Letter XVI (C.D. to F.M.)

My Dear Foofri,

I cannot believe that Sean denied you tea with the dashing, daring, single, and undoubtedly lonely officers of Fort Thunderhall. Even wearing his pants (Pants! It’s not that I’m opposed to the idea of unencumbered legs, but borrowed men’s pants are outside of enough), I have no doubt that you would have been extremely popular and would have collected enough swains to share with me. On both our behalfs, I am peeved. I wonder whether Sean’s reluctance to linger for tea has anything to do with his obvious dislike of Lt. Gavin Farnswell. I wish I could say that he was clearly infatuated with you and consumed by jealousy over the thought of you being admired by any other man, but I’m afraid that’s a little too Dorthwany Daily to be true. (Perhaps you could add it as an embellishment to your memoirs?) I suspect Sean and Gavin have a history, and I would dearly like to know what it is, particularly since we keep bumping into the latter. (Speaking of Gavin, did you see any sign of a scar or other trauma that might have caused his peculiar voice?) At any rate, when we travel the country as gypsies, I suggest that our route include the fort. (We will, of course, have packed our best non-gypsy dresses for the occasion.)

Blivius’s funeral and Damorin’s swearing in took place this afternoon without incident. I was allowed to attend and, surprisingly enough, without any obvious guard besides the presences of Jamin and Winterfast, one on either side. I am not quite certain how much Jamin has been told, but he stayed quite close all day. Occasionally inconvenient, but a decided improvement over pushy Justicum guards.

As we drove to the Justicum, I worried that the ceremony to come would remind me with painful vividness of the last funeral I attended. However, I realized as soon as I walked in that I needn’t have worried. The atmosphere was quite different from that which surrounded Grandfather’s passing—more formality and less feeling, if you understand what I mean. It is, of course, the first death of a Master during my lifetime that I have been old enough to be interested in. They held it in the old senate hall, where the Emperor gives his anniversary speeches. (And speaking of the Anniversary, would you believe that the ball completely slipped my mind until you mentioned it in your letter? I don’t know what I’m going to wear. Does it have to be black?) The room was packed with both civilians and magii, but fortunately Winterfast, as Sixth Skillhouse, had good seats reserved.

The funeral was held in the Great Hall, where the emperor gives his annual address to the council. The emperor and empress sat in the middle of the long dais, with the Board ranged on either side of them.

The atmosphere seemed rather less solemn than I would have expected, but I am belatedly realizing that Blivius was not well liked. A din of chatter filled the room, and the handkerchiefs on display were for display and not use. After we sat down, Winterfast had walked a short ways down the row to talk to an acquaintance, and as I settled into my seat I overheard a wisp of conversation from the row behind:

“For my part I’m not sorry he’s gone. The paranoid old coot thought everyone was after his precious research.”

“Maybe somebody was,” came the reply. “This is all awfully convenient for certain people.”

I was dying to turn around and see who it was, but by the time I figured out how to do it casually, they had stopped talking, and I couldn’t decide which of the faces in the row behind me belonged to the voices. I wonder who they think Blivius’s death benefits? Damorin, certainly, but who else?

The ceremony was extremely solemn with numerous tributes paid to Blivius. I’m afraid I kept wondering whether the eulogies were sincere. The only speech that wasn’t open to question was Master Lastra’s recitation of Blivius’s accomplishments in the council, and that was dry instead. I’m almost positive I saw His Imperial Majesty dozing off. After the ceremony was over, Lastra transported the coffin into the catacomb beneath the Justicum, and then it was time for Damorin to be sworn in. Technically, of course, he took the oaths as soon as they discovered Blivius’s body, since the Board can’t be a member short.

Because was the first funeral of a Master I’d attended, it was my first Board installation as well. Given the council’s penchant for elaborate ceremony, it was a surprisingly simple process. Lastra stood in the middle of the dais, facing the magii side of the room. “One of our brethren has departed from us and left an empty chair,” he said. “Is it the will of the Council that this chair be filled?”

“It is,” we all replied (as per the bolded script in our programs. I’m not sure what would have happened if someone had added a ‘not’).

“The Board has chosen one to fill the place Master Blivius has left empty,” Lastra replied.

Damorin mounted the dais, without his robe.

“This is the one the Board has chosen. Is it the will of the council to accept the wisdom of the Masters?”

Once again we obediently answered, “It is.”

