She really should be used to waking up to strange noises by now. Iwy rolled out of bed and prepared herself for the inevitable. She wondered what it would be this time. Another device? A hole in the floor? Maybe the ceiling? Well, as long as Triand hadn’t brought her latest girl with her ...

  Iwy walked face-first into Triand’s pipe. She blinked.

  The pipe was right side up. The mage wasn’t.

  “Mooorning.”

  “What are you ...”

  “Needed to get a new perspective,” Triand mumbled behind the book she was reading. Iwy noticed it was the one she had stolen from the unfortunate cultists. She couldn’t make out the full title on the cracked leather. Something, something destruction. Possibly her plan b, which Iwy could not even bring herself to be offended by, considering how her powers were going.

  “By hanging upside-down from a crossbeam?”

  “Works wonders, you should try it.”

  “Maybe later,” Iwy said as she took in the room. The floor was thankfully intact. Nothing burning, either. Her own bedding was fine, too. “I’ll get dressed and see about breakfast.”

  “You do that.”

  “You’re coming along, I’m not gonna feed you. And I’m sure you skipped dinner yesterday.”

  Furrowed eyebrows became briefly visible over the edge of the book. “I was busy.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “I don’t know if you’re planning to have children, but I can tell you’d be excellent at the nagging part.”

  “Don’t make me ask the landlady for a broom.”

  Triand was on her third drink when they left town. Something in her bundle sloshed suspiciously. “Well, you know how to do a circle, you can get yourself a shield, and you can make grass invisible. There’s really only one thing left you need to master.”

  “Drinking?”

  “Close. Fire.”

  “You know that’s no use.”

  “It’s just like the other spells. Now you got a little practice, it’ll run better.”

  All books agreed that to produce a decent flame, the mage in question had to feel the flow of magic (however that worked) emanating from the power centre (wherever that was). You should start out by imagining your entire body becoming warm. It also helped to picture the biggest fire possible.

  Triand had her practice all these steps on the gravel road where she could do the least damage in case it worked. It had been hours, and the only measurable difference was that Iwy thought she might be giving herself a fever. At least a cool breeze was coming in, with the promise of rain.

  The books were short on detailing how anything should be done, as if wizarding students knew that on instinct. Or maybe – Iwy glanced at Triand who had taken up station in an old tree with the cultists’ book and her stolen scrolls of mass destruction – this sort of practical knowledge was supposed to be supplemented by a teacher.

  Iwy took a deep breath and started over.

  This was so silly, standing around in the middle of the downhill road like a nuisance. It wasn’t a road that saw much traffic, fortunately. She’d only had to get out of the way of one cart all morning. The driver had asked her what in the gods’ names she was doing. Well, actually he had said something about his wife having this great recipe for constipation, and she should try that instead of whatever she was doing here. To which Triand had said they were doing immensely secret and important wizarding work and he drove off laughing.

  It was so stupid.

  She tried to concentrate on the flow of anything. Her hands felt a little warmer. There was a definite glow in her palms this time. This was a good sign, according to the Guide to Pyromancy. Now she had to imagine a fire to produce one. A campfire apparently wasn’t enough. The glow stayed, but that was it. Maybe the fireplace at the inn yesterday ... no, bigger still. Only the biggest fire she had ever seen was a burning barn ...

  The glow snuffed itself out like a candle.

  Iwy sighed and decided to take a break. She knocked on the mostly leafless tree Triand sat in mumbling and erratically scribbling notes in the margins of her text. Iwy had once made the mistake of having a look at them because curiosity had gotten the better of her. The barely legible scrawl detailed things like ‘Continue with exaltation’ or ‘hail won’t work’ or ‘try with engorgement followed immediately by shrinking (pea, I think)’.

  “Why can’t you do fire?”

  The mage looked down briefly. “I can, but I’m not very good at it.” She gave her a thumbs-up and her nail caught fire.

  Iwy sat down and checked what her bag offered for lunch. The almost hanged definitely-a-witch Roslyn had put in a good word at the local butcher’s for them which resulted in the blessed presence of bacon. “I thought you had too much power.”

  “Didn’t say I knew what to do with it.”

  “So, if you wanted to make a really big flame, how would you do it?” Iwy said around a mouthful of bacon sandwich.

  “Think of a really big flame. Maybe say something like, ‘Get bigger, you’ or ... Augh!” There was a thud.

  When Iwy turned Triand had hit the ground and was swatting at her robe sleeve. “Oh gods, are you alright?”

  “Peachy!”

  “You ... don’t have a non-burning spell on your robes, do you?”

  “No, but right now this sounds like an excellent idea.”

