What has this development changed, really? he asked himself. All he'd wanted was to get the knave out of Thonvil so that the wedding could not take place, and that had happened. For now, the portal was safe.
There was still the question of what Cormac had told his brother about their visit. Did he know Belize wanted Stonecliff? Belize thought that unlikely, since Guerrand had asked him what he and Cormac had fought about. He waved that concern away.
The fool still had his mirror, though. Belize couldn't openly make a move against Justarius's apprentice without drawing suspicion to himself. What's more, now that Guerrand wore the red robes, an unprovoked attack would be a violation of his vows. For the time being, those vows still meant something to Belize. Besides, he didn't need Guerrand dead-although the idea had appeal-just too far away to interfere.
Maybe Guerrand left the mirror behind, Belize told himself. He couldn't inquire about it directly, for fear of bringing attention to it. Belize discounted using the mirror to scry for fear of being noticed, which would definitely draw attention to the mirror's abilities. If only there was some way he could keep an undetected eye on Guerrand DiThon, to ascertain whether the apprentice was snooping into things Belize wanted left alone.
Suddenly, the Red Mage slapped his forehead. I've been so caught up in anger that I forgot the obvious! I can learn in an instant if the apprentice left the mirror behind, or if he carries it with him. Belize could find out exactly where the apprentice was. He tattooed every one of his possessions with an invisible sigil of his own devising that allowed him to track their whereabouts. It wasn't that he was particularly possessive or territorial. In fact, it was well known that he didn't even bother to magically protect his villa in Palanthas like most powerful mages did.
No. Belize wasn't possessive. But he was vindictive. He did not trap his home, because the tattoos allowed him to track down unwitting thieves and kill them personally. It was so much more satisfying than coming home to the charred remains of some thief caught in the act.
Belize was certain the young apprentice must still be in or near the Tower of Wayreth. He vaguely recalled Justarius informing him before leaving for Palanthas that their two apprentices had decided to travel north together.
Still, he wanted to be sure. Belize paced between the rows of standing shelves that filled the back half of his laboratory. His collection of magical equipment and components was immense, but he knew precisely where to find everything. He quickly retrieved a large, shallow pewter bowl and an urn of extremely fine sand. Working quickly with practiced gestures, he filled the bowl with clear wine, then sprinkled several pinches of sand across the surface. As Belize moved his hands in a slow circle above the bowl, blowing gently on the liquid, the floating sand swirled and coalesced into an outline. The mage recognized the coastline west of the Wayreth. Slowly, more details appeared inland: the forest edge, the location of the tower, the crude road leading south from it.
Satisfied with the map, Belize turned his hands palm up and held them still. A tiny, glowing orange point of light appeared in the center of the map, marking the mirror's location. It was approximately halfway between the Tower of Wayreth and the port city of Alsip. This was only a rough divination; Belize could eventually pinpoint the item very precisely by repeating the process with increasing detail each time. But for his current needs, this was sufficient.
Belize leaned back, satisfied, feeling as if he were in control of things again. That realization gave him another idea. He reached for the massive, brown leather book on the shelf behind him and leafed gingerly through the fragile pages until he found the spell entry he sought.
"Burning incense and horn carved into a crescent shape," he mumbled aloud. He needed both items to cast the spell, and he found them near each other on a shelf. With the components tucked inside his robe, Belize continued reading the spell notes, following along with a red-tipped fingernail.
Once given a task, this creature from the elemental plane of air is relentless. It pursues its assigned duty until it either fulfills its summoner's command or is defeated and driven back to its home plane. It is a faultless tracker, able to detect any trail less than a day old or follow directions that take it hundreds or even thousands of leagues away. It is invisible, noiseless, scentless.
Perfect. Belize gingerly closed the spellbook. He would return to Wayreth to be nearer the apprentice when he cast the spell. He would need to leave the sanctity of the tower to summon the invisible stalker. Belize would instruct the creature to do what it must to retrieve the mirror in Guerrand's possession. If that meant it had to kill him, fine. Traveling with Guerrand, his own apprentice-was Lyim his name?-would come under suspicion, not Belize. It all fell into place.
Belize was feeling downright joyous as he prepared to travel through the mirror and return briefly to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. Abruptly his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he'd eaten nothing this day and had drunk only dandelion spirits. The spell allowed him one day to send the stalker after its quarry. There was plenty of time, then, for dinner before he summoned the relentless creature to terrorize the apprentices.
Chapter Eight
"Get ourselves to Palanthas?" growled Lyim, glaring across the courtyard at the closed door of the foretower. He and Guerrand had been escorted outside the tower's gold and silver entry gates. "What does that mean? We've already found our way here, which was no small task. Where's the reward for that?"
Just then, the door of the foretower opened again. A dwarf, dragging a charred body by the armpits, crossed the flagstone courtyard of the tower complex and elbowed past Guerrand and Lyim to get through the gates.
Startled, the two apprentices jumped back and watched as the dwarf turned left and followed the outer wall to the north. Just past the small guard tower on the northernmost point of the triangle, the dwarf dropped the dead mage, who'd obviously failed his Test, within the shelter of the trees. Dusting off his hands, the dwarf snatched a shovel propped against a trunk and began to dig at a furious pace, sending earth flying to twice his height.
"The reward was that we were allowed to live to find the Tower of High Sorcery," Guerrand said quietly. Shivering, he watched the ignominious burial. He deliberately looked away; his glance fell on the trail the dead mage's heels had left in the dirt. "I suspect that our apprenticeships will simply be a warm-up for the Test. Let's just hope we don't suffer the same fate when we return to take ours."
Having just spent a fortnight making his way to Wayreth, Guerrand was neither surprised nor disturbed by the order to travel to Palanthas. With such a short deadline-a scant month-he wasn't going to waste any time. To determine the time, Guerrand looked toward the sun above the twin towers that comprised Wayreth. It was early afternoon, though he didn't know the day, had no idea how long he'd actually been in the tower.
The newly appointed apprentice adjusted his pack more comfortably on his left shoulder and set off, tripping over the hem of his unfamiliar, coarsely spun red robe. Red-faced, accustomed to the ease of the trousers he still wore beneath the robe, Guerrand hitched up the heavy garment with one hand and took smaller strides to the south, following the eastern wall.
"Where are you going?" demanded Lyim, jogging after him, his own pack slapping his back.
"To Palanthas, of course."