“You nearly kneed me in the face!”

  “Hold still, can’t you?”

  The way through the secret passage had been uneventful except for Triand sneaking a sniff of Farond’s pipeweed, which Iwy had foreseen the minute the word was said. Now they were probably two minutes away from waking the entire wizarding sanctum.

  Iwy was giving Triand a leg-up as she tried to unlock the trapdoor that was stuck from years of disuse. The older woman had no sense of balance, either by nature or her earlier drinking escapade. The innkeeper of the Odd Parsnip was making a mint this week, and all thanks to her.

  “Now looky here, this is a locking rune. See that?”

  “Trying…”

  “If you know your way around runes, a class known in magic schools 'round the world as ‘nap time’, you get in a lot of places. Add a few lines here and there, the rune don’t care that it’s a welcoming rune now. So, who are you interested in, anyway?” Triand rubbed around the barely visible locking rune with her sleeve and tried to aim the pencil straight.

  “This is the conversation you want to have right now?”

  “You probably know that most wizards are celibate but there’s no actual rule for that. It’s just that no one likes ‘em.”

  “Shouldn’t we concentrate on the books before we wake everyone?”

  The trapdoor opened with a creak. Iwy climbed through behind the mage and puzzled instantly how they were going to find anything. The library was enormous. The whole village of Riansfield could have fitted in here with room to spare. She couldn’t even make out the ceiling, though the tall marble pillars had to hold up something and the windows had to end somewhere. The shelves seemed to stretch into infinity.

  Something fluttered past her and Iwy squinted up through the low light. Thick tomes were floating lazily in mid-air or flitting around with the agility of forest birds. Off to the site, she spotted a row of what seemed like fishing nets on poles.

  Triand seemed right at home. She grabbed a lamp from the next desk, lit it, and threw Iwy her matches.

  A giant, magical library but ordinary lamps. This was vaguely disappointing. It seemed the wizard sanctum did have a budget after all.

  “Let’s get to it. You know why magic types like robes?” Triand opened hers. “Plenty of pockets inside to steal stuff.”

  “I thought you only wanted to have a look,” Iwy whispered back.

  “We can look on the way to our next location. Let’s see ...”

  “I don’t think this is right.”

  “We’re borrowing some books and the odd scroll, we’ll return ‘em sometime. Now go find something to do with fire.” She heard Triand mumble as she walked down the rows. “Chaos magic, hardly need help with that ...”

  Iwy looked around her. There was a library in Fallhaven and a bigger one in Ocrance, neither of which were as vast as this one and they mainly held old almanac copies. She hadn’t borrowed books for herself often. Her younger sister Elisia took a trip for the entire family every two weeks and Iwy had read whatever she had brought her. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Anywhere. The library takes care of that. Keep walking, you’ll walk into the right things.”

  There was likely some magic behind this again. Iwy picked the shelf on her left. She thought about fire. Fire magic, fire control, how did wizards call that?

  The next scroll she touched seemed suddenly relevant. “Elemental conjuring, how about that? Fire’s an element, right?”

  “Good thinking, take it.”

  Triand was much faster, as she had more practice. Iwy watched her shove books and scrolls into her robes while muttering excitedly. “Pocketbook of Invisibility, definitely need that. Dretin University Companion to Invisibility Spells, taking this too ...”

  Iwy held her own lantern higher. The library didn’t seem to know her well enough yet. She wondered idly if there was anything on magic in a farming context.

  “The Partybook of Lost Magic, not right now ...”

  “What’s organic sorcery?” Iwy whispered.

  Triand made a dismissive gesture. “Some new-fangled nonsense the city kids are doing. Keep looking. Ew, mindbending’s the worst, you get a headache for days and you feel like you need to wash the inside of your skull ...”

