Patricia C. Wrede - Magician 2 - Magician's Ward

VIP免费
2024-12-22 0 0 2.86MB 114 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Magician’s Ward
Mairelon, Book 2
Patricia C Wrede
1998
ISBN: 0-812-52085-8
Praise for Mairelon the Magician
“Delightful .... Wrede’s confection will charm readers of both Regency romances and fantasies.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Effortless, deft writing .... The dialogue is crisp and the choreography ingenious, and one might
readily expect a theatrical adaptation of the novel to be forthcoming.”
—Amazing
“A wonderful fantasy/mystery .... This will be enjoyed by many readers, not just those who read
fantasy. Highly recommended.”
—Voice of Youth Advocates
Books by Patricia C. Wrede
The Seven Towers
Sorcery and Cecelia (with Caroline Stevermer)
Snow White and Rose Red
Mairelon the Magician
Book of Enchantments
Magician’s Ward
THE LYRA BOOKS
Shadow Magic
Daughter of Witches
The Harp of Imach Thyssel
Caught in Crystal
The Raven Ring
Shadows over Lyra
THE CHRONICLES OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST
Dealing with Dragons
Searching for Dragons
Calling on Dragons
Talking to Dragons
For Lois Bujold, without whom this would still be stuck in Chapter 7. Twice.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible, let alone finished, without the aid and comfort of the
following people:
Pamela Dean Dyer-Bennet, Beth Friedman, Raphael Carter, Sarah Withee, and Elise Matthesen,
who helped with sundry accents and foreign languages, and James Bryant, who provided the answer to a
tricky research question. Any errors are, of course, my own.
My critique group, The Usual Suspects past and present, who were amazingly good about sitting
through the same scenes over and over until I got them right, and who performed prodigious feats during
the final days of production: Lois McMaster Bujold, Peg Kerr Ihinger, Elise Matthesen, Bruce Bethke,
and Joel Rosenberg.
My editors, Delia Sherman and Patrick Nielsen Hayden, who were supernaturally patient when
patience was most required, and who somehow knew exactly when it was necessary to crank up the
heat.
Caroline Stevermer, Rosemary Ighel, Lois Bujold, and Pamela Dyer-Bennet, who provided much
appreciated moral support, encouragement, lunches, and a careful eye to period detail. My family, who
were exceedingly understanding as regards late Christmas presents and last-minute cancellations.
One
Cold rain drizzled on the dark London streets—at least, it looked cold. Kim peered out her
bedroom window at the deserted square two stories below and pulled her shawl closer around her
shoulders, though the fire in the grate was almost too warm for comfort. She hadn’t had to shelter,
shivering, in a doorway for nearly a year, but the memories lingered.
Still no sign of Mairelon. Is he going to stay out all night? Kim thought resentfully. He gets to
jaw with Lord Shoreham and eat at the Royal College of Wizards, and I’m stuck here with a great
thick square book and that poker-backed aunt of his. She shook her head. It was not what she had
expected, a year ago when she had agreed to become Mairelon’s ward and learn reading and magic.
Then, she had thought it would be a great adventure.
“‘Anything might happen,’ I thought,” Kim said aloud to her reflection in the rain-dark window.
“‘Anything at all.’ I must have been touched in the head.” She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue
at her mirror image.
“Dicked in the nob, that’s what I was,” she muttered.
The bedroom door opened. “What did you say, Kim?” Mrs. Lowe asked in a mildly disapproving
tone.
With a faint sigh, Kim slid off the window seat and turned. The relentless respectability of Mairelon’s
paternal aunt was very wearing. It seemed much longer than a week since they’d found her ensconced in
the townhouse on their arrival in London. And since they were all technically guests of Mairelon’s brother
Andrew, who as elder son had inherited the townhouse, there was nothing to be done about Mrs. Lowe
except spend time elsewhere. Which Mairelon had been doing rather a lot. Kim wished she had that
option. “I didn’t say anything,” she told Mrs. Lowe in as mild a tone as she could manage.
