THE WORDS OF MAKING

Chapter One

Three books floated above the table in the work chamber in Blackstone Keep, held aloft by a levitation spell Gerin had been practicing for the past hour. In his previous attempts he'd moved the books no more than a foot or two before the spell collapsed upon itself. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he fought to keep the stack level; if the top two books slid off of the lower one - which was the only one he was actually levitating, having slipped the spell's power beneath it like an invisible platter - they would fall to the table before he could create additional spells to hold them up.

Gods above me, this is hard!

He gestured with his hand, and the books began to move toward him, wobbling through the air. He was seated at one end of the table; Hollin had placed the books at the other end. His task was to lift them and bring them to him across the table's length, a distance of about fifteen feet. The table itself was cluttered with all manner of objects: magefire lamps of varying heights and designs; stacks of books and scrolls; a flagon of water and two pewter mugs; a vase of withered flowers; loose pieces of paper and parchment; three maps of different areas of Khedesh; a half-eaten wheel of cheese; the remains of a loaf of black bread; a scattering of pens and inkwells; blotting cloths; and a small bust of Venegreh, the founder of Hethnost, the fortress where most of the few hundred wizards left in Osseria now lived.

His original plan had been to levitate the books above the height of the tallest objects on the table and bring it to him in a straight line, but to his great annoyance he discovered that the higher he tried to lift them, the more unstable they became. He'd dropped the stack six times before finally giving up on that course of action. He would have to navigate them through the treacherous obstacles on the table top from a height of less than ten inches.

The floating stack dipped and trembled as it threaded its way slowly across the table, like a drunken man walking in an overly careful manner. Gerin used his right hand to help him direct the books, pointing the way with his forefinger, though his hand movement had no real effect on his power - it simply helped him better envision the path the stack had to follow.

He managed to maneuver them about a third of the table's length before he lost control and the books fell upon the wheel of cheese.

"This is ridiculous. The spell just isn't stable enough to do what you want me to do."

"I doubted you'd be able to succeed," said Hollin, who'd been leaning against the wall. "Levitation spells are terribly difficult, and are rarely used. They're more for theory and practice. They have little practical application because of their limitations."

"Then why bother having me learn them?"

Hollin folded his arms and gave Gerin a look that said, You know better than to ask a question like that.

"Oh, all right," said Gerin. He started counting off reasons on his fingers. "It helps me learn to concentrate, I should know as many spells as I can, it's always possible that spells that are hard for less powerful wizards will be easy for me - is that enough, or should I continue?" He was annoyed that levitation was so difficult as to be impractical. Yesterday, when Hollin had told him that levitation would be the topic of study for today, he had gone to bed dreaming up all kinds of uses for such spells: hurling tens or hundreds of arrows at an enemy at one time without the need for bows, or the range limits that came with them - who knew how far a magically-flung arrow could fly? Flinging knives or darts at multiple attackers; smashing a battering ram through an enemy's gate without the need to risk soldiers to man the ram; moving matériel and troops across rivers or gullies without the need for bridges or boats; even levitating himself to simulate flight in some fashion, though he deduced there must be some reason a wizard could not levitate himself since he'd never seen or heard of such a thing being done.

He'd found out quickly enough he'd been right about the last point: Hollin had told him at the start of their lesson that a wizard's magic could not be used to levitate the source of the magic; therefore a wizard could not levitate himself. As Hollin showed him some of the more basic levitation spells and answered his questions, the crown prince realized his dream of using levitation as a weapon in warfare was completely impossible.

They'd talked about the theories of levitation and studied different spells for several hours before Gerin made his first attempt with the books. Because of other matters that needed Gerin's attention, they'd not been able to start until late in the day, and the sun was already setting, casting long rectangles of dusty light across the beamed ceiling.

"We're finished with this for now," said Hollin. "These spells are apparently as hard for you to invoke as any other wizard."

Gerin spent some time reading a volume of Atalari history sent by the Master Archivist of the Varsae Sandrova, the great library at Hethnost. He came across a passage describing the power-imbued armor the Atalari had worn into battle that shimmered with a rainbow iridescence. The description hit him powerfully, for he had seen that armor once in a vision atop the massive cliff called the Sundering.