Damorin knelt first before Lastra and swore the oath of Mastership and then before the Emperor and swore undying fealty to the Realm. Lastra draped the shimmering robe over his shoulders, the empress came forward to wind the sash, and that was it.

As soon as the party on the dais had exited, the rest of us were allowed to leave. Winterfast got cornered by an acquaintance near the entrance, so I went ahead to find Jamin, who had had to sit in the civilian section. The herd had entirely blocked up the closest route to the main council chamber, where the buffet waited, so I decided to take the back corridors to the chamber and hopefully be able to snag Jamin when he finally pushed his way through.

Other than the occasional caterer, the back corridors were deserted, and I could move quickly. I was nearly there, when something snapped underneath my foot. The next moment, I was slammed against the wall, while one of the iron chandeliers that hang low over the corridors smashed into the marble just over my head. It actually snagged my hat right off my head and crushed it against the wall! (Which, in hindsight, annoys me considerably. I liked that hat.)

Two guards came out of nowhere and ran toward me. One of them pulled me away from underneath the chandelier (which had actually spiked itself into the wall), while the other threw up a stability spell.

“I’m fine,” I protested, pulling my arm away. “The maintenance magii have been getting very sloppy.”

They apologized profusely, promised to report it, and offered to escort me to the council chamber. I refused, of course, and made it there without further mishap.

I admit I felt a little shaken by the incident (it’s not every day one nearly has one’s skull crushed by a light fixture), but not truly frightened. Of course, all of the warning’s I’d been getting flew through my mind, but I had to dismiss them. It’s impossible that someone should have attacked me in the middle of Justicum, a building bustling with guards and security wards at ordinary times, and just then filled with the entire council. Still, I suppose I might have been a bit pale when I finally made it to the buffet table and started looking for Jamin.

Damorin was already there, greeting well wishers. Lady Ardaya stood by his side, and if she’d looked any more smug, the feathers would have been sticking out of her mouth instead of her hat. The princess was holding onto Lady Ardaya’s arm, making cow eyes at Damorin whenever he had a free moment. Taken altogether, this revolting scene did a good deal to snap me out of whatever remained of my shock.

I was just stacking a plate with pastries to further fortify myself after my scare, when I happened to glance up and spy...your father!

He was standing alone, watching the champagne bubbles rise in his glass. “Uncle Alain!” I cried. He turned and smiled. “Well if it isn’t my favorite niece! And looking as disheveled as I remember her at six.”

“I’m your only niece,” I reminded him, one hand flying to uselessly pat at my hair, while my other hand tried to balance my plate.

He looked at my selections with amusement. “Enjoying yourself, Cordy?”

“Enjoying myself at a funeral? How morbid you must think me, Uncle.” I gave up on my hair and bit with relish into a munch. Then, watching his expression carefully, I asked, “Is Foofri here with you? I haven’t seen her in forever!”

He seemed just the slightest bit uneasy as he replied, “No, I’m afraid I’m here by myself.”

“How is she? Have you brought me a letter? I haven’t received any letters from Seven Oaks recently.” (This, as you know, was a thoroughly true statement.)

His uneasiness grew more pronounced. “Foofri’s doing very well. She wishes she could be with you of course, but I felt it was better that she remain where she is. But I am certain she will enclose a letter for you in her next note to me.” So do not be surprised if Sean suddenly asks you to write me a bright little uninformative missive in the near future.

“Yes,” I murmured with an understanding and slightly tragic air, “I am certain you wish to keep her far away from this unpleasantness.”

Uncle patted my shoulder rather clumsily. “There, there Cordy, I am certain this will all resolve itself in no time.” I smiled bravely at him and bit into another munch.

The next moment Winterfast appeared. Apparently, he’s met your father somewhere, because he greeted him as a very slight acquaintance. “Ah yes, Mr. Montphish, isn’t it?”

Uncle bowed politely. “Magi Winterfast. I understand that you are sheltering my niece during this uncertain time. I thank you.” I suddenly wondered just how much Winterfast knew, and whether he could tell me about more than the Stones, if he so chose.

“Magi Winterfast, I trust you are doing well?” I started in surprise at the sound of Damorin’s voice. He had managed to shake off both the princess and his mother and was greeting Winterfast with great cordiality.

“Damorin, my boy, congratulations,” Winterfast said, clapping Damorin familiarly on the shoulder. I suppose being old enough to be his grandfather and being in semi-retirement gives Winterfast certain privileges. “The robes of Mastership sit well on you, and certainly no one deserves them more.”