“I was sure I heard your voice.” Mrs. Lowe hesitated. “It wasn’t any of that ... that thieves’ cant,
was it?”
“Flash lingo,” Kim said helpfully.
Mrs. Lowe frowned. “After all my nephew has done for you, the least you could do is to be more
careful of your language.”
“Mairelon doesn’t mind the way I talk.”
“My nephew is not always as conscious of the social niceties as he should be,” Mrs. Lowe said.
“Nonetheless, they must be observed. And you really should refer to him as ‘Mr. Merrill.’ He is your
guardian, and it would show a proper respect.”
“Did you want me for something?” Kim asked, hoping to dodge the discussion. “I have studying to
do.” She waved at the fat, leather-bound book on the nightstand beside the bed, and suppressed a
grimace. Three more volumes were waiting for her in the library below. Why he keeps shoving them at
me when he knows I’m no great hand at reading ....
“More magic, I suppose.” Mrs. Lowe shook her head. “I’ll speak to Richard about that in the
morning.”
“Speak to him?” Kim said, beginning to be alarmed. For the past week, Mrs. Lowe had made Kim’s
life a respectable misery. She had insisted that Kim accompany her to pay interminable morning calls on
dull but acceptable acquaintances, forbidden all walks alone, and made it quite clear that, in the unlikely
event of Kim’s encountering any of her former friends, Kim was to cut them dead. Thus far, however,
she had not attempted to interfere with Kim’s magic lessons.
“I am sure you will have plenty of opportunity to study when you are back in Kent,” Mrs. Lowe said.
“Magic is all very well, but it is hardly a necessary branch of knowledge for a young woman in your
situation. While you are in London, we must make the most of your chances. I cannot say I have any
great hope of success, given your ... circumstances, but there are one or two possibilities—That is why I
wished to talk to you tonight.”
“I don’t understand,” Kim said warily.
“Mrs. Hardcastle knows a gentleman who sounds as if he will do very nicely. Well, perhaps not a
gentleman, but respectable enough. She has arranged for us to meet him tomorrow afternoon, and I
wished to warn you to be on your best behavior.”
“Best behavior—You can’t be thinking of getting me leg-shackled to some gentry cull!”
“If what you just said was some sort of reference to arranging a suitable marriage for you, yes, that is
precisely what I was referring to,” Mrs. Lowe replied stiffly.
Kim didn’t know whether to be amused or appalled. Her, married to a toff? In her wildest notions,
she had never thought of such a thing. She looked at Mrs. Lowe, and her amusement died. The woman
was serious. “It’d never work.”
“It certainly won’t if you burst out with a remark like that over Mrs. Hardcastle’s tea table. Consider
carefully what I have said, and be prepared tomorrow, if you please. I am afraid that your ... interesting
background means that you are unlikely to have many opportunities of this nature—you would be ill
advised to waste this one. Good night.”
Kim stared at the closing door, then flung herself back into the window seat. Marriage! She’s the
one who’s dicked in the nob. There isn’t a toff in London who would marry a penniless, nameless
sharper, even if I have gone all respectable. She shifted restlessly in the window seat. Respectability
did not sit comfortably with her, but what other choices did she have?
She couldn’t go back to the streets, even if she were mad enough to want to. What with all the
regular eating, she’d filled out more than she’d have thought possible; posing as a boy now. would be out
of the question. She hadn’t the training to be a housemaid or take up a trade, even if she could find
someone to hire her. Mrs. Lowe’s “respectable gentleman” wasn’t a serious possibility, but sooner or
later Kim would have to think of something. She couldn’t stay Mairelon’s ward forever.
Though that doesn’t seem to have occurred to him.
But Richard Merrill—whom she still could not think of as anything but Mairelon the
Magician—didn’t look at things the way other people did. Well, if he did, he’d never have got himself
made my guardian. For all the awareness he showed, you’d think he was perfectly willing to go on
feeding, clothing, and housing Kim until they both died of old age.
