The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [47]
“She won’t eat you,” Jantalaber said. “In fact, she wants to give you her blessing.”
Hwilli found herself unable to answer. She laid her hand on her throat and wondered if she’d gone pale. Finally, after another gasp for breath, she managed to say, “I’m so honored.”
The Tower of the Sages stood at the north end of the main palace, opposite the Tower of the Priests. As they entered through the door at the bottom, Master Jantalaber cast a silver dweomer light on the end of his staff, which he held up before him like a torch. Steep wooden stairs switchbacked up past landings, each with a chamber door marked with various sigils, none of which Hwilli could decipher.
Maraladario lived at the very top. The stairs ended at a landing of polished wood in four different browns, laid in a pattern of triangles. In the silvery light, the pattern rose up into interlocking pyramids, or so it appeared, rather than forming a flat surface. As her shadow fell across it, Hwilli noticed that the pyramids seemed to flatten under the shadow’s weight.
Master Jantalaber stepped boldly onto the landing. When he didn’t trip and fall, Hwilli followed him and discovered that the floor was indeed perfectly flat. The red door to Maraladario’s suite bore no sigil or decoration. When Jantalaber knocked, the dweomermaster herself opened it and ushered them inside to a wedge-shaped room lit by golden light. Although Hwilli had seen her from a distance many times, she’d never been this close to the great sage. Maraladario was tall, even for a woman of the People, and slender with long, delicate fingers. She wore her jet-black hair bound up in a green gauzy scarf that matched her eyes, but one long tendril hung down over her cheek. Her long blue tunic shimmered as she moved.
“Come sit.” Her voice was soft, pleasantly husky. “Would you care for wine?”
“None for me,” Jantalaber said.
“Nor me either, Mistress,” Hwilli said. “Though I thank you.”
“A prudent girl, and well-spoken.” Maraladario grinned at her.
Hwilli bobbed her head and hoped she looked humble rather than terrified, her actual feeling. The dweomermaster led them to simple chairs, with wooden backs and cushioned seats, placed near a shuttered window. A small table with a mosaic top sat nearby, the only other furniture in the room. As Hwilli sat down, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. When she turned her head, she saw a strange little being lurking under the table. Roughly human in shape, with purplish skin and a warty little face, it stood about two feet high. When it saw her looking its way, it stuck a bright red tongue out at her and wrinkled its nose.
“My familiar,” Maraladario said, “and a very rude little gnome, really.” She snapped her fingers, and the gnome disappeared.
I saw him! Hwilli nearly blurted but managed to keep silence. Jantalaber, however, must have noticed, because he smiled and nodded, pleased.
“So, you’re Hwilli.” Maraladario sat down opposite her and considered her over folded hands. “Do you like studying dweomer, child?”
“Very much, Mistress. I’ve longed to study dweomer—well, not my whole life, perhaps—but as far back as I can remember.”
“Very good. Tell me, suppose you gain great power in our craft. What will you do with it?”
“To be honest, I don’t know.” Hwilli felt herself blush. Her answer sounded absolutely flat and silly to her own ears.
Maraladario, however, nodded as if she were taking it under serious consideration. “Honest of you,” she said at last. “I suspect, though, that you’ll find out what to do with it once you gain it, assuming you do. There are great dangers on your road ahead, Hwilli. Once you finish the first studies, believe you me, there are dangers for all of us, whether Children of Air or Children of Aethyr.”
“So I’ve been told, Mistress.”
“Good. Keep the dangers always in mind.” Maraladario turned her calm emerald gaze on Jantalaber. “She has a strong aura. I think me you’ve chosen well.”
“Thank you,” the master said. “I have every hope she’ll succeed.”
“Have you discussed our other