With a Single Spell

CHAPTER 21

As he followed her along the dim corridor to Derithon’s study, Tobas watched the way Karanissa walked, her long black hair swirling about her. He had already noticed, on the way to the tapestry, that she moved with grace and confidence. It was obvious that she knew every inch of the castle intimately, but then, that was hardly surprising after she had spent more than four hundred years trapped in it.

It was also obvious that that four hundred years hadn’t affected her beauty at all; Tobas could see why Derithon had taken an interest in her. She was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He wondered if her witchcraft, or Derithon’s wizardry, had contributed anything to that.

At first, when she had led him into the castle, she had seemed a trifle hesitant and unsure, presumably because of Tobas’ startling arrival and unfamiliar presence, but she was over that now. She had already outwardly adjusted to the abrupt change in her circumstances.

Karanissa opened the heavy door of the study and ushered Tobas inside; he paused for a moment to stare around at the shelves upon shelves of jars, bottles, boxes, and apparatus before reaching for Derithon’s Book of Spells.

The book had a place of honor, centered on one end of the long worktable in the vast cluttered study. It was big and thick, bound in black hide, and a heavy metal clasp lay unlocked and open. Tobas hesitated just before his hand touched the cover. “Are you sure there aren’t any protective spells?” he asked Karanissa.

“No,” she replied. “I’m not sure of anything about it, but I never had any trouble opening it. I just couldn’t get the spells to work.”

That, Tobas thought, might mean that Derithon had attuned the protective spells to accept her, and her failure to make any of the magic work might indicate that some sort of confusion spell was in use; the book could still be dangerous, but he decided to risk it. He reached down and lifted the cover.

Nothing happened. The book opened as easily as any ordinary volume, revealing the blank flyleaf. A faint musty odor reached Tobas.

He lifted the flyleaf in turn, revealing the title page, which read, in sprawling, awkward runes, “Derithon of Helde, His Spells, Begun in The Thirteenth Year of His Age, The Four Thousand, Five Hundred, and Twenty-Third Year After the Gods Taught Men to Speak, During the Great War Against the Northern Empire.”

Tobas marveled at that for a moment; this book was almost seven hundred years old. He guessed that it must bear some powerful preservative spell, as the paper was still white and supple and the ink only slightly faded.

Carefully, handling the book with great respect, he turned past two blank pages. The next page was smudged and indecipherable; he skipped over that to the next.

The writing on this page was still sharp and clear, and Tobas stared at it for a long moment, a smile gradually spreading across his face.

The page was neatly headed “Thrindle’s Combustion” and described that familiar spell accurately and succinctly. There was obviously no confusion spell at work.

A footnote at the bottom of the page caught his eye; the handwriting and ink were slightly different, leading him to assume it had been added later. It read, “Use caution! Application of the Combustion to anything already burning seems to result in an explosion out of all proportion to the materials involved.”

He had more or less found that out for himself back in Roggit’s little cottage, but it was somehow reassuring to see it confirmed independently.

A moment’s study also revealed why Karanissa had been unable to make the spell work. Under “Ingredients,” Derithon had listed only brimstone and a small cross-shaped mark that appeared to be a mere decoration or space holder. Similarly, in describing the two motions that the spell required, one was also marked with the little cross.

No mention was made anywhere of an athame or even of a dagger; the gesture marked with the cross was the one made with the athame, while the unmarked motion was, as Tobas well knew, made with the free hand while flinging a speck of brimstone.

Even in his private Book of Spells, Derithon had done his best to keep the Guild’s secrets. Karanissa, being a witch, would have no athame, at least, so far as Tobas knew, no equivalent to the athame was used in witchcraft, and would not have guessed at the little symbol’s meaning. She would have no reason to think it had any meaning; Derithon had done a good job of making it appear to be no more than a flourish. Not every wizardly spell required an athame, though — or, at least, so he understood. He flipped quickly through several pages, however, and found the little athame symbol on virtually every one. Derithon had apparently not cared for spells that did not use the athame, or perhaps he had simply never come across many.

Tobas did find one; but as it was indeed a hypnotic spell, he could see how Karanissa would have had great difficulty testing it, as she had said. Much farther on he found a love potion that did not call for an athame, but she would have had little use for that, either.

He wondered for a moment, though, whether Derithon had often used such a potion, perhaps even on Karanissa.

Quite aside from his discovery of the athame symbol, he found an amazing and fascinating variety of spells, more than he had known existed; the book was a fat one, several hundred pages long, perhaps even a thousand. After the few blank pages at the front, it was solidly filled with spells until a mere five pages from the end. Had Derithon lived to learn more spells, he would have needed a second volume very shortly.

