‘Pictures?’ Walegrin asked. ‘Would you see a clear enough image of the tablet to
draw its double here on the table?’
‘I could try. I’ve never done anything like that before.’
‘Then try now,’ Walegrin suggested, taking the wineskin away from her.
Illyra placed the shard atop the deck, then brought both to her forehead.
Exhaling until she felt the world grow dim, the wine-euphoria left her and she
became S’danzo exercising that capricious gift the primordial gods had settled
upon her kind. She exhaled again and forgot that she was in her mother’s death
chamber. Eyes closed, she lowered the deck and pottery to the table and drew
three cards, face up.
Seven of Ore: again, red clay; the potter with his wheel and kiln.
Quicksilver: a molten waterfall; the alchemic ancestor of all ores: the ace-card
of the suit of Ores.
Two of Ore: steel; war-card; death-card with masked men fighting. She spread her
fingers to touch each card and lost herself in search of the Enlibrite forge.
The armourer was old, his hand shook as he moved the brush over the unfired
tablet. An equally ancient wizard fretted beside him, glancing fearfully over
her shoulder beyond the limits of Illyra’s S’danzo gifts. Their clothing was
like nothing Illyra had seen in Sanctuary. The vision wavered when she thought
of the present and she dutifully returned to the armoury. Illyra mimicked the
armourer’s motions as he covered the tablet with rows of dense, incomprehensible
symbols. The wizard took the tablet and sprinkled fine sand over it. He chanted