  “How does it go?”

  “Dunno. I’m inventing one right now.” Triand scooped up a handful of dirt that contained parts of post-mortem sleeve. She weighed it in her hand, one eyebrow almost rising into her hairline. “That’s the problem with fire. Never got the knack of not letting it burn me. Or my clothes. Heh, must have been quite a sight after you burned down that barn ...”

  Iwy felt the colour rising to her face like a charging army. “Would you mind not talking about that?”

  “Come on, I bet it was a little funny.”

  “It really wasn’t.”

  “Not even the naked part?”

  “The what?”

  “You said it was a big fire.”

  “No one was naked except the cows!”

  Triand scratched her head. “So ... you’re trying to tell me ... you didn’t burn your clothes off?”

  “No!”

  “Huh.”

  It was this sound that Iwy hated most of all coming from her master and considering Triand’s repertoire that was no small feat. “What?”

  “What what?”

  “I know that kind of huh. Just tell me.”

  “It’s nothing, it’s just a bit ...”

  “Unusual? Weird? Yet another way I’m doing this wrong?”

  “I’d never say that. Weird is great.” Triand shut her mouth with a snap. Without warning, she lobbed her handful of dirt in the air and mumbled something.

  A few minutes later she said, “You alright over there?”

  “Spectacular,” Iwy replied without conviction, still clutching the rock the purple explosion had taken her to. She’d just keep doing that until the world stopped spinning and someone pulled the five pounds of wool out of her brain. “Did it work?” she asked once the lights in front of her eyes vanished and she was almost sure where the ground was.

  “Maybe. I hope. Reminds me of that time I tried an anti-drowning spell and had to stay underwater for six months ‘cause of the gills ...”

  Iwy dragged herself into the vertical world. “You’re making that up!”

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  “Did not! Oh, that gives me another idea ... What if we don’t use an anti-burn spell on you but a pro-burn spell?”

  “Stay away from me.”

  “Come on, might give your power a hi...”

  But Iwy had already grabbed her bag and legged it down the road. Triand would get bored with the idea sooner or later. She only had to stay out of her reach until then.

  Lightning cracked overhead and a moment later, the rain came at her horizontally. Damn late summer, damn wind, damn ...

  Well, no fire in weather like this. Even Triand had to see reason, whenever she caught up.

  Iwy brushed some stray hair strands out of her eyes and ran headfirst into a soaked mage. “You know, you could make all of this evaporate.”

  “How did you ...”

  “But since you won’t do that, let’s get behind the tree line before we catch our deaths.”

  Iwy contemplated a sarcastic answer when she noticed light coming from between the trees. She nudged Triand, who until now had been muttering something that sounded like “Anti-pneumonia spell, anti-pneumonia spell, I knew I had one once ...”

  “Look.”

  “Yes, pretty. Now which pocket has my notebook?”

  “I mean we could ask to stay with whoever lives there until the rain lets off.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good ...”

  They were only a few steps from the building now and Iwy could hear Triand mumble an “Oh no…”

  The light came from a tower. A tower in the middle of a forest. Only one kind of person was ever interested in that kind of real estate.

  A robe swished in the open doorway. “Oh dear,” the wizard said. “You ladies should come in, you’ll catch your deaths.”

  “Thank you,” Iwy said, not hesitating. She dragged at Triand’s drenched robes. “Come on, don’t be rude.”

  The tower sported the common inside structure; fireplace and living area on the ground level, big winding staircase that led to the lab and possibly some sleeping quarters. It was the tower of the considerate wizard who didn’t want to bother people when things exploded in the middle of the night.

  “There we go,” the wizard said jovially as he closed the door and went to stoke the fire. He looked old even for a wizard and so thin the wind outside might blow him all the way to the shore. “Terrible weather to be out in. At this time of year, it comes out of nowhere. Oh, where are my manners? I’m Vanitor. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased as well,” Triand said and somehow made it sound like she meant it. “You can call me Mistress Prizz.”

  Iwy nearly choked. Triand used this shamelessly to her advantage. “And this is ... Ailsa Malthouse of the lake-area Malthouses. Nice to meet you. Oh, I think it’s letting off. We wouldn’t want to be a bother. Come on, Ailsa.”

  “Oh, those storms can last quite a while,” the wizard said. “And if the bridge is washed out again, well ... you might have to spend the night.”

  “We wouldn’t want to intrude ...”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble at all, Mistress. I’m quite fond of company. Let me put the kettle on. Please do sit down and if you’d like to take off your coats…”

  Triand made no attempt to remove her robes, or even her bundle, while Iwy considered whether it was against etiquette to wring out her soaked braid in a wizard’s tower.

