Pug stared into the fire. The small brazier in his study threw a dancing pattern of lights on the walls and ceiling. He ran his hand over his face, feeling fatigue in the very fabric of his being. He had labored since Rogen’s vision, sleeping and eating only when Katala pushed him from his studies. Now he carefully closed one of Macros’s many books; he had been reading them exhaustively for a week. Since confronted with the impossibilities of Rogen’s vision, he had sought every shred of information available to him. Only one other magic user upon this world had known anything pertaining to the world of Kelewan, and that had been Macros the Black. Whatever that dark presence in the vision, it had spoken a language that fewer than five thousand on Midkemia might even recognize—Pug, Katala, Laurie, Kasumi and his Tsurani garrison at LaMut, and a few hundred ex-prisoners scattered around the Far Coast. And of them all, only Pug could fully understand the words spoken in Gamina’s vision, for that language was a distant, dead ancestor of the present-day Tsurani tongue. Now Pug searched in vain through Macros’s library for some hint of what this dark power might be.
Of the hundreds of volumes Macros had bequeathed to Pug and Kulgan, only a third had been cataloged. Macros, through his strange goblin-like agent, Gathis, had provided a listing of each title. In some cases that had proved helpful, for the work was well known by title alone. In other cases it was useless until the book was read. There were seventy-two works alone called Magic, and a dozen other instances of several books with like nomenclature. Looking for possible clues to the nature of what they faced, Pug had closeted himself with the remaining works and begun skimming them for any hint of useful information. Now he sat, the work upon his knee, with a growing certainty about what he must do.
Pug placed the book carefully upon his writing table and left his study. He walked down the stairs to the hall that connected all the rooms in use in the academy building. Work upon the upper level next to the tower that housed his workrooms had been halted by the rain that now beat down upon Stardock. A cold gust blew through a crack in the wall, and Pug gathered his black robe about himself as he entered the dining hall, which was used as a common room these days.
Katala looked up from where she sat embroidering, near the fireplace, in one of the comfortable chairs that occupied the half of the room used as common quarters. Brother Dominic and Kulgan had been talking, the heavyset magician puffing on his ever present pipe. Kasumi watched as William and Gamina played chess in the corner, their two little faces masks of concentration as they pitted their newly emerging skills against each other. William had been an indifferent student of the game until the girl had shown an interest. Being beaten by her seemed to bring out his sense of competition, heretofore limited to the ball yard. Pug thought to himself that, when time permitted, he would have to explore their gifts more closely. If time permitted . . .
Meecham entered, carrying a decanter of wine, and offered a wine cup to Pug. Pug thanked him and sat down next to his wife. Katala said, “Supper is not for another hour. I had expected I would have to come fetch you.”
“I’ve finished what work I had and decided to relax a little before dining.”
Katala said, “Good. You drive yourself too hard, Pug. With teaching others, supervising the construction of this monstrous building, and now locking yourself away in your study, you have had little time to spend with us.”
Pug smiled at her. “Nagging?”
“A wifely prerogative,” she said, returning his smile. Katala was not a nag. Whatever displeasure she felt was openly voiced, and quickly resolved, by either compromise or one partner’s acceptance of the other’s intractability.
Pug looked about. “Where is Gardan?”
Kulgan said, “Bah! You see. If you hadn’t been locked up in your tower, you’d have remembered he left today for Shamata, so he can send Lyam messages by military pouch. He’ll be back in a week.”
“He went alone?”
Kulgan settled back in his chair. “I cast a foretelling. The rain will last three days. Many of the workers returned home for a short visit rather than sit in their barracks for three days. Gardan went with them. What have you been delving into in your tower these last few days? You’ve barely said a civil word for a week.”
Pug surveyed those in the room with him. Katala seemed absorbed by her needlework, but he knew she was listening closely for his answer. The children were intent upon their game. Kulgan and Dominic watched him with open interest.
“Reading Macros’s works, seeking to discover something that might give a clue to what can be done. You?”
“Dominic and I have counseled with others in the village. We’ve managed to come to some conclusions.”