Fanuilh Daniel Hood (classic literature books TXT) 📖

Gray Lands, like moths. They flutter about it, and get in the way. Master Tanaquil drew them often.

"And you can drive them away?"

I have a form of power that can decoy them away.

"Well," Liam said, impressed by any subject he did not understand. "Well."

They went back to the timeline.

Tarquin remained in the workroom all night, casting the spell. He went to bed at dawn, exhausted, releasing Fanuilh from his watch almost as an afterthought. As a welcome break, the dragon had flown over the Teeth, and found them missing.

"Or rather, didn't find them missing," Liam mused, running a long-fingered hand through his fine blond hair. The dragon snapped down the last of the meat and gazed at him incuriously. He took another gulp of wine, which was still wonderfully cold.

The wizard received no visitors for the next three days, as far as Fanuilh knew. He remained in the house, mostly in his bedroom, ordering his familiar to bring him food.

Removing the Teeth from this world took a great deal out of him.

"so you're sure it was him?"

Who else?

"And he removed them? He used the spell the book was opened to, not the illusion spell?"

I flew down to where they should have been. They were not there. And a mere illusion spell would not have cost him three days of rest.

Chastened, Liam went on.

On the second day of Tarquin's rest, a messenger had arrived from town, bearing a folded, sealed letter. The wizard had read the paper, laughed and mentioned Marcius's name with a chuckle. Then he burned it. That was the day Freihett Necquer made his miraculous return, Liam remembered.

The next day—Surprised, Liam realized it was only four days ago—Tarquin stayed in his room till early evening. At dusk he called for Fanuilh to heat water for bathing, and cleaned himself thoroughly. Then he dressed in his. most impressive, wizardly robes, the blue ones Liam had found him in, and shut the dragon out for the evening. He had rubbed his hands in the peculiar way that meant he was happy about something, and mentioned extra payments in a deliberately cryptic manner. That was the last time Fanuilh had seen him alive.

He was murdered at approximately midnight. Fanuilh knew this because it bad felt Tarquin's death, felt the soul leaving its master, and had collapsed to the sand outside the house. From there it crawled inside, and Liam arrived only an hour after that.

Liam knew the rest. He sat against the wall, sipping at the wine, which was still cool, though he had to hoist the jug high and angle his head uncomfortably to get at it.

Tarquin died at midnight. That would allow Lons enough time to finish whatever performance he was in and get out to the beach. Marcius's whereabouts he did not know, but if the merchant were involved, he probably would have sent one of his hired swords. Viyescu's movements were a mystery as well, and he did not even know who the woman with the seductive voice was. It did not look encouraging when he pieced it all together, and he realized that he had done little more than scratch the surface.

You had not visited Master Tanaquil for a long while. He mentioned your name often. The block erased his own thoughts, and he looked dazedly up from the jug.

"He did?"

Try as he might, he could not understand the portrait Fanuilh had painted. At one moment, Tarquin dismissed the dragon like a mere servant, simply sent the bearer of half his soul away like an inconvenience. Then, apparently, he took the time to wonder about a man less than half his age whom he only saw rarely.

Tanaquil was a good master.

As usual, there were no hidden overtones to Fanuilh's communication, but Liam felt he had offended, and fumbled an apology.

"I meant to come, but the rains had set in ... and the ride is long. It is a rather out-of-the-way place."

It will not seem that way when you live here.

Did that mean his apology was accepted? That whatever spirit he had offended could rest?

The wine suddenly affected him all at once. His head felt thick but weightless, detached from the rest of his body. He eyed the long legs that now stretched out in front of him as if they were not his.

"I'd better— get some sleep."

With an effort, he managed to gain his feet, and the dragon's eyes followed him, the sinuous neck angling up as he rose.

Where will you sleep?

"I'll find a place. Goodnight." Deliberately watching each step, he made his way out of the workroom and around to the kitchen, where he deposited the jug with elaborate care. He even patted it once, to reassure himself that he had put it there.

No more thoughts came from the dragon, and his own were pleasantly unable to form, skipping from one to the other without being able to settle anywhere. With the same measured tread, he sought out the low divan in the library. It did not occur to him to sleep in the bedroom where Tarquin had died.

Curled up on the couch, blinking blearily at the rows of book spines on the shelves, he cursed himself tiredly for not finding a blanket. He knew, however, that he would not need it. The library was warm, just warm enough to sleep in without a blanket. He was perfectly comfortable in his clothes. Only the light was annoying, bright and intrusive, but even as he thought this, it began to dim, dying evenly to a dull glow that was strangely peaceful.

Wrapped in the warmth and dimness of the wine and the magical house, he fell softly into sleep.

Chapter 8

WAKE.

Liam was not dreaming until a few seconds before he woke, when suddenly he was walking through an ancient ruin that subtly reminded him of one he had seen years before. There, however, the giant sandstone pillars had been inscribed in a sinuous script he could not read; in his dream they were covered with the word wake