  “I say, so much luggage,” old Vanitor said as he filled the kettle and put it on the fire. “You must be travelling a lot. Please, sit down.” He directed them to the small table and cleared it of some glass flasks and cylinders to make room for the tea pot. “I used to travel a lot in my younger days. Yes, I’ll never forget when I was an apprentice. Needed a new pair of boots every year. Oh, the water.”

  The wizard fumbled around for a dishcloth and sucked air through his teeth as he near burned himself on the kettle.

  “Here, let me.” Iwy reached over, took the kettle from his hand and carried it to the table.

  “Be careful, young lady, it’s quite hot.”

  “It’s fine.” It didn’t feel hot at all. Iwy was surprised the water was even steaming. Probably his nerves. It had started that way with grandpa, too. He ought to get a new kettle.

  “There we are,” Vanitor said cheerfully when he poured out the steeped tea. “Nothing warms you up like a good cuppa, that’s what I say. Now, if you ladies aren’t too tired, would you mind telling me where you’re from?”

  “Oh, we’re just travelling,” Triand answered a completely different question. “All around the lake. Beautiful landscape, it doesn’t get much better. You don’t get a landscape like this anywhere, my grandmother always said. Ailsa is thinking about taking up painting.”

  “That’s a wonderful hobby to have,” the wizard nodded.

  “And I try to find a way to make the pictures move. A proper moving landscape, like you’re still there, wouldn’t that be something?”

  The wizard’s face lit up. “That sounds like a very complicated spell, Mistress. Do you have a plan yet?”

  “Well, I was thinking of adding Inovaz’s Sight to Horatia’s Animation, but there is the matter of velocity ...”

  If there was a spell for diverting the topic of a conversation, it would shrivel up next to Triand. Iwy said nothing as the two older mages went on about the pros and cons of animation and semi-animation versus permanent illusion infused in the oil paint. She’d never seen Triand talk so much with anyone. Well, except her. And Vanitor didn’t even seem to tune her out. But she was definitely not listening when the old wizard began a lecture on the history of cosmetic illusion spells. She seemed to be preoccupied with something else. Iwy caught her glancing around the room and out the window every few seconds. It was still pouring.

  “Well, I’d rather like to see how it turns out,” Vanitor finished finally. “It is so nice to have a decent conversation once in a while. I don’t have visitors often.”

  “Aren’t there any towns around?” Iwy said.

  “Of course, up the road, there’s the village, and at the foot of the mountain, there’s one. But well, it’s only, you know ...”

  “What?”

  “You know ... the non-magical type.” The wizard shook himself briefly and went to rinse out the empty teapot. When his back was turned, Triand elbowed Iwy in the side.

  “Is that so?” Iwy said for lack of anything else to say.

  “I had to put a camouflage field all around the area. You know how they are. ‘Oh, Mr Wizard, fix this, could you cure that’ ... I’d have no rest at all. Always making problems for themselves, that lot.”

  “I dunno, people were doing rather alright once they found out you shouldn’t dig a well next to the privy,” Triand said.

  “Oh, sure,” the wizard said dismissively. “They figured that out, but if it’s not one thing, it’s another. Now they have invented those shooty-things, but do they have a plan on how to get the bullets out again? Always something.”

  “Indeed,” Triand said, getting up. “Well, lovely tea, Master Vanitor, but I think we had better get on if we want to catch the sunset. C’mon, Ailsa, hold on to your bag.”

  She all but shoved Iwy out of her seat.

  “Triand, what are you ...”

  As if on cue, a bolt of lightning skewered the sky.

  Vanitor turned slowly. He looked her up and down, as if comparing her to a picture he’d seen before. For example, on a wanted poster. “Triand? Your name is Triand?”

  “No, it’s Tina. Tina Prizz. My apprentice just has a cough,” Triand said and elbowed Iwy into the direction of the door so hard she actually did cough.

  Outside, not to be outdone by lightning, thunder shook the forest.

  “The wizards of Riestra are looking all over for a Triand. Tall woman, red hair ... carries an artefact of immense power ...”

  “Hate to disappoint.” Triand nudged her apprentice further towards the exit.

  He wagged a finger at her. “They were vague about it, but I figured it out. What with the attacks of certain masked individuals ... it can only be the Eye of Manisum. I’m sure Acarald will be fuming.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Vanitor reached behind the stove. His hand came back holding a staff. The green gemstone on top gleamed menacingly in the firelight.

  Triand and Iwy took this as their cue to run but the lock on the door clicked with finality.