“Thank you, Magi.” There was no hint of satire in Damorin’s expression as he continued, “And will you be so kind as to present me to this gentleman?”

“Mr. Alain Montphish, honest merchant and Cordelimaera’s uncle.”

Uncle bowed deeply, “I am honored, Master.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Montphish.” They shook hands, and anyone not privy to the facts would have supposed them to be perfect strangers. I could feel the expression on my face slipping toward sardonic, so I pretended to be very busy choosing between strawberry and cream filled munches.

Fortunately, I hadn’t put one in my mouth, when Damorin turned his attention to me. “Magi Cordelimaera, I trust I find you well?”

“I’ve recovered from my cold, thank you,” I said politely. “Congratulations on attaining Mastership.”

“Thank you,” he said, and began, “I—”

A hand reached over my shoulder and snatched the last of my strawberry munches. “They were all gone by the time I got to the table,” Jamin said, grinning down at me. “What happened to you? You look like a mangy larat.”

“I do not,” I replied, cross with Jamin for presuming to comment on my appearance in front of everybody. I wasn’t any better pleased, when he reached to smooth down my hair, but failed to duck in time.

His smile abruptly transformed into horror. “Maera, you’re bleeding!”

I stared at the sticky redness on his fingers, and suddenly realized that my head hurt. “Bother!” I exclaimed, very put out.

Uncle immediately took my arm, and Winterfast crowded around to my other side. With Jamin still standing behind me, I was positively hemmed in. And even though Damorin wasn’t touching me, he was the one whose unspoken question I felt compelled to answer.

“It was nothing,” I snapped. “Just a silly accident. One of the light fixtures came loose, and the guards have already reported it.”

Damorin looked at Winterfast. “Take her home,” he ordered.

“I don’t want to go home!” I protested. “I … I need to speak with Lady Lucinda.” I did, to tell her my dressing gown hat idea.

“Now,” Damorin said, still looking at Winterfast.

“You should rest, my dear,” Winterfast conceded. “Poor child, what a dreadful accident.” And he and Uncle hustled me straight out of the council chamber toward the exit.

I fumed all the way back to Winterfast, where I came straight up to my room for some peace. The scratch on my head is tiny – it took about two seconds to heal – so I have been fighting off the urge to sulk by writing to you.

I’m more determined than ever to get my hands on the Stones, so that I can become something more than a pawn in this game. Your idea about swiping the Stones when I go in to pick out my jewels is perfect. I’m certain I can manage a diversion if needed (after all, I learned everything I know about telling wild stories from you, dear).

Speaking of the ball, I shall have to visit Madame Shachter tomorrow, and beg her on bended knee to enchant an evening gown for me. Do you think it has to be black? I’m so TIRED of black.

I suppose you are well on your way to the Shazar pass by now. (And speaking of, Foofri, how will you ever manage without any magic at all?! I still remember with shuddering clarity the time you misplaced your comb just before the end-of-school banquet and in desperation borrowed a non-enchanted one to put up your hair. We were up until dawn cutting the knots out.) At least you’re much too far away from home to be frog marched back by guards. Take care and write back soon.

Ever Affectionately,
Cordy

P.S. Please send any particulars you want me to mention when I talk to Madame Dorthwany about your memoirs. Would you like me to keep your identity anonymous?

P.P.S. The Muse has very indignantly told me that he does not read our correspondence. Clearly, he doth protest too much.

Letter XV (Foof to Cordy)

Dear Cordy,

My experiment with the mirror is certainly becoming more and more serendipitous, isn’t it? Being able to correspond under any circumstances is completely worth any and all unpleasantness that comes with having a muse (I’m still wiping my mouth). And I am learning a few good spells. I keep telling myself that, anyway. Since the muse hasn’t been summoned for several hundred years, his repertoire is slightly archaic as are his methods, but since they work I won’t complain!

Speaking of the muse, he appeared to have returned sometime in the night. I was allowed to wake up on my own and was delighted to find your missive waiting for me. Finally, I thought, some actual information about the Stones! Ideas and plots and plans on how you might go about sneaking them out of your vault began forming in my brain immediately. Winterfast is right, although I'm not sure what he would think about you stealing the Stones from your own vault. Hopefully he'll never find out even though he did give you the idea, albeit indirectly.

Thinking of ways to help you, even in my remote location, cheered me immensely. When Sean knocked on the door, I was ready for anything.

