Cadderly labored for breath for a few crucial moments, at a crossroad in his life, though he did not realize it.
No, he decided at length. He had to believe in the book, wanted desperately to believe in something.
Still he remained in the same position, looking back to the door, to the tome, and lastly to his own heart. He realized that his meal was getting cold, then knew he did not care.
The emptiness within him could not be sated by food.
Bogo had given Ghost more than the hour the evil man had asked for, but the eager wizard decided to stay in the hearth room anyway, to see what he might team. The talk among the growing number of patrons settled always on the rumors of war, but, to Bogo's relief, none of the gathering seemed to have any idea of the depth of the danger that hung over their heads. When Aballister decided to march, most likely in the early spring, the army of Castle Trinity would have little trouble in bringing Carradoon to its knees.
The night deepened, the warm fires and the many conversations blazed, and Bogo, despite his fears that Ghost had already dispatched Cadderly, remained in the room, listening and chatting. Every time the door to the foyer opened, the young wizard looked up, anxious to note the return of the two priests, thinking that perhaps they would provide him with better information than the misinformed townsmen.
Bogo's smile curled up when Kierkan Rufo entered a short while later, for the more formidable headmaster was not beside the angular man. Rufo headed right for the stairs, but Bogo cut him off.
"You are of the Edificant Library?" he asked, his tone sounding hopeful.
Rufo's sharp features seemed sharper still in the flickering firelight, and his dark eyes did not blink as he regarded the curious-looking young man.
"Might I buy you some ale, or fine wine perhaps?" Bogo pressed, seeing no answer forthcoming.
Rufo's answer dripped of suspicion. "Why?"
"I am not of the region," Bogo replied without the slightest hesitation. The ambitious mage had played this scene out a dozen times in his mind, along with several other potential scenarios concerning the priest who would be stooge. "All the night, I have been assailed with rumors of war," he explained. "And all the rumors hint that the one hope lies in the Edificant Library."
Again Rufo did not respond, but Bogo noticed the vain man straighten his shoulders with some pride.
"I am not without skills," Bogo went on, confident that Rufo was falling into his trap. "Perhaps I might aid in those hopes. Surely I would try.
"Let me buy you some wine, then," Bogo offered after a short pause, not wanting to break his budding momentum. "W* can talk, and perhaps a wise priest can guide me to where my skills would be most helpful."
Rufo looked back to the foyer door, as though he expected, and feared, that Headmaster Avery would come pounding through at any moment. Then he nodded curtly and followed Bogo to one of the few empty tables remaining in the hearth room.
The talk remained casual for some time, with Bogo and Rufo sipping their wine, and Bogo quickly losing any hope that he would be able to get too much of the drink into the angular man. Rufo, who had been through many torments these last few weeks, remained cautious and guarded, covering his half-filled glass whenever Brennan, waiting on tables, made one of his frequent visits.
Bogo noted several times that the innkeeper's son seemed to be regarding him suspiciously, but he attributed it to the lad's natural curiosity that a stranger would have business with a priest from the library, and thought no more of it.
Bogo wasted little time in shifting the conversation to more specific topics, such as the Edificant Library and the ranking of Rufo's portly friend. Gradually, casually, the wizard led the talk to include the other priest who was a guest at the inn. Rufo, cryptic from the start, backed off even more and seemed to grow somewhat suspicious, but Bogo did not relent.
"Why are you in town?" Bogo asked, rather sharply.
Rufo seemed to note the subtle shift in the increasingly impatient wizard's-tone. He rested back in his chair and regarded Bogo silently.
"I must go," the angular priest announced unexpectedly, bracing himself on the table and beginning to rise.
"Sit down, Kierkan Rufo," Bogo snarled at him. Rufo looked at him curiously for a moment, and realized be had not, in the course of the conversation, told the man his name. A small whine escaped the angular man's thin lips as he fell back into his chair, now almost expecting what was to come.
"How do you know my name?" Rufo demanded with as much courage as he could muster.
"Druzil told it to me," Bogo answered bluntly. Again came that almost imperceptible whine.
Rufo began to ask another question, but Bogo promptly silenced him.
"You will answer and obey," Bogo explained casually.
"Not again," Rufo growled with defiance that surprised even himself.