  “Acarald is a decent chap,” Vanitor went on, hand raised. “I met him quite a few times. Decent, yes, but he thinks too much. Not a man of action. He’s a schemer of the old school. He’d get dizzy walking in a straight line.”

  Iwy pulled on the doorknob with all her strength. It didn’t budge.

  “He probably has some great plan. You don’t need a plan when you got an item as powerful as the Eye. Oh, I know all about it. From old Manisum to now ...”

  “Where was he when we were in the library?” Iwy mumbled.

  “Now, Mistress Triand, if you would be so good as to hand me the Eye?”

  Triand moved subtly in front of Iwy, who was still challenging the door. “Never heard of that thing.” A thin veil of blue outlined her for a moment and vanished.

  Iwy ducked, realising her master was getting better at invisibility when the first bolt of lightning from the staff reflected off her and ricocheted around the room. Vanitor didn’t get the chance to conjure a second one as the hearthrug was pulled from under his feet and he landed on his back.

  Triand tried to snap the door’s lock open. It refused.

  Now would be a good time, Iwy thought, glancing at her hands. This is dangerous enough, isn’t it? Come on!

  Vanitor scrambled up. Another lightning bolt zigzagged through the tower and Triand and Iwy reflexively dove in opposite directions as it hit the door between them.

  There! There was a glimmer in her palms! If she could only make it a little bigger ...

  “Oh no, you don’t, miss!”

  Iwy’s back hit the stone wall and she swore under her breath as she slid down. From a shelf above, a small round glass flask bounced off her head and landed in her lap.

  Damn! Damn it all, this was all her fault ...

  Vanitor turned to Triand. “And now ...” The rest of the sentence was muffled, as it came through the large black kettle that had plopped itself over his head. It shattered into pieces before Triand could make it to the door. “Someone of your power can surely do better! Come on, a decent fight keeps you young.”

  “Pacifistic these days.”

  “No, my dear, I think ... oh, he is tracking you, isn’t he? He finally got that thing to work? He knows? Well, all the better! I can’t wait to rub it under his crooked nose that I have the Eye! Before draining his power, of course ...”

  This lightning bolt caught the mage in the chest and Triand hit the door frame with a groan.

  Iwy staggered upwards. “Here, just take it!” Something glowed in her hand. It was as big as her fist and bloodred. Iwy tossed the Eye to him.

  Vanitor caught it with a mad gleam in his own eye. Behind Iwy, Triand finally broke the lock. The rain outside plastered her hair to her head instantly as mage and apprentice booked it over soaked grass towards the road.

  Triand clapped her apprentice on the shoulder mid-run. “You made an illusion! All on your own!”

  Behind them rang the sound of breaking glass. “Come back here!”

  “Yeah, but it only lasts about two seconds,” Iwy added as lightning cracked close over her head.

  She could see the river now as they ran, a stream that ended in a waterfall, a mere hundred steps from the tower. And there was indeed a bridge, but on a day like this, when the river swelled like a yeast cake, it was barely a raft.

  Triand threw Iwy her bundle. “Get over there!”

  “But ...”

  “Don’t make me give you an order!”

  Iwy had barely reached the bridge when the water came towards her. She stumbled back and saw the wizard out of the corner of her eye. The river raised itself in time with the movements of his staff.

  “You stop that!” Triand yelled, and his beard covered his eyes with a wet slopping noise. The water calmed for a moment. Iwy picked her way over the thin creaking planks. She looked back at Triand.

  The bridge jerked in the waves. “Come on!” Iwy yelled back at her master as her feet finally found muddy ground.

  “Not so fast!”

  On the other bank, Vanitor raised a hand. In front of Iwy, the water rose in a solid pillar. A creak of soaked wood later the bridge was washed away.

  On the other side of the stream, Triand crouched down, hands burying into the wet grass. The advancing wizard came to a standstill.

  Through the rain, Iwy couldn’t see what she was doing. She saw Vanitor thrown down and his robes turning green as wet grass seemed to sprout over him. His hands were still reaching out in a spell gesture.

  Triand had apparently decided this would hold him long enough, got up, swaying like the bridge had, and staggered to the stream.

  Only it was no longer a stream. The water tore itself every which way like a wounded animal, rising, falling, crashing. It drove Iwy ever further back.

  Triand looked at the torrent, then back at the wizard. Grass broke along his shoulders as he struggled upwards. She stomped on the ground briefly to stall him. The water subsided momentarily. “It’s fine, I’ll jump!”

  Iwy spotted movement behind her. “No, don...”

  Triand jumped. The wave washed over her like the wrath of a god who was owed two oxen and at least half a comely villager.