You know about the S’danzo and what you call “bazaar-games”, but it’s true
right now I see nothing; later I might. There are ways to strengthen the vision
– I’ll try them.’
He flipped a gold coin onto the table. ‘Get what you’ll need.’
‘Only my cards,’ she answered, flustered by his gesture. ‘Get them!’ he
ordered without picking up the coin. She removed the worn deck from the depths
of her blouse and set the shard atop them while she lit more candles and
incense. She allowed Walegrin to cut the pack into three piles, then turned
over the topmost card of each pile.
Three of Flames: a tunnel running from light to darkness with three candle
sconces along the way.
The Forest: primeval, gnarled trunks; green canopy; living twilight.
Seven of Ore: red clay; the potter with his wheel and kiln. Illyra stared at the
images, losing herself in them without finding harmony or direction. The Flame
card was pivotal, but the array would not yield its perspective to her; the
Forest, symbolic of the wisdom of the ages, seemed unlikely as either her
brother’s goal or origin; and the Seven must mean more than was obvious. But,
was the Ore-card appearing in its creativity aspect? Or was red clay the omen of
bloodletting, as was so often true when the card appeared in a Sanctuary-cast
array?
‘I still do not see enough. Bazaar-games or not, this is not the time to scry
this thing.’
‘I’ll come again after sundown – that would be a better time, wouldn’t it? I’ve
no garrison duties until after sunrise tomorrow.’
‘For the cards, yes, of course, but Dubro will have banked the forge for the