“Illusion?” Jes questioned, stepping in beside her. The light from Isolda’s oil lamps showed a young man rather than a beast. “I can smell oil and herbs—some I know, like anise, henbane, but there are many I can’t identify.”

“Hinnum was a very great illusionist. Legend says he was four hundred years old when the city fell,” she said, trailing her fingers over the familiar shawl that hung neatly on the back of a chair as if it only waited for Isolda to return from some errand.

“But all that this is, is illusion.” She turned to her son. “If it is raining outside and you come in, you will not feel the rain—but when you walk out you will be wet. If you are freezing to death and come in, you’ll feel warm and still die from the cold.”

“How long ago did the city die?” asked Jes, touching a carved table.

For a moment Seraph allowed herself to see the house anew, recognizing how alien it appeared to him. Perhaps a lord’s house would be furnished with wooden tables and shelves polished like the surface of a windless lake, but no dwelling in Redern held such treasures.

“I’m not certain,” she replied. “It was long before the Shadowed came to rule—and that was about six hundred years ago if the stories crediting him with a hundred-year reign are correct. Colossae was a city with over a million people, three times the size of Taela, and only the Travelers remember its name.”

“Where did it lie?”

“I don’t know,” answered Seraph. “It doesn’t matter. The city is protected against intruders.”

“Is?”

“As far as I know the city is still there—if it weren’t, the Stalker would be free. The people died along with the less tangible things that make up a community and the bones of the city seal the Stalker’s prison.

Jes turned from where he was examining one of the walls, which had a mural depicting a forest scene. “If this is all illusion, then why were the ancient wizards so concerned about the mermori?”

Seraph smiled and headed through a narrow doorway. The room beyond was twice as big as the first room and the walls were lined with shelves of books.

“This is what they tried to save—within these buildings is all that they knew of magic. But many of the languages the books are written in were lost. I know only four or five. My father knew more—and I fear they are lost with him, and with the others who are gone, because I hold almost half the mermori that were made.”

CHAPTER 4

“Go catch some fish for dinner, you two.” Seraph made shooing motions at Lehr and Rinnie. “I’ll take care of the breakfast dishes and getting the plowing equipment ready. There’ll be work enough for us all in the coming weeks, and we’ve but little salt meat left. I for one will be glad of some river trout. You two pack a lunch and catch what you can.”

“What about the stew we made with Jes’s rabbit yesterday, Mother?” said Lehr. “There’s plenty left. Checking the harness won’t take all day; we should get started on the fields as soon as we can.”

“Tomorrow is soon enough for plowing,” Seraph replied firmly. “Gura ate the last of the stew this morning.” Or he would as soon as she fed it to him. She needed time and quiet to think.

“Papa would not leave you unprotected,” said Lehr, clearly torn between duty and pleasure.

Rinnie tugged at his sleeve. “I think Gura is enough to scare off anyone—you know how he is with strangers. And how often do people come here?”

Lehr clenched his jaw. “I haven’t seen Jes this morning,” he said.

“He spent the night in the woods,” Seraph replied. “I expect he’ll be back this evening. If you see him, you might tell him I’m baking bread today.”

“He’ll be home then for sure,” said Rinnie. She’d already collected cheese and crackers in a cloth and was busy tying it together. “Come on, Lehr. If we don’t get out soon, the fish won’t bite.”

His resolve broke. He kissed Seraph on the forehead, grabbed his sister’s arm, and made for the barn, where they stored the fishing gear.

Seraph smiled after them and turned back to wash up after breakfast and begin mixing dough for bread.

“Aren’t we going to the river?” asked Rinnie, lifting her skirts to scramble up a rise behind Lehr. It wasn’t often that she got to join in on fishing expeditions. Usually it was just Lehr, or sometimes Lehr and Jes. When she went, she had to go with Papa and Mother.

“Not first. I thought we’d try the creek. Jes showed me a good place where he says the trout like to sun. I haven’t tried it yet, but—”

“But if Jes says it’s good, we’re sure to catch something,” replied Rinnie happily.

The soft leather sole of her shoe skidded on a rock, and Lehr turned and caught her shoulder to steady her before she fell.

“Be a little more careful,” Lehr said sternly. “The rocks are still wet with snow runoff here. I don’t want to bring you back with too much damage.”

Rinnie made a face at him behind his back then paid strict attention to her feet so he wouldn’t have to help her again. He wasn’t a bad older brother—if he’d just quit trying to be Papa.

Rinnie watched her brother’s back as he navigated the zigzag route through old downed trees. Hard muscle filled last year’s shirt and stretched the shoulders taut. He’d need a new shirt soon. She sighed; she knew who would get to sew that shirt. Mother could sew, but she didn’t like it.

She wondered when they’d meet up with Jes. She’d never gone out in the woods without him that he’d not come upon her sooner or later. Lehr liked to say it was the most dependable thing about Jes.

Jes worked hard, but he was as apt as not to leave the plow in the middle of the field, horse and all, if the whim took him. He was always worse in the springtime. Papa said it was because the winter snows kept him too confined. By midsummer Jes would cut down his treks to once a se’nnight or so, rather than every day. Last year at harvest he’d worked almost the whole time.

Ahead of her, Lehr turned off the deer trail they’d been following and started down the steep side into a ravine and began skidding downhill. About halfway down he had to slow and pick his way through the underbrush that lined most of the lower ground. The branches caught at Rinnie’s skirts until she fell some distance behind Lehr, who was already off the slope and starting up the valley. She tried to hurry and ended up with her hair tangled around the thorns of a wild rose.

“Wait up,” she called, and began working the errant strand free with impatient jerks that did as much to worsen the mess as to free her.

“Wait up?” said an interested male voice from the ridge opposite the one she and Lehr had traveled to get here.

She jerked her gaze up to see Storne, the miller’s son, with a couple of the boys he ran with peering down at her. Papa always said that the miller gave Storne too little to do. Leave a young man without a task, and he’ll make mischief instead, he’d said.

Then Papa’d looked at her and told her to stay away from Storne when he had other boys with him, no matter how polite he was when they met at the mill, for a boy out to impress his friends will do things he wouldn’t do on his own. The boys Storne had with him today were no prizes: Olbeck, the steward’s son, and Lukeeth, whose father was one of the wealthier merchants from town.

Rinnie drew the knife out of her belt sheath and cut her hair, stepping out of the bushes. She made no move to leave, because you never run from predators. The knife she kept in her hand as if she’d forgotten about it.

“Rinnie?” Lehr called impatiently. He must not have heard Storne, who’d spoken no louder than he had to.

“Here,” she called.

She didn’t want to start trouble by implying that she was worried about Storne and the boys who watched her so she didn’t say anything more, but something in her voice must have alerted Lehr because he came crashing through the trees at a run. His eyes roved over the strands of hair dangling from the rose bush and traveled uphill to Storne and his friends.