The Last Enchanter (22 page)

“You know I can't use magic.”

“Can't or won't?”

The question pricked Marcus as sure as a briar or a blade. “If I did use magic, it could trigger another attack,” he said. “It would take days to recover.”

“Right,” said Clovis, sounding only partially convinced. “Well, I guess we could share blankets.”

“Great idea!”

Marcus shuffled as close to Clovis as he could. They lay back to back beneath both their blankets. Having turned to his other side, Marcus could see Lael and Bryn huddling together nearby.

“I know you're both still angry at me,” he said aloud to them, “but if you want to get warm, you're welcome to join us.”

Bryn's response was to turn up his nose and curl into an even tighter ball beside Lael. Lael pretended she hadn't heard Marcus at all.

Sixty

W
hen morning finally arrived, Marcus was glad for the sun's first warming rays eroding the thin layer of frost that had dusted them during the night. Marcus had eventually fallen asleep—exactly when, he wasn't quite sure—and waking now, he was surprised at how toasty he felt. Then he realized why. Clovis lay snoring contentedly to one side of him, and on his other side lay Lael and Bryn pressed up tightly against him. He grinned to himself as he lay quietly for a while longer, allowing everyone additional time to enjoy their sleep. Finally, once the sun was fully visible above the trees, Bryn stirred and stretched. Mumbling something about breakfast, he rolled over to face Marcus.

Bryn's face was within inches of Marcus's when he
opened his eyes with a yawn. Suddenly he leapt to his feet, taking the thick pile of blankets with him.

“Bryn,” Lael moaned, reaching blindly for a blanket that was no longer there. “Bryn, I'm cold!”

Bryn dropped the crumpled blankets on top of Lael, leaving Marcus and Clovis completely uncovered. Clovis snored on.

“Lael's not the only one who's cold,” said Marcus, but the scowl on Bryn's face told Marcus that the oversight had been on purpose. Marcus got up and began gathering wood for a fire. Rylan approached and dropped a heavy bundle of dry twigs at Marcus's feet.

“That should be enough to get started,” he said and then brandished a shiny dagger in the morning sunlight. “I'll be back shortly with breakfast.” Then Rylan disappeared again through the trees.

Marcus grumbled under his breath as he arranged the twigs into a tidy pile and struck his knife against a stone to light it. After several tries, the sparks finally ignited the thinnest of the tinder, which Marcus carefully nursed to a steady flame. Soon the fire was large enough to add some branches from a nearby dead tree. The heat from the fire warmed the immediate area. Lael came near, and Clovis stirred from sleep to join them. Even Bryn edged close enough to feel the warmth. Using a broken branch, Marcus prepared a spit to roast whatever Rylan would bring back to eat.

Behind the fire, the pile of abandoned blankets stirred. Clovis and Lael froze, as a sharp, angry voice shouted from beneath the moving heap. “Would—someone—get—this—OFF—me!”

Marcus reached over and snatched the blanket away, revealing a fumbling black crow beneath.

“So much for sleeping in!” said Xerxes, stretching out his wings.

“What is that?” asked Clovis, his mouth gaping open in surprise.

“A talking crow?” added Lael.

Bryn, who sat beside her, stared curiously at the bird, but said nothing.

“This is Xerxes,” Marcus said.

There was a moment of silence before Clovis responded. “Xerxes. You mean Zyll's walking stick, Xerxes? I wondered where it had gone to.”

Xerxes rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Don't sit there gawking—” His voice stopped short. He blinked hard. “You heard me?” he asked. Then he turned to Marcus. “They heard me! Only you and Zyll ever have before.”

“We heard you, all right,” said Lael, “though how, I have no idea. Then again, after seeing grocs, disappearing cave walls, and miraculous healings, a talking bird shouldn't surprise me.”

While Marcus explained Zyll's spell on the walking stick and Xerxes' transformation, Rylan returned with three large quail, which he quietly plucked and skewered while Marcus spoke.