"Dorigen thinks differently," Bogo replied, "as does Druzil, who has been in your room for both nights you have been in town," Bogo lied. "The imp has been in your room since before you and Avery occupied the room. Did you think to escape so easily, Kierkan Rufo? Did you think the battle was won despite the minor setback we were given in Shilmista Forest?"
Rufo found no words with which to respond.
"There," Bogo said calmly, settling bick into his chair and flipping his stringy brown hair over to one side. "Now we understand each other."
"What do you require of me this time?" Rufo asked, his voice sharp and a bit too loud for Bogo's liking (especially since Brennan was nearby again, regarding the two men with open curiosity). Rufo's visage continued to appear defiant, but Bogo was not concerned. The man was weak, he knew, else Rufo would have already left, or struck out against his revealed enemy.
"As of now, nothing," Bogo answered, not wanting to set too many things into motion until he better understood what Ghost and the Night Masks were planning. "I will be nearby, and you will remain available to me. I have some specific things planned for my visit to Carradoon, and you, Rufo, will play a role in those, do not doubt." He tipped his glass to the angular man and drained it, then rose from the table and started away, leaving Rufo lost in yet another un-resolvable trap.
"Be wary, young mage," Bogo heard from the side as he took his first step up the stairs beside the hearth room's bar. He turned to see young Brennan, casually wiping down the bar and regarding him dangerously.
"Are you addressing me?" Bogo asked, trying to sound superior, though he was indeed becoming a bit unnerved by the innkeeper's son's sudden attention.
"I am warning you," Ghost, appearing as Brennan, clarified. "And know that it is the only warning you will receive. Your business here is as observer - that position determined by Aballister himself. If you interfere, you might find yourself lying in a hole beside Cadderly."
Bogo's eyes widened in shock, an expression that brought a satisfied smile to Ghost's borrowed lips.
"Who are you?" the wizard demanded. "How . . . ?"
"Vfe are many," Ghost replied cryptically, obviously enjoying the spectacle of the squirming mage. "Wfe are many and we are all about you. You were told that we do things properly, Bogo Rath. You were told that we take no chances." Ghost let it drop there and turned back to his work at the bar.
Bogo understood the reason behind the sudden break in the conversation when Avery, just returned to the inn, and Kierkan Rufo walked past him up the stairs, heading for their rooms.
Bogo followed them at a safe distance, no longer certain that he would have further instructions for Kierkan Rufo, no longer certain of anything.
Mortality
he dawn found Cadderly at his meditation, at his
exercises, reaching his arms far to the side one
I at a time, muscle playing powerfully agains*
I muscle. He eyed the open book on the table be-
JL fore him as he moved, heard the song in his head, and felt in tune with it. Sweat lathered his bare chest and streaked the sides of his face, and the young priest felt it keenly, his senses heightened in this meditative state.
When at last he finished, Cadderly was thoroughly weary. He considered his bed, then changed his mind, thinking that he had been spending too much time in his room the past few days. The day would be bright and warm; outside his window, Impresk Lake glittered with a thousand sparkles in the morning sun.
Cadderly closed the Tome of Universal Harmony, but, looking upon the waters of that lake, so serene and inspiring, he still heard the song acutely. It was time to take the knowledge (the emotional strength, he hoped) that he had gained from the book out into the world. It was time to see how his new insights might fit into the everyday struggles of the people around him.
Cadderly feared those revelations. Could he control the shadows he would inevitably see dancing atop the shoulders of the many people of Carradoon? And could he decipher their meaning - truly? He thought back to the events of the night before, when he had turned young Brennan away, frightened at the implications of the squirming, growling manifestations he had seen.
The young priest washed and toweled off, strengthening his resolve. The choices seemed clear: go out and learn to assimilate in light of his newfound knowledge, or remain in his room, living a hermitlike existence. Cadderly thought of Betisarius, alone in his tower. The wizard would die there, alone, and, most likely, his body would not be discovered for weeks.
Cadderly did not wish to share that grim fate.
Still wearing the mantle of young Brennan, Ghost, absently replacing the candles on the lowered chandelier at the top of the staircase, watched the young priest leave the Dragon's Codpiece. He had heard Cadderly tell Fredegar that he would not return until late, and Ghost thought that a good thing. The Night Masks were in town and ready; Ghost had to meet with them this day. Perhaps young Cadderly would have a rather unpleasant surprise waiting for him when he returned that evening.