  Iwy selected the next scroll. “Seven New Ways of Fire Conjuring by Banohagan the Batty?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  The apprentice watched Triand rush here and there for a while. She wasn’t exactly careful about the books she stuffed into the secret pockets of her robes. She wasn’t careful about a lot of things. Was it true what the wizard had said, about her blowing the roof off the sanctum? So far, the most destructive thing Iwy had seen her do was annoy people. Could she muster up that much power, or whatever it was?

  She watched Triand stub her toe on a desk and almost fall over.

  If she had blown up anything, it was probably by accident.

  The girl handed the mage the scrolls the next time she brushed past. “How does it work?”

  “I’m sure he explains it in the text,” Triand said, storing the scrolls away in her robes.

  “No, the library.”

  “Oh. Weeell, it sort of reads your mind, selects titles based on your interests and your query ... and sometimes based on what you took out before. Oh look, Miranora’s Most Destructive Spells ...”

  Iwy went on looking while Triand went on mumbling as she strolled deeper into the rows of shelves. “Necrobotany, necromancy, necrosis ... nether magic ...”

  Conjuring fire seemed a popular subject, but how about not being able to conjure fire. Iwy picked up the next book. “One Hundred Magical Maladies?”

  “Keep it.”

  She was getting the hang of it. Iwy quickly checked to see if Triand was looking in her direction. Maybe there was the odd scroll about getting rid of magic. “What are you looking for, anyway?” Iwy asked.

  “Complete and utter destruction. Among other things.”

  Iwy wasn’t sure if her master was being serious. She concentrated on her query. Something to pull magic out of yourself, something to – what was the hospital for again? – depletion, something about magical depletion ... there.

  “Plague bending, ew. Projection conjuring ... No, I would not like to read this month’s most popular prophecies!”

  Triand’s voice came from somewhere behind her. Iwy quickly shoved the book into a skirt pocket. “What have you got over there?”

  “Uh…” Iwy grabbed the nearest scroll. “Sensory sorcery.”

  “Hm, nah, keep looking,” the mage’s voice trailed off as she set out for the history section. Iwy breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  The library kept coming up with only vaguely related things. Cures for illnesses Iwy had never even heard of and never wanted to encounter like conjurer’s foot or bog blisters or séance delirium. The treatise on warlock’s rot contained entirely too many pictures. And what was prophecy affliction and why was it here? “The library’s giving me weird things.”

  “Alright, I’ll take over!” Triand said from somewhere to her right. “Beginner’s Guide to Pyromancy, How to Burn Foes and Incinerate People, Einitor the Peculiar’s treatise on effective wordless magic ...”

  “Where are you?”

  The mage poked her head around the shelf in front of her. “Found anything else?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I’m almost out of space anyway. Oh, Teleportation Made Simple, yes please. Maybe more on that ...”

  They rounded a corner.

  Someone stood there waiting.

  For a horrible moment, they thought the sanctum guard had caught them. But a sanctum guard wouldn’t go in for black robes and a mask covering his entire face, smooth and shining like polished obsidian. There weren’t even any holes for the eyes.

  “I knew you would come here,” the masked wizard said.

  “Alright,” Triand said, hastily stuffing scrolls into her pockets. “Nice to know. Bit sinister. Anything I can do for you?”

  “Give me the staff!”

  “Get your own staff.”

  The robed man advanced. Lights flickered around his gloved fingers, soon forming a circle surrounded by small symbols, none of which Iwy recognised. “I know you’ve hidden it in there. Give it to me.”

  “You’re really not my type!”

  A wave of something that Iwy decided to dub arcane power hit the wizard in the chest and he flew back against a shelf, sending parchment flying. Triand grabbed Iwy’s hand. “Run!”

  “Is he one of the Order?” She just sent that guy flying, Iwy thought. No wasps or roots required. Why didn’t she do that with the witch hunters?

  “I don’t know and I’m not gonna ask!”

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  A sudden blast splintered the bookshelf in front of them. The wizard was back on his feet. Triand dragged Iwy sharp left and pushed her in front of herself. They took shelter behind one of the marble pillars.

  “The books all have spells against flame damage on them, so if you feel anything, don’t hold back.”