“When Xerxes was a walking stick, only Zyll and I could hear him speak,” said Marcus, finishing his story, “but it seems now anyone can hear him.”

“Well, I guess having a talking bird around could come in handy,” said Clovis.

Lael shook her head. “All this talk about magic spells is more than I can ever hope to understand.”

Having grown bored with the conversation, Xerxes flew off in search of his own meal. Rylan attended to the quail, setting them over the flame to cook. He didn't give any of them so much as a glance. Marcus had learned by now that it was pointless to try to start a conversation with their guide. Rylan only spoke when he wanted to speak, and that was rare. Several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, when Clovis suddenly spoke.

“Marcus, remember the time we sneaked out to the grain mill?” he asked.

“And cut holes in the bottoms of all the sacks?” Marcus laughed at the memory. “I had never heard half the words that came out of Old Man Peeder's mouth that day. We would have gotten away with it, too, if you hadn't burst out laughing.”

“He would have found out, anyway. You felt so guilty about it, I had to hold you down behind the woodpile to keep you from confessing!”

“Me confess?” replied Marcus with mock offense. “I'm not the one who borrowed Mrs. Archer's best broom from her back porch to play sword fight with and then broke it!”

“But I had to replace it. Otherwise it would've been stealing.”

“Guess you didn't steal that loaf of lemon bread from her windowsill, either.”

“I was six years old!”

The two boys laughed and laughed until they nearly forgot about the troubles they'd left behind in Dokur. Marcus could almost forget, for just a few moments, the pain of losing Zyll and of leaving Kaië alone in prison. But a few moments were all he could spare.

“You've been a good friend,” Marcus said once their laughter had died down. “I think you've been the best friend I could ever hope to have.”

“Well, we weren't always friends,” Clovis reminded him. “I mean, we were friends when we were kids, but then we grew apart for a while. You were busy with your apprenticeship, I guess. That day when we left on our quest, I wasn't so sure you wanted me to come with you at all, like I'd hold you back or get in your way. But even if you did think that, you let me come, anyway. I never thanked you for that.”

“You don't have to thank me, Clovis.”

“But I do. Because of you I fulfilled the quest and gained the respect of my father. I guess that's why it feels so wrong to go back to Quendel now, abandoning you when you need me most.”

The quail on the spit sizzled and popped as the skin turned to a deep golden crust. Rylan lifted the spit from the two supports that held it and tested the meat with the tip of his knife. Clear juices bubbled from the punctures and dripped onto the dirt below. The smell of it made Marcus's mouth water.

“Done,” said Rylan, slicing his knife down the center of the first bird and separating it into two equal halves.
Clovis was ready with his plate in hand. Marcus dug through his pack for his while Rylan served Lael and Bryn. Marcus thanked Rylan when he received his portion and then carefully peeled a piece away from the bone. He blew on the morsel until it was just cool enough to eat and popped it into his mouth. The meat tasted as good as it smelled. Still, he couldn't help but feel resentful toward Rylan, but why? Was it that Rylan had gathered wood and hunted without being asked? Or was it that Rylan seemed to be so skillful at everything he did, while Marcus still fumbled at even the simplest task?

Marcus glanced across the flames to where Lael nibbled at a wing. Every now and then she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a knuckle on her left hand, which she somehow managed not to get greasy from the meat. It was the way she held it, Marcus realized, balanced between the thumb and first finger of her right hand and just one fingertip from her left hand. He tried to think of a word to describe it, how it was different than Rylan or Clovis or himself—all of whom grasped their meat freely with both hands, wiping them clean on their trouser legs. No, Lael was different. She was . . . what was the word?
Feminine
.

Rylan sat beside Lael. He finished off his meal and tossed the remains into the fire. The flames hissed. Then Rylan turned to Lael and spoke. His lips moved, forming words, though his voice was too quiet for Marcus to hear, and Lael was looking at him, listening—and she was smiling.