A patient killer, an artist, Ghost would have preferred to wait a few more days before arranging the strike, would have liked to get even closer to this curious young man, to know everything about him so that there could be no mistakes. The assassin considered this especially important in light of the potential problems arising from the arrival of the two other priests. Powerful priests had been known to resurrect the dead, and under normal circumstances, Ghost would prefer to take the time and discern exactly how much magical interference might be expected from the newcomers, particularly the priest bearing the title of headmaster. Might the Night Masks slay young Cadderly, only to have Avery locate his body and bring him back to life?
Bogo Rath presented even more complications. What might the upstart wizard be planning? the assassin wondered. Bogo had spoken with the other, lesser priest on the previous night, and that could not be a good thing.
Ghost did not like loose ends. He was a consummate professional who prided himself on being a perfect killer with never a lingering problem left behind. But while this operation seemed ragged to him, he had to believe that the problems could be circumvented - or eliminated. A new wrinkle had come into this picture, a new desire for Ghost that, in his mind at least, justified his seeming carelessness. Ghost felt the vitality coursing through his limbs, felt the powerful urges of adolescence, and remembered the pleasure those urges might bring.
He did not want to give up his new body.
But he knew, too, that he could not continue to play this charade much longer. With a single meeting, Cadderly had come to suspect that something was amiss, and Ghost did not doubt that those suspicions would only increase with time. Also, in this form, Ghost was severely restricted. His other body remained alive, and it would until the assassin fully committed himself to the idea of taking Brennan's body as his own, a dangerous action indeed until this mission was completed. And while that other, puny form drew breath, Ghost could not use the Ghearufu on any new victims. Even to get to \fender, his chosen victim, Ghost would have to go through his own body, and doing that would release young Brennan.
Things would become so much simpler when Cadderly lay dead, he knew. Ghost had considered trying the strike the night before, when he had held a cutting knife in his hand just inches from Cadderly's bare chest. If his aim had been good, the game would have ended then and there, and he could collect his gold, and seriously consider his immediate impulse to retain this young and vital body, to kill the trapped spirit of the young man back in his own room and remove the magical ring from the corpse's foot. In just a few days, his spirit would become acclimated to this new form, and then the Ghearufu would be his to use again. Vital youth would be his once more.
Hesitance had cost the assassin his chance. Before he had resolved to move, Cadderly was again intent upon him. The loose ends - his ignorance of Cadderly's powers, his ignorance of the other two priests - had held him back.
"Brennan!" Fredegar's cry startled the assassin from his contemplations.
"What are you waiting for?" the innkeeper bellowed. "Get that chandelier cranked back to its place, and soon! The hearth room needs cleaning, boy. Now get to it!"
More restrictions accompanied the pleasing young form. Ghost did not even argue. The Night Masks were not far-he had plenty of time to get to them - and in truth, he was glad for the delay so that he could better sort through the many potential problems and the many interesting questions.
About an hour later, the assassin was even more grateful for the delay that had kept him at the inn, when a young woman, strawberry blond hair bouncing gaily about her shoulders, entered the Dragon's Codpiece, looking for Cadderly and introducing herself as Lady Danica Maupois-sant.
Another wrinkle.
"There's the lad!" Ivan called, pointing back toward the front of the Dragon's Codpiece and roughly spinning Pikel about.
"Oo oi!" Pikel piped as scon as he spotted Cadderly, more concerned with getting Ivan's hands off him so that he might stop his spin. Dizzied, the green-bearded dwarf shuffled from foot to foot, struggling to straighten his cooking pot helmet.
Ivan started for Cadderly, who had not yet noticed them, but Danica put a hand on the dwarfs shoulder. As soon as the startled dwarf turned about and looked into Danica's pleading eyes, he understood.
"Ye want to go to him yerself," Ivan reasoned.
"Might I?" Danica asked. "I do not know how Cadderly will respond to seeing me. I would prefer . . ."
"Say no more, Lady," Ivan bellowed. "Me and me brother got more than a bit of work afore us, and it's getting late in the day already. I'll get us some rooms there." He pointed to the sign of an inn two doors down from where they stood, and two doors shy of the Dragon's Codpiece. "Ye can come and get us when ye want us.