  Iwy nodded, already knowing it would be no use; the only things she felt were a rising pulse and panic.

  “Come out, Triand!” the wizard called from behind them.

  Triand pressed her forefinger to her lips. She looked over to her right, to the shelf at the far end of the room and made a soft, beckoning gesture; a few scrolls took flight. They floated to the edge of the shelf. Then, without warning, they launched directly at the masked wizard. Iwy could hear angry arcane blasts and the wizard storming off towards the shelf. They took off in the direction of the trap door.

  They had hardly come out of the row of shelves when the next wave of light hit overhead; he hadn’t been distracted for long.

  Iwy bumped into someone.

  A young wizard in a nightgown stood in the hallway, holding his lantern higher.

  “Get down!” Triand yelled.

  “You can’t fight in here, this is a library!”

  Another blast flew past them and Triand ducked behind the next pillar just in time. “Tell him that!”

  “I have to report this, you know.”

  Iwy grabbed the young man by the arm and dragged him to safety as a row of light rings exploded where he had stood a second before. Triand squinted angrily around the marble. He was blocking the damn way to the damn trap door! “How can he even see in that thing?”

  Another volley went past them. “Give me the artefact!”

  Meanwhile, the nightgowned man struggled against Iwy’s grip. “I have to report this!”

  “Stay still. You’re gonna get hit if you go out there!”

  “We could all get into a lot of trouble for this!”

  “We already are in a lot of trouble, my lad,” Triand commented.

  “What are we going to do?” Iwy asked, considering putting the young man in a headlock.

  “I don’t know what you ladies are doing, but I’m reporting this!” The young wizard finally broke free and skittered towards the main entrance.

  “Leave him.”

  The masked wizard stepped closer. A thin blue outline swam around him, mimicking the silhouette of his body. The next blast of light hit the pillar behind their backs. Iwy could feel the ancient stone shiver with the impact. Was he strong enough to bring it down on their heads?

  “Hand over the staff!”

  Triand straightened her shoulders. “Fine, if that’s the way he wants it ... Hold this. Stay down.”

  The staff was pressed into Iwy’s hands. “What? Won’t you need it?”

  “Not for this.”

  And then she felt it. It was as if a massive hot wall had formed around the mage.

  Iwy realised one thing and one thing only: Triand was a heavy drinker, a terrible flirt, patently irresponsible, about as good a teacher as a fish giving sailing instructions and used the line between legal and illegal as jump rope; but she was damn powerful.

  The man’s hands were bathed in the strange, explosive light he conjured, spinning around him, forming angular symbols with every gesture he made. Triand’s hands were entirely empty.

  He took aim. The spinning circles came crashing towards her.

  And bounced back. They hit the walls and shelves around her, one probably the high ceiling. The wizard’s face wasn’t visible but judging by his stance he experienced the surprise of his life.

  She didn’t attack him directly. She used the floor.

  All it took were two small gestures with her forefingers. The thick upper layer of stone cracked and turned upwards. One by one they took flight, circling around him faster than he could aim blasts at them. He managed to hit one or two. It was all the distraction Triand needed. She threw out one arm and the stones stacked up in the blink of an eye, a wall encasing the wizard seemingly out of nowhere.

  “That should keep him busy. Come on.”

  They had almost reached the trap door.

  The explosion threw them both to the ground, light and bits of stone flying in every direction. Iwy raised her head slightly to see the mage lying on her side with one hand on her head. A thin trickle of blood streamed out from under her hand.

  The freed wizard advanced, light circles bright and menacing.

  It happened before Iwy had time to register the heat in her skin or the crackling in the air. The flames darted out of her before she had even properly taken aim.

  She realised she was still holding the staff. Maybe this worked after all.

  She threw out one arm as she had seen Triand do.

  The wave of heat flung the wizard against the far window and then through it. Glass crashed on the ground outside.

  And just like that, it was over. Whatever power she had possessed in the moment had drained out of her again.

