the ordinary way, perhaps the innkeeper would be left with the
impression that perhaps magicians were not so extraordinary after all, since they
ate good dinners and washed and shaved and filled slop jars like any ordinary
mortal. So when Lythande had gone, the room would be set to rights without a
wrinkle in the bedclothes or an ash in the fireplace, the door still bolted on
the inside as if no one had left the room at all.
And
besides r it was more amusing that way.
But
for now, she would sleep for a few hours in peace, grateful that the clumsiness
that had entangled her in somebody else's magic had come to a good end. No
whisper disturbed her sleep to the effect that it hadn't really even started
yet.
The
last of the prowling thieves had slipped away to their holes and corners, and
the red eye of Keth was still blinded by night when Lythande slipped out of Old
Gandrin by the southern gate. She took the road south for two reasons: there
was always work for mercenary or magician in the prosperous seaport of
Gwennane, and also she wished to be certain in her own mind that after her
drastic unbinding-spell, nothing called her northward to the Larith shrine.
The
least of the moons had waned and set, and it was that black-dark hour when dawn
is not even a promise in the sky. The gate was locked and barred, and the sleepy
watchman, when Lythande asked quietly for the gate to be opened, growled that
he wouldn't open the gate at that hour for the High Autarch of Gandrin himself,
far less for some ne'er-do-well prowling when honest folk and dishonest folk
were all sleeping, or ought to be. He remembered afterward that the star
between the ridges where Lythande's brows ought to have been had begun to
sparkle and flare blue lightning, and he could never explain why he found
himself meekly opening the gate and then doing it up again afterward.
"Because," he said earnestly, "I never saw that fellow in the
mage-robe go through the gate, not at all; he turned hisself
invisible!" And because Lythande was not all that well known in Old
Gandrin, no one ever told him it was merely Lythande's way.
Lythande
breathed a sigh of relief when the gate was shut behind her, and began to walk
swiftly in the dark, striding long and full and silent. At that pace, the
Pilgrim Adept covered several leagues before a faint flush in the sky told
where the eye of Keth would stare through the dawn clouds. Reth would follow
some hours later. Lythande continued , covering ground
at a rate, then was vaguely troubled by something she could not quite identify.
Yes, something was wrong. . . .
...
It certainly was. Keth was rising, which was as it should be, but Keth was
rising on her right hand, which was not as it should be; she had
taken the southward road out of Old Gandrin, yet here she was, striding
northward at a fast pace. To the north. Toward the shrine of Larith.
Yet
she could not remember turning round for long enough to become confused and
take the wrong direction in the darkness. She must have done so somehow. She
stopped in mid-stride, whirled about, and put the sun where it should be, on
her left, and began pacing steadily south.
But
after a time she felt the prickle in her shins and buttocks and the cold-flame
glow of the Blue Star between her brows, which told her that magic was being
made somewhere about her. And the sun was shining on her right hand, and she
was standing directly outside the gates of Old Gandrin.
Lythande
said aloud, "No. Damnation and Chaos!" disturbing a little knot of
milkwomen who were driving their cows to market. They stared at the tall,
sexless figure and whispered, but Lythande cared nothing for their gossip. She
started to turn round again and found herself actually walking through the
gates of Old
impression that perhaps magicians were not so extraordinary after all, since they
ate good dinners and washed and shaved and filled slop jars like any ordinary
mortal. So when Lythande had gone, the room would be set to rights without a
wrinkle in the bedclothes or an ash in the fireplace, the door still bolted on
the inside as if no one had left the room at all.
And
besides r it was more amusing that way.
But
for now, she would sleep for a few hours in peace, grateful that the clumsiness
that had entangled her in somebody else's magic had come to a good end. No
whisper disturbed her sleep to the effect that it hadn't really even started
yet.
The
last of the prowling thieves had slipped away to their holes and corners, and
the red eye of Keth was still blinded by night when Lythande slipped out of Old
Gandrin by the southern gate. She took the road south for two reasons: there
was always work for mercenary or magician in the prosperous seaport of
Gwennane, and also she wished to be certain in her own mind that after her
drastic unbinding-spell, nothing called her northward to the Larith shrine.
The
least of the moons had waned and set, and it was that black-dark hour when dawn
is not even a promise in the sky. The gate was locked and barred, and the sleepy
watchman, when Lythande asked quietly for the gate to be opened, growled that
he wouldn't open the gate at that hour for the High Autarch of Gandrin himself,
far less for some ne'er-do-well prowling when honest folk and dishonest folk
were all sleeping, or ought to be. He remembered afterward that the star
between the ridges where Lythande's brows ought to have been had begun to
sparkle and flare blue lightning, and he could never explain why he found
himself meekly opening the gate and then doing it up again afterward.
"Because," he said earnestly, "I never saw that fellow in the
mage-robe go through the gate, not at all; he turned hisself
invisible!" And because Lythande was not all that well known in Old
Gandrin, no one ever told him it was merely Lythande's way.
Lythande
breathed a sigh of relief when the gate was shut behind her, and began to walk
swiftly in the dark, striding long and full and silent. At that pace, the
Pilgrim Adept covered several leagues before a faint flush in the sky told
where the eye of Keth would stare through the dawn clouds. Reth would follow
some hours later. Lythande continued , covering ground
at a rate, then was vaguely troubled by something she could not quite identify.
Yes, something was wrong. . . .
...
It certainly was. Keth was rising, which was as it should be, but Keth was
rising on her right hand, which was not as it should be; she had
taken the southward road out of Old Gandrin, yet here she was, striding
northward at a fast pace. To the north. Toward the shrine of Larith.
Yet
she could not remember turning round for long enough to become confused and
take the wrong direction in the darkness. She must have done so somehow. She
stopped in mid-stride, whirled about, and put the sun where it should be, on
her left, and began pacing steadily south.
But
after a time she felt the prickle in her shins and buttocks and the cold-flame
glow of the Blue Star between her brows, which told her that magic was being
made somewhere about her. And the sun was shining on her right hand, and she
was standing directly outside the gates of Old Gandrin.
Lythande
said aloud, "No. Damnation and Chaos!" disturbing a little knot of
milkwomen who were driving their cows to market. They stared at the tall,
sexless figure and whispered, but Lythande cared nothing for their gossip. She
started to turn round again and found herself actually walking through the
gates of Old
Similar Books