"And ye can give him this from me and me brother," Ivan added, pulling the adamantite spindle-disks from a deep pocket. He started to give them to Danica, then pulled them back, embarrassed. As discreetly as he could, the gruff dwarf rubbed off a chunk of the weapon's first victim's face. Danica could not miss the movement. With a helpless shrug, Ivan tossed the disks to her.
Danica bent tow and kissed the understanding dwarf on the forehead, drawing a deep blush from Ivan.
"Hee hee hee," Pikel chirped.
"Aw, what'd ye go and do that for?" the flustered dwarf asked Danica. He slapped his chuckling brother across the shoulder to set them both into motion, moving away from the inn and away from Cadderly. Ivan knew that if the young scholar saw them all, he would probably invite them in, thus ruining Danica's desires.
Danica stood alone in the crowded street, watching Cadderly's every step as he made his way into the Dragon's Codpiece. Across from her, the waters of Impresk Lake sparkled in late afternoon sunlight, and she almost followed their spellbinding allure and ran away from her fears. Truly, Danica did not know how Cadderly would react, did not know how final their parting in Shilmista Forest had been.
If Cadderly rebuked her now, Danica did not know where she would turn.
For the young monk, who had faced many challenges, many enemies, no moment had ever been so trying. It took every measure of courage that Danica could muster, but, finally, she skipped off toward the waiting inn.
Cadderly was on the stairs, heading up, when Danica entered. He held his familiar walking stick in the crook of one elbow and was looking at some wrinkled parchment, apparently oblivious to the world around him.
Quiet as a cat, the agile monk crossed the room and made the stairs. A boy of perhaps fifteen years eyed her curiously as she passed, she noted, and she half expected the lad to stop her, for she was not a paying guest. He did not, though, and soon Cadderly, still too busy with the parchment to notice her, loomed just two steps ahead of her.
Danica studied him a moment longer. He looked leaner than he had just a few weeks ago, but she knew it was not for lack of eating. Cadderly's boyish form had taken on the hardness of manhood; even his step seemed more sure and solid, less inclined to skip aside from his chosen path.
"You look good," Danica blurted, hardly thinking before she made the comment. Cadderly stopped abruptly, stumbling over the next step. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the parchment. Danica heard him gulp for breath.
It seemed like many minutes had passed before the young priest finally mustered the courage to turn and face her, and when he did, Danica stared into a confused face indeed. She waited for Cadderly to reply, but, apparently, he either could not find his voice, or had nothing to say.
"You look good," Danica said again, and she thought herself incredibly inane. "I ... we, had to come to Carradoon. . ."
She stopped, her words halted by the look in Cadderly's gray eyes. Danica had many times before stared intently into those eyes, but she saw something new there now, a sadness of bitter experiences.
Again, it seemed like many minutes slipped by.
Cadderly's walking stick fell to the stairs with an impossibly loud thud. Danica looked to it curiously, and when she looked up again, Cadderly was with her, his arms wrapped about her, nearly crushing her.
Danica was independent and strong, arguably one of the very finest fighters in all the land, but never in her life had she felt so secure and warm. Gentle tears made their way down her smooth cheeks; there was no sadness in her heart.
Still wearing Brennan's body as his own, Ghost watched the pair from the bottom of the stairs as he absently pushed a broom back and forth. His devious mind continued its typical whirling, formulating new plans, making subtle adjustments in the old plans. Ghost had to get things moving quickly now, he knew. The complications were undeniably piling up.
The skilled killer, the artist, was not afraid. He liked challenges, and compared to the many dead heroes he had left in his wake, this action, this victim, Cadderly, did not seem so much a problem.
Danica.
Cadderly had not seen her in more than five weeks, and while he had not forgotten her appearance, he was nonetheless surprised by her beauty. She stood inside the closed door of his room, her head cocked patiently to the side, strawberry hair dancing against one shoulder, and her exotic eyes, rich and brown, tender and knowing, gazing at him.
He had initiated their breakup. He had been the one who had left - had left Danica, the war, and Shilmista. He still was not certain of Danica's intentions in coming to see him, but whatever they might be, Cadderly knew it was surely his turn to speak, to explain.
