filled top and bottom and out to each margin, the waxed thread of the spine sewn as close to the text as possible.
… in order to change that which is …
His heart began beating with such force that he thought it might burst through his ribs.
… to change that which is …
The next few words were damaged but not completely illegible. He found four p’s and what he thought was a pair of s’s. A combination that might have been hr or br perhaps even ak. His hands were sweating, and he continually wiped them on his thighs lest he mark the pages and cause further damage. Circular letters were the worst for a’s and o’s were virtually identical.
His eyes burned with fatigue when he finally realized what he’d found.
… in order to change that which is copper or brass temporarily to gold, the caster must possess either a citrine, a piece of amber free of flaw, or a tiger’s eye no smaller than the smallest nail on the caster’s hand
.
No need to puzzle out the rest, he knew how it ended.
Hope fled. His spirits fell as far as they had risen. He scanned the rest of the book because it would be foolish not to—and for all that he was, he was not a foolish man—but he knew he’d find nothing he needed. He closed it carefully when he finished, pushed it gently to one side, and slammed both fists down onto the desk.
“My love is snatched from my side and trapped in an existence too horrible to contemplate, and now I am taunted with useless magics! Why do the fates conspire against me?”
Hands clasped behind his neck, he rested his forehead on the desk. He didn’t expect the fates to answer; they had spoken when his Natalia had chosen the wrong moment to open his study door.
For her sake, he had to go on.
Straightening, he drew in a long, shuddering breath, wiped the moisture from his eyes, and drew a clean sheet of parchment across the desk. He always preferred to use parchment over paper or vellum; its properties were easier to control than those of the latter, and it absorbed power longer than the former. Dipping a fresh-cut pen into the inkwell, he began meticulously copying the fragmentsthat could still be salvaged from the damaged book.
Outside the study window, the raucous cries of ravens became wild laughter.
Oh, yes
, a hated voice murmured in his heart,
start to build your spellbook again. I am dead, but there will always be others. After all, you foolishly believed that you had protections enough the last time. What else that you claim to love can you destroy?
Crying out in anger and grief, Aurek leaped to his feet, the chair crashing to the floor behind him. The voice—the fiendish, remorseless, loathsome voice was right. He could not, would not allow his arrogance to be responsible for yet more pain and suffering.
Snatching up the book and the sheet he’d begun to fill, he raced across the room and, with all his strength—had he used less than all, he didn’t think he could have done it—he threw them both on the fire. Then he stood and stared, wide-eyed, unable to believe what he’d just done.
The impact spilled embers and ash out onto the hearth. The parchment caught almost immediately. Pale flames licked cleanly over the lower half of the page, flaring suddenly when they reached the ink. The few words he’d actually copied burned with a fierce white light—hot enough to feel from where he stood—that ignited the book.
The explosion shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, but it did. A piece of shattered andiron slammed into his shoulder, spinning him about and dropping him to his knees. He welcomed the pain, accepted it as penance for what he’d nearly begun.
Still on his knees, blood soaking into his shirt and trickling warmly over his chest, he crawled to the pedestal and clasped it in trembling arms. Eyes closed, he laid his cheek against the wood, tears staining the pale grain.
“I will find it, Lia. I promise you, my love, I will find it!”
An observer in
… in order to change that which is …
His heart began beating with such force that he thought it might burst through his ribs.
… to change that which is …
The next few words were damaged but not completely illegible. He found four p’s and what he thought was a pair of s’s. A combination that might have been hr or br perhaps even ak. His hands were sweating, and he continually wiped them on his thighs lest he mark the pages and cause further damage. Circular letters were the worst for a’s and o’s were virtually identical.
His eyes burned with fatigue when he finally realized what he’d found.
… in order to change that which is copper or brass temporarily to gold, the caster must possess either a citrine, a piece of amber free of flaw, or a tiger’s eye no smaller than the smallest nail on the caster’s hand
.
No need to puzzle out the rest, he knew how it ended.
Hope fled. His spirits fell as far as they had risen. He scanned the rest of the book because it would be foolish not to—and for all that he was, he was not a foolish man—but he knew he’d find nothing he needed. He closed it carefully when he finished, pushed it gently to one side, and slammed both fists down onto the desk.
“My love is snatched from my side and trapped in an existence too horrible to contemplate, and now I am taunted with useless magics! Why do the fates conspire against me?”
Hands clasped behind his neck, he rested his forehead on the desk. He didn’t expect the fates to answer; they had spoken when his Natalia had chosen the wrong moment to open his study door.
For her sake, he had to go on.
Straightening, he drew in a long, shuddering breath, wiped the moisture from his eyes, and drew a clean sheet of parchment across the desk. He always preferred to use parchment over paper or vellum; its properties were easier to control than those of the latter, and it absorbed power longer than the former. Dipping a fresh-cut pen into the inkwell, he began meticulously copying the fragmentsthat could still be salvaged from the damaged book.
Outside the study window, the raucous cries of ravens became wild laughter.
Oh, yes
, a hated voice murmured in his heart,
start to build your spellbook again. I am dead, but there will always be others. After all, you foolishly believed that you had protections enough the last time. What else that you claim to love can you destroy?
Crying out in anger and grief, Aurek leaped to his feet, the chair crashing to the floor behind him. The voice—the fiendish, remorseless, loathsome voice was right. He could not, would not allow his arrogance to be responsible for yet more pain and suffering.
Snatching up the book and the sheet he’d begun to fill, he raced across the room and, with all his strength—had he used less than all, he didn’t think he could have done it—he threw them both on the fire. Then he stood and stared, wide-eyed, unable to believe what he’d just done.
The impact spilled embers and ash out onto the hearth. The parchment caught almost immediately. Pale flames licked cleanly over the lower half of the page, flaring suddenly when they reached the ink. The few words he’d actually copied burned with a fierce white light—hot enough to feel from where he stood—that ignited the book.
The explosion shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, but it did. A piece of shattered andiron slammed into his shoulder, spinning him about and dropping him to his knees. He welcomed the pain, accepted it as penance for what he’d nearly begun.
Still on his knees, blood soaking into his shirt and trickling warmly over his chest, he crawled to the pedestal and clasped it in trembling arms. Eyes closed, he laid his cheek against the wood, tears staining the pale grain.
“I will find it, Lia. I promise you, my love, I will find it!”
An observer in
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