“Good morning,” he said as he stepped into the wagon. I don't think he expected me to be standing right inside the door when he stepped in and he had to clutch at my shoulders to keep me from falling backwards and to keep himself from falling out of the wagon as we instinctively pushed away from each other. Again, we stared at each other awkwardly (which I hope isn't becoming a habit). He cleared his throat. “I trust you slept well?”

Backing up a few paces, I replied, “Yes I did, thank you.”

He nodded. “Good. Unfortunately, you probably won't sleep as well until we reach the Outskirts. We're leaving the wagon here and walking the rest of the way to the fort. Once there, we'll borrow mounts to take us through the Pass and then we'll be sleeping on thin pads.” He leaned against the doorframe and looked around the room before returning his steady gaze back to me. “Foofri, what do you know about the Pass?”

I shrugged. “That it's dangerous?”

“There are some genuine risks, yes, but all the talk you've heard about it being dangerous is probably because, one, it's frequently used by Trolls, and, two,” he paused for a moment, “and, two, for some reason our magic doesn't work properly there.” He gave a wry smile. “Imperial magii don't like Trolls and they really don't like going without magic.”

I raised my brows. “Going without magic? I certainly wouldn't like going without, would you?”

“No,” he admitted, “but I can handle it for a few days.”

“So what you're telling me is that we won't be casting any spells while we're in the Pass?”

“Not only that, but if you have anything with you that was made by using magic, you'll have to leave it behind.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. “But all of my clothes and most of my personal items were made with magic.”

“Everything?”

“No, not everything,” I blushed, thinking of the undergarments I'd purchased before Father whisked me off to Grandmother's. “Only my dresses, actually.”

“All your dresses? Every one of them?”

“Yes, that's not unusual, is it?”

“No, except that you're going to have to leave them in the wagon and borrow some of my things for a few days.”

“Meaning...trousers?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly, “which is just as well since you'll be riding. You'll probably be more comfortable.”

“I doubt that very much,” I snorted, “and besides that, I'm willing to risk the consequences of taking my own clothes.”

“Bold words now, but wait until we get in and your magically enhanced stitches fall apart at the seams or worse yet, morph into tiny poisonous snakes that crawl through the fabric and onto your skin before biting you all over.”

“I don't believe that for a minute,” I said, trying not to let my horror show.

“No? Remember our conversation yesterday about how if someone dissolved the stability component of one of your spells, the whole spell would fall apart?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“That would be the ideal scenario because we could prevent it if we knew exactly how the environment in the Pass affects our magic, but we don't. It might pull apart the separate components and put them back together in a different order. It might pull out one part and add new parts randomly. Regardless, it will morph the spell into something else entirely; it's completely unpredictable and that's what makes it so dangerous, especially for those who can't do without magic,” he added. “Better just to not use magic at all.”

I stared at him, still not wanting to believe. “And the Trolls?” I asked, finally.

He shifted uneasily. “Trolls aren't a problem.”

“Why not?”

“They're just not,” he said with finality.

“I see. So, the Shazar Pass is essentially a lovely little vacation spot as long as your best friends are Trolls and you don't accidentally end up with a mustache on your elbow because you tried to enchant your left eyebrow into moving a hair to the left and it morphed into something else.”

He stepped closer so he could look me in the eye. “It's not as bad as all that,” he said, smiling a bit. “I've traveled through the Pass many times and I've never had a problem. And I think I can guarantee you're not going to get a mustache on your elbow.”

He turned around and left, returning a few minutes later with a bag for any nonmagical items I needed to take--my underclothes, an extra pair of boots, and, thank goodness, my stationary. He also brought a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a long tunic-like vest with a length of cord to tie around my waist.

“Those aren't going to fit,” I protested.

“No, but they won't fall off either.”

“A dress wouldn't fall off of you, but I don't see you jumping up and down with excitement to wear one.”

“If that was my only choice, I just might.”

“And not afraid to admit it. You worry me a little bit.”

Sean raised one brow and gave me a pointed look.

“Fine!” I said, snatching the bundle of clothes out of his arms. “Now if you’ll excuse me!” I spoke as haughtily as I could, but his shoulders were shaking as he closed the door behind him. The trousers weren't too bad once I tied the cord around them and tucked the ends into my boots. The sleeves had to be rolled up, but the shirt smelled clean and was well made. The tunic wasn’t as long as I’d hoped, but it at least covered my hips.

