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the magnificent room before dematerializing.
The next thing she saw was the broad wooden back of the door of her room. And
someone knocked loudly against it.
Quickly, she shoved Nixa under the small bed and draped her tunic over her
shoulders, thankful she had remembered to lock the door earlier when she set
out on her explorations.
"A moment, a moment," she called out in answer to the rappings, her voice
carrying the thickness that comes with sleep.
A matronly chambermaid stood on the other side of the door as Khamsin opened
it.
"Thought we might ve lost ye, young Sirrah." The gray-haired woman fluffed
the short white apron bound around her thick waist. "But then, I allows ye ve
had a troublesome few days, out there in the cold. Overslept, did ye?"
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"Aye." Khamsin bowed her head slightly, ruffling her hair as she d often seen
Tavis do in the mornings and yawned. "Feel much better, I do now, Ma am. Sorry
if I gave you a fright."
The older woman chuckled and reaching out, poked at Khamsin s ribs through
the hastily donned tunic. "A good hot meal tis what you need, lad. Fill up
them skinny bones of yours. Come downstairs when you re ready."
Khamsin leaned against the doorjamb as the chambermaid ambled down the hall.
She had been lucky, so lucky, in returning when she did. If the castle
discovered an empty room, a locked empty room, she might not have fared so
well. As it was, she had nothing more now to worry about than the good-natured
chiding of the kitchen-help at having overslept.
At least, that was all she had to worry about until nightfall. Then, she
would have to return to the room with the golden mage circle and take the Orb
of Knowledge into her hands.
Her thoughts traveled no farther than that.
After breakfast, she made the expected inquires about her supposed traveling
companions, lost in the mountains, feigning a believable concern. The
lean-faced guards she spoke to were well-trained to keep the optimism in their
voice, encouraging the young farm-lad that all was not lost and, by the grace
of Tarkir, his friends would soon be found.
A twinge of conscience poked at her during the exchange. She knew that on her
words alone, several Khalarian guards would have ventured out into the
mountains, seeking lost travelers who did not exist. But more than that, she
was bothered by her newfound ability to lie; to fabricate events and
existences so completely that even the Sorcerer s highly-trained staff were
unable to see through her deception. She found herself expressing emotions she
didn t feel, reacting to events that didn t exist until she began to question
her own veracity.
What had she become, what happened to young Khamsin of Cirrus Cove? She was
the one who was gentle with animals, upon whose outstretched hand wild
birdlings rested. She was the one who had helped birth babes and healed the
sick and cared so deeply for those in her small Coveside village that she had
risked all to further her knowledge, in order to protect them. Even when they
had shunned her and, at the worst, had tried to kill her, her only thoughts
had been of them, of her village, of her people, and what she owed them. It
was why she was here now, to avenge the atrocities that had given her life,
and her friends, death.
It should be more difficult, she admonished herself, as she sat in the window
well of her small room in the castle, watching the late afternoon sun cast
long shadows across the wide courtyard below. Her physical discomfort, her
personal losses, her tribulations in the mountains were slight compared to the
devastation upon which she was now prepared to embark. To be the one
responsible for the destruction of the Orb of Knowledge should carry more of a
price than she paid. For all that the Sorcerer stood for, she still respected
his wisdom and his skill;had to respect it. She d touched the protective
shielding at the perimeter of the mage circle and knew that this was something
so far beyond her capabilities, so far beyond her imagination that she found
herself in awe of the power that created it.
Almost, almost she wished she wasn t the one to cause its end. Of all of
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those born in the Land in over two hundred years, Ciro had told her she was
the only one besides the Sorcerer who could gain access to the Orb of
Knowledge. The protective veil surrounding it insured that. But she was
perhaps, also the only one who could appreciate it, understand it, revel in
its depths and intricacies. She felt like a musician in a room full of deaf
mutes demanding the death of the orchestra.
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