Guerrand, though still confused, had the grace to hang his head at the observation. "I will endeavor to correct it, Justarius. Please continue. I promise not to speak until you're finished."
Justarius swirled the herbs and slices of lemon in the acrid drink he favored. "As I said, I'm nearly certain Lyim was not the spellcaster. In fact, the spell was cast on him."
Justarius looked up as a sound blurted from Guerrand, who had obviously begun a question, then remembered his vow of silence.
"My guess is that the spell affected his emotions," Justarius supplied, accurately guessing the nature of Guerrand's unspoken question. "Didn't you notice the change in Lyim's attitude during the jest, his sudden burst of strength?"
Guerrand blinked. "Of course, but I attributed it to anger over not winning as easily as he'd expected. Lyim does not like to appear the fool."
"Who but a court jester does?" Justarius shook his dark head briefly. "No, it was a spell. The questions that remain are why it was cast, and who cast it? In a city of mages, it could have been anyone. I was there, as was Esme, and every other apprentice in the city. Perhaps it was simply a mage who'd bet on the outcome and wished to guarantee victory for his favorite."
"If you truly believed that, we wouldn't be here," said Guerrand.
"Who do you think cast the spell?" asked Justarius.
Guerrand felt that cold chill up his spine as he remembered his conversation with Lyim's master and Esme. "The obvious answer is Belize. He clearly doesn't like me. Esme thinks the mage was mad because Lyim lost after he'd made such a fuss about fighting for his master."
"Highly unlikely." Justarius chuckled out loud
"Belize cares less for what others think of him than anyone I know. Frankly, I was surprised to see him at the fair at all." He shook his head firmly again. "I find it difficult to believe that Belize would risk a spell on his own apprentice, or try to kill one of his order, for such a petty emotion as pride. Still, we will not eliminate anyone from our list of suspects."
"Who else is on the list?"
"Who, indeed?" asked Justarius archly.
Guerrand drew a big breath and let it out in a rush. "Perhaps it's my family."
The answer surprised even Justarius. "Your family? You told me your brother disapproved of magic."
"Despises it," corrected Guerrand. "I believe I told you Cormac would be furious if he found out I had joined the order." Guerrand set down his wineglass. "What I didn't say was that he might be angry enough to kill me because I ran out on an arranged political marriage."
"I see."
The two men fell silent. "I have difficulty envisioning Cormac hiring a mage to track me down, but it's possible," Guerrand said at length, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I've wondered, too, if it wasn't the father of the woman I was to marry. The Berwicks run the biggest shipping line on the Sirrion Sea. I paid passage on one of their ships to Wayreth, and then to Palanthas, before Lyim and I got tossed off."
"You're saying this sort of thing has happened before?"
Guerrand nodded. He told Justarius what he'd revealed to Zagarus earlier in the day about the ambush in the hills and the incident in the alley. "I didn't mention it to you," he added quickly "because nothing ever seemed to happen at the villa, and-"
"You were afraid I would throw you out," supplied Justarius.
Guerrand looked sheepish. "The thought had occurred to me." He paused before whispering, "Will you, Justarius? Ask me to leave, that is?"
The archmage gave Guerrand a sidelong glance. "Young man, you underestimate me if you think me so easily threatened or distressed."
He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Do you honestly think your brother or this Berwick fellow would go so far as to harm you over this collapsed betrothal?"
"I don't know Anton Berwick," said Guerrand, "so I can't guess at his response."
Pondering Cormac's attitudes, he grimaced. "My brother is given to deep, emotional extremes, especially when he's been drinking. And his wife is definitely the vengeful sort. I could believe that she would suggest this sort of retribution, and he would comply. Cormac probably would regret it when he sobered up, but by then it might be too late."
Justarius gave a shrug. "We can fashion all manner of guesses, or we can conjure the truth in a heartbeat," said Justarius, taking a last sip of his lemon water. "Would you like to see what's happening back at your… Thonvil, is it?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Guerrand, jumping to his feet. He knocked over his chair in his haste.
Frowning slightly, the distinguished mage waved his apprentice forward, around the chair. "Then come with me now. Do exactly as I say, and make no untoward step or gesture. Few have seen the elaborate magical ritual that I am about to reveal to you."
Scarcely breathing, Guerrand followed Justarius in silent wonder to the narrow velvet curtain Guerrand had assumed covered an alcove or bookshelf. The master's hands swept back the heavy fabric, revealing a simple, seamless birchwood door. There was no handle. knob, or knocker. Instead, at eye-height hung a recessed carving of a hideous face, very like a gargoyle's, about the size of an ogre's fist. Suddenly the eyes of the carving snapped to life.
Passage to the crystal device
Demands that entrants pay the price.
Bring the guard its sacrifice:
Fish of gold, once, twice, thrice!
While Guerrand watched, Justarius reached into his robe and withdrew three live, wiggling goldfish. The archmage popped the little orange creatures into the door guard's open, waiting mouth. Chewing noisily, with much slurping and splashing, it gulped one last time, burped loudly, then gave a delicious, sated, though still hideous, grin. The face disappeared entirely from view as the birchwood door slid into a pocket in the left wall, granting the mages passage to whatever lay behind it.
Guerrand took two steps into darkness behind Justarius before the archmage stopped them both. Slowly Guerrand's eyes adjusted, and he determined that the room was circular and exceedingly small, no wider than three men abreast. Justarius was so close to him that he obscured most of the view.
A dim light filtered down from high above. Looking up, the apprentice mage caught his breath at the sight of the most intricately pieced pane of stained glass he had ever seen. The narrow chamber felt like a life-size kaleidoscope. At first Guerrand thought it a colorful model of the lacy petals of the wild carrot flower, but the pattern was not that random. In fact, it was somehow familiar.
"The constellations," supplied Justarius, following his gaze to the colored glass some two stories above them. "See Gilean, there in the middle?" Justarius tried to raise his arm to point, a difficult move in the cramped silo. "He's the book-shaped constellation.
Gilean is the patriarch of maintaining a balance in the universe. That's why he's between Paladine and the Black Queen. Gilean holds the Book of Tobril, which contains all the knowledge possessed by the gods.
"Of course, you can see Solinari, of Good magic. By now your magical skills should be developed enough to easily reveal the red moon, Lunitari, to you, as well. We can only hope that you'll never have the sight for the black moon, evil Nuitari."
"But if I'm to be truly neutral, shouldn't I be able to see both sides, Evil and Good?"
"Seeing both sides of an issue and viewing the gods are two different things," explained Justarius. "Only mages who wear the black robes can see Nuitari in the night sky." Justarius hitched up his robes, sat down, and slid around a half-circle bench that followed the curve of the far wall. Jerking his head, Justarius indicated Guerrand should follow him. The apprentice quickly complied.