Maybe she should ask him about it. Maybe she would, if she could figure out what “it” was,
exactly—or at least well enough to explain. “I’m bored” would only get her a larger stack of books to
study; “I’m not happy” sounded ungrateful; and “Your aunt is a Friday-faced noodle” was insulting. But
there had to be some way to put it.
Meanwhile, she had three more pages of Shepherd’s Elementary Invocations to decipher before
morning. She didn’t want Mairelon to think that she wasn’t working at her lessons, not if that Mrs. Lowe
was going to ask him to stop them. Sighing, Kim climbed out of the window seat.
The text on magic occupied Kim for several hours, but when she finally laid it aside and went to bed,
she found it impossible to sleep. She lay in darkness, staring up at the plaster ceiling and listening for the
clatter of Mairelon’s carriage on the cobblestones outside. Around her, the household quieted as the
housemaids and sculleys finished their days’ work and climbed the narrow servants’ stair to their beds
under the eaves. The watchman’s cry, muffled and perfunctory, came faintly through the window. Poor
old cull, Kim thought as a gust of wind sent raindrops rattling like gunfire across the panes. I’m glad I’m
not out in this.
Suddenly she sat bolt upright in the bed. That sounded like ... The noise came again, soft but clear.
Someone’s downstairs. Someone who’s got no business being there.
Kim slid out of bed. Her eyes slid past the bellpull without pausing. If she summoned a maid, she’d
only have to send the girl for a footman, and by the time all the running around was done, the cull
downstairs would have gotten away. And if she was wrong, if there wasn’t anyone, she’d have to endure
endless lectures from Mrs. Lowe. She could call someone when she was sure.
She started for the door, then stopped. Her white nightdress stood out in the darkness, she didn’t
want the cracksman to spot her and pike off before she got a footman or two to help catch him. Her
dressing gown was a dark, rich blue that would blend with the shadows; she picked it up and struggled
into it. Then she eased the door open and slipped into the darkened hallway.
Moving lightly, she made for the stairs. Another soft, scuffing sound came from below, followed by a
distinct creak; hadn’t anyone else noticed? Probably a novice, on his first crack lay. Somebody
should have told him to stick by the walls. Mother Tibb wouldn’t have sent anybody out that
didn’t know at least that much.
Suiting her own actions to her thoughts, Kim plastered herself against one wall and started down the
stairs, setting her bare feet as near the wall as she could. No creaks betrayed her. Halfway down, she
caught the flash of a dark lantern and froze. The light flickered past. A moment later, a figure skulked
down the hallway, opening doors and peering through them. The strong smell of a cheap lard candle and
the scent of wet wool preceded him; he must have been standing in the rain for some time to be so
drenched. Finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, the man let the last door swing fully open and disappeared
into the library.
The library? What could a thief want from the library? The silver was downstairs, on the ground
floor, and Mairelon’s brother didn’t keep valuables on display in his townhouse. The whole thing had
more of a rum look by the minute. Kim frowned, considering; then a hastily stifled expletive decided her.
There was no knowing what this cove was up to. She’d just make sure he couldn’t pike off, and then
she’d call the footmen.
Silently, she crept down the remaining steps. A cautious look showed the cracksman bent over the
end table, peering at the shelves behind it by the light of the dark lantern. Kim smiled grimly and, holding
the handle to prevent the betraying click of the latch snapping into place, carefully closed the library door.
Now, if she could just lock it in place somehow ... But the door had no lock, and there was nothing
nearby she could use to jam it. Magic, perhaps? She ran over in her mind the short list of spells she could
cast with some reliability. There was one that might do the trick, if she could get it right.
She took a deep breath, then focused her eyes on the handle. In her mind she pictured it as it was,
staying as it was, motionless, frozen, immovable, and in a voice barely above a whisper began the spell
that would make the image real.
An outraged bellow and a loud crash from inside the library rattled her concentration. “—sta, atque
—” she continued, and then the door burst open, knocking her sprawling. An instant later, the escaping
housebreaker stumbled over her and went down. Kim shouted and grabbed at him. Her hands slid
against silk, then tightened around thick, damp wool. The burglar twisted and something tore; the man
scrambled away from her, leaving her holding a scrap of cloth.
