"No, wait. I have one more thing. The final surprise."
He left again. Ella stared at the assembly on the low table. They were actually giving her essence!
He returned, and set something down on the table in front of Ella. Her heart nearly stopped. Her jaw dropped open.
It was a book, with a yellow cover. The pages were of a familiar metallic fabric. A rune was on the cover, the number five.
It was a Lexicon.
The Prince laughed when he saw her expression. "You are pleased."
"Where did you find this?"
He sat next to her, leaning in, his leg almost touching hers. "My father."
Ella reverently opened the cover. Ilathor watched her closely.
The same message, in the same flowing script: "To the common people of Merralya, one and all, I give you this, the fifth volume in my Tomes of Lore. Evrin Evenstar."
She turned the next page. An embossed title leapt out: "The Lore of the Illusionist."
Ella’s hands moved of their own accord as, one by one, she turned the pages. It was a whole new set of principles, completely different from anything she had ever seen. Ella soon lost herself in the book. Ilathor seemed content to simply watch her as she worked.
After some time, Ella looked up. "Do you realise what this is?"
"Tell me."
"Well, what do you know of your people’s lore?"
"It is said our people would come from the storms, striking from the shadows. I do not understand this, though."
"Illusion," Ella said.
"What?"
"Your lore, it is the power of illusion."
"I do not understand."
"If you give me enough time with this book, I’ll show you."
Ilathor smiled. "Then, Evora Guinestor, time is what you shall have."
Ella could see her satchel, resting in the corner of the tent. Their agreement for the Prince to let her go remained unspoken.
~
IT took three days before Ella was ready. In this new Lexicon were its instructions for renewal, and she only hoped that, armed with this knowledge, renewing the Alturan Lexicon would be simpler than might otherwise have been the case. Her head was filled with runes and matrices — terribly complex combinations. Her existing knowledge of enchantment and animation was expanded. It fit neatly in with this new lore. She was beginning to see the pieces of the puzzle come together in a way she never could have imagined, in a way none of the masters at the Academy came close to realising.
The desert warriors were lined up at the foot of a dune, blank expressions on their faces, arms crossed in front of their chests. Ella saw Rashine scowling. Many seemed to think this was a waste of time. What could essence do that a good sword could not?
The Prince stood apart from the men, his demeanour serious. His clothing of black and gold billowed out in the gentle breeze. He looked suddenly imposing, what he was — the commander of a lethal force of fighting men.
Taking a deep breath, Ella reached out and Jehral handed her the scrill and flask, before returning to stand beside the Prince.
Ella was determined to construct the runes without reference to the Lexicon. She hoped she wouldn’t regret the decision.
In many ways this new lore was quite different from enchantment. It was both simpler and more complex.
The runes had fewer whorls and bridges, but a great degree of skill was required to minimise the amount of essence that was used. With enchantment, one could use a small amount of the shiny liquid to write on almost any surface. With illusion, the surface was first prepared by moistening with essence, and then the runes were written on top. It made illusion most suitable to cloth, or sand — a surface that to some extent could absorb the moisture.
Some experiments with sand had taught Ella that it was actually easier than it seemed. Several large drops of essence could be carefully spaced, each drop leaving a patch of moist sand ready for a rune to be drawn.
Ella opened the flask of essence and dipped the scrill in the bottle. Without waiting further, she allowed a drop of the oily liquid to fall onto the sand. She placed another drop above it, and then another. When she had a row of the wet patches she started on the next row. Soon, row upon row of dark patches covered the sand.
Ella began to draw. The scrill made small sweeping strokes on the sand, smoke rising as she moved her hand. The men behind her began muttering.
She pictured Master Goss watching her draw on such a poor surface — he would have had a fit. This was where the lore of illusion was different. The strokes of these symbols were broader. Less precise.
She covered a huge amount of ground, using up perhaps a tenth of the bottle. She realised she would never have been able to make the matrix without such a large supply of essence. Her little crystal vial would have been exhausted long ago.
Finally she was done. She walked back to the line of men and regarded her work. She had no idea whether it would work or not. The muttering increased in volume.
"Well?" the Prince said.
"Shu-tala-nara! Tuhr-alhambra!" Ella called.