remember the group who complained about the pies? Said they were tasteless? The food should have tasted exquisite. I know my skills remain, and I trust my abilities. I have eaten no meat, drunk no wine. It is a mystery. I have long understood that magic does not swell brightly within cities. The stone walls, streets, roads and foundations close us off from the land and its power. The murders, the hangings, the robberies, the violence -these also taint the purity. But I know how to deal with that, Shira. I make myself immune to the pettiness of the world, to its dark side.’ He fell silent for a moment, then he took her by the arm. ‘Will you walk with me to the hillside? Perhaps I can find the answer with grass below my feet.’
‘I cannot today. Two of the cooks have fallen ill and Father needs me.’
‘Were the cooks here last night?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then they should not be ill. They heard the music.’ Without another word he strode from the yard and out into the streets of Corduin. Back in Eldarisa he would have
sought out one of the many seers, and received his answer within moments. Here, in this giant sarcophagus of a city, there were no seers of worth. There was no magic, save his own. There was sorcery. Sometimes he could feel its emanations coming from the palace of the Duke. But it was small sorcery, childishly malevolent. His music was stronger.
What then, he wondered, was drawing the life from his songs?
Duvo wandered on through the streets. The gates of the park were open and he strolled through, following the path to the High Hill, then leaving it and walking upon the grass. He lay down on his back, stretching out his arms and closing his eyes, feeling the power of the land like a gentle voice whispering to his soul. Yet even here it was changed in an – as yet – indefinable way.
His upbringing in Eldarisa had taught Duvo never to worry at a problem, but to let his mind float around it. Master Ranaloth had told him many times that lack of focus was the key.
‘That does not seem to make sense, sir,’ the ten-year-old Duvo had told him, as they strolled through the scented gardens of the Oltor Temple.
‘Focus is only required, young human, when the core of the problem is identified. You are angry because of what Peltra said to you this morning. You are focusing now on what made her say it, and this might help you. But lose your focus, and let your mind free, and you will find yourself asking why the words hurt you, and what it is in you that drew the words from her.’
‘She hates me because I am human. She calls me an animal, says that I smell.’
‘That is still your anger speaking. Lose it. Float above it.’
Duvo sighed. ‘I don’t think I can do what you require of me, Master Ranaloth. I am not Eldarin.’
‘But Peltra is, and she cannot do it either . . . yet.’
‘I do not know why she is angry with me. I have never harmed her. Equally, I cannot say why her words hurt me. I am a human. I am an animal – as we all are. Perhaps I even smell.’ He laughed. ‘Why did it hurt me, sir?’
‘Because it was intended to. And because you care about what Peltra thinks of you.’
‘I do care. She is normally a sweet person. I thought she was fond of me.’
‘Your essay on the healing powers of mountain herbs was very fine, Duvo. Well researched.’
‘Thank you, sir. The library is wonderfully well equipped.’
‘And what led you to the Book of Sorius?’
Duvo thought about it. ‘It was Peltra. We were walking on the hillsides and she was telling me about it.’ He reddened. ‘I won the prize, but I wouldn’t have won if she hadn’t told me about the Book.’