Kim tried to roll to her feet and ended up tangled in her dressing gown. The man regained his feet
and pelted down the hall, just as a sleepy-eyed footman appeared on the far stairs. The burglar shoved
the hapless footman against the wall and dashed down the stairs and out of sight. Crashing noises and
yells marked his continued progress. The footman recovered himself and plunged after his assailant.
More shouts drifted upward.
As Kim, muttering curses, struggled to a standing position at last, she heard footsteps on the stairs
behind her. She turned and found Mrs. Lowe, lamp in hand, staring at her with shock and disapproval.
“Kim! Whatever have you been doing? And in such a state!”
Kim glanced down. Her dressing gown had come undone, and she showed distinct traces, even in
the lamplight, of having rolled about on the floor. A torn and ragged bit of lace trailed off the hem of her
nightdress, and her hair was probably every-which-way, too. Mrs. Lowe, of course, was turned out in
more proper style—not a wisp of gray hair escaped from under her dainty lace cap, and her dressing
gown was crisper and neater than Kim’s had been even before her encounter with the burglar. Kim
pulled her dressing gown closed and discovered that several of the buttons were missing.
“I heard someone in the library,” Kim said as she scanned the floor for the buttons. One of them lay
next to the baseboard, beside a piece of wood with a splintered end. Kim bent toward it.
“Nonsense. You were dreaming, I’m sure.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” Kim reached for the button, and her fingers brushed the splintered wood. A light
tingling ran up her arm; and she jerked her hand back in surprise. Magic? She touched it again. Not a
strong spell, but recent. Mairelon’ll want a look at this. Frowning, she picked up wood and button
together and shoved them in the pocket of her dressing gown.
“If you did hear something, it was probably one of the maids. They keep different hours in town, and
I expect you are not yet accustomed—”
Kim tucked another button in the pocket of her dressing gown and looked back at Mrs. Lowe. “It
wasn’t one of the maids. They wouldn’t be carrying on like that if it had been,” she added, waving at the
stairs. The shouts and crashing noises had ceased, but it was nonetheless obvious that there was far more
activity on the ground floor than was normal at this time of night.
“At least you had the good sense to put on your dressing gown before you came down,” Mrs. Lowe
said, tacitly conceding the point. “Still, wandering about the house en déshabillé at this hour is most
irregular, no matter what your reasons.”
“I bet Mairelon won’t think so.” The injudicious words slipped out before Kim thought.
Mrs. Lowe’s thin lips pressed together in a hard line. Then, in deceptively soft tones, she said, “Mr.
Merrill, Kim, not Mairelon. Showing proper respect is—Where do you think you are going?”
“To find out whether they’ve caught the flash cull that was turning put the library.”
“Indeed you shall not,” Mrs. Lowe said. “You will return to your room at once, and we will discuss
matters further in the morning.”
“What matters?” said a new voice from the lower stairs.
“Mairelon!” Kim said, turning toward the voice with a sigh of relief.
Two
Richard Merrill climbed the last few steps and stood eyeing Kim and Mrs. Lowe with a quizzical
expression on his round, cheerful face. His dark hair looked damp and a little disheveled, but his coat and
pantaloons were immaculate. Kim wondered what he had done with his cloak. Probably left it in a
heap in the front hall because the footmen were too busy chasing burglars to take it.
“What matters?” he asked again. “And why wait to discuss them? From the look of things, no one’s
going to get any sleep for hours. Kim, Harry says he rescued you from someone, or possibly several
someones, who from his description were apparently seven feet tall and more indestructible than the
strong man down at Astley’s Amphitheatre. Ought I to congratulate him, or should he merely be sent to
the kitchen to sleep it off?”
Before Kim could answer, Mrs. Lowe frowned and said in tones that promised dire retribution for
someone, “Who is Harry?”
