He brought himself up with a start and regarded her narrowly. What power did this mortal possess that she could seduce a god with her smile? He’d seen far more attractive mortal females. One of his Black Robes, a wizardess named Ladonna, had been known for her beauty and was far superior in looks to this Mina. Yet there was something about her that, even now, stirred him profoundly.
“Please understand, my lord. I had to try to convert them. It was the only way I could escape.”
“Why do you want to leave us, Mina?” Nuitari said, feigning hurt feelings. “Have we mistreated you in any way? Beyond confining you, of course, and that is for your own safety. Basalt and Caele are both, I confess, a little insane. Caele, especially, is not to be trusted, not to mention the fact there are dangerous scrolls and artifacts lying about that could do you harm. I have tried to make your stay as pleasant as possible. You have all these books to read—”
Mina glanced at the shelves and made a dismissive gesture. “I have already read them.”
“All of them?” Nuitari regarded her with amusement. “You will forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“Choose one,” Mina challenged.
Nuitari did so, taking a book off the shelf.
“What is the title?” she asked.
“Draconians: A Study. Can Good Come of Evil?”
“Open to the first page.”
Nuitari did so.
Mina began to recite. “‘Scholars have long held that because draconians were created by evil magicks, born of the perverted eggs of good dragons, draconians are evil and will forever remain so, capable of possessing no redeeming qualities. However, a study of a group of draconians who are currently settled in the city of Teyr reveals’—” She stopped. “Do I quote correctly?”
“Word for word,” said Nuitari, and he snapped shut the book.
“I read a lot when I was a child at the Citadel,” Mina said, and then she frowned, “or I think I must have. I can’t really remember reading. All I remember is sunshine, and the waves rushing around my feet, and Goldmoon brushing my hair. . . . Yet I think I must have spent a great deal of time reading, for whenever I pick up a book, I discover I have already read it.”
“I’ll wager you have not read this one.” Nuitari caused a volume to materialize in his hand. “Spells of Conjuration for the White Robe, Advanced Levels.”
Mina shrugged. “Why would I want to read it? I have no interest in magic.”
“Indulge me,” said Nuitari. “Read the first chapter. If you do this for me, I will grant you permission to leave your room for an hour each day. You may walk the halls and corridors of the Tower. Under guard, of course.” For your own safety.
Mina eyed him, as though wondering what game he was playing. She reached out her hand.
Nuitari wasn’t certain what he expected to gain from this experiment— perhaps nothing more than the pleasure of humbling this young mortal, who was altogether too arrogant and bold for his liking.
“I should warn you,” he said, as he handed her the book, “this has a spell on it....”
“What kind of spell?” Mina asked. She took the book from his hands and opened it.
“A spell of warding,” said Nuitari, watching in wonder.
He recalled when Caele had picked up this book. The author, a White Robed wizard, had placed a warding enchantment on it, so that only those of the White Robes could use the spells. Caele of the Black Robes had dropped the book with a curse, then spent the next few moments wringing his burned fingers and swearing. He’d sulked for a day and a half over the incident and refused to go back to help Basalt with the unpacking.
A disciple of Chemosh would certainly not be able to handle this book without punishment.
Mina ran her hands over the soft leather binding. She traced with her fingers the title stamped in gold on the cover.
Nuitari wondered if the warding spell had worn off.
Mina opened the book, studied the first page.
“You want me to read this?” she asked, skeptical.
“If you please,” said Nuitari.
Shrugging, Mina began to read.
Nuitari was astonished, and he could not remember the last time a mortal had astonished him. She was reading the words of the language of magic, a feat only a trained wizard should be able to do.
Her pronunciation of the words of the spell was flawless. Even after hours of study, White Robed wizards would have stumbled through this spell, and here was Mina, a disciple of Chemosh, with not an ounce of moon-magic in her bones, reading it perfectly the first time. The spidery words should have clogged her mouth, stuck in her throat, burned her tongue. As he listened to her rattle them off in a bored monotone, he regarded her with amazement.
Nuitari might have concluded that Mina was a wizardess in disguise, except for one thing.
She read the spell flawlessly yet without understanding.
So might a human scholar of the elven language read aloud an elven love poem. The human might know and understand and be able to pronounce the words, but only an elf could give the words the delicate shades of meaning the elven author intended. Only a wizard could give these words the life required to cast the spell. Mina knew what she was saying. She just didn’t care. Reciting the spell was an exercise to her, nothing more.
Had his mother, Takhisis, taught Mina magic?
Nuitari thought this over and rejected it.
Takhisis detested magic, distrusted it. She would have been well pleased with a world that had no magic in it, for she viewed magic as a threat to her own powers. Takhisis had not taught Mina magic, and she certainly would not have learned to read the language of magic from the mystics of the Citadel of Light. Nor yet from Chemosh.
Strange. Very strange.
Mina halted mid-sentence, looking up at him. “Do you want me to go on? The rest is just more of the same.”
“No, that will do,” Nuitari said. He took the book from her hands.
“I won the wager. I have an hour of freedom.” Mina started toward the door.
“All in good time,” Nuitari said, halting her. “I have no one to serve as your escort. Basalt is scrubbing up spilt blood and, as I said, you would find Caele a dangerous companion. I fear you must bear with me a while longer.”
Nuitari decided to try another experiment on Mina—an oddity his Black Robes had observed about her. He secretly cast a spell on her. The spell was a simple sleep spell, one of the first learned by the novice mage. Nuitari could have cast it in an eye blink, but he did not want her to have any suspicion that he was working magic on her. Strand by strand, he plied the threads of magic back and forth, back and forth, weaving the spell over her and around her, the magic covering her like a warm blanket. All the while, he kept her engaged in idle conversation, so that she would not notice what he was doing.
“You know nothing of your childhood,” he said to her, as he worked his magic. “According to what Basalt wrote, you were found on board an abandoned ship at the age of eight, washed up on the shore of Schallsea Isle near the Citadel of Light. You remember nothing—not your name, not your parents, nor what happened to the ship—”
“That is true,” said Mina, frowning. She added impatiently, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“Humor me, my dear. You were adopted by Goldmoon, a former follower of Mishakal, who had been the first to bring the worship of the true gods back to the world after the Cataclysm. She was the one who brought the power of the heart into this world during the Fifth Age. Goldmoon was a good woman, a devout woman. She took an interest in you, loved you like a daughter.”
He finished his sleep spell and cast it on Mina. Nuitari watched and waited.
Mina tapped her foot on the floor and looked meaningfully at the locked door. “You promised me an hour of freedom,” she said.