This devastation of her quarters was too horrible to contemplate, and Eliseth could not bear to remain and investigate further. Though she had too much pride to break into a run, she turned abruptly on her heel and descended the remainder of the staircase recklessly in darkness, not bothering to waste time on an attempt at Magelight and not pausing until she had reached the door at the bottom, which she blew into splinters with a single lightning bolt.—Stepping carefully over the smoldering debris, she hurried out into the courtyard. Only when she had regained the open air at last did she feel that she could breathe again.
Eliseth’s sense of relief, however, was short-lived. The silence of years weighed down on the Academy like a dense, muffling blanket, adding to the eerie sense of desolation. Memories of treachery and violence thronged about her like the Death-Wraiths that Miathan had once manifested from the grail.—The shivers that ran up her spine were not entirely due to the cold wind that swirled around the Magewoman’s shoulders. “That’s enough of this nonsense!”
she muttered to herself. “Just because you’re tired and hungry, there’s no need to carry on in such a spineless fashion.” After all, she thought, with a grim smile, she had not eaten in years. Suddenly she remembered the food that the Archmage had taken out of time and stockpiled in the storerooms behind the kitchen.
Could it still be there? Hunger lent fresh impetus to her steps as she hurried across the courtyard to find out.
At least there were candles in the kitchen. No longer did Eliseth have to concern herself with the vagaries of Magelight once she had ignited the first wick. As her flame took hold and the amber glow of candlelight swelled to encompass the room, she was startled by the pattering and scuffling of a multitude of small feet. Shadows moved and scattered into corners and under benches as cockroaches and rats, so long the undisputed kings of this domain, scrambled for cover.
The Magewoman wrinkled her nose in disgust, but pressed on undeterred, heading for the storerooms. Any food that had been taken out of time would have escaped the attentions of the scavengers—if the spells still remained in force. In the absence of their creators time spells were a chancy business at best. They often tended to decay—and there seemed no way of predicting how soon or at what rate. It depended on a whole range of factors such as the positions of the sun and moon when the spell was cast, the physical health and the mental state of the summoner, and many other seemingly trivial concerns. That was why Miathan had used the magic of the Caldron to reinforce the time spell that immobilized the Wraiths—and a good thing too, the Magewoman thought with a shudder. The thought of those abominations getting loose while she was in the Academy made her blood run cold—but thankfully, there was no way those particular spells would decay.
Sadly, she was less fortunate where the food was concerned. Miathan had spent too long out of the world, a victim of her magic. In his absence, the time spells had gradually decayed, and the provisions that had not been accessible to the vermin had rotted down into a stinking black sludge that set Eliseth retching. She beat a hasty retreat, mopping at streaming eyes as she stumbled out of the kitchen.
Enough of this! Irritation was fast overcoming the Weather-Mage’s hunger and dismay. Plainly, there was nothing for her here at the Academy. As she searched for alternatives, her mind turned to the Mortals of the city. Down in Nexis there was one person, at least—if he was still alive—who still owed her.—She drew her cloak across her face and set off down the hill from the Academy.—Bern felt the blood drain from his face as he opened the door and saw the Lady Eliseth. His knees sagged, forcing him to cling to the edge of the door for support, and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he gasped for breath.—I’m dreaming, he thought. I must be. This is all a dreadful night—I’ll wake up in a minute and she’ll be gone....
The Mage showed no signs of going anywhere. A malicious smile appeared on her flawless face. “What’s wrong, Bern?” she asked him in poisonously sweet tones.
“Why, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“But I ...” The baker managed to find his voice at last. “Lady, I thought you were dead. When you vanished in that flash ... I was sure you’d been killed. We—everyone—thought all the Magefolk were dead.”
Eliseth shrugged. “You were wrong, then.” Without waiting to be invited, she pushed roughly past the baker and swept into the room. Bern followed her on shaky legs. By this time, he had sufficiently gathered his wits to notice the lines of strain and weariness on Eliseth’s face, and the charring and blistering that disfigured her hands. Apart from that, she looked just as she had when last he had seen her. Her silvery hair, normally so smooth and immaculate, was snarled like a crone’s and reeked of woodsmoke as though she had only just come from the burning of the Valley’s trees. Where in the name of the Gods had she been all these years? he wondered. And what had she been doing there?
“Clearly you have profited from the absence of the Mage-folk.” The Weather-Mage was raking the newly refurbished bakery with her eyes. “As I came up the lane, I noticed that you’ve purchased the building next door to expand your premises.” She turned her cold and penetrating gaze full upon him. “I find myself wondering, can all this newfound prosperity be due to the grain that was supplied by me some time ago?”
“Indeed, Lady—I’m a man of some substance now.” Bern saw no point in denying it. He was well aware that she would be taking careful note of all the repairs and additions to his property. Everywhere she looked, there would be signs of his increased affluence, from his rich, expensive clothing to the gleaming new ovens and counters. Against all hope, he prayed that she would not discern the many subtle, decorative touches that could only denote the presence of a woman—but it The Mage raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. And have you been wed, Bern, in my absence? Are congratulations in order?”
“Why, Lady—what makes you say that?” he asked—a shade too quickly.
Just then a voice rang out from the back room. “Who is it, Bern?”
The baker cursed under his breath as a short woman with sleek brown hair scraped tightly back into a knot appeared from the back room. She was well advanced in pregnancy, and two young children, a boy and a girl, peeped shyly at the visitor from behind her skirts. Before the baker could send her back, Eliseth stepped forward and held out a hand to her. “Why, you must be Bern’s wife,” she said brightly. “I’m delighted that he has found such a charming and lovely helpmate—and such sweet little children!”
As Eliseth had deigned to speak to her, Bern had no choice but to introduce his woman. “This is my wife, Alissana,” he mumbled. The woman, plainly flustered, had recognized one of the Magefolk. Bern saw her shudder as she took Eliseth’s hand with its blackened flesh, and noted the terror in her eyes as the Magewoman noticed the children. Alissana tried to curtsy but was unbalanced by the ungainliness of her pregnant body. She would have fallen, dragging the Mage with her, had Eliseth not held them both upright.
“Clumsy bitch!” snapped Bern, and raised his hand threateningly. The woman blanched, her hands moving quickly across her body as if to shield her unborn child. Flinching away from her husband, she scurried into the other room, followed by the younger child, a boy. The other, a girl of about five or six, hovered in the doorway, watching the Magewoman with huge, round eyes.—Eliseth shrugged, and turned back to Bern. “I presume you keep a chamber for guests somewhere on these expanded premises of yours. Show it to me at once, and then I will require a bath and a good, hot meal—and in the morning, your wife can arrange to have some new clothes made for me.”