“One of the footmen. He’s on his way to the pantry to receive a hero’s due, on the strength of a
bruised shin and a knock on the head. The question is, does he deserve it?”
“He got banged up against the wall when that cracksman piked off, that’s all,” Kim said. “Unless they
had a run-in later.”
“No, the fellow got clean away. Still, I think we’ll leave Harry to his laurels, well-earned or not. What
I want now is the rest of the story.” He looked at Kim expectantly.
“I was upstairs when I heard—”
“Not tonight, Kim,” Mrs. Lowe broke in. “You have had quite enough excitement for one evening,
and tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I’m sure that if Richard thinks about it, he’ll agree that you
ought to be in bed. You’ll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. Come along.”
Mairelon put out a restraining hand. “I appreciate your concern, Aunt, but I wish to speak to Kim
now, if she’s agreeable. It won’t take long.”
“Of course I’m agreeable,” Kim said.
“That’s settled, then.” Turning his head, he called down the stairs, “Hunch! Bring a lamp when you
come up.”
Mrs. Lowe looked startled. “Kim is not the best judge of what is most appropriate, Richard. If you
will stop for a moment and think, you will see that.”
“What? No, no, Kim is quite good at this sort of thing. Go on, Kim—you were upstairs, and you
heard something.”
“She will catch a chill, running about half dressed at this hour,” Mrs. Lowe said firmly. “She belongs
upstairs in her bed.”
“Half dressed?” Mairelon said with mild interest. He looked at Kim and shook his head. “Nonsense.
She’s wearing a dressing gown. Now, I’ll grant you, it wouldn’t be quite the thing if she were going to go
walking in Grosvenor Square in the rain, but I promise you I won’t let her. We’ll stay right here in the
library.”
“Kim needs her rest, Richard.”
“She’s more likely to get it if she has a chance to talk first,” Mairelon said, frowning slightly.
“I’m not sleepy,” Kim put in.
Mrs. Lowe sighed. “If you insist, Richard. I shall join you as chaperone, of course.”
“I think not.” Mairelon’s attention was firmly fixed on his aunt at last, and his expression had gone
bland and unfathomable, the way it did when he was about to be particularly stubborn about something.
Mrs. Lowe did not seem to realize it.
“Richard, Kim’s reputation—”
“—is quite safe. I’m her guardian, remember.” His tone was polite and gentle, but brooked no
contradiction.
Mrs. Lowe hesitated, then acquiesced. “Very well, Richard. No doubt you have your reasons. I must
tell you, however, that it is most irregular, and the possible consequences—”
“In the morning, Aunt,” Mairelon said. He glanced at Kim and gave a tiny nod in the direction of the
library. Turning back to Mrs. Lowe, he went on in a soothing tone, “As you said, it is late, and I’m sure
this has been a strain on your nerves. Things will look different when you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”
Kim slipped quietly around behind him and into the darkened library. The murmur of voices in the hall
continued; then she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and Mairelon’s voice: “The library, Hunch.” She
stepped back as Mairelon’s manservant came through the door, carrying a candle. He was tall and thin,
and everything about him drooped: his shoulders, his mustache, the baggy trousers he insisted on
wearing.
“’Ere now, Kim, where—oh, there you are. Stay still; I’ll ’ave these ’ere lamps lit in no time.”
Light flared, then steadied as Hunch adjusted the lamp-wick. “There. Now—’Struth! That ’Arry
wasn’t ’alf right, by the look of it. What ’appened?”
The burglar’s dark lantern lay on its side next to an overturned end table; it was a good thing the
candle had gone out. A dozen books were scattered across the floor, some looking as if they had fallen
when the table went over, others as if they had been dropped or thrown.
“An excellent question, Hunch.” Mairelon entered, closing the door firmly behind him. “We’ve heard
Harry’s tale; I trust yours will be somewhat ... less imaginative, Kim.”