When I emerged a few minutes later, Sean was finishing packing his things and didn’t notice that I had come out. When I coughed, he looked up suddenly.

“I wondered what was taking….” He stopped mid speech as he caught sight of me in his clothes. They covered everything and weren’t too snug, but they revealed more than any of my gowns did. “You look fine,” he said abruptly, “and you’ll be comfortable.”

“Hardly.”

He shrugged, apologetically. “Ready?”

I held up one hand. “I have a question about the Pass.”

“Yes?” He took my bag and cinched it up, knotting the ends around some loops at the bottom so it could sling across my shoulders.

“You say our magic doesn’t work there?” I asked nonchalantly, thinking about the muse who had shrunk himself down to peanut size and was relaxing in my bag. “What about magical creatures such as…oh…say, fairies or...muses. Creatures who are inherently magical.”

“They're fine,” he said, securing the pack across my shoulders. “It’s only human magic that creates problems.” He finished with my pack and turned me around. Eyeing me with curiosity, he began to ask why I wanted to know, but before he could finish, I changed subject.

“I’ve heard so much about Fort Thunderhall! Where is it from here, exactly?”

“If you look right through there,” he pointed to a spot in the forest just beyond the end of the road, “you can see the topmost lookout tower. See, at the base of the mountain?”

“Let’s get going, shall we?” I started off at a brisk pace even though I actually wanted to prolong getting there. Don't get me wrong, ever since I reached a certain age, I've dreamed about going to the fort and meeting all (or any of) the dashing young soldiers training there. But how could it possibly live up to my expectations when I was wearing trousers? Trousers have never figured into my daydreams! Never!

But while I wasn't particularly anxious to arrive, I didn’t want Sean thinking about our little conversation about magical creatures so I hurried forward anyway.

We walked for about an hour on a horse trail through the forest until we came to a barred cave with a little gong on the side of the gate. After ringing it, we waited for a few minutes before a stooping old man in a long gray cloak appeared from within the depths of the cave and shuffled out to the gate.

“Who dares approach?” he rasped slowly, which was not at all what I expected.

Sean stepped forward to address the strange man. “That’s the worst disguise yet, Gavin. Now open up, can’t you see there’s a lady with me?”

The figure stood up and threw back the hood of the robe to reveal a handsome young man with curly brown hair, smiling brown eyes, and who appeared to be about Sean’s age, only shorter. “Forgive me, my Lady. I was only trying to do my job,” he said with a grin as he bowed and began to unlock the gate. “What brings you here, Sean? I thought we wouldn’t see you for a while yet.” Thank goodness he didn’t say anything about my attire, but he was certainly staring. It would have bothered me immensely except I was stunned over the sound of his voice. As he spoke I felt a chill run down my spine. No, Cordy, it couldn’t have been any other voice! That’s three times we’ve heard it now; we heard it once together at the Academy, you heard it while you were locked in a broom closet at the Residence, and now I've met the man himself! I didn't have time at the moment to think about what a guard from the Residence was doing at Fort Thunderhall (or vice versa), because Sean introduced us and I had to smile and nod my head instead of staring at him like he was a bug under glass.

“I’m escorting this young lady to the Outskirts,” Sean said. “Gavin, may I present Magi Foofri Montphish, of the third skillhouse? Magi Montphish, I am pleased to introduce Lt. Gavin Farnswall of Fort Thunderhall.” Gavin took my hand and led me through the bars.

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Magi.”

“Thank you. I am honored to finally visit the famous Fort Thunderhall, Lt.” He was still holding my hand, when Sean bustled in between us to talk.

“What news can you give me of the Pass?” he asked as Lt. Farnswall led us through a long tunnel and then up a spiral staircase lit only by torches. The men continued talking as we trudged up the stairs.

“Not too much, actually,” Gavin replied. There are the usual bands of Trolls and a dragon or two, but they haven’t tried to make contact with anyone. There have been a few rumors of wraith sightings, but they haven’t been verified so the patrol hasn’t been too worried about it.”

Sean and I both stiffened at the mention of wraiths. “Only rumors?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

Gavin stopped and turned around to look down at us from his superior position at the top of the stairs. He frowned. “Yes, Sean. I, myself, was on patrol last week and saw nothing. And you know how quick wraiths are to make themselves known.”

I looked at Sean and thought I saw the fear I was feeling mirrored in his eyes, but it lasted less than an instant. “Yes, I do. That’s why I questioned you. I wouldn’t want to put Magi Montphish in any danger.”

