in very precise neat rows, and components tended to be set out in what almost seemed geometric patterns. There were no dead men’s bones. In fact Meb couldn’t even see a thing made of anything that was not metal, let alone human remains. The nearest to “human” anything was a model—a very precise and carefully made model—of part of the castle. It was opened so she could see into the rooms, with every item in them exact. It looked like a child’s—a very rich child’s—dream dollhouse.
That was not to say that the room looked like anything but a magician’s workshop, because it did. The objects being worked on were strange. Some glowed with their own inner light. Odd clicking noises came from somewhere. And some things looked as if they might almost be alive. There was a bird in a gilded cage. A crow. Only it too was gilded, and appeared to be made entirely of metal.
Meb had seen dvergar artifice, and that was finer. But the magician was better than most humans at mechanical contrivance. She identified the source of least some of the clicking—a device with a series of globes suspended from thin brass rods. As it clicked, the globes moved. “What is it?”
“An orrery. It allows me to predict the positioning of certain celestial forces for my work,” said Aberinn. “It is essential for the Changer. Unfortunately I have found certain inaccuracies in the movement. There may be factors outside of my knowledge operating on the spheres.”
“How…how does it move?” Part of her was impelled by the peasant fisherman fear of the unknown, to not want to know, to fear the worst, to believe it demonic and evil. The other part of her mind was already imagining small imps on treadmills, or perhaps magical recitations of spells that would command it to move…
“Springs, counterweights, and various cogwheels. My magic is confined to working on things of a higher order,” he said, as if reading her mind. “But I asked you to come here to establish some of your own history.”
Which, thought Meb, I don’t think is a good idea to tell you too much about. But she smiled. “I will be glad to answer the questions of the High Mage of Lyonesse.” She wondered how much of alvar life in Tasmarin she could get him to swallow. Finn, gleemen and fishing villages seemed good subjects to avoid.
Oddly, she didn’t need to. His questions seemed designed to catch her out. To betray a knowledge of Dun Tagoll or the people and politics of Lyonesse. He asked about the view from home and the plants there. Meb was happy to describe the cliffs of Cliff Cove in loving detail. He asked about the rulers of Tasmarin. Meb didn’t think it necessary to point out that the dead Lord Zuamar and Prince Gywndar were a dragon and an alvar princeling. Or even that they were both now dead. And then someone came knocking on the door. In obvious irritation Aberinn went to open it. “What is it?” he asked the wide-eyed page.
“A message from Prince Medraut, high mage. The prisoner…Earl Alois, has escaped. Magic, the prince believes. And the woman has vanished from her chambers!”
Aberinn sighed. Shook his head. “The young lady—and her maid—are right here. And it was obvious Alois must have had some accomplices to get so close. This is not magic. It is treachery.” He sighed again. “Tell the prince I am coming. Send messages to the other Duns. He won’t get far on foot.”
CHAPTER 5
Fionn and Díleas walked on down the hexagonally paved “causeway.” Now out of sight of the travelers, Fionn stuck to being a dragon. While it was fun to tempt the creatures of smokeless flame into folly, they tended to see too clearly to be easily fooled. Besides, he had other things to do.
It was inevitably hot. Fionn began wondering if he should have relieved the travelers of some water as well as some of their gold. The smoky air was still and thick, and Fionn traced more flows of energy rushing through it. It felt like a
That was not to say that the room looked like anything but a magician’s workshop, because it did. The objects being worked on were strange. Some glowed with their own inner light. Odd clicking noises came from somewhere. And some things looked as if they might almost be alive. There was a bird in a gilded cage. A crow. Only it too was gilded, and appeared to be made entirely of metal.
Meb had seen dvergar artifice, and that was finer. But the magician was better than most humans at mechanical contrivance. She identified the source of least some of the clicking—a device with a series of globes suspended from thin brass rods. As it clicked, the globes moved. “What is it?”
“An orrery. It allows me to predict the positioning of certain celestial forces for my work,” said Aberinn. “It is essential for the Changer. Unfortunately I have found certain inaccuracies in the movement. There may be factors outside of my knowledge operating on the spheres.”
“How…how does it move?” Part of her was impelled by the peasant fisherman fear of the unknown, to not want to know, to fear the worst, to believe it demonic and evil. The other part of her mind was already imagining small imps on treadmills, or perhaps magical recitations of spells that would command it to move…
“Springs, counterweights, and various cogwheels. My magic is confined to working on things of a higher order,” he said, as if reading her mind. “But I asked you to come here to establish some of your own history.”
Which, thought Meb, I don’t think is a good idea to tell you too much about. But she smiled. “I will be glad to answer the questions of the High Mage of Lyonesse.” She wondered how much of alvar life in Tasmarin she could get him to swallow. Finn, gleemen and fishing villages seemed good subjects to avoid.
Oddly, she didn’t need to. His questions seemed designed to catch her out. To betray a knowledge of Dun Tagoll or the people and politics of Lyonesse. He asked about the view from home and the plants there. Meb was happy to describe the cliffs of Cliff Cove in loving detail. He asked about the rulers of Tasmarin. Meb didn’t think it necessary to point out that the dead Lord Zuamar and Prince Gywndar were a dragon and an alvar princeling. Or even that they were both now dead. And then someone came knocking on the door. In obvious irritation Aberinn went to open it. “What is it?” he asked the wide-eyed page.
“A message from Prince Medraut, high mage. The prisoner…Earl Alois, has escaped. Magic, the prince believes. And the woman has vanished from her chambers!”
Aberinn sighed. Shook his head. “The young lady—and her maid—are right here. And it was obvious Alois must have had some accomplices to get so close. This is not magic. It is treachery.” He sighed again. “Tell the prince I am coming. Send messages to the other Duns. He won’t get far on foot.”
CHAPTER 5
Fionn and Díleas walked on down the hexagonally paved “causeway.” Now out of sight of the travelers, Fionn stuck to being a dragon. While it was fun to tempt the creatures of smokeless flame into folly, they tended to see too clearly to be easily fooled. Besides, he had other things to do.
It was inevitably hot. Fionn began wondering if he should have relieved the travelers of some water as well as some of their gold. The smoky air was still and thick, and Fionn traced more flows of energy rushing through it. It felt like a
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