'I'm always sorry to see them vanish so quickly,' the wizard said wistfully. 'I receive them with the half- decade infrequency of the three moons' eclipsing. The tuatha dundarael rarely give them away.'
Par-Salian's ice-blue eyes pierced Bram for some moments. 'I sense no magical training in you. What would cause the tuatha to favor you with their coin?'
he asked bluntly.
Bram shrugged. 'They said I had 'high moral standards.' ' He repeated Thistledown's exact words without hubris, mindful of the tuatha's admonishment about pride.
'That's interesting,' remarked the wizard. He continued to study Bram's face. 'I sense in you a great deal of natural talent for the Art. Is that why you've come here, to find a master with whom to apprentice?'
Bram shook his head to the question for the second time that day. 'No, sir. I've come because some sort of plague, for lack of a better word, has struck my village in Northern Ergoth. I am neither doctor nor mage, but I suspect the cause may be magical in nature.'
'So you're looking for a mage to find a cure,' finished Par-Salian. 'I appreciate your dilemma, young man, but Wayreth is the seat of magical learning, not a wizard market.'
Bram frowned. 'I wasn't looking for just any mage,' he said. 'I haven't the money to pay one anyway. I was hoping to find my uncle, whom I understand came here seeking a master nearly a decade ago.'
Par-Salian's expression darkened with disapproval. 'Neither are we an alumni association.'
'I understand that,' Bram said quickly, 'but if I told vou my uncle's name, maybe you'd recognize it and would know if he is even still alive. I'll leave at once, without further question, if the name is unfamiliar,' he promised.
Par-Salian waved a distracted hand, signaling Bram to proceed.
'My uncle is Guerrand DiThon.'
The wizard leaned back and tapped his whiskered chin. 'Yes, I recognize the name,' he said at length. 'I also begin to understand why the faerie folk might have given you a coin.'
'You know of him?' Bram exclaimed. 'Then can you tell me where he is now? '
Par-Salian winced slightly. 'That is a bit more complicated.' He stood and walked toward the door, the hem of his white robe whispering across the stone floor. 'Please wait here, while I confer with a colleague.'
Bram quickly grew restless with waiting, and he began looking around the room. The bookshelves he'd spotted from the door were to his left. The white leather spines looked butter-yellow in the glow of the fire. Something about the silver-etched lettering drew his finger to trace the unreadable words. He could almost feel the magic radiating from the tomes, but when he tried to lift one, he couldn't move it from the shelf, as if it were affixed there.
He spied a plate of cookies on Par-Salian's desk and was reminded how long it had been since he'd eaten his last rubbery carrot. He lifted one from the plate. It was light as a feather between his fingers, and smelled of almond. The cookie crumbled in his mouth, tasting of butter and sugar of a quality not used in Thonvil in some time.
The door swung open abruptly, and in stepped Par- Salian. Behind him was a younger-looking, robust man in a red robe topped off by a white neck ruff. The second mage dragged his left leg in a manner that suggested it was crippled. Both regarded the young man spewing cookie crumbs with amusement.
'I'm sorry,' mumbled Bram over the mouthful of half-chewed biscuit. 'I was just so hungry…'
'Never mind,' said Par-Salian. 'If I had my manners about me I would have realized you hadn't eaten for some time and offered you refreshment.'
Smiling gratefully, Bram gulped down the last of the cookie and wiped his mouth on a sleeve.
Par-Salian nodded toward his red-robed companion.
'Justarius, Master of the Red Robes, this is Brom DiThon.'
'Bram,' the nobleman quickly corrected.
Justarius limped forward slowly, considering Bram's face. 'I can see the resemblance in the hair and the cheekbones,' he said at length. 'Guerrand had more of the timid rabbit look about him when he first came to the Tower of High Sorcery and became my apprentice.'
'Can you tell me the whereabouts of my uncle, sir?' Bram asked, feeling the weight of time press. 'It's urgent that I find him right away.'
Justarius lowered himself into one of the chairs by the hearth, stretching out his game leg. 'What would you have your uncle do if you found him?'
'As I was telling Par-Salian,' Bram began, nodding toward the venerable white-robed mage, 'a strange, magical disease has struck our village. There are some who think Guerrand may be responsible for it, since he first brought magic to the village.' Bram was suddenly conscious that the remark might offend the wizards. 'Whatever has caused it,' he added hastily, 'I hope he will return with me and use his skills to cure the disease before it kills everyone I know and care about, including my family. Guerrand's family.'
The mages exchanged looks. 'So you could be spreading this disease by leaving,' observed Justarius over — teepled fingertips.
'I could,' Bram agreed reluctantly, 'but frankly I doubt it. I've been gone long enough that I would have exhibited the first symptom of a fever by now if I were carrying the sickness.' Still sensing Justarius's disapproval, he added grimly, 'What would you have me do, ust wait there for everyone, including me, to die?'
None of that matters here,' Par-Salian interrupted iismissively. 'The tower is protected from such things. The gates would have closed to prevent you from entering if you were carrying a deadly disease.'
'So, will you tell me where my uncle is?'
The mages sat, very still, exchanging glances.
'It may not be important to you that a small village of people are dying while we speak,' Bram said, unable to hide his frustration, 'but those people mean everything to me. They're depending on me to help them; Guerrand is the only chance I have to find a cure.'
Bram put a hand over his mouth briefly and willed a measure of calm. 'I apologize for my bluntness,' he said. 'If you don't know where my uncle is, just say so, and I'll be out the front door as soon as I can find it again. But if you do know, tell me, and I'll leave just as quickly to look for him.'
'You can't,' Justarius said.
Bram's dark head cocked. 'Is he dead?'
'I didn't say that.' Justarius rubbed his face wearily 'In an odd way that would actually make him easier for you to find.'
Sensing that Bram was on the brink of snapping, Justarius struggled for a less cryptic explanation. 'You have put us in an odd position, Bram.'
'I'm in a bit of a bind myself,' the nobleman said.
Justarius pursed his lips. 'We're not unsympathetic to your plight. However, your uncle holds a position of great importance to the Council of Mages, and to the future of magic, for that matter. By necessity, his location and actual duties are a closely guarded secret.' Par- Salian nodded from behind his desk across the room.
'So,' Bram said slowly, trying to take in the news, 'am I just supposed to go on my way?'
Par-Salian stepped around his desk to close the gap between the three. 'We're not sure what we expect you to do,' he admitted. 'Frankly, most mages are loners. We've not had a family member come looking for anyone in Guerrand's position before.'
But Bram would not be so easily put off. 'Well, you have now.'
'This is not, however, the first time Guerrand has had problems with his family,' put in Justarius. 'The last such episode led to the catastrophic event that necessitated the creation of Guerrand's current position.'
'I don't understand,' Bram said, shaking his head.
Justarius waved the subject away. 'It is a long and complicated story, and one 1 don't think you'd like us to take the time to explain now. But please understand that our hesitation stems only from the fact that there are many who would pay dearly for the secret of Guerrand's location.'
Bram gasped. 'Are you suggesting I'm a spy?'
Justarius shrugged. 'You may be and not even know it. It's not inconceivable that you've been bewitched by a mage who wishes to learn the secret.'
'But I haven't!' cried the young man, yet his tone was more protest than persuasive.
'There is a way for us to determine that for ourselves, if you are willing,' suggested Par-Salian.