Gavin shook his head. “Of course, but I honestly wouldn’t worry about it. Trust me.” He finished his sibilant sentence with a charming smile and held out his hand to assist me up the last of the steps. “Now, let’s stop frightening Magi Montphish.” He turned to me. “I’m sure you would like to meet some of the other officers and have a little refreshment before old Sean here whisks you off to those Outskirts of his.”

“Sorry,” he said to Gavin. “We’ve got to be going. And, please, don’t trouble yourself to escort us out. I know the way to the stables, I just wanted to get a patrol report.” He smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes.

“Huh. A pity. I’m sure the other men would have appreciated meeting you, Magi.” He almost had to peek around Sean to say this since our conversational space was being neatly blocked. Then he looked up at Sean and smiled mischievously. “And they’d love to see you too, Sean.”

“Thanks,” Sean replied dryly, “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Sure. It was a great pleasure to meet you, Magi,” Lt. Farnswall said with a wink in my direction and then a nod and a handshake to Sean. “Sean. When will you be coming back through?”

“In a few days. Maybe a week. You know how the Pass is.”

Gavin nodded. “I’ll let General Derslot know. He’ll want news from the Outskirts when you come back.” He waved a final farewell and disappeared down one of the stone corridors that lay before us. Bother! Even though I wasn't at my best fashion-wise, I was still keenly disappointed. My lifelong dream squashed by two woolen legs and a button fly. Fate, you can be so cruel sometimes!

Sean turned to me and held out his arm. “Shall we?”

I nodded and took his arm glumly.

“What's wrong now?”

“Nothing, really.” How could I explain? “It’s just that, well, I’ve always dreamed about coming here…and…and...” I sighed before exclaiming, “I’m wearing pants!”

“What?”

I sighed again, long and deep. “Never mind. Only Cordy would understand. Let’s just go,” I grumbled. Sean frowned, but continued to lead me down one of the corridors until we came to another flight of stairs and began to climb. After a few minutes (and greatly fatigued muscles), we came to a set of double doors leading out onto a large, flat area surrounded by caves. I gasped as my brain registered the reason we had gone up so many stairs. The fort was built into the side of the mountain and we had just climbed up within its bowels in order to reach the stables, or, caves, apparently, which housed the many animals that served the fort. I looked around, but couldn’t see any way out of there except the way we had come.

Sean was talking quietly with the officer on duty, but when he finished, I asked, “How do we get out of here?”

“Up,” he replied as he walked to the last row of caves where another soldier was mucking out stalls. I followed, still questioning him.

“How it that accomplished since we can’t use any magic?”

Sean turned to me and grinned. “We ride this.” I turned in the direction he pointed and beheld the strangest creature. It was somewhat like a horse with a long flat-backed trunk, but with longer legs that bent in several places, and large claw-like feet. Its fur was much longer and curlier than a horse’s, but its head was smaller and egg-shaped and actually quite graceful looking at the end of its long horse-like neck. The most startling feature were its eyes, which were a deep black and seemed to regard me with a calculating, intelligent gaze.

“Oh! It’s…it’s a larat!” I exclaimed and walked over to stroke the deep brown fur.

“Yes,” Sean replied. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” The larat looked at him and appeared to smile before turning to nuzzle my shoulder. “The stable master here at the fort allows me to keep her here with their patrol larats while I’m visiting the Imperial Kingdom, but she’s always excited to go home after a visit.” He pulled an apple from his pocket and offered it to her. “Aren’t you girl?”

“So we'll be riding these instead of horses?”

“Larats are the best animals for navigating the rough terrain and they don't spook like horses sometimes do. And,” he hesitated slightly, “we’ll both be riding her so do you want the front or back?”

“Wait, I don’t even get my own mount?”

“The others belong to the fort and are needed for patrol. We'll just have to make do with mine.” He took the pack off my shoulders and began attaching our bundles to the large hooks around the edges of the strange saddle. “So which do you want, front or back?

“Which would be better? Or, not better per se,” I stammered, “but you know....”

“Well, I have to hold the reins, so if you ride in back, you’ll have to hold on to me. If you ride in front, I’ll have to put my arms around you. So whichever way is less awkward for you is what we'll do.”

Yet how could I choose without him making assumptions either way?

“Do you have a preference?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“And?” I waited for him to go on.

