He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I can't shake the feeling that this is my last chance to decide how I'll spend the rest of my life," he said. "If I'm still here when the sun comes up, Cormac will have me. I'll be married to Ingrid Berwick and become a merchant lord and be miserably responsible forever."
So what are you waiting for? demanded Zagarus. You said before that it was your greatest wish to travel to Wayreth and become a real mage. He hopped toward the window and onto the sill, where soon the nearly full white moon, Solinari, would be visible.
"It's not that simple, and you know it. There's just so much to consider. What would I tell Cormac?"
That's simple, snorted the gull. Nothing. You tell him nothing. He'd stop you for sure, probably lock you up until the ceremony.
Guerrand frowned. "He's not a cruel man."
"Maybe not, but he's a desperate one."
Guerrand's frown deepened, knowing Zagarus was right. He knew, too, what he had to do. He couldn't stay for all the reasons he'd told Cormac; he'd stomached all he could of his older brother. Taxing the locals was an accepted way of life for nobles. Enabling Cormac to rob the Berwicks was entirely another thing.
But more important than the reasons Guerrand couldn't stay was the reason he had to go. This was his last chance to change his life. If he didn't leave to study magic now, then he never would.
"We're going to leave tonight," Guerrand said aloud.
Does that 'we' include Kirah?
Guerrand gave Zagarus a haunted look. How could he drag Kirah cross-country? Even if he did take her and was lucky enough to be given an apprenticeship, what would he do with her then? Belize had made the point about Ingrid, and it applied to his little sister as well. She would be safer at Castle DiThon.
"No, it doesn't include Kirah." Once the words were out, Guerrand felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He and Kirah and Quinn had been a team since they were children. Quinn had broken up the team when he'd left on crusade, and death had made that split permanent. How could he divide its last two members? A memory in Kirah's own voice supplied the answer to that. "Guilt is an excuse used by people who are afraid to do what they want. I am never afraid to do what I want."
Guerrand squeezed his eyes shut. It was even more difficult to take her advice now, when she was the one who would be most hurt by it. And yet he knew now he had to leave. In recent days he had witnessed respect for him fading in his sister's eyes. Guerrand only hoped anger wouldn't prevent her from being proud of him for following his dream.
He could no more tell her he was leaving than he could Cormac. A note to both would have to do. After fumbling in one of his trunks for several moments, Guerrand pulled out a writing case containing several quills, some ink, and parchment.
With a hand that shook, he began to pen: Dear Cormac…
Guerrand looked at the words and stopped, pushing the parchment aside. Cormac was not his dear anything. He started again on another piece: Cormac…
Guerrand tapped the end of the quill against his lips, searching his mind for words to explain to Cormac why he was leaving. When it came to him that Cormac would know the answer, that there was nothing else he could tell his elder brother, Guerrand pulled the candlestick on his desk closer. He held the piece of parchment above the flames. It danced briefly in the rising heat until the fire caught it, curled it, and shriveled it to ash.
Blowing the ash of the already forgotten missive from his desk, he pulled forth another piece and quickly scrawled:
My Dearest Kirah,
There's no easy way to tell you this, but here it is. I've gone. You know why. As usual, you were right all along. Where I'm going, you can't follow. I promise I'll send for you when my future has some pattern to it. Please know this, too: you'll always he in my thoughts. If ever you need me, I'll know, and I will find a way to come back.
Your faithful brother, Rand
Guerrand rolled the parchment tightly, sealed it with a gob of wax from his candle, and then stared at it before getting on his knees to lift the air grate from the wall behind his desk. Pushing it to the side, he set the letter in the tunnel beyond. Kirah might not find it immediately, he thought, but within a day or two, when they've searched everywhere for me, she's certain to crawl through here looking for some clue.
Guerrand set the grate back in place. Remember, Kirah, he prayed, it was you who said we can never stay mad at each other.
Zagarus had returned to the sill, reading Guerrand's tormented thoughts. I'// meet you at Stonecliff after I've fed, he said, waiting for a response.
For a long moment, Guerrand could not reply, his voice trapped by teeth clenched to hold back tears. "Yes, all right, I'll be there," he managed at last, needing to hear the finality of the words. Zagarus sprang from the ledge and took wing into the dark night sky.
Wordlessly, Guerrand packed one small bag, in which he included the beginnings of a spellbook, collected his sword and dagger, and slipped out of Castle DiThon. He did not look back at the cold stone walls before he headed west over the moors for Stonecliff, where he'd meet Zagarus. Together, they would continue on to the port town of Lusid and the ship that would take them south to Wayreth and a new life.
Chapter Six
Guerrand took a drink from his waterskin, let the warm liquid run down his face and pool in his collar. He had no idea where to direct his next step on this hot summer afternoon. He'd been wandering for days in the magical Forest of Wayreth, looking for the tower whose position no map revealed. Belize had told him that the tower could "be found only by those who have been specifically invited." Guerrand felt foolish now for having assumed that, invited, he'd have no trouble finding it. He'd even allowed the belief to comfort him on the long and tedious voyage from Northern Ergoth to Alsip, the port town nearest the tower.
In reflection, the backbreaking weeks he'd spent as a ship hand to pay for his passage were nothing compared to the days of fear and frustration he'd already spent in search of the Tower of High Sorcery. Wayreth
Forest was thick, tangled, and difficult to traverse, with few discernable paths. The trees and bushes were twisted into weird, creepy shapes, made more frightening by the ever-present, distant sounds of wolves and bears.
Guerrand opened the flap on his leather pack and retrieved the magic mirror. "Zag," he called toward the glassy surface. Zagarus had traveled overland from Alsip in the mirror. Guerrand had to call two more times before the sea gull's head popped through the small glass surface.
Yes? Zagarus craned his neck around. Say, there's no tower here.
"No kidding," snorted Guerrand. "I'd like you to fly overhead and look for the Tower of High Sorcery. I've been stumbling around for days without a clue."
Zagarus bobbed his head and hopped out of the mirror. With a loud "kyeow" the sea gull's white wings spread and he disappeared into the sliver of blue sky between the trees overhead.
Guerrand settled himself against a tree stump and nibbled the last of his provisions while he waited for the gull to return. Before long, Zagarus dropped from the sky and landed on the stump behind him.
"Well? Which way is it?"
I'm sorry, Guerrand. I flew far and wide, but all I saw was a few mountains and more trees. Can I get back into the mirror now? This forest is eerie.
Guerrand held up the mirror wordlessly and didn't even watch as the sea gull slipped inside, afraid he might be tempted to follow. He'd already spent two hair-raising nights in the pitch-black woods and was not anxious for a third. Zagarus's news made him downright angry. What was the point of making the damned thing so difficult to find?