“I thought I heard something, so I came down to have a look,” Kim said. “A man with a dark lantern
was in the hall, looking in all the rooms. He went into the library. I was going to lock him in and call a
footman, except he must of heard me working the spell or something, because he came charging out
while I was still in the middle of it. He tripped over me, and I yelled, and he got away from me. The
footman—Harry?—was coming up to see what the noise was, and the rum cove ran slap into him before
he piked off down the stairs. That’s all.”
“Brief and to the point,” Mairelon said. “Though not, perhaps, up to Aunt Agatha’s standards of
elocution. What a good thing we sent her off to bed.”
“I found this in the hallway after the turn-up,” Kim said, pulling the scrap of wood from her pocket
and laying it on top of the books. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s been magicked.”
Mairelon picked up the scrap and turned it over in his hands. It looked like a piece of a wooden rod,
about four inches long and as big around as Kim’s little finger. “Technically, the term is ‘infused,’ not
‘magicked,’ but in a general sort of way you’re quite right.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Something that’s been enchanted, or ‘magicked,’ as you put it, has had a spell cast on it. Something
that’s been infused has had a spell stored in it.” Mairelon frowned at the piece of rod.
“What kind of spell?” Kim asked.
Mairelon blinked, then smiled. “That is the next question. One of them, anyway. Normally, once the
spell has been invoked, it’s used up—there’s no way to tell what it was.”
“That’s normally,” Kim said, recognizing the tone. “What’s weird about this?”
Mairelon’s smile broadened. “Whoever made it was exceedingly clumsy; it’s as if he put the spell
together from bits and pieces. And not all the bits and pieces went off when the wizard invoked it.”
“’E’s a beginner, then?” Hunch said.
“Mmm. Possibly. But Kim’s a beginner, and she could do a better job than this.”
“Well, are there enough bits left that you can tell what it was supposed to do?” Kim said, trying to
decide whether she should be pleased or insulted by the comparison.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Mairelon pointed the piece of rod at the nearest bookcase and muttered
something under his breath.
Nothing happened. Mairelon frowned and said something longer that sounded like Latin to Kim. As
he spoke, he waved the rod in a slow circle.
Several of the books began to glow with a soft, golden light. Mairelon gave an exclamation of
satisfaction, then began muttering rapidly, moving the rod in a rapid, complex pattern. The glow dimmed,
then steadied. After a moment, Mairelon relaxed and set the rod on the table.
Kim looked down. The books that lay scattered about the floor were all glowing as well. “This is
crazy! He couldn’t of sherried off with all those.”
“If it were that simple, we wouldn’t have books all over the library floor,” Mairelon said. “I’ll wager
he was looking for one or two particular volumes. The question is, which ones?”
“If you was to clean up a bit o’ this ’ere mess, you might ’ave an easier time figuring it out,” Hunch
said.
“An excellent notion.” Mairelon stepped forward and lifted the little table back onto its crocodile
paws. “Put the books here, and we’ll have a look.”
Hunch picked up the scattered volumes, while Kim rather gingerly helped Mairelon pull glowing
books from the shelves. When they were all piled on the end table, they made an impressive heap.
“Now, what have we here?” Mairelon murmured. “The Mountains of Doubt, Collegium Sorceria,
Discoverer, Apres Cinq Cents Ans, Fire Keepers Vol. VI—I wonder why he didn’t want the first
five?—A Pottery Pigeon, Reflecting Quadrille, Maturing Without Heaviness ... Our housebreaker
appears to have excellent taste.”
“Well, ’e can just taste things somewheres else next time,” Hunch muttered.
“I am inclined to agree with your recommendation, Hunch,” Mairelon said. “I don’t suppose you got
a look at his face during all the excitement, Kim?”
“No,” Kim said with regret. “I got a piece of his coat, though. He’s a toff, or someone as wants to
be.”“Really?” Mairelon looked at Kim with interest. “How did you deduce that?”
“He was wearing a silk waistcoat. I felt it. And this isn’t homespun.” Kim pulled the torn piece of
wool from her pocket. Two buttons came with it, and bounced off under the settee.
“Ripped his coat, did he?” Mairelon said. “How lucky for us.”
“Lucky?” Kim said, mystified.