Marcus stopped chewing. He watched the exchange between Rylan and Lael and felt annoyed at not knowing
what was being said. Then for some strange reason, he was angry enough to want to throw his plate at Rylan. But he held tight to it instead, gripping it until his knuckles ached.

Rylan's lips moved again, and Lael laughed. Marcus heard her laughter even over the sound of the fire. It was a light laugh, airy and gentle. The sound of it made Marcus's skin tingle. And then suddenly Lael turned and looked at him—at
him
! And she was still smiling. Marcus's heart sped up as if he had just been caught stealing red-handed. He quickly looked away, hoping she hadn't realized he'd been watching her. But of course she had realized it. Why else would she have looked at him?

Marcus stared at the plate in his hand, his food growing cold. He swallowed hard, and his mouth went dry. She had smiled at him. Yes, she was smiling at Rylan and laughing when he spoke to her, but in that brief moment when she turned to look at Marcus, she was
still
smiling. And somehow Marcus knew
that
smile was meant just for him.

Sixty-one

T
he trees of the sparse forest north of Lake Olsnar were bare this time of year, offering no shade or protection from the sun overhead. Despite the cool air, Marcus felt the heat of it on his skin, and after a long day of walking in it, he was more than a little uncomfortable from mild sunburn.

The day had also been uncomfortable because of the continued silence from Lael, Bryn, and Rylan. Even Clovis stopped talking after the first hour. Only Xerxes provided some company, perching on Marcus's shoulder from time to time to rest and making disagreeable comments about the dull scenery or the slow pace of the journey. The rest of the time, Xerxes flew overhead or hopped along the ground, scavenging for food.

As they emerged from the trees, a dirt lane lay before them, leading toward the mountains. An hour more along this road would take them to Noam, the village near the mouth of Vrystal Canyon, the only path through the Jeweled Mountains and to Quendel on the other side. The plan was for Clovis to hire a guide there to lead him safely through the canyon and back to Quendel. Marcus had made him swear not to go alone. The grocs that had taken them earlier could still cause trouble, but the Noamish people were known for their skillful hunting of grocs and would provide plenty of protection. Once through the canyon, the journey home to Quendel would take less than two days.

Marcus would not be going to Noam, however, nor would he be following the road. Voltana lay in the northern part of the island, which meant it was time they parted ways. Marcus had originally planned to convince Lael to go with Clovis but had since changed his mind. First, Marcus doubted Lael could be convinced to do anything she didn't want to do. And second, he wasn't so sure anymore that he wanted her to leave.

A pleasant breeze blew. Bits of golden fluff floated weightlessly in the air, changing course at whim. Marcus picked some out of his hair and let it go into a passing air current.

“The last of the willowstalks have shed their seeds,” he said. “Winter's coming. It will snow any day now.”

Clovis, his bow clasped in his hand, stood with his back to Marcus, studying the landscape. The breeze tousled his hair.

“I can still come with you,” he said, turning to face Marcus. “My father would understand.”

“Clovis, you know as well as I do that in another week or two the canyon will become blocked with ice and snow. You wouldn't be able to return home until it melts in the spring. Your father is expecting you. He needs you.”

“But you need me, too.”

Bryn, who had been several yards behind Marcus and Clovis, suddenly sprinted forward through the seed-filled air. Arms raised, he laughed with delight. He ran between Marcus and Clovis into an open field on the opposite side of the road. Lael called to him to be careful. Rylan looked on disapprovingly.

“I do need you,” said Marcus, watching the whole scene with amusement. “You're my best friend, and I'll miss you. But you have responsibilities to attend to at home, and I have mine. I will return to Quendel as soon as I can. In the meantime, please take care of Agnes and my cottage for me.”

Clovis's head hung low. Marcus couldn't be sure he wasn't crying. But after a few minutes, he lifted his head, dried his eyes with his sleeve, and set his sights toward the mountains.