  She stepped to the broken window. Several floors down the glint of glass shards sparkled in the moonlight, but there was nothing else.

  Triand stumbled upright and slapped Iwy on the back so hard she almost lost her balance. “Well done! I knew you had it in you. Now let’s go before ...” The mage turned around, and her face turned to annoyance. “Ah, Hell.”

  The sanctum guard had them surrounded. A veritable conspiracy of wizards descended upon them.

  The guardsmen looked like ordinary guys, relatively young, sturdy, the kind who would be swayed by a poster saying, ‘Guard wanted: regular hours, twelve gold pieces a month, magical ailments cured for free, inquire inside.’ The wizards looked exactly like Iwy had pictured them. There were only a few young faces scattered between them, possibly students. She noticed exactly one woman among them, about her own age.

  The leader of the order was a big, imposing wizard who had taken the time to put on his best scarlet robes. They were embroidered with gold thread forming intricate angular symbols and the sleeves nearly dragged on the floor. Among all the beards, his was definitely the longest and bushiest. Iwy began to suspect that this was how wizards selected their leaders.

  He stepped forward, ornate staff pounding on the marble floor so hard the red gemstone in its middle shook. “Triand. Of course.”

  The mage put on her best surprised smile. “Hi, Archmage. How are ya? Everything good? Magic still flowing? Great, well, we have to run.” She grabbed Iwy’s arm and had two halberds bar the way.

  “Hold it. The wizard you were fighting. Where is he?”

  She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the broken window. “Somewhere outside, I guess?”

  The Archmage nodded slightly and two guards broke from the pack and ran out the library.

  “Weeell, if that was all ...”

  “You’re not going anywhere. What was he looking for?”

  “Resources for curing early onset Old Man’s Problem.”

  “He wanted her staff,” the young wizard from before said eagerly, staggering to the front. He was still in his nightgown. “He said something about an artefact.”

  “Well, there’s a snitch to end all snitches,” Triand interrupted. She turned to Iwy. “How often d’you reckon he gets beaten up, four times a week? Five?”

  The young wizard continued unfazed, which made five times per week seem more likely: “And the girl had flames all around her.”

  Iwy hadn’t even noticed he’d been there. Dammit!

  “Oh, and he had a sort of symbol on him. Like an eye with drops coming out of it. And a mask, it was really smooth. Oh, and black.”

  The Archmage turned to them again. “Triand. Explain this.”

  The master sorceress shrugged. “What he said.”

  The Archmage’s beard bristled. “You’re not being chased by a Faceless for nothing. What did you do this time?”

  “A what now?”

  “Don’t play dumb! What’s hidden in your staff?”

  “Nothin’.”

  He turned to the guards who still hadn’t lowered their weapons. “Get the staff, lock them up.”

  “Nah. We’re leaving.”

  Iwy could feel the invisible hot wall again, but so did the other wizards, who stepped back and brandished their staves, the Archmage in front. “You’re outnumbered, Triand. We are hundreds. You can’t fight your way out.”

  “Fine. I was feeling like a vacation anyway.”

  A guard grabbed the staff out of her hand. Another pair seized them and escorted them downstairs. This hardly seemed legal to Iwy; or would they just hold them until the city watch arrived?

  Downstairs went on for a long time. It took a good fifteen minutes of alternating between awkward silence and Triand’s questions about what the penny-pinchers in robes were paying their guards these days and if you could feed a family on that before they finally reached the sanctum’s own private prison area.

  There was exactly one jail cell in Riansfield and it was mainly used to house anyone who was too drunk to go home after the midsummer or harvest feast. In Iwy’s area, an example of what happens when a peasant revolt is successful, people didn’t approve of locking up criminals where they were safe from the justified anger of their victims. Technically, there was a shire reeve, but if wrong was done and no amends made, punishment consisted mostly of a good beating and getting thrown out of town or, as was popular in winter, in the river. Word of misdeeds got around fast among the villages, so criminals knew to lie low and better their ways. The Midlands were among the safest areas in the kingdom.