The Atalari were the ancestors of wizards, beings of magic who had long ago ruled the northlands of Osseria and shunned contact with races who had no magic of their own. He had seen the Atalari during the height of their powers in a terrifying vision shown to him and his sister Reshel by a long-dead spirit named Teluko, once a prince of his people, the Eletheros. The vision had shown the final slaughter of the Eletheros at the hands of Atalari warriors; old men, women, and children had been mercilessly killed before Gerin's eyes. He still dreamed of a young boy and girl - Gerin had always thought they were brother and sister - who had fled in terror of the invaders swarming through their city, killing and raping and burning everything in their path. The boy had been murdered with a spear through his chest; the girl had jumped screaming from the cliff rather than face her brother's fate. The magnitude of what he'd seen - the extinction of an entire people, wiped from the face of the world because of an enemy's mindless hatred - still shocked and disturbed him. That slaughter was what had driven Teluko's older brother, Asankaru, a spirit who had assumed the guise of a Neddari god, to madness.

There was a knock at the door. Master Baelish Aslon entered, the old teacher of the castle, holding a small sealed scroll in a trembling hand. "This arrived a short time ago, my lord," he said as he shuffled across the room. "A message from your father."

Gerin stood and took the scroll from him. "Your tremors are getting worse, Master."

Aslon shrugged. "I am old, my lord. My body fails, and there is nothing to be done. Hollin tells me there is no spell of healing that can reverse the effects of aging." He smiled, exposing worn yellowed teeth. He was completely blind in his left eye, its pupil as white as milk. "At least I still have my wits about me. Or so they tell me. I suppose if they failed me I would not even know it. One small mercy, at least." "Thank you, Master. Would you care to sit?"

"Oh, no, thank you, my lord. I have to get back to that whelp Tomma. He shows great promise, but I have to keep at him or I find him napping at all hours of the day instead of doing his chores. He's a bright young lad, though. I will send him to the Chapter House of Laonn soon to finish his training and take his vows."

Gerin broke the seal on the scroll and opened it. The message had been written by one of his father's scribes - Gerin recognized the narrow slanted scrawl of Tendrik Havenos - but the words were unmistakably his father's; brief and cool, as if he were communicating with an minor lord rather than his son and heir. Will he ever forgive me? he wondered as his jaw clenched in frustration.

He read the message, his scowl deepening, then tossed it onto the table in disgust.

"I take it the news is not good?" asked Hollin.

Gerin gestured toward the message. "See for yourself. The royal archivists have had no luck finding any reference to the Chamber of the Moon and feel they've exhausted every possibility. My father has commanded them to stop unless we can provide him with further illuminating information."

Hollin picked up the note and read it quickly. "This is not terribly surprising. I know you think he's still angry with you --"

"He is still angry with me."

"-- but that doesn't mean that everything he does is a rebuke. The archivists have exhausted a long search without success. It's prudent to have them stop until we can point them in some other direction. I'm also disappointed that they haven't found anything. I thought our best hope to learn more about the Chamber of the Moon would be found in Almaris. Maybe it still is. But we need to find something else for the archivists to look for. Another name for it, a hint as to how Naragenth hid it. Something more than just the name."

"Then the search is doomed. How in the name of the gods can we find out more about it? That's what we want them to do! If we could unearth more information we wouldn't need them."

Hollin sighed. "I know, it is a quandary. The archivists at Hethnost are still searching. Perhaps they'll find something that will help."

Gerin nodded but did not feel confident. For a year-and-a-half they'd been looking for knowledge about the Chamber of the Moon. While training at Hethnost - and unknowingly under the compulsion of a Neddari sorcerer - Gerin had stolen forbidden black magic and used it to summon the spirit of Naragenth, once the king of Khedesh and the only other amber wizard to have existed before the discovery of Gerin's own amber powers. Naragenth had lived eighteen hundred years ago, in a time when wizards were far more numerous and jealous of their power and status. He'd managed to gather the greatest wizards of his age in a Conclave in which all of their knowledge was placed in a single location: the Varsae Estrikavis.

The Wars of Unification had begun soon after, plunging all of Osseria into a conflict which resulted in the birth of the Helcarean Empire. Naragenth and the other wizards had been killed during the war, and with them died the knowledge of how to find the library. Wizards had searched for it, with no success, ever since.

Gerin had used the forbidden spells to summon Naragenth's spirit from the grave to ask him directly where he'd hidden the library. The spell - a difficult magic created by a long dead outlaw group of murderous wizards called the Baryashin Order -had never before been used, but Gerin had managed to make it work. The ghost of Naragenth had appeared before the crown prince, who convinced the shade that he was indeed dead and that no further purpose could be served by keeping the location of the library secret.

