The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III by Irene Radford Page A
Authors: Irene Radford
Ads: Link
done it hastily, not taking time to cut the pages cleanly.
Who? Who would damage a precious book?
“Master Lyman?” he asked in a hushed voice. The Master Librarian should be nearby. He rarely left his beloved books. Bessel often wondered if the old man ate and slept in the library as well.
Journeymen whispered legends into the ears of awed apprentices that Old Lyman ate only knowledge and never slept.
“Yes?” Master Lyman peered at Bessel through an opening in the bookshelves. He seemed to have simply moved books aside rather than walk a few feet around the shelving unit.
“Master Lyman, have you read this book?”
“Title and author?” Lyman scrunched up his wizened face in thought.
“ Ceremonies of Symbolic Magic written by one Kimmer, a scribe from the south. I think this was copied from the original text.” Bessel stared at the fine tooling on the leather cover. Traces of gold leaf still clung to the ancient embossed lettering.
“Kimmer? Ah, yes. Kimmer of the south. A fine scholar and one of our most prolific authors. Sadly, I have not had time to read this text.” Lyman started to shove books back into place, withdrawing from Bessel’s presence.
“Uh, Master Lyman?”
“You have another question?” Lyman poked his head back into the shelf opening. “Two questions in one sitting from the same student? Could it be that one of you is beginning to think enough to ask questions?”
“Master Lyman, someone has torn some pages from this book. Who would do such a thing?” Distress made Bessel’s voice rise in pitch and volume. He immediately lowered it to a more appropriate whisper. “I think I’ve found a reference to early blood magic. It was used for healing rather than power! This is important.”
“Hush, boy. You must never say that out loud! I told Powwell the same thing when he read from this text. I also told him to hide this book.” Lyman scuttled around the bookshelves and grabbed the book away from Bessel. His funny, old-fashioned tunic that hung to his knees and he’d belted on the outside to hold up his trews made him appear more a harmless gnome than a powerful and wise magician.
Had Powwell removed the crucial pages from the book? Why? Surely he wouldn’t need blood magic to rescue his sister. But then, in Hanassa, maybe he would.
The main door to the library banged open. Master Scarface stood framed by the massive double doorway. The scar that gave him his cognomen made a vivid red pathway from temple to temple across the bridge of his nose.
“Out!” he commanded. The scar bleached white, clear evidence of the tension he kept carefully contained. “All of you students out of here now. The masters have important work to do. We cannot be disturbed.”
A dozen apprentices gathered up their books, scrolls, and writing implements in preparation for leaving.
“Don’t take anything with you. Leave the books behind. Just get out of here. Now.”
While I still have the courage to do this. Scarface’s stray thought penetrated Bessel’s mind. What was the Senior Magician going to do?
“Quickly, boy, hide the book and get yourself away by the postern door.” Lyman thrust the book back into Bessel’s hands and shoved him toward the back corner of the three-story-high room that filled the entire central wing of the U-shaped University building. “Hide yourself well without magic. He’ll smell your magic if you use it.”
“Lyman, show yourself,” Scarface ordered as he stalked into the library. Three master magicians, all of them new since Scarface had taken over leadership of the Commune a year ago, followed closely upon his heels. All of the master magicians seemed more willing to follow Scarface than make a decision on their own. That was how Scarface had become Senior. No one else wanted to do it.
“Yes, Master Aaddler?” Lyman stepped in front of Bessel, giving the journeyman cover for his quick retreat.
Bessel kept his ears open and his magical senses alert
Who? Who would damage a precious book?
“Master Lyman?” he asked in a hushed voice. The Master Librarian should be nearby. He rarely left his beloved books. Bessel often wondered if the old man ate and slept in the library as well.
Journeymen whispered legends into the ears of awed apprentices that Old Lyman ate only knowledge and never slept.
“Yes?” Master Lyman peered at Bessel through an opening in the bookshelves. He seemed to have simply moved books aside rather than walk a few feet around the shelving unit.
“Master Lyman, have you read this book?”
“Title and author?” Lyman scrunched up his wizened face in thought.
“ Ceremonies of Symbolic Magic written by one Kimmer, a scribe from the south. I think this was copied from the original text.” Bessel stared at the fine tooling on the leather cover. Traces of gold leaf still clung to the ancient embossed lettering.
“Kimmer? Ah, yes. Kimmer of the south. A fine scholar and one of our most prolific authors. Sadly, I have not had time to read this text.” Lyman started to shove books back into place, withdrawing from Bessel’s presence.
“Uh, Master Lyman?”
“You have another question?” Lyman poked his head back into the shelf opening. “Two questions in one sitting from the same student? Could it be that one of you is beginning to think enough to ask questions?”
“Master Lyman, someone has torn some pages from this book. Who would do such a thing?” Distress made Bessel’s voice rise in pitch and volume. He immediately lowered it to a more appropriate whisper. “I think I’ve found a reference to early blood magic. It was used for healing rather than power! This is important.”
“Hush, boy. You must never say that out loud! I told Powwell the same thing when he read from this text. I also told him to hide this book.” Lyman scuttled around the bookshelves and grabbed the book away from Bessel. His funny, old-fashioned tunic that hung to his knees and he’d belted on the outside to hold up his trews made him appear more a harmless gnome than a powerful and wise magician.
Had Powwell removed the crucial pages from the book? Why? Surely he wouldn’t need blood magic to rescue his sister. But then, in Hanassa, maybe he would.
The main door to the library banged open. Master Scarface stood framed by the massive double doorway. The scar that gave him his cognomen made a vivid red pathway from temple to temple across the bridge of his nose.
“Out!” he commanded. The scar bleached white, clear evidence of the tension he kept carefully contained. “All of you students out of here now. The masters have important work to do. We cannot be disturbed.”
A dozen apprentices gathered up their books, scrolls, and writing implements in preparation for leaving.
“Don’t take anything with you. Leave the books behind. Just get out of here. Now.”
While I still have the courage to do this. Scarface’s stray thought penetrated Bessel’s mind. What was the Senior Magician going to do?
“Quickly, boy, hide the book and get yourself away by the postern door.” Lyman thrust the book back into Bessel’s hands and shoved him toward the back corner of the three-story-high room that filled the entire central wing of the U-shaped University building. “Hide yourself well without magic. He’ll smell your magic if you use it.”
“Lyman, show yourself,” Scarface ordered as he stalked into the library. Three master magicians, all of them new since Scarface had taken over leadership of the Commune a year ago, followed closely upon his heels. All of the master magicians seemed more willing to follow Scarface than make a decision on their own. That was how Scarface had become Senior. No one else wanted to do it.
“Yes, Master Aaddler?” Lyman stepped in front of Bessel, giving the journeyman cover for his quick retreat.
Bessel kept his ears open and his magical senses alert
Similar Books
