Free The Stricken Field by Dave Duncan Page B

records dating from very early in the College's history, not long after the War of the Five Warlocks. Every page had to be freed of the remains of preservation sorcery, upgraded to legibility, and then preserved again. It was a monotonous and yet exacting task, and he was miserably aware that he was making an unconscionable racket doing it. He felt sure that everyone else in the great room was laughing at him.
    It was not fair! That fourth word must have been defective, and now he was stuck with the words he knew until the day he died. He might gain a fraction more power from time to time when whoever else shared his various words died, but then he would just have to share that word with some pimply-faced novice, so any improvement would be very brief.
    Eventually he took a rest from his labors. He wandered out to the stacks and consulted some of the historical archives. Mearn had not been far wrong. The last reported assembly of the archons had been two hundred seventy-six years ago and was believed to have debated a shortage of words of power. Whenever there was need of a new Keeper, the archons chose one of their own number as replacement, but apparently they could do so without formally assembling.
    Grumpily he went back to his desk.
    And now this wisp of a girl had provoked an assembly? Slouched on his stool, he worked it out and his hair stood erect. Archon Raim had asserted--and puissant sorcerers were seldom mistaken-that someone had been meddling. No one within the College would or could tamper with its official business, the Keeper's business. Never! So the meddling must originate Outside. So security had been breached. So the work of a millennium was overthrown, and the demons might invade Thume again, bringing all the evils of ancient times. Jain's reclusive pixie heart cringed into a prune.
    He decided to go and talk with Mearn, as the two of them seemed to be in this together. He hurried out of the Scriptorium into sunshine and the cool spring wind, and strode off along the Way.
    A sorcerer's hunch told him to look near the Commons and he found her outside, in the courtyard. Even a mundane could have guessed she would be outdoors somewhere. Four novices had passed through the Defile the previous night and would still be recovering. They would especially want sunlight. She was sitting at an outdoor table with three of them, in