"I did not expect you to come," he said, moving beside his reading table and gently closing the Tome of Universal Harmony. A nervous chuckle escaped his dry lips. "I feared I would receive an invitation to Shilmista Forest to witness the wedding of Danica and Elbereth."
"I do not deserve that," Danica replied, keeping her melodic voice even-toned and steady.
Cadderly threw up his hands helplessly. "I would have deserved it," he admitted.
Danica produced Ivan's gift and tossed it to him. "From the dwarves," she explained as Cadderly caught the heavy disks. "They began it long ago, a present to the one who saved the Edificant Library."
Cadderly could feel the strength of the weapon, and that horrified him as much as thrilled him. "Always weapons," he muttered resignedly and tossed the spindle-disks to the floor at the foot of his bed, where they bounced against a small clothes chest, dented the hardwood, and rolled to a stop inches from Cadderly's newly enchanted walking stick.
Cadderly regarded the fitting image and nearly laughed aloud, but he would not let Danica's obvious distraction keep him from his point. "You loved the elf prince," he said to her.
"He is now the elf king," Danica reminded him.
Cadderly did not miss the fact that she did not respond to his accusation.
"You did ... do love Elbereth," Cadderly said again, quietly.
"As do you," Danica replied. "He is a dear friend, and among the most extraordinary and honorable people I have ever had the privilege of fighting beside. I would give my life for the elf king of Shilmista, as would you."
Her words did not come as any revelation to Cadderly. All along, beneath the veil of his fears, he had known the truth of Danica's relationship with Elbereth, had known that her love for the elf - and it was indeed love - was irrelevant to her feelings for the priest. Danica and Elbereth had bonded in a common cause, as warriors with shared values. If Cadderly loved Danica, and he did with all of his heart, then how could he not also love Elbereth?
But there remained a nagging question, a nagging doubt, and not one about Danica.
"You would give your life for him," Cadderly replied with all sincerity. "I wish I could claim equal courage."
Danica's smile was not meant to mock him, but he felt it keenly anyway.
"I ran from there," Cadderly pointedly reminded her.
"Not when you were needed," Danica replied. "Neither I nor the elves have forgotten what you did at Syldritch Trea, or in the height of the fight. Tintagel is alive because of you. Shilmista is back in the hands of Elbereth's people because of you."
"But I ran away," Cadderly argued. "Do not doubt that."
Danica's next question, tinged with innocence and honest trepidation, caught the young priest off his guard. "Why did you run?"
She dropped her traveling cloak on the small night table and moved over to sit on Cadderly's bed, and he turned about to look out of his window, over the still-glittering lake in the dying light of day. Cadderly had never asked himself that question so bluntly, had never considered the cause of his distress.
"Because," he said after a moment, then he paused again, the words still not clear in his mind. He heard the bed creak and feared for a moment that Danica was coming to him; he did not want her to see the pain on his face at that moment. The bed creaked again and he realized that she had only shifted and had not risen.
"Too much was spinning about me," he said. "The fighting, the magic, my dilemma over Dorigen's unconscious form and the fear that I did wrong in not killing her, the cries of the dying that would not leave my ears." Cadderly managed a soft chuckle. "And the way you looked at Elbereth."
"All of that would seem cause to remain beside those who love you, not to run away," Danica observed.
"This madness has been mounting for some time," Cad-derly explained, "perhaps even before the evil priest began his assault on the library. Perhaps I have been troubled all of my adult life. That would not surprise me.
"I must face these troubles and get beyond them," he continued, stealing a look at Danica over his shoulder. "I know that now."
"But again . . ," Danica began, but Cadderly, facing the lake again, cut her off with an outstretched palm.
"I could not face them beside you, do you not understand?" he asked, his voice pleading, hoping that she would forgive him. "Back in the library, whenever the many questions threatened to overwhelm me, all I had to do was seek out my Danica, my love. Beside you, watching you, there were no troubles, no unanswerable questions."
He turned to face her squarely, saw the joy emanating from her beautiful face.
"You are not my answer," Cadderly admitted, and he winced as Danica's light went out, a great pain washing through her almond eyes.
"You are not my cure," Cadderly quickly tried to explain, lamenting his initial choice of words. "You are a salve, a temporary relief."
"A plaything?"
"Never!" The word was torn from Cadderly's heart, bursting forth with the soreness that Danica needed to hear.