"The Varsae Estrikavis was hidden where no man could find it, in the Chamber of the Moon," the spirit had said.

"Where is the Chamber of the Moon?" said Gerin. "I've never heard of it, not in all the accounts I've read of your library."

"Of course you have never heard of it. The Chamber of the Moon was a great secret, and one of my greatest creations. It is not in Osseria. It can only be reached by --"

And then something had gone wrong with the spell, disrupting its power and returning Naragenth to the world of the dead before he could reveal his secret. They'd later learned that the spell had caused a catastrophic imbalance between the worlds of the living and the dead, so attempting to summon Naragenth a second time was not possible.

Naragenth's assertion that the Chamber of the Moon was "not in Osseria" had led Gerin to wonder if it had been hidden on one of the islands off the coast of Khedesh to better safeguard its contents. Gerin's Uncle Nellemar controlled Gedsengard Isle, the largest of these islands, and after the end of the Neddari War Gerin had asked his uncle to search for any evidence that Naragenth had hidden his library there. It did not take long for his uncle to send him a message that he could find no trace that the old king had ever visited the island or built a secret library there.

There was another knock at the door. A servant entered and told them that Gerin's younger brother, Prince Therain, had just arrived at the castle.

They met Therain in the entry hall of the keep. Gerin's brother was the lord and master of Castle Agdenor, and had borne the initial assault of the Neddari when they'd invaded Khedesh.

"How was your journey?" Gerin asked as his brother shrugged off his cloak. The hulking captain of Therain's personal guard, Donael Rundgar, stood behind his lord with his arms crossed, searching the large room with his eyes as if expecting assassins to emerge from the shadows. Some things never change, thought Gerin. Rundgar was fiercely dedicated to Therain, to the point where anyone Rundgar did not know personally and intimately - including Gerin - was considered a potential threat. Gerin would not have been able to stand a man like that around him, but apparently such an arrangement worked well enough for his brother.

Therain made a dismissive gesture. "The same as always: dull. Hello, Hollin."

"Hello, Therain. You seem well."

"Good as ever. Have you been able to teach Gerin anything since I was here last? We both know how thick-headed and stubborn he is. Skull made of wood, kind of like this table."

"One or two things might have sunken in."

"I was going to ask if you wanted to join me and Balandrick for a trip into Padesh tomorrow to sample some ale," said Gerin. "But if all you're going to do is insult me, your older and wiser brother, not to mention your lord and prince..." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That might be reason enough to toss you in the dungeons for a day or two. Treasonous insults directed toward a royal personage."

"I'm a royal personage too."

"I outrank you."

"All right, all right, I recant. You're the most brilliant crown prince ever. A genius. A luminary among luminaries. A true --"

"Enough already. I think I like it better when you're acting like Claressa."

Therain scowled. "Now that was low."

* * *

Gerin, Therain, Balandrick, and four of Gerin's guards rode out of the castle the next day at the sounding of the noon bells. They followed the winding road down Ireon's Hill, then turned toward the town of Padesh. The road cut straight across an open field of grass before plunging into a small woods that cupped the southeastern edge of the town. The Padesh Road was well-traveled by merchants and farmers, who made sure the hard-packed dirt was kept clear and passable. There were a few scattered travelers on the road behind them, but for the most part they were alone.

The trees came to an abrupt halt a few hundred feet from the town's ivy-covered wall. The road itself continued through the rocky field that separated the woods and the town, ending at one of the town's two gates. The single unmarked door in the wall was open and guarded by a lone watchman dozing on a stool. Men and women - some on foot, some on horseback, some driving wagons or hauling carts behind them - made their way into town, most heading for the market at the heart of Padesh. Only a few were heading out, a clutch of farmers lucky enough to have already sold their goods, eager to be on their way home.

A group of women emerged from the gate, lugging a two-wheeled cart behind them. Gerin felt the blood drain from his face and reined Ranno to a halt. Beside him, Balandrick muttered a curse.

"Are those women what I think they are?" asked Therain.

"Yes, my lord," said Balandrick through clenched teeth. "The Daughters of Reshel."

There were six women with the cart, all wearing drab gray robes with hoods pulled low over their faces. The cart itself had sides of slatted wood about a foot high. On the bed lay a body wrapped in linens, its hands folded across its chest. An old man followed behind the cart, leaning heavily on the arm of a younger man that Gerin took to be his son.

