What harm is there in looking? Surely I've got the right to know what I've been lugging about all this time. Besides, Gorйn is dead. Tungdil's self-control failed him.
Trying to look nonchalant, he reached for the pouch. He didn't want the others to know that the magus had forbidden him to look inside. He untied the knot and the drawstrings came open.
At that moment an ear-splitting, bone-shattering bang rent the air. A volley of sparks shot upward and exploded in a blast of color.
"By the hammer of Vraccas and his fiery furnace!" Leaping to their feet, the twins stood back-to-back, weapons at the ready.
Tungdil swore and tugged at the drawstrings, but the fireworks continued until he tied the knot exactly as it had been before. Lot-Ionan had booby-trapped the bag. He must have reckoned with his inquisitive nature and decided to teach him a lesson.
"What in all the peaks of Girdlegard was that?" Boлndal asked peevishly. "Not some magical nonsense, I hope."
"I just wanted to see…Well, I wanted to see if the booby trap worked," fibbed Tungdil, trying to breathe evenly. He was every bit as startled as the twins. "The magus put it there to, er, he put it there to stop the bag from being stolen!"
"All that noise from a little leather pouch?" Boпndil stared incredulously at the bag. "I still don't see what the fireworks are in aid of, unless the magus wanted whoever stole it to earn a fortune as a street magician."
"It's so I'll know where it is and be able to get it back," Tungdil told him, inventing an explanation that was rather more flattering than the truth. He didn't want them to know that his nosiness was to blame.
"If he didn't want it stolen, why didn't he put a proper spell on it?" growled Boпndil. He spat contemptuously in the bushes. "I always said that the long-uns' magic was no good."
His brother joined in. "He could have conjured a hammer to whack the villain on the head!" he suggested.
"Or a drawstring that crushes his wrists! That would teach the blackguard to keep his hands off other people's belongings."
Boлndal sat back down. "The magi work in mysterious ways. All that power and no common sense."
Tungdil swallowed, thankful that his punishment had been mild by comparison. "I'll pass on your ideas," he promised.
"We'll tell him ourselves!"
"No," he said quickly. "It would be best if you didn't. He doesn't take kindly to anyone interfering in his business, especially if they're strangers." He could feel his cheeks burning as he spoke, but luckily for him, the twins were busy poking about in the fire, trying to retrieve a portion of cheese that had been dropped in the confusion.
"A stunt like that could have been the death of us in Greenglade," muttered Boпndil. He looked at Tungdil sternly. "Leave the bag alone in the future!" Sighing, he impaled the morsel on a stick, dunked it briefly in some water to wash away the ash, and popped it into his mouth. "No harm done," he said.
But Tungdil had taken the lesson to heart. From now on I won't touch the bag except to sling it over my shoulder and take it off at night. For all he cared, it could be stuffed full of gold; nothing could persuade him to open the drawstrings.
VII
Enchanted Realm of Lios Nudin, Girdlegard, Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle Rantja scanned the crowd. Assembled in the atrium were 180 trainee wizards, the best famuli in Girdlegard, all waiting to be welcomed by Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty. At the behest of their respective magi, they had journeyed to Porista to lend their magical power to the crusade against the Perished Land. The high-ceilinged room echoed with their expectant chatter.
"The girdle must be in trouble if lowly apprentices like us are being summoned to keep out Tion's hordes," said a voice in her ear. "You look prettier than ever, Rantja."
"Jolosin!" she exclaimed in delight, shaking his outstretched hand. It was then that she noticed his navy blue robe. "Oh my, you're a fourth-tier famulus already. How long did you have to pester Lot-Ionan before he caved in?"
"Only thirty-two cycles old and already in Nudin's fifth tier! I'm impressed," teased the dark-haired famulus admiringly. "How are you?"
"Fine." She smiled, then said soberly, "At least I was fine until I heard about the threat to Girdlegard." She pointed to the cuts on his fingers. "What happened there?"
"Don't ask," he muttered gloomily. "But between you and me, I'm working on a spell to make potatoes peel themselves. It's a relief to be out of the kitchen and doing something useful." He glanced around. "Have you seen the council?"
"No. Even my magus has disappeared," Rantja said anxiously. "What do you make of it?"
"All I know is that the rituals require their full attention, so they might not be able to brief us until later," he said uneasily. He took a leather pouch from his shoulder and tightened the green drawstrings. "Has it ever been this bad before?"
Rantja shook her head.
The doors swung open, and Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty stepped into the room. He was swaying slightly and his face looked drawn and tired.
"Welcome to Porista," he greeted them, his voice cracking as he spoke. To some of the famuli it sounded as if two people, a man and a woman, were talking at once. "These are dark times for our realms. Come this way and see for yourselves what the Perished Land has done." The magus turned toward the conference chamber, motioning the apprentices to follow.
"Are you sure he's not wearing heels?" Jolosin whispered, surprised. "He's bigger than when I last saw him-and fifty pounds heavier at least."
"I know. Everyone keeps saying he looks taller."
"Much taller, not to mention fatter. But men of his age aren't supposed to grow. A botched experiment, perhaps?"
They were less than a pace behind him now, and a sweet, almost putrid odor filled their noses. Jolosin put it down to moldering aftershave, but the magus seemed oblivious to the smell.
Just then Rantja skidded across the flagstones and would have fallen, if Jolosin hadn't reached out and caught her in time. "Thanks," she said, straightening up and hurrying on, propelled by the famuli behind them. The incident was over too quickly for anyone to notice the long crimson streak on the floor. The magus was leaking blood.
Nudin walked briskly, striking his staff against the marble at regular intervals and leading them through a maze of arcades and corridors until they reached a double door. His onyx-tipped staff glistened darkly as he raised his left hand.
"Steel yourselves," he warned them, and recited the incantation to open the doors.
Even before the doors were fully open, a fetid smell wafted out of the room, causing the famuli at the front of the queue to cover their faces. Rantja swayed and clutched at Jolosin, who steadied her bravely while he tried not to retch.
The magus was apparently unaffected by the stench. "See for yourselves why Girdlegard needs your help!" Hesitantly, the famuli entered the chamber.
There were cries of distress as the shocked apprentices surveyed the remains of their tutors: a statue, a heap of clothing, a rotting corpse, and in the case of Andфkai, a body so mutilated that its features were no longer recognizable.
"Palandiell have mercy on us," gasped Jolosin, staring in horror at Lot-Ionan's marble face. He would never have wished such a dreadful fate on his magus, no matter how many potatoes the wizard had forced him to peel. "Girdlegard is finished," he muttered despairingly, depositing the leather bag at the foot of the statue. Lot-Ionan had specifically asked him to bring it, and now he was dead. "If the council could do nothing, what hope is there for-"
He was silenced by the sound of a staff striking the floor. A hush descended on the chamber as everyone turned to face Nudin.
"We underestimated the power of the Perished Land," he said shakily. "It waited for us to channel the magic into the malachite, and then it attacked. The table was destroyed and I myself was almost killed. My good friends here"-he waved his staff in the direction of the fallen magi, whose rotting remains and frozen corpses reflected nothing of their former power- "were unlucky. As their most senior famuli, you are the highest-ranking wizards in Girdlegard." He stopped to cough up a mouthful of blood and staggered backward, leaning against the fossilized Lot-Ionan for support. "The attack has taken its toll on me, as you can see. It is our duty to repair the table as quickly as we can, for only then will we be able to repel the Perished Land. The survival of humankind depends on our success; ordinary armies will be helpless against the pestilence."