He looked thoughtful and I knew that he didn't want me making assumptions either. “Here, let’s toss a coin,” he said instead, throwing a silver piece into the air. “Emperor side up, you ride in front. Justicum side up, you ride in back, alright?” I nodded and thought I saw a flicker of a smile as the coin landed and the Emperor’s profile graced us from Sean’s palm, but when he met my eyes, there was no trace of it.

“I love traveling through the Pass,” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers shut around the coin, “and it’s been a long time since I took anyone with me. It will be nice to have some company.” He helped me mount the larat and we quickly left the fort behind.

We’ve stopped now, for a rest, and for Sean to hunt. I’m supposed to be building a fire, but since I can’t use magic, I’m writing a letter instead. The larat is looking over my shoulder as I write and seems to be greatly amused. Cheeky.

It is beautiful here and I am enjoying myself so far. Is that strange? I just wish you were with me to enjoy it too, but you have your own adventure.

Which brings me to an idea I had about the Stones. The Emperor’s Anniversary Ball is coming up. We both have been looking forward to it since it would have been my first year attending, but as I can’t go, you’ll be going for both of us. They wouldn't dare prevent you from attending even if you're being kept under lock and key for now. The Demestheln house can't afford to miss out on the biggest political and social event of the year, an event so important not even the funeral of a revered master could delay it. Besides, there couldn’t be a safer place for you than the Emperor’s palace, what with all the warding spells and such.

But here's my idea. Hopefully, you'll be expected to withdraw a set of jewels from your family vault to wear to the ball. If someone escorts you, you'll have to create a diversion in order to swipe the Stones, but if not, you can just remove them when you pick out the jewels!

Surprisingly simple, especially for me, but sometimes simple is the best. Good luck!

I don’t know when I'll have the chance to write again. It all depends on when I have some time alone and on the muse, who has actually been strangely quiet. We did agreed he would stay quiet and out of sight while Sean was around, but I expected him to be his usual loquacious self once Sean left. I think something is bothering him deeply. He keeps looking around in a guilty manner and muttering softly to himself.

I should probably mention that I tried to cheer him up by telling him you wanted a special spell. When he pressed me for details, I blurted out that you wanted a stitchery spell! I'm sorry, I know sewing is your least favorite of the domestic studies! He was just so down and I didn't know what to do and I was afraid he might not deliver my letter, but he couldn't wait to get out of the Pass. Forgive me, but at least I’ve warned you.

As ever, your faithful friend,
Foofri

P.S. You might be able to do a little investigating while you're at the ball. Take advantage of it!
If nothing else, perhaps you could seek out Madame Dorthwany of the Dorthwany Daily and mention to her my literary aspirations. Thank you, dearest! Maybe the muse could deliver the dramatized versions of my journey straight to her if she is agreeable.

P.P.S. I’ve no idea what Father will be doing in the city, but if you see him, give him a hug for me?

Letter XIV (C.D. to F.M.)

My dear Foofri,

Are you sitting down? Because you should probably brace yourself for this next piece of news: I know all about the Suldan Stones.

At least, as much as it is possible to know without actually using them. Winterfast has told me ALL. At least, as much as he knows (I think).

How, you ask, did I come by this astounding information? Did I torture the poor man? Did I employ devious wiles? Did I delve into arcane mysteries and construct a thought cube?

No. I just ate breakfast.

As you will remember from my last letter, Muse was waiting for me when I woke up after my first night at Winterfast. I immediately composed a reply, and by the time I’d sent him off with it, I was starving.

As a side note, I have to say that one of the best things about staying here is the bacon. When I went down to breakfast, I found a heaping platter of it on the buffet, piping hot, thin and fried to that perfect crispness that simply melts in your mouth. So I ate some bacon, and then I had porridge and fruit salad, and then I had more bacon. At this point, Winterfast came in to pour himself a cup of tea and join me at the breakfast table.

“Bacon?” I offered, holding up the platter I’d moved from the buffet to be more convenient.

He manfully refused, and I helped myself to a few more pieces. “I can’t remember if I thanked you properly last night for letting me stay here. I really appreciate it. Particularly since the breakfasts are so good.”

He didn’t respond to my light tone, however, just sat frowning down into his tea. “You can stay here as long as you like, of course, Cordelimaera. Stephanus was a good friend, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you out. It’s appalling that you should be thrown into such danger, and it’s equally appalling that the Board won’t even tell you what kind of danger you’re in.”

I froze, hardly daring to hope.

