“With the original thread, it will.”
“And the thief — do you know anything about him?”
“Oh yes.” She set her elbows on the table and leaned her forehead against her clasped hands. “It is Chun the Unavoidable.”
He frowned. “Who?”
“He lives in the ruins north of Kaiin and keeps the finishing thread wrapped about the neck of an antique tourmaline vase. He finds amusement in withholding it from me. We are not friends, you see. He is…an unpleasant creature.”
Hesitantly, Bosk touched her arm. “Is there some way I can get it back for you? If he loves mushrooms, I carry a supply of the north’s finest, worth more than any golden thread.”
She shook her head. “He has other tastes in food. I prefer not to think of them.”
He took a deep breath, drawing strength from the feel of her smooth skin under his fingers. “I will find a potent weapon and force this Chun.”
She shook her head again and eased her arm away from him. “You are a dreamer, young Bosk. Chun is much more dangerous than any Deodand. You won’t even be able to enter his hall. Powerful spells keep out all but the golden-eyed, and your eyes are blue as the sky.”
“I will hire a cadre of bravos, all golden-eyed, to enter for me.”
One of her eyebrows rose a trifle. “You carry more mushrooms than I would have guessed.”
He thought of his waistband, his panniers, and realized his assets were woefully deficient for that plan. “Well, perhaps not,” he murmured.
“Never mind. I will be no worse off when you leave than I am now.” She leaned back in her chair. “You have a long journey still ahead of you. You should rest. There is a mat stored under my couch, not uncomfortable, and the night promises fair. Take the bread and cheese with you.”
He knew a dismissal when he heard it. Outside, the darkness was profound, but he traced his horse by its welcoming nicker and bedded down with Lith’s mat and his own blanket beside his saddle. As he closed his eyes, he thought of the silken skin of her arm and the brightness of her hair, and his waking merged with a dream of her bending over him, smiling that faint smile.
In the morning, the hut was a ruin once more, and there was no trace of Lith, not even the mat upon which he had slept. Only the grassy esplanade remained to show that the place had been recently occupied. The pan, scrubbed clean, lay beside his saddle.
Bosk thought of her often during the remainder of his journey — when he lay down four nights later at an inn, the harbinger of more settled territory, when he asked at a farmyard for directions to Miir, as he rode down the causeway that led to the castle gate. His heart quickened in his chest as the gate responded to his knock, opening of its own accord, for he knew at that moment there must be something he could learn in sorcery to help her.
Turjan himself stood within the arched entry. “I wondered how soon you would undertake the journey.”
Bosk descended from his mount. “My father forbade it.”
“He will forgive you when you return home.”
“Will I return?”
“We all return, someday,” said Turjan. “Exactly when will be your own decision.” He gestured for Bosk to enter.
The stable was near the gate and housed several fine horses and a groom who took over Bosk’s own.
“An uneventful journey, I trust.” Turjan guided his guest across a small courtyard to the main hall, a high- ceilinged chamber of marble floors and rich hangings, of tables inlaid with precious woods and chairs cushioned in crimson velvet.
“There was one event,” the boy said. “A somewhat strenuous encounter with a Deodand, followed by a pleasant meal with a beautiful golden-haired witch named Lith. She had a magical dwelling that vanished in the night. Perhaps you know the lady?”
Turjan studied the boy’s face. “You were lucky to be born with blue eyes. Were they golden, I doubt we’d be speaking now. Lith has a habit of sending golden-eyed men to an unpleasant fate in the home of Chun the Unavoidable. I believe she has quite depleted the golden-eyed population of Ascolais.”
Bosk weighed that information against his own experience of her. “She seemed very unhappy.”
“She has been unhappy for some time. A wise man would leave her to it. Ah, here is a much happier lady, and a sweeter one, too.”
A child had emerged from a doorway on one side of the hall, a girl of perhaps nine years, wearing long, raven-dark braids and a tunic and hose that mimicked Turjan’s. She strode up to Bosk with a cordial smile, and offered him her hand. The top of her head was barely higher than his waist.
“Welcome to Miir, Master Bosk. I am Rianna.”
“My daughter,” said Turjan.
Bosk bowed deeply and kissed her hand.
“We shall apprentice together,” said Rianna.
“I consider that a privilege,” said Bosk.
“You’ll meet her mother at supper,” said Turjan. “But first we’ll show you your quarters.”
His room was reached by climbing the broad staircase at the rear of the hall, and it was nearly as large as his bedchamber at Boreal Verge, with a lush carpet, a soft bed, and a window that looked out onto the courtyard. His belongings had been delivered already and the contents tucked into one corner of a wardrobe that occupied most of a wall. New clothes were laid out on the bed, and in an alcove at the far end of the room lay a private bath, with steaming water waiting.
“One of the servants will escort you to dinner,” said Rianna, and she and her father closed the door as they left.
The hot bath was welcome after so many days of cold brook water or none at all. He tried not to dawdle, but by the time he was dressed, the servant was already tapping at the door. In the main hall, the table was set for four, with three places occupied. The woman opposite Turjan was obviously the child’s mother.
“My dear, this is the new apprentice,” Turjan said to her. “Bosk, this is T’sain, my wife.”
She was dark-haired and pale-skinned, as beautiful in her way as Lith, but completely different, for she had a quick, full smile. Turjan and Rianna were smiling as well, and Bosk nodded to all of them, feeling faintly jealous that there had been so few smiles at Boreal Verge’s table. The meal, which included no mushrooms of any variety, was excellent, and the conversation flowed easily from one topic to another, from gardening to sorcery to the latest addition to Rianna’s dollhouse.
“You shall see it later. You won’t be disappointed,” she promised.
The tale of the Deodand was drawn from him, and appropriate exclamations were forthcoming from the distaff sides of the table.
“She knew about it,” said Rianna, with blunt indignation. “She should have killed it before it could attack an innocent traveler. I would have.”
Turjan patted her hand. “I don’t doubt you would have tried. But they are dangerous creatures. I suppose she thought an innocent traveler would distract it enough to provide an opportunity for the bow.”
“It was a magical bow, wasn’t it, Father?”
“Probably. But even with magic, a Deodand is a formidable adversary.” He looked at Bosk. “That’s the first lesson of apprenticeship — that you cannot escape unscathed every time.”
“I won’t forget it,” said the boy. As he spoke, he felt himself beginning to yawn, and he tried to stifle it, but with little success.
Turjan pushed his chair back from the table. “The second lesson will be tomorrow.” He gestured to the servant who had scurried forward to clear the table. “This can wait. Show Master Bosk back to his bedchamber.”
In the morning, there was fruit and porridge at the same table, and then Turjan took him to the library where he would be studying. Rianna was there already, sitting at a long table, reading from a book as thick as her fist. She had a pad of vellum under her right hand and was copying a diagram to it in a meticulous hand. There were many tomes in the bookcases lining the walls, and a variety of pads and writing implements on the table.
“There is considerable wisdom in this room,” said Turjan. “For now, you will spend your mornings investigating it, and after the midday meal each day, we will test what you have absorbed and determine what