If Tobas were to keep this book for himself and master every spell in it, he realized, he would, beyond any possible doubt, become one of the greatest wizards in the World. That was a very tempting thought. He would not need to eke out a living selling charms and removing curses; he would be able to conjure up almost anything he pleased or sell single spells for roomfuls of coin.

He noted with mild interest that the handwriting had changed from the boyish scrawl of the earliest pages to a smaller, neater, more legible hand as Derithon had aged. Learning and recording these spells had obviously taken the mage a long time; Tobas guessed that Derithon had kept on adding new spells long after he completed his apprenticeship, though it was not clear how he had come by them. From a comparison of the lettering, he judged that the footnote to Thrindle’s Combustion had been added at a time when Derithon had filled fifty or sixty of the book’s pages.

The spells described in the volume varied from “A Fine Blemish Remover” to something called “The Seething Death” that bore a small warning at the bottom: “The full potential of this spell is not known. Its inventor believed that, unchecked, it could destroy all of Ethshar and perhaps the entire World. It has been attempted only twice in all of history and was stopped both times by a countercharm, now lost.” Below that, scribbled in the margin in red ink, a single line of runes read, “DON’T TRY IT.”

Tobas chuckled nervously when he read it. He had no intention of trying anything of the sort.

On the next page after the Seething Death, near the back of the book, he found “The Transporting Tapestry.”

The entry was a long one, the spell complex, with three pages of notes following the actual procedure. Tobas looked around for a chair and noticed for the first time that Karanissa was still in the room, quietly watching him.

“You don’t need to wait,” he said. “This may take a while.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do, do I?”

“I suppose not,” he agreed. “Could you pass me that chair?” He pointed at the one he wanted, standing in the nearest corner.

Karanissa turned and looked at it, and the chair walked, stiff-legged and awkward, over to Tobas. He stared at it uneasily for a moment before sitting down, making sure it was no longer moving.

“I am a witch, you know,” Karanissa remarked. “You wizards aren’t the only real magicians around.”

“I never said we were,” Tobas answered.

“Derry did.”

Tobas could think of no good answer to that; instead, he turned back to the Book of Spells.

The Transporting Tapestry required thirty pounds of gold and thirty of silver, he noticed; he had made the right decision in taking the tapestry rather than any of Peren’s small heap of household furnishings. It also required all the usual makings of a tapestry as well as three fresh pine needles, three candles, one white, one black, one blood-red, a white rose, a red rose, a peculiar sort of incense — a footnote referred him to another book that gave instructions on preparing it — and, if he understood the little cross marking correctly, as he was sure he did, an athame.

The athame symbol appeared after each mention of cutting the yarn or spun metal for the tapestry; Tobas interpreted that to mean that every thread used in making the tapestry had to be cut with the athame rather than with scissors or an ordinary blade. Obviously, no one but a wizard could possibly make the spell work.

The initial ritual required one day, from midnight to midnight, and the making of the tapestry called for one full year, though it could be started at any time.

There were no instructions for repairing or renewing a tapestry that had ceased to function.

He stared at the page for a long moment, considering the prospect of spending a minimum of a year in this mysterious castle, with the beautiful Karanissa as his only companion.

Or rather, remembering the way the tray of food had been delivered, his only human companion.

The idea was not wholly unpleasant, actually; he was not particularly eager to go on wandering and he could think of far worse places a man might call home. However, he would have preferred to have a choice. The castle seemed comfortable enough, but he had never pictured himself making a home in another world, cut off from the rest of the human race.

Besides, the wine was terrible.

He looked over the spell again, to see if he had missed anything, and realized that he had badly misjudged the situation. If his only way out was to make an entirely new tapestry, he would be here far longer than a single year; the spell was a high-order one, requiring that every second of that twenty-four-hour ritual be absolutely perfect. He had learned enough from Roggit to know that his chances of performing the spell correctly on the first try, with no other preparation, were very, very slim indeed. In fact, he guessed that it was far more likely the spell would backfire and do something completely different from what he intended it to do, quite possibly something fatal.

Most likely of all would be for it to do nothing whatsoever.

Eventually, of course, he could study and practice and work his way up through the other spells, as any apprentice wizard would do, though he would not have the benefit of a master’s advice and encouragement, so it would probably take a good deal longer than the traditional six years. A good journeyman wizard might manage to make a functioning tapestry if the spell was, say, fifth-or sixth-order, and would probably be safe from any real chance of a serious backfire.

If it were of a significantly higher order than that, as it well might be, well, a journeyman usually took another three years of study to rate as a master, and another nine usually conferred sufficient expertise to use the term “mage.” Some were said to attain Guildmaster status before they were forty, but Tobas understood that to be due as much to politics as ability, and Roggit had once said — enviously — that the youngest grand master was only fifty-eight.