"We have them at Agdenor as well," said Therain. "Their robes are brown, though, and they wear them with a red sash."

"I still don't know what to think of them," said Balandrick. His voice was anguished, and there was a pained, pinched look around his eyes. Balandrick had loved Reshel, Gerin's youngest sister; secretly at first, but later she had loved him as well. Despite the differences in their stations they had even briefly contemplated marriage before her death atop the Sundering. "I've only seen them a few times, and it always makes me feel..." He shook his head, unable or unwilling to speak what was in his heart.

Therain reached out and squeezed Balandrick's shoulder. "They sprouted up like mushrooms after a long rain. Two groups were already working in the countryside around Agdenor when some women in the castle petitioned me for permission to join the order. Gods above me, I didn't even know there was an order until they showed up."

"What did you tell them?" None of the Daughters of Reshel in Gerin's own duchy had asked his leave to become part of this budding order.

"I questioned them about what they planned to do, what their vows were, if they were serious about it, that kind of thing. And then said yes. I didn't think it would be a good idea to refuse women who wanted to pledge themselves to our sister. What does Father think about it?"

"I don't know," said Gerin. "We haven't spoken about them, and I haven't brought it up. Though I'm sure he's aware of them."

The women turned the cart onto a rutted path that swerved off the main road and down a long rocky embankment toward the town's graveyard. The lich-way was bordered with spirit-posts -- wooden poles on either side of the path carved with prayers to ward off evil spirits, hung with garlands of flowers.

"I doubt he approves," said Therain.

Gerin was momentarily overcome by guilt. The sight of the Sisters sent a flood of memories rushing through him. He had failed his little sister, whom he had sworn to his father to keep from harm.

"Come on," said Gerin, spurring Ranno forward. "I'm thirsty."

He found himself stealing glances at the women as he approached the town. Balan was right: it was hard to know what to think of them. The Daughters of Reshel had first appeared a few months after Reshel's death. Gerin had heard about them from Balandrick, who in turn had learned of them from some of his men who'd been patrolling the Naevost Road and had come across a group of the women taking a body to its grave.

Reshel Atreyano, Gerin's youngest sister, had sacrificed herself atop the Sundering to provide Gerin the magic he needed - which could only come from a virginal innocent - to return the spirit Asankaru to the world of the dead. If that could not be accomplished, the imbalance between the worlds of the living and the dead could very well have destroyed all life in Osseria. Many hundreds of people had died simply because the world of the dead had intersected this world, an occurrence that by its very nature was lethal to any living thing.

Reshel had killed herself so that her people might live. Word of her sacrifice had spread rapidly through the kingdom. Nobles and commoners alike whispered in awe of the royal daughter's courage and selflessness. The High Priest of the Temple in Almaris quickly declared her to be a saint of her people, naming February 19 -- the date of her death -- as Saint Reshel's Day.

Since that day, he'd wondered if he could have done the same thing. Could he have made that ultimate sacrifice? He'd been prepared to die, but at Asankaru's hands, not his own.

The Daughters took vows to help the sick and prepare the bodies of the dead for burial. Their duties were similar to those of the Brothers of Twilight, though the Brothers were sworn to Bellon, while the Daughters had allegiance to no god that he was aware of. Gerin had been astounded when he'd learned of their existence. That his little sister - shy, quiet Reshel, a lover of books and learning - could inspire such devotion seemed inconceivable. He had yet to speak to any of the Daughters; the few times he'd seen them he'd shied away, reluctant to disturb them as they went about their solemn tasks. Perhaps he should change that, he thought as they passed into Padesh. Ask them why they dedicated their lives to this cause, and what about his sister's life so captivated them.

He realized that much, if not all, of the devotion of the Daughters came not from Reshel's life but from her death. And that was what disturbed and troubled him. Part of him was pleased that she was being honored in such a way, that her sacrifice had gained an even greater meaning than it already had.

But other aspects of the Daughters were not as pleasant. On the first anniversary of Reshel's death, six of the Daughters in various parts of Khedesh had killed themselves by slitting their throats, the method Reshel had used to end her life. Gerin had been shocked and appalled by the news. He had no desire to have his sister honored by a suicide cult. Yet what could he do? Most of the Daughters served honorably and had been equally horrified by the suicides. He'd been told that they now did what they could to make sure women who wanted to join were not doing so out of a misplaced desire to end their own lives and ascribe meaning to their deaths by linking them to Reshel's.

