Gresh hoped he had chosen those prepared spells wisely. He had equipped himself with powders that were good for a dozen castings each of Lirrim’s Rectification, Javan’s Restorative, Javan’s Geas, the Spell of Reversal, and as the result of a fit of originality, the Spell of the Revealed Power, as well as seven doses apiece of potions that would provide Varrin’s Protective Bubble or the Spell of Retarded Time. The five magical powders had all turned out different colors, which several wizards had assured him was normal. They were all carefully tucked away in clearly labeled glass jars in a well-padded wooden box, along with labeled vials of the two crystal-clear potions.
Those spells were all the help Kaligir’s little committee would provide, so Gresh hoped that his heavy emphasis on counter-spells would prove appropriate. He had decided against any levitations; the flying carpet should serve well enough. He had also considered and dismissed a variety of communication spells, illusions, invisibilities, and other simple magic on the assumption that even Tobas ought to be able to provide those. Having those other spells as potions might have been faster, but he hadn’t had that many wizards available to produce them and had preferred to use his limited resources for the most difficult or important spells. His options had not been unlimited; he had had to choose preparations that six wizards could produce in less than three days. It had taken some argument even to get a second potion, since that had required one wizard to perform the spell for Tracel’s Adaptable Potion twice in quick succession.
With his sisters’ help, he had equipped himself with a few of his usual devices, as well as Kaligir’s contributions; the Spell of the Spinning Coin would keep Twilfa informed of his general state of health, the amulet strapped to his left wrist held a rune that would protect him from most hostile magic, he had a bloodstone tucked away that could be used for the Spell of Sustenance if food ran short, and Dina and Chira had provided half a dozen other talismans of various sorts. He felt reasonably well prepared.
The one thing he regretted was that he hadn’t managed to include any decent divinations in his supplies-but since the Guild had already tried every known divination in previous attempts to locate the mirror, he had reluctantly chosen to skip those, even though they might have been useful in less direct applications.
Right now he thought a divination to tell him whether Tobas was embellishing his personal history might have been welcome, but he didn’t have one available.
“Is that where we gave that man a boat?” Alorria called, pointing.
“Yes,” Tobas called back.
Gresh decided not to even ask about that. He did peer off to the south, though, and glimpsed the ocean in the distance, glinting in the afternoon sun.
They must be past the peninsula that held the Pirate Towns. Tobas’s alleged home must have been near the eastern boundary. That meant it was only another fifteen leagues or so to Ethshar of the Sands, perhaps even less.
Gresh had been to both the other Ethshars before, in the course of his business, but by ship, rather than flying carpet. Carpet was definitely faster, but all in all, he thought he preferred to take a few days to go by ship.
And the journey to Ethshar of the Spices, and then across the Gulf of the East to the Small Kingdoms, was almost twice as far.
While they were in Ethshar of the Sands, Gresh decided, he would unpack enough to get out a book to read. He had brought a few histories, written by various court scholars in the Small Kingdoms, in hopes that by balancing out the various patriotic lies he could glean some useful information about the region’s past. He had on occasion traveled the Great Highway across the northern end of the Small Kingdoms to Shan on the Desert, and he had taken ship up the river to Ekeroa, but he had never before actually set foot in Dwomor or any of its immediate neighbors. The existing maps and reports invariably reflected their makers’ biases as much as any physical reality.
He had originally thought he would be reading his books in bed by candlelight, but now he thought otherwise. It had not occurred to him when he was packing that riding a carpet would be a good time to read, but now he could not think of a better use of his travel time.
At least the sun was behind them now; for the start of the flight it had been in their eyes.
Behind him Alris started crying again-all in all she was a well-behaved baby, but four hours of wind would be wearing on anyone, and of course every baby cried sometimes. Gresh glanced over his shoulder.
“Give her to me!” Alorria said, turning. Karanissa had been holding the baby, giving Alorria’s arms a rest, but quickly handed her back to her mother. Gresh suspected that she was perfectly happy to unload the squalling little nuisance.
Alorria bounced the child for a moment, cuddling her, then said unnecessarily, “She’s hungry!”
Gresh had figured that much out from Alris’s gestures and expression, and he knew very little about infants-he had handled his youngest sisters and a few of his nieces and nephews on occasion, but never taken a great interest in them. He politely turned his gaze forward again as Alorria unbuttoned her tunic to take care of the situation.
“What do you plan to do when we reach Dwomor?” Tobas asked him, shouting over the wind.
“Find the mirror,” Gresh said.
“Yes, of course, but how?”
“That’s my business.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Tobas,” Gresh interrupted, “I’ll find it. Leave the details to me.”
Had they been safely on the ground he might have been less abrupt, but the truth was Gresh didn’t know exactly how he was going to find the mirror. He would improvise, as he usually did. Telling a customer that would be bad business, though.
He glanced over to the right; the ocean was plainly visible now, and the coastline was sandy beaches. It couldn’t be terribly much farther to Ethshar of the Sands. He peered forward, into the distance, hoping to glimpse the Great Lighthouse or the towers of Grandgate, but as yet he could see no sign of them.
He shifted in his seat, adjusting his legs to keep them from getting stiff; the carpet soared smoothly onward, undisturbed by his movement. A small boat or spring-mounted wagon would have rocked, but whatever magic kept the carpet in the air was not bothered by such things.
He wondered why carpets were the traditional way to use Varrin’s Lesser Propulsion. It would make more sense to use boats or wagons, which already had seats and sides, and would be harder to fall off. Why not build things specifically designed to fly through the air, with solid sides, and perhaps a transparent panel of some sort at the front to block the wind and keep the bugs off the luggage? Admittedly, you wouldn’t be able to roll those up and store them in a closet, but was that really so important? Even just enchanting a sofa instead of a carpet would be more comfortable, and that could be used on the ground readily enough; it wouldn’t need any special storage.
But no, wizards always used carpets. It was traditional. It was what people expected, so it was what wizards did. Wizards were very fond of tradition.
Of course, one reason for that, he had to admit, was that the traditional ways of doing things were known to be relatively safe. Carpets worked; they didn’t explode or run away or eat people or argue with their owners. There was a lot to be said for that. It might just be that when Varrin invented the spell, hundreds of years ago, he had first cast it on a carpet, and everyone had used it on carpets ever since simply because that was known to work.
Not that terribly many people used it at all; it wasn’t a simple spell. Gresh doubted there were more than a hundred functioning flying carpets in the World, and some of them, like the one he was on, were decades old.
Still, you’d think some eager young wizard would experiment a little. Maybe he would ask Dina about it when he got home, suggest that there might be good money in making flying craft a little more sensible than carpets. He had a momentary vision of swarms of sky-boats zipping around above the city, or flying caravans replacing merchants’ ships…