from the ruined walls.
Then the army had moved on to the north. Thankfully they avoided this part of the forest.
During the evenings I would sit with Megan, listening to tales of the Highlands. They were fine, companionable times. Jarek Mace was often absent, traveling to other settlements yet always returning with news, or coin, or venison.
‘What were you like when younger?’ I asked Megan one evening, when Jarek was abroad on one of his journeys.
‘I was like this,’ she answered. Golden light bathed her from head to toe, and her short-cropped iron-grey hair was replaced by golden curls hanging free to milk-white shoulders. Her face was beautiful beyond description, her eyes blue as the summer sky, her lips full. Her figure was slim, but the breasts were large in comparison; her neck long and sleek, the skin smooth as porcelain.
I was lost for words - but not at her beauty. This was one of the Seven Great Spells, and only masters of the craft could weave one so casually,’
‘Where did you learn such a piece?’ I asked.
The beautiful woman shrugged and smiled. ‘Long ago, from a man named Cataplas.’
‘He was my teacher,’ I told her.
‘I know.’
‘But I had not the skill to learn the Seven.’
‘There is yet time,’ she said, letting fall the spell.
‘You are noble-born,’ I pointed out. ‘The gown you conjured was purest satin, and there were pearls at neck and cuff.’
‘You think I would create sacking to wear?’ she countered.
‘Why must you be so mysterious, lady?’
‘Why must you be so inquisitive?’
‘The first words you spoke to me were, ‘Do you not bow in the presence of a lady?’ Not a woman - a lady. That intrigued me at the time; it still does. You were not born in the village.’
‘You are wrong, master bard. My family were traveling at the time of my birth, and I was born in a village such as this. Far to the north. But I came here twenty years ago, and I have been content.’
‘But what is there here for you?’
‘Peace,’ she answered.
‘Why does Jarek Mace stay with you? Is he a relative?’
‘No. Just a man.’
‘I wish you would tell me more, Megan. I feel... there is so much more to know.’
‘There is always more to know,’ she chided. ‘Even as you lie on your death-bed there will be more to know. Are you another Cataplas in an endless search for knowledge? It is not the mark of a wise man, Owen.’
I shrugged. ‘How can the search for knowledge be foolish?’ I countered.
‘When it is conducted for its own sake. A man who seeks to learn how to irrigate a field in order to grow more crops has not only increased his knowledge but has found the means to make life better for his fellows. Learning must be put to use.’
‘Perhaps Cataplas will do exactly that when he believes he knows enough.’
She did not answer me at first but stirred the coals in the fire, adding fresh wood to the flickering flames. ‘There was once a prince in this land, to the north of here, who had a quest for knowledge. He was a good man, a kind man, but his quest became an obsession. His brothers, also good men, tried to sway him; he was a fine magicker, and he became a great sorcerer. But even this was not enough. He travelled across the sea, passing from land to land, ever seeking; he journeyed into desolate mountains and subterranean caverns, sought out lost cities, and communed with spirits and demons. After twelve years he returned, late one night, to the city of his birth. His brothers ruled that city wisely and well. In the summer the water was clean, filtered through sand and shale. In the winter the storehouses were full, and no one starved. But then he returned. Within the week travelers began to notice that the gates of the city were always shut, and woodsmen carried tales of screams and sounds of terror within the grey walls.
‘The days passed into weeks. No one left the silent city. People began to gather from the villages and towns, staring at
Then the army had moved on to the north. Thankfully they avoided this part of the forest.
During the evenings I would sit with Megan, listening to tales of the Highlands. They were fine, companionable times. Jarek Mace was often absent, traveling to other settlements yet always returning with news, or coin, or venison.
‘What were you like when younger?’ I asked Megan one evening, when Jarek was abroad on one of his journeys.
‘I was like this,’ she answered. Golden light bathed her from head to toe, and her short-cropped iron-grey hair was replaced by golden curls hanging free to milk-white shoulders. Her face was beautiful beyond description, her eyes blue as the summer sky, her lips full. Her figure was slim, but the breasts were large in comparison; her neck long and sleek, the skin smooth as porcelain.
I was lost for words - but not at her beauty. This was one of the Seven Great Spells, and only masters of the craft could weave one so casually,’
‘Where did you learn such a piece?’ I asked.
The beautiful woman shrugged and smiled. ‘Long ago, from a man named Cataplas.’
‘He was my teacher,’ I told her.
‘I know.’
‘But I had not the skill to learn the Seven.’
‘There is yet time,’ she said, letting fall the spell.
‘You are noble-born,’ I pointed out. ‘The gown you conjured was purest satin, and there were pearls at neck and cuff.’
‘You think I would create sacking to wear?’ she countered.
‘Why must you be so mysterious, lady?’
‘Why must you be so inquisitive?’
‘The first words you spoke to me were, ‘Do you not bow in the presence of a lady?’ Not a woman - a lady. That intrigued me at the time; it still does. You were not born in the village.’
‘You are wrong, master bard. My family were traveling at the time of my birth, and I was born in a village such as this. Far to the north. But I came here twenty years ago, and I have been content.’
‘But what is there here for you?’
‘Peace,’ she answered.
‘Why does Jarek Mace stay with you? Is he a relative?’
‘No. Just a man.’
‘I wish you would tell me more, Megan. I feel... there is so much more to know.’
‘There is always more to know,’ she chided. ‘Even as you lie on your death-bed there will be more to know. Are you another Cataplas in an endless search for knowledge? It is not the mark of a wise man, Owen.’
I shrugged. ‘How can the search for knowledge be foolish?’ I countered.
‘When it is conducted for its own sake. A man who seeks to learn how to irrigate a field in order to grow more crops has not only increased his knowledge but has found the means to make life better for his fellows. Learning must be put to use.’
‘Perhaps Cataplas will do exactly that when he believes he knows enough.’
She did not answer me at first but stirred the coals in the fire, adding fresh wood to the flickering flames. ‘There was once a prince in this land, to the north of here, who had a quest for knowledge. He was a good man, a kind man, but his quest became an obsession. His brothers, also good men, tried to sway him; he was a fine magicker, and he became a great sorcerer. But even this was not enough. He travelled across the sea, passing from land to land, ever seeking; he journeyed into desolate mountains and subterranean caverns, sought out lost cities, and communed with spirits and demons. After twelve years he returned, late one night, to the city of his birth. His brothers ruled that city wisely and well. In the summer the water was clean, filtered through sand and shale. In the winter the storehouses were full, and no one starved. But then he returned. Within the week travelers began to notice that the gates of the city were always shut, and woodsmen carried tales of screams and sounds of terror within the grey walls.
‘The days passed into weeks. No one left the silent city. People began to gather from the villages and towns, staring at
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