A Jewel Bright Sea. Claire O'Dell

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СКАЧАТЬ the others dug a firepit and set to work preparing a meal for the lady. Within a short time, Maté appeared with a plate of toasted bread and hot tea.

      “For my lady’s relief,” he murmured.

      She ate and drank mechanically, only half hearing what he said about the ride back to Iglazi and the possibility of visiting this inlet another day. Her attention veered back to those mysterious footprints just a few yards to the left. Once she finished her bread and tea, she set her cup and plate aside and knelt beside them.

      Ei rûf ane gôtter, she whispered. Ane Lir unde Toc. Komen mir de strôm.

      An invocation to the gods. To Lir and her brother Toc. To the magical current. Words spoken in the ancient language of Erythandra, the language of magic, of the Empire’s ancestors, who rode from the far north to conquer the mainland.

      A soft green scent mixed with the ever-present salt tang. The air thickened before her eyes, then wavered, as her vision narrowed to the footprint, then to the individual grains of sand that glittered in the brilliant sunlight.

      Lâzen mir älliu sihen. Lâzen mir älliu hoeren.

      She recalled those hours in her father’s study as they practiced the invocation to magic, the simplest spells, to light a candle or seal a letter. Then later, as they explored far more complicated spells, to lift one’s soul from the body and wander free throughout time and place. It was her skill in magic, after all, that had inspired Lord Brun to send her on this mission.

      Lâzen mir älliu sihen. Lâzen mir älliu der gëste sihen.

      The crash and gurgle from the surf doubled, reverberating from past and present. A tiny bird wheeled past—just a black dot spinning across the skies. She turned in time to see it vanish into the forest. Down and deeper down into the past. Slow and slower still, until the moments stretched out, and she could examine each one as she would a physical object.

      ...the skies a dark blue, smudged with rain clouds. A wind blew steadily from offshore, clean and cool, buzzing with the residue of lightning. Then, a flock of birds exploded from the trees. She heard a garbled shout, the high-pitched squeals of panicked horses. Next came a series of thuds and metallic crashes. A man burst into view, running straight toward her. She recognized Sarrész at once—a slim man of middle height, thick dark hair tied back loosely. But unlike her memories of the man, this Sarrész was splattered with gore and his mouth was twisted in horror.

      He passed directly through her. She gagged on the stink of blood and sweat….

      Sarrész had escaped the first onslaught. But then what? There was a heaviness in the air that felt wrong. And the man was gabbling to himself. Prayers to the god. A plea for deliverance. Words of magic mixed with curses against the gods. What was he doing?

      Her gaze flickered back to the jungle. Five men and a woman were hurtling toward her. All six armed with short swords stained with blood. The five men howling like savage beasts. The woman silent, her cold dark eyes fixed directly upon Sarrész.

      Even though she knew she watched events from three days past, Anna flinched. Her vision wavered, then resolved to show the same six standing much closer, their sweat-soaked faces stiff with shock. She spun back to face the ocean.

      Nothing except sand and bright blue skies and the empty seas.

      Startled, she lost her grip upon the past. The magic current vanished and she tumbled back into the present. Maté caught her as she pitched forward.

      “Softly, Lady Vrou,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ve taken ill. Too much sun, I believe.”

      She blinked and her vision cleared. Hours had slipped away while she delved into the past. All that remained of the sun was a golden thread running along the horizon. Raab stood over them, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

      “Our men were unsettled by your magic,” he murmured. “However, I gave them a tale of how your father indulged you with tutors. Did you discover any sign of our friend?”

      “Oh yes,” she said, her voice like a croak. Maté set a flask of water to her lips. Anna drank it dry. “He was here three days ago, just as we suspected. Not captured. Vanished. With magic. Very strong magic.”

      Maté’s dark eyes narrowed. “Lord Brun’s reports about the man were wrong, then.”

      “I don’t know.” Anna struggled to sit up, in spite of the ache that gripped her skull. “I could make out two different signatures. One very weak, almost useless. That would match the Sarrész I expected. But another signature that overlaid his. The signature intertwined with his. It’s not like anything I’ve come across before.”

      “Could it belong to the jewel itself? Or another mage?”

      Anna shook her head. “Magical objects don’t have a signature. They reflect or amplify the signature of whoever used it. As for another mage...I don’t know.”

      She didn’t, and it frustrated her. She had thought herself talented in dissecting magical signatures—those fingerprints left by every magic worker, whether a skilled mage or a dabbler like Aldo Sarrész. That was another reason Brun had chosen her for this assignment.

      She pushed Maté away and bent close to the tracks once more, frowning. Her head throbbed from magic and sun, but she forced herself to focus on those elusive signatures—Sarrész’s weak and imperfect, that other so vivid, even after so many days. But whose? There was no second set of footprints, and if she could trust her magic, no sign of any other human mage on this shore. So where had Sarrész gone? And how?

      Another crab popped up beside her, then scuttled over the sands toward the foamy edge of the tide. Her gaze flicked toward it and she caught a whiff of a sharp, green scent—so faint she almost missed it—drifting toward the ocean.

      Her skin prickled. She recognized that other signature. The not-Sarrész. Curiosity tugged her forward, to follow that elusive...scent? Texture? Whisper? Anna could never decide how to classify the layers that made up a magical signature. Half-blind to her surroundings, she scrambled to her feet and took a step forward, cast about, and took another.

      “Lady Iljana. Please.”

      Maté, his voice uncharacteristically anxious, intruded. Anna waved him away. She nearly had the scent again and she already knew what Maté wanted to say. That it was too late. That the location was too lonely, too dangerous. But if they left now, these faint traces might vanish altogether. A short distance away, Maté and Raab argued about what kind of watch to set and who had precedence. Raab gave orders to their guards, something about fetching the lanterns and setting up the Lady Vrou’s tent. She hardly cared. Here were stronger, clearer traces, high above the sands, rising upward...

      A sharp neigh broke her concentration.

      Anna stumbled, lost her hold on the magical current, and dropped to her knees.

      The sun had vanished completely. The air was thick and grey, while overhead a sprinkling of stars had appeared. Maté stood next to her, a lantern in one hand, his sword in the other. Raab was a few steps away. He too had his sword drawn. The horses were restless and stamping.

      “Visitors,” Raab said shortly. “Those bandits we’ve heard about.”

      No sooner had he spoken than dozens of masked men swarmed out from the forest. With a curse, Maté flung СКАЧАТЬ