"When are we leaving for Almaris?" asked Therain. The men and women thronging Herren Street - the main avenue that ran the length of the town from east to west - stopped to gawk at the royal brothers in their silk and linen finery passing by on horseback, surrounded by their well-armed and well-armored guards.

"A few days. I've been tarrying just to annoy her, but we'll need to be leaving soon or she'll be in real danger of missing her own wedding."

Therain laughed. "Can't have that, can we? If she doesn't get married, that means she'll be staying with you at Ailethon. Maybe forever."

Most of the houses and shops in Padesh were built of wood, two or three stories high, with thick thatch roofs. A few of the larger buildings, like the Shrine of Menpha and the mayor's house, were made of mortared fieldstone. The market lay at the center of town, where Herren Street and Padlet Street -- the main north-south avenue -- crossed one another.

Gerin was heading for the Red Vine, a tavern along Padlet Street just off the marketplace. They had almost reached the market, a hardpacked dirt square filled with wagons, carts, stalls and ladders from which merchants and farmers sold everything from bread, fruit, vegetables, cheese, and wine to rolls of wool, burlap, linen, and leather. Jugglers and acrobats tumbled in small open spaces crowded with onlookers; women stood upon stall roofs and ladders, their arms laden with bracelets and other baubles and trinkets. A pall of dust and smoke hung above the square, heavy with eye-watering smells, both good and bad.

"I feel nothing but pity for the man she's going to marry," said Therain. "Baris Toresh has no idea what he's in for."

"He's not a particularly strong fellow," said Gerin. "I met him when we were in Almaris for Father's coronation. He melts into the scenery."

Therain whistled and shook his head. "She will eat him alive. Don't get me wrong, I love my dear twin sister with all my heart, but the thought of being married to someone like her is almost too much to bear."

"We could warn him, my lords," said Balandrick. "Help him make an escape. Give him some food and a map. It would be the decent thing to do."

"Or a mercy killing," said Therain. "Put the poor bastard out of his misery. He'd thank us for it if he knew Claressa the way we do."

"No, that would lead us back to Claressa staying with me, and we can't have that," said Gerin. "Poor Baris will just have to fend for himself."

Near the edge of the square, in the shadow of one of the taller houses, was a small wooden platform raised a few feet above the dirt. A man stood upon it, addressing a growing crowd of onlookers. There was nothing remarkable about the man's appearance. He was of average height and build, a little lean perhaps but certainly not starving. He wore a homespun tunic of brown wool over leggings. He spoke passionately, moving back and forth across the creaking wood, his eyes darting across the crowd with a piercing gaze, his arms waving and jabbing to emphasize his words. His accent marked him as a man from the northern coastal regions of Khedesh.

"The One God is returning from His long absence to ensure that we follow the Chosen Path He has revealed to His servant the Prophet," said the man. His voice boomed from the platform, drawing more and more people to him. "Follow the Prophet! Hear his words! Open your eyes and your ears and your heart to him and he will teach you dalar-aelom, the Way of the Faith.

"Why should you follow the Prophet? Because there is a darkness coming! Heed my words! The One God returns now for a reason. The timing is no accident, no random chance. His Adversary is about to return, and if we do not all look to the One God for guidance, every corner of our world will fall under the shadow of His Enemy."

The Adversary! Gerin was stunned by the man's words. Before he'd become a wizard, he had felt a powerful divine presence in his rooms at Ailethon that had touched him in an indescribable way. It had spoken his name and said, "Your time is coming."

A second visitation had occurred on the road to Hethnost. Gerin had seen a man that no one else had, sitting by the side of the road. He'd claimed to be a messenger of the Maker, and had warned Gerin that the Maker's Adversary was returning after a long absence from the world. The messenger had also said, "Even a prophet may not fully understand what he is shown. Be mindful of what you are told."

"What is your name?" Gerin called out to the man. The crowd, seeing noblemen surrounded by guards and sensing trouble, melted away.

The man looked startled to have been spoken to. When he saw Gerin and realized he'd been addressed by someone of noble birth, he straightened and bowed his head. "My name, my lord, is Viros Tennor."

"And who is this Prophet?"

"The Prophet of the One God is Aunphar el'Turya, my lord. I am but one of his heralds, sent to proclaim his message."

"Your audience appears to have fled. I would hear more about this One God of yours."

Tennor did not hesitate. "Yes, my lord. I will tell you all that I can."