Winterfast set his cup in its saucer with a decided clink. “It’s time you knew the truth.”

He led me into his library (he told me I could bring the bacon, but I declined, considering that my most serious Council demeanor was called for) where he activated the sound barrier that he normally uses for chess games. Nobody could eavesdrop on our conversation, magically or otherwise.

Winterfast took a deep breath and said, “The Stones gather information.”

I frowned, confused. “How? Are they … scrying stones?”

He shook his head. “That I don’t know. If they are, they are the most powerful scrying stones ever enchanted. But I do know that because of them, in times of great crisis the government has always gotten the information it needs. Strategic information for battles. Location information on dangerous criminals. Advance warning of invasion. You see now why they must be kept so secret.”

I nodded. Winterfast’s information fit with what I had learned from the history book. “Every government in the world would be after them.”

“Everyone with a taste for power,” he amended.

“And they’re mine,” I said, suddenly feeling a little frightened.

“You are the last Demestheln.”

I thought hard. “But the secret’s out, isn’t it? Someone knows what they are, and for power like that … I really am in danger, aren’t I?”

“Yes. And because you must endure the danger brought by the Stones, it’s not right that you should be kept in ignorance of their true nature. You have the power and the right over them. That is why I have chosen to defy the Council and tell you what I know, little enough as it is. I only know what I have told you because my friendship with Stephanus was of such long standing.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “Thank you so much.”

He nodded. “You have good sense and good courage, Cordelimaera. I have faith in you.” Patting me on the shoulder, he lowered the sound barrier and left me alone to think.

The enormous scandal of Sedgwick’s theft and disappearance makes sense to me now. The entire time the Stones were missing, the Board of Masters must have been on edge, waiting for the Stones to be turned against them. And of course the rest of family could never be entirely free from suspicion, which is why the Board hasn’t asked me to use the Stones to clear up this mess. Surely this counts as a time of great crisis. If the Stones are so powerful, then it is of the utmost importance we discover who is trying to steal them (if anyone actually is. After all, Damorin was only guessing that Blivius’s murder was linked to the Stones.)

Foofri, I’ve come to a decision. The Board doesn’t want me to use the Stones because they don’t trust me. But the Stones are my responsibility and my right. I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it, Board or no Board. (Besides, I’m tired of being ordered around.) I don’t know how I’m going to get the Stones out of the vault yet, and then I’ll have to figure out how to work them, but I’ll find a way. Perhaps Muse could be of use, and as his mistress, you could order him to keep his mouth shut.

Hopefully, I will be able to take action before long. Blivius’s funeral is tomorrow, followed by Damorin’s public swearing in to the Board. Hopefully, his new duties will keep him much too busy to interfere with me. (I will try and send you some news clippings on the event—I’m certain there will be plenty. The headlines today are all screaming about the murder and the new Master, and I read a few nasty remarks about untimely promotion. I admit, it’s a bit odd to think of someone only seven years older than me being appointed to the Board, but he’s the only in Seventh Skillhouse who even comes close to being qualified for Blivius’s chair.)

I hope your journey is going well. I must admit that I almost envy you the adventure, especially since you will have to pass by Fort Thunderhall, which is only the home of the most dashing heroes in the Realm! Since Sean seems to know the territory well, perhaps he has friends at the fort! You might actually get to meet some swashbuckling soldiers! If you do, swoon for me.

Speaking of Sean, I’ve been considering what you told me of your conversation with him in the troll wagon. (Thank you for the extensive description, by the way. It seems we have been wildly misled as to the actual cultural traditions of trolls! I’m envisioning a startling exposé in one of the weekly sensation papers as an introduction to your memoirs.) Although I was at first irritated that he would presume to criticize the magical practices of the entire Realm, my own security issues have made me realize that he is quite right about the universal presence (and therefore vulnerability) of the stability component. I must invent new security wards for my house before Damorin allows me to move back in, so I will try to make the spell components more varied. If possible, please ask Sean if he has ideas for alternate solutions. (However, I do think it is exaggerated to say, “spells from the Realm are all the same.” If that were so, I could have gotten out of the Academy in ten years instead of two.)

Most affectionately,
Cordy

PS Carrying around a dressing gown at all times is a silly suggestion. Therefore, I am going to suggest it to Lady Lucinda and see what her hat looks like next week.

PPS Do you think Muse is reading our correspondence?

PPPS When all of this is over, let’s borrow your father’s troll wagon for a road trip and pretend to be gypsies!