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start.  But& why& why& did the white mages kill her?
 Couldn t say for sure& She never told either Nail nor me. Said the less we
knew& safer you d be.
 She had to leave? Why?
 They had lancers a-looking for her most places& Shandreth asked me once if
I d seen her. Had to tell him no, even when she was eating and sleeping not a
hundred cubits from the hearth.
 Looking for her?
 Don t know as who else. White lancers& they be mean men, Cerryl. You stay
clear of them, no matter what it be taking.
Cerryl shivered, thinking about the day he d seen the white lancers in
Hewlett. They d looked mean then.
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 The mages& they be mages, but the lancers are killers, without souls, no
better than the old black demons of the Westhorns. Syodor fingered his chin.
 Could be a mite worse, from what I hear. He shrugged.  Well, boy& got to be
going, be well away from here afore the rain lifts. Wouldn t want my image
showing in the glass, not with the power of them books showing, too. Syodor
extended a big hand and clapped Cerryl on the shoulder.  We ll be seeing you
as we can. You know that, lad, do you not?
 I know. Cerryl swallowed.  I know.
 Be off now.
Cerryl stood under the dark oak, watching until Syodor vanished into the
rain and mist. Then he walked slowly back to the lumber barn.
In the dimness of the room, Cerryl eased open the canvas, glad that he
could see better than most in the dark. There were two slender books, bound in
age-darkened leather. His eyes watered as he glanced at them.
Then he frowned. Between them was a white-bronze circlet. He turned it
over. Two rough patches in the metal on the back indicated brackets or
something had once been attached.
Except for a thicker rim, the circlet, a half-span across, was of uniform
thickness and smooth to the touch. Yet& Cerryl studied it for a long time in
the darkness.
Finally, he nodded. Somehow, the pin or ornament was made of two separate
metals that met in an undulating edge, put together so smoothly that he could
not feel the joins, only sense them with the sight that was not sight.
The books went behind the board with the book fragment he already had
cached there, but the circlet-that he kept, his fingers around it even when he
lay back on his pallet and drifted into an uneasy sleep.
XI
A. soft breeze brushed across the porch, carrying the scent of late apple
blossoms, the turned earth of the garden to the southwest of the house, and
the less welcome odor of the horse manure Cerryl had spent the day cleaning
out of the stable.
Cerryl sat on the edge of the porch, his boots on the top stone step,
looking eastward, supposedly toward Lydiar. The more distant hills were fading
into the early twilight.
 What do you do at the mill, Cerryl? asked Erhana from the bench behind
him.
 Whatever they need me to do. You saw me with the shovel and manure.
Cerryl s hair was still damp, plastered against his skull, and his forearms
itched, despite his washing in cold water before dinner. Without the nightly
washing before dinner, he had discovered, his arms became covered with an ugly
red rash, and after dealing with the stable, he d definitely needed to wash
up, almost all over.
 Da-Father-Siglinda says that I should say  Father. Father doesn t let me
in the mill. He let Brental in there when he was smaller than I am.
 Brental will have to run the mill.
 I wouldn t want to. Erhana lifted her head slightly-Cerryl could tell
that without turning.  I m going to have a wealthy consort and live in a fine
house in Lydiar. Her voice dropped slightly.  You didn t say what you really
do in the mill.
 I sweep floors, stack the timbers, move things, clean the sawpit.
Brental s beginning to teach me about the oxen. He paused, then asked,
turning finally to look at the dark-haired girl,  What do you do with that
lady in the parlor?
 She be-she is not a lady. She s Siglinda, and she gives me my lessons.
Erhana cocked her head and offered a superior smile.  I m learning my
letters.
 Oh?
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 Letters are important for a lady.
 I d wager you don t know them well enough to teach me.
 Why would you want to know letters? You re always going to be working in
the mill.
 See? Cerryl said with a grin.  You can t do it.
 I can, too.
 You ll have to prove it. Cerryl looked disbelieving.
 I don t have to prove anything to you. Erhana sniffed.
 You don t. That be right, Cerryl said, grinning again.
 You couldn t learn letters, anyway.
 You don t know that, not until you try and I can t learn. Cerryl smiled.
 Of course, that might mean you couldn t teach me, either. Your da, he says& 
Cerryl let the words trail off.
 He says what? Erhana s voice sharpened.
 Nothing& nothing.
 You re& nothing but a mill rat, Cerryl.
Cerryl forced a shrug, intent on keeping any concern from his face.  If you
really knew your letters, you could teach them to a mill rat. You re just
calling me names  cause you can t.
 Cerryl& you are&  Erhana paused.  You are& 
He stood.  If you re that good, you can teach me letters. I be here every
night after supper.
 I don t have to teach you anything.
Cerryl forced a smile, then grinned before turning and walking down toward
his cubby room.
 Cerryl& 
He forced himself to keep walking.
XII
Cerryl rubbed his forehead again, trying to massage away the dull ache from
somewhere deep within his skull. The massage didn t help, and he resumed
restacking the flooring planks, ensuring that there were indeed ten in each
pile, as Brental had instructed him-a dozen stacks of ten.
He paused, his eyes going to the half-open mill door and to the steady rain
beyond, rain that had fallen from gray skies for the past two days. He looked
back at the span-wide planks, his eyes watering. With a sigh, he counted the
last stack again. Ten.
Why did the steady rain give him such a headache? Syodor had said it
affected all the white mages. He could use his mirror fragments to pull up
images-places like Fairhaven, the white city, and even the cows in the lower
pasture. Did those things mean he was a mage-or could be? Or that the mages
would kill him, as they had his father, if they discovered him?
He d only been able to have a few sessions with Erhana and her copybooks,
but already he could pick out some of the letters in his books, although the
script was curved and more elaborate than that in hers. He could make out a
handful of words, not enough to read anything& not yet.
His fingers went to his belt pouch and tightened around the talisman-was
that what it was?-that Syodor had given him. Had it been his father s? Or had
his father picked it up somewhere?
 & afore midsummer, Dorban will be here for the seasoned oak- the big [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]