  The sanctum jail wasn’t much different from a storm cellar, Iwy decided. Rough stone, thick wooden doors. A guard’s bench in front of every cell. Reasonably dry. You could keep preserves in here no problem.

  The lamps on the walls lit themselves. The Archmage and two other wizards filed into the cell with them. “The Faceless have become bold, but this is the first time they attacked us. What do you know?”

  Triand had already sprawled her thin form all over the plank bed as if preparing for a nap and sat up again leaning on her elbows. “Wait, do you call them that or do they call themselves that?”

  “Listen, Triand, we have always been kind to you, especially considering your parentage ...”

  “Now that’s just discrimination.”

  “... but we have means of getting the truth out of you, so it’s in your best interest to cooperate with us.”

  “Would that I could, chief, but I don’t trust any of you with the truth. You know, those Faceless? Any of them could be one of you.”

  “Or you,” the blue-robed wizard from the door said.

  Triand seemed genuinely puzzled by his remark. “Me, why would I ...”

  “You were closest to ...”

  “That’s enough,” the Archmage ordered. “This will get us nowhere.” He swept out of the cell, robes billowing behind him. “I will give you two hours to think this over, then you will be questioned. Separately.”

  The wizards patted out, muttering among each other, and the door slammed and was locked.

  Triand shrugged, pulled one of the stolen scrolls out of a hidden pocket of her robe and began to read.

  Iwy watched her for a few minutes. “So ... are we breaking out?”

  “Nope. They put a spell lock on. Can’t do much. Well, aside from blowing up the whole place. We might as well find out what they know.”

  “About what? That wizard in the helmet?”

  “For a start.”

  Triand read extremely fast. She was done with her scroll in minutes and pulled out another one. Iwy wondered why they hadn’t searched her pockets, or her own, for that matter. She reached into her pocket quickly to feel for the small book. Still there. But it was a bad idea to leaf through it with Triand hardly a yard away.

  Instead she paced up and down the small room. Now that the excitement had died down, she had time to think about some things. One moment there was nothing, and the next she had been on fire. Exactly like in the barn. She hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even thought about it. It was a reflex more than anything.

  “That wizard. I didn’t ... kill him, did I?”

  The mage didn’t look up. “Dunno. Is that important?”

  “Yes! I don’t want to kill people!”

  “He’d have no problem killing you.”

  Iwy resumed her pacing. She could still hear the crash of glass, but she couldn’t remember if she had heard anything hitting the cobblestones three floors down. This was the second time she had almost killed someone. It didn’t get easier with practice.

  She tried to find distraction. The cell offered all the bare wall you ever wanted to stare at, but a subject change was probably more workable. “What did he mean, your parentage?”

  Triand still didn’t look up from her scroll. “My mams were witches. I grew up a witch. Wizards hate witches, you know that.”

  Iwy didn’t. The particulars of magical politics were still a mystery to her. “Why? There’s basically no difference.”

  “Basically no difference?”

  “Well, you told me one is born with magic and the other learns things and has a staff, doesn’t seem worth making a big deal out of it.”

  Triand shook her head. “You’ve really never met wizards.”

  “But you’re a wizard now.”

  “More or less. Actually, less. Actually, kinda.”

  “I thought this whole witchard thing was only a joke.”

  “Do I look like I have a sense of humour?”

  Iwy sat down on her own cot. “Then why did your mothers send you here of all places?”

  “Didn’t. I just wanted to learn some different kinds of magic. I mean, melting people’s skin off and cursing their bloodline for all eternity is only fun for so long.”

  Iwy stared. “Wait, witches do that?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “Was it better what you learned here?”

  “Learned it’s a waste of time. Especially Archmage Ambeus, the mighty tosser before the gods. The only good thing about wizards is that they keep hoarding everyone else’s knowledge.” She shoved the scrolls back into her robes and took out a book instead, leafing through it while mumbling to herself.