When Jenna read at night, she did so by the light of a medallion, one of the many pieces of jewelry that she wore on slender chains around her neck. Cory was fascinated by the nature of that illumination, brighter and more steady than any lamp. On one very still night, she had heard the woman whisper a strange word as she touched the medallion. It was one of the word's from Umma's book; of that Coryn had been certain!
That had been only yesterday, and now another long day of forest-track was behind them.
"Down there, in that hollow. We'll camp there tonight," Jenna announced, gesturing to a narrow trail descending steeply away from the winding forest track. "I remember a nice clearing near the stream. And nobody will be able to see us from the road. Take the mules down there and wait for me-I want to have a look around and make sure of our safety."
"All right," Coryn agreed, eyeing the narrow trail dubiously. They hadn't seen a single person since the innkeeper at the crossroads, at least ten miles and six hours ago, but she knew not to challenge the older woman's sense of caution. "Diva, lead the way."
She took the bridle of the lead mule and started down the path, which was more of a dry ravine than any kind of hewn trail. Still, the animals followed with surefooted ease, and they rapidly descended between the lofty, moss-draped trunks into an area of soft undergrowth. Sure enough, the little run debouched into a tiny meadow carpeted with small, white flowers. Nearby was a placid stretch of water. With the first sweep of her eyes, Cory spotted a least a dozen fat trout, and her stomach was already rumbling as she unhitched the mules and started to spread out their small camp.
With practiced ease, Cory removed the saddlebags and tack from the mules and tethered the animals near the stream, where they had ready access to a nice patch of clover-heavy grass as well as fresh water. Next she pulled the cooking gear and bedrolls from Diva's saddlebags. Dolly's load contained their dried provisions and extra clothing. Dora's bags, containing Jenna's books as well as many other mysterious items that the girl had yet to examine, were left to Jenna to handle, for Cory knew better than to open them.
Jenna, her red robe damp around the fringe from the wet underbrush, strolled into the clearing a few minutes later. The girl never ceased to be amazed that her companion, who was draped with bangles and chains and feathered gewgaws-as well as the golden medallion-could move so silently.
"This is a good place to camp," Coryn offered with a smile. "Really hidden down here. Did you remember it from an earlier visit?"
"Long ago I spent a pleasant couple of days down here," Jenna replied. "I wasn't much older than you, I guess. I was on my first trip outside the Tower, traveling in the company of a young knight-"
Abruptly, the older woman paused, her lips creasing. "Come to think of it, I was a little older than you are."
Cory would have liked to hear the rest of the story, but she had learned to take Jenna's snippets of conversation for what they were: tantalizing pieces of a personal history that, the girl hoped, she might someday put together to make sense. Whenever she asked to hear more, Jenna was likely to change the subject or, more likely, send her off on some errand.
This time she went and gathered firewood without being asked. In only a few minutes she had collected a plentiful supply of dry, hard wood. Jenna was going through the mysterious components of Dora's saddlebags, and, as Cory arranged the wood, she worked up the courage to ask a question.
"You mentioned you came here after you were in a tower. My grandmother used to talk about a tower, too-is that where you know each other from?"
Jenna looked at her sharply, carefully setting down a bag of jars that clinked musically together. "Yes, as a matter of fact. That was a long time ago. In fact, it was the last time I saw Scharon-that is, your grandmother."
Cherishing this tidbit of information, Coryn quickly built a cheery fire. The sky, viewed through the halo of surrounding tree tops, was still pale blue with late afternoon sunlight, and she looked toward the deep pool where the brook eddied near their camp. "How about fresh fish tonight?" she asked. "I could probably catch us a pair of nice trout before it gets dark."
"Good," Jenna agreed. "I have some reading to do."
Coryn went to the portion of Diva's saddlebags that had been given over to her few possessions. She took out her bow and strung the weapon. With one arrow in her other hand she went over to the bank of the stream. The trout were as thick as before, meandering through the clear water. The pool was only three or four feet deep, with a silted bottom, perfect for bow-fishing. Every few seconds the surface roiled as one of the fish struck at a careless fly or waterbug.
The girl studied the fish, picking out three of the largest.
Slowly she drew back her bowstring, holding it close to her ear. Tension thrummed in the taut strand, in the bend of the sturdy bow, in the quivering of the carefully aimed missile. Her eyes flicked back and forth, watching the fish meander, waiting until their paths drifted close together.
Coryn drew a breath in through her nose. She relaxed and felt the wild sorcery tingling in the soles of her feet, pulsing in the air around her. That power was reflected in the silky patterns on the surface of the water, in the dappled scales on the sides of the three trout.
It was time. She let the arrow fly as she exhaled, and with her will she drew the power of magic from her surroundings and channeled it, tightly, into her shot. In that breath the arrow became three, each missile slicing unerringly into the water, aimed slightly below the apparent location of the targets-Coryn had done enough bow-fishing to know that she had to correct for the bending of the light as it passed through the water.
The trio of missiles penetrated the water with barely audible splashes, and each drove through the body of a fat target. The fish thrashed and leaped momentarily, but the shots were true and, moments later, each floated lifelessly to the surface, pinned by identical wooden shafts. Since the late summer evening was warm, Cory had no qualms about stripping off her trousers and wading into the pool to retrieve her prizes. She was feeling rather proud of herself as she bore the trout back to the shore and climbed onto the bank. Only when she started toward the fire was she aware that Jenna had put down her book and stood to face her, hands on her hips.
"What did you think you were doing?" asked the older woman, no sense of amusement, or even tolerance, in her voice.
"Getting dinner," Cory said defensively. "I told you-"
"I am referring to how you got those fish! That was corruption-you sucked the energy out of the very air! How dare you?"
"Dare I?" The girl was irritated by the stupid question. "I have been fishing like that since I first learned to use a bow. What harm did I do?"
"Harm?" Jenna drew a breath and made an obvious effort to control her-to Coryn-surprising anger. "Didn't your grandmother teach you anything? "
The girl bit back her growing temper. "Umma taught me a lot, nearly everything that I know!" she retorted. In the face of Jenna's stony silence she continued. "About that, what you call 'wild magic,' I guess I figured some things out for myself. But Umma knew and didn't care. Why are you so upset?"
"You wouldn't understand," Jenna said sternly.
"Of course not! You won't tell me anything! How am I supposed to understand anything?"
"Now is not the time. Throw those fish away-I will not eat them, and neither will you. We have plenty of flatbread and dried fruit for dinner. That will serve us as well tonight as it has for the past weeks."