“Yes, of course.” He crossed to the heavy table in the middle of the library and studied it a moment,
frowning. “Help me move this closer to the center of the room. Hunch, get me the blue chalk and a pot of
ink. Oh, and an unused candle for Kim.”
“You ain’t doing nothin’ dreadful now, Master Richard,” Hunch said in a stern tone. “Not in Master
Andrew’s ’ouse.”
“Hmm? Oh, not at all, Hunch,” Mairelon said as he and Kim shifted the table. “It’s only a spell
Shoreham’s been working on for a while—an adaptation of the standard scrying spell. He showed it to
me the day before yesterday; it’s quite clever. You’ll see.”
“All right, then,” Hunch said, though he continued to frown. “Lord Shore’am is a proper gentleman.”
Mairelon shot his servant an amused glance and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Carefully, he
spread it over the tabletop, smoothing the creases with his fingertip. The corners of the handkerchief hung
over the center of the table’s sides, so that a triangle of bare wood was left in each corner.
“Yes, but what is this spell supposed to do?” Kim said.
“Help us catch our burglar, with luck,” Mairelon replied. “Hunch, where’s that ink? Thank you. Give
Kim the chalk.” He set a small ink bottle oh one of the bare corners of the tabletop.
“Mairelon—”
“You’ll see in a minute. Now, what can I use—ah, yes, this will do nicely.” He plucked a small silver
salver from a shelf beside the door and positioned it carefully in the exact center of the handkerchief.
“There. Hand me that scrap of cloth you found.”
“Mairelon, I’m never going to learn any magic if you don’t give me any explanations,” Kim said in
exasperation as she gave him the piece of wool.
“And you’ll never be a great magician if you can’t make half an understanding do for a start,”
Mairelon said, dropping the scrap into the salver. “A competent one, perhaps, but not a great one. The
chalk, if you please.”
Sighing, Kim handed him the chalk. He sketched three careful crosses in the remaining corners of the
table, then drew an unsteady circle around the salver on the handkerchief. Absently, he stuck the chalk in
his coat pocket as he surveyed the setup. Then he looked up at Kim. “Now you may demonstrate the
results of your studies for me. I want you to set the ward.”
“Me?” Kim stared at the candle in her hand, suddenly appalled. The warding spell was nearly always
set when a complex or dangerous enchantment was being attempted; in theory, it protected the mage
from outside interference, and any bystanders from the consequences of a spell gone wrong. In practice,
the degree of protection such a spell afforded was directly related to the skill of the spellcaster. An
apprentice’s ward was unlikely to stand up to more than an apprentice-level mistake. And Mairelon
wanted Kim to set a ward while he worked a new spell.
“Don’t worry,” Mairelon said. “This is a relatively simple enchantment. Normally, I wouldn’t bother
with a ward at all, even though this is the first time I’ve ever cast it. But you can use the practice, and it
will keep our work from disturbing anyone. Or from attracting attention outside the house,” he added as
an afterthought.
Only partially reassured, Kim nodded. She thought for a moment, to make sure she had the steps of
the warding spell clear in her mind. Then she took a deep breath. “Fiat lux,” she said, concentrating on
the candle.
The candlewick burst into flame. Kim held it still for a moment, until the smell of melted beeswax
reached her and the tingly pressure of a spell in progress ran up and down her arms. Then, keeping her
eyes fixed on the candle, Kim turned and walked in a slow, clockwise circle around Mairelon and the
摘要：

Magician’sWardMairelon,Book2PatriciaCWrede1998ISBN:0-812-52085-8PraiseforMairelontheMagician“Delightful....Wrede’sconfectionwillcharmreadersofbothRegencyromancesandfantasies.”—PublishersWeekly“Effortless,deftwriting....Thedialogueiscrispandthechoreographyingenious,andonemightreadilyexpectatheatrical...

展开>> 收起<<
Patricia C. Wrede - Magician 2 - Magician's Ward.pdf

共114页,预览23页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：114 页 大小：2.86MB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 114
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注