Her vial of brimstone, useful for Thrindle's Combustion, was almost empty; she refilled it.
The tiny bottle of dragon's blood was still in its place; she debated adding more, but decided against it, as Ithanalin's supply was limited-and really, there was no point in taking the ingredients for any spell that required more than a few heartbeats to prepare, and the only really quick spell she knew that needed dragon's blood was Fendel's Spectacular Illusion. She could imagine how that might possibly be useful once, but not how repeating it could help.
There were a few fast spells that called for nothing more than a pinch of dust, and the bottom of the pouch looked a little too clean, so she quickly wiped a handful of powder and fluff from the tops of a row of jars, then poured it into the pouch.
The bit of chrysolite she kept ready for conjuring the Yellow Cloud was still in its rag wrapping, where it belonged.
That was everything in the pouch; she looked over the shelves above the workbench, trying to decide what to add-and trying to ignore the brown goo in the brass bowl atop the oil lamp. She had been refilling that lamp faithfully ever since Ithanalin's accident, and the stuff m the bowl had cooked down from a liquid to an ugly paste that was now starting to dry out and crack; she hoped that wouldn't do anything terrible to whatever magic it might hold-if it held any, and wasn't just a forbidden sauce or gravy.
She spotted the big earthenware jar where the entire family stored any spiders they were able to catch and crush. There were at least two handy spells that called for powdered spider and took no more than half a minute, so she added an envelope of that, and then took a mummified bat's wing from the drawer and tucked that in, in case she wanted to use the Spell of Stupefaction.
If the couch wasn't feeling cooperative the Spell of Stupefaction might be very helpful. In fact, putting the Spell of Stupefaction in a potion, instead of Tracel's Levitation, might have been clever, but she hadn't thought of it at the time and it was too late now.
And of course, she couldn't really be sure it would work on something that was animated, but not truly alive.
The Displaced Whistle might be useful as a distraction, and she started to reach for the required curly seashell, but then she remembered that it also called for a fresh-plucked blade of grass. She could hardly hope to find grass growing inside the Fortress. She left the seashell where it was, and looked around thoughtfully.
Ash might be useful; the Polychrome Smoke used ash. Usually she assumed that she would be able to find that readily wherever she went, but perhaps the overlord's hearth was cleaned regularly- especially since it was still summer, and not yet chilly enough to really need a fire even at night. She made a quick trip to the kitchen and returned with a vial of fine gray powder from the stove.
She hoped that this would be enough; she couldn't think of any other quick spells she knew. If she had time for anything more elaborate, anything requiring extensive preparation or other ingredients, she would just have to come back here, or ask another magician for help.
Of course, she might want things other than magic. She added the linen purse containing all her money-which came to six bits in copper and one in silver, hardly enough to be useful in bribing the Fortress guards, but it might be useful somewhere. Ordinarily she let the little bag hang from her belt, but this was not the time to worry about cutpurses, so into the pouch it went.
If she needed a blade, her athame would work as well as any other knife-or better, really, as it was stronger and sharper than an ordinary knife, and had its ability to keep her free of any bonds.
She looked down at the pouch for a moment, trying to guess what more she might need, and could not think of anything.
Her plan was to go to the overlord's apartments with Lady Nuvielle, bringing Kelder and Opir and Adagan with her, then to simply carry the couch out. Getting it home from the Fortress might involve leading it, or hiring a wagon, or perhaps even levitating it-it would depend on circumstances.
Leading it might call for a rope. That wouldn't fit in the pouch, but she intended to bring plenty of rope. Most of the household's lighter cords were already in use holding the other furniture, but there was the coil of rope she had used to bring back the bench and chair-she had replaced it with shorter, lighter strands when tying them to the line in the chimney.
She straightened up, fastened her belt and pouch and knife securely around her waist, and slung the rope on her shoulder. Then she told Ithanalin, "It won't be much longer, Master," and marched out into the morning sun.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Adagan was waiting at his door, just as Kilisha had hoped he would be, and the two of them strolled down Wizard Street together, then turned north on Cross Avenue.
As they walked Kilisha asked Adagan what magic he had brought, and was answered with a rambling disquisition on how witchcraft differed from wizardry in requiring no specific ingredients or preparatory rituals.
"What about herbs?" Kilisha asked as they rounded the corner from Cross Avenue onto the East Road. "Or those crystals?"
"Oh, well, that's not the same thing," Adagan said. "The crystals are just to aid in focusing the mind, and the herbs-that's really herbalism, not true witchcraft. Most of us learn some of that, but it's not really the same thing."
"So you know two kinds of magic? I thought the Brotherhood didn't approve of that-and I know the Wizards' Guild doesn't."
"No, no, it's all still witchcraft!"
"You just said it wasn't."
"But it's… well, herbalism isn't really magic.,.."
"Don't let Urrel hear you say that."
"But it isn't! Herbalism is just the knowledge of the natural properties of plants, while magic is the altering of nature!"
"Oh, I don't accept that," Kilisha said. "How are you defining nature?"
That debate lasted until they reached Market Street, where they crossed to the Old East Road, which wound its way up the hill toward the Fortress.
It wasn't quite as steep as Steep Street, but it was steep enough that the conversation faded away for a time; both were saving their breath for climbing.
As they neared Fortress Street, though, and the gray stone walls towered ahead of them, Kilisha asked, "Why didn't you levitate up here?" She didn't look at Adagan as she spoke; she was trying to gauge the sun's angle from the shadows on the pavement. "Because it would take just as much energy as walking," he replied. "Witchcraft doesn't create energy, just redirects it."
"And that's different from herbalism?" The shadows looked right; Kilisha judged that it was very close to the appointed time of two hours before noon.
Adagan refused to revive the argument and instead retorted, "Why didn't you levitate?"
"I'm saving my spells for later, just in case," Kilisha replied. "Besides, it wouldn't be very polite to leave you behind." The truth was that it hadn't occurred to her.
"I thought you didn't have the ingredients. You wizards always need your strange powders and stones and smoke."
"I have a potion right here," Kilisha said, patting her pouch. "But it would only lift me, and I didn't want to leave you behind." "I'd have levitated if you did," Adagan said. "It doesn't take more energy than climbing, it just doesn't take any less."
"Ah. I'm sorry I didn't suggest it, then, but there's no point now."
And in fact, there wasn't, as they had reached Fortress Street. Kilisha turned right and led the way to the north door.