Essentially one pictures the object of the search and creates a glowing sphere of white light. The image of the object – in this case a yellow-haired child – is set at the centre of the light sphere. Then the light is sent out into the woods, seeking to match the image at its heart to an outside source. It is not an unusually complex spell, and if by chance there were several yellow-haired children in the forest, it would likely alight on the wrong one. But on this day there was only one lost little girl and the sphere found her wandering beside a frozen stream, her fingers and lips blue with cold.
It touched her and the second spell became active, covering her with a warm, invisible blanket while the search-sphere rose up above the trees, blazing with light and drawing the rescuers to the toddler.
The child was unharmed, and such was Wulf s delight that he made me a present of an ornate dagger with a leaf-shaped blade and a ruby encased in gold at the hilt. He also grabbed my shoulders, dragged me down and kissed me on both cheeks – an altogether unpleasant experience.
But in the days that followed, when I was out among the villagers I would be greeted with smiles and people would enquire, politely, after my health.
It was two months before news of the war filtered through to the village. A traveling tinker, well-known to Wulf and therefore allowedfto pass through, came to us one bright cold morning. He told of the fall of Ziraccu, the slaughter of its inhabitants. Count Leopold had been found hiding in the granary; his eyes were put out and he was placed in a cage and hanged from the ruined walls.
Then the army had moved on to the north. Thankfully they avoided this part of the forest.
During the evenings I would sit with Megan, listening to tales of the Highlands. They were fine, companionable times. Jarek Mace was often absent, traveling to other settlements yet always returning with news, or coin, or venison.
‘What were you like when younger?’ I asked Megan one evening, when Jarek was abroad on one of his journeys.
‘I was like this,’ she answered. Golden light bathed her from head to toe, and her short-cropped iron-grey hair was replaced by golden curls hanging free to milk-white shoulders. Her face was beautiful beyond description, her eyes blue as the summer sky, her lips full. Her figure was slim, but the breasts were large in comparison; her neck long and sleek, the skin smooth as porcelain.
I was lost for words – but not at her beauty. This was one of the Seven Great Spells, and only masters of the craft could weave one so casually,’Where did you learn such a piece?’ I asked.
The beautiful woman shrugged and smiled. ‘Long ago, from a • man named Cataplas.’He was my teacher,’ I told her.
‘I know.’But I had not the skill to learn the Seven.’There is yet time,’ she said, letting fall the spell.
‘You are noble-born,’ I pointed out. ‘The gown you conjured was purest satin, and there were pearls at neck and cuff.’You think I would create sacking to wear?’ she countered.
‘Why must you be so mysterious, lady?’Why must you be so inquisitive?’The first words you spoke to me were, ‘Do you not bow in the presence of a lady?’ Not a woman – a lady. That intrigued me at the time; it still does. You were not born in the village.’You are wrong, master bard. My family were traveling at the time of my birth, and I was born in a village such as this. Far to the north. But I came here twenty years ago, and I have been content.’But what is there here for you?’Peace,’ she answered.
‘Why does Jarek Mace stay with you? Is he a relative?’
‘No. Just a man.’I wish you would tell me more, Megan. I feel . . . there is so much more to know.’There is always more to know,’ she chided. ‘Even as you lie on your death-bed there will be more to know. Are you another Cataplas in an endless search for knowledge? It is not the mark of a wise man, Owen.’I shrugged. ‘How can the search for knowledge be foolish?’ I countered.