He might be here for a very long time.

Or, looking at the list of ingredients again, he might be here forever if the castle garden did not include roses or pines. Even if Derithon had kept those ingredients somewhere on his shelves, after four hundred years pine needles could not possibly be “fresh,” and roses would have withered. Furthermore, he had no way of knowing when midnight was, and the ritual had to be begun exactly at midnight. There might be no midnight in this void. He might live out his entire life in this castle. Unless, of course, he could determine why the return tapestry was not working and remedy it. He began turning pages, looking for a low-order divination that might tell him what was causing the problem.

He found none; Derithon had apparently not gone in much for divinations. He did come across Varrin’s Greater Propulsion, which he guessed had been the means by which Derithon got his flying castle off the ground, and spent several minutes admiring it, but after that he refused to be distracted further.

With no divination possible, he realized he would have to figure the problem out for himself. He turned back to the description of the Transporting Tapestry and the three pages of notes, and read through them all carefully.

If the tapestry was cut, even so much as a single thread, it was as good as destroyed and would never function again; he would have to check that and hope that was not the cause.

If the tapestry was unraveled, even a single thread out of place, it would stop working, but reweaving the damaged portion in accordance with the spell’s directions would repair it and restore it to operation.

That he thought he might manage; that would require none of the daylong preliminary spell. The actual weaving of the tapestry did not seem to call for anything much beyond his capabilities.

He would have to inspect the tapestry very closely for cuts or raveling, even a snagged thread might count.

The notes explained that each tapestry worked in only one direction and recommended making them in pairs, one for each way; Tobas grimaced ruefully at that advice. Derithon had followed it, but that did Karanissa and himself little good now.

Derithon’s comments also emphasized the absolute necessity that every detail in the tapestry match exactly with every detail in the actual place. The slightest error could result in a tapestry that led to someplace else entirely from the desired arrival point.

This was followed by a paragraph of what Tobas at first took to be theoretical musings, suggesting that intentionally creating a faulty tapestry might make an opening out of the everyday World entirely; it was only with a sudden shock as he read that section through for the second time that he realized that that must have been the method by which Derithon had conjured up his private, otherworldy castle. He had not built the castle and then created a tapestry that would transport him to it; he had created the tapestry first, and the tapestry, compelled by its magic to transport Derithon someplace, had created the castle!

That concept was almost too much for Tobas to deal with; he sat back in his chair and thought it over very carefully before looking at the book again.

The Transporting Tapestry could create entire new worlds, if he understood it correctly; that was far more than sixth-order! Was he ready to deal with something like that?

“Gods, no!” he answered himself, inadvertently speaking aloud.

“No what?” Karanissa asked from behind him.

He started. “Oh, nothing,” he replied. Unable to resist, he added, “But I think I just figured out how Derithon conjured up this castle.”

She looked suitably impressed as he turned back to the book.

He wondered how Derithon had ever had the nerve to try such a thing; the wizard had, according to his own notes, no way of knowing that the castle he created would not already be inhabitated by something or other. The old man had obviously not lacked for courage and self-confidence.

So the tapestry had to match the actual scene exactly; that did not seem to be the problem here, however, since the tapestry he wanted to know about had worked at one time. The lighting had to be exactly right; presumably it was. The Book mentioned, cryptically and without further explanation, that this could affect travel time; Tobas was puzzled by that, since using the tapestries virtually eliminated travel time altogether. He guessed it had something to do with the angle of the sun’s light, but could not imagine how it would work.

The tapestry would transport anyone and anything; selectivity was not the problem. The spell was not known to wear out or need renewal.

He wondered if the problem might be related to the fact that the flying castle had crashed in an area where wizardry did not function; since the magic was on the sending end, rather than the receiving one, that did not seem reasonable; but then, as every magician knows, magic is often unreasonable.

Could the tilted floor of the flying castle affect something? After all, the tapestry depicted the room as level, while it was actually sloping rather steeply. But the picture did not specifically show up or down; there were no hanging objects out of place, or anything of that sort. Tilting the tapestry to the angle of the fallen castle might be worth trying, but he doubted it would make any difference.

None of those sounded like a sufficient reason for the tapestry’s failure, though any of them might be involved somehow.

He closed the book and sat back, thinking. He had the feeling that, in time, he would be able to figure out what the problem was, and possibly even right it, but at this particular moment he did not feel himself to be up to further study. He was utterly exhausted. The explanation would have to wait.

Whatever it might be, unless it proved to be simply a pulled thread or the tapestry’s angle, he was certain he would be in this castle for several days, at the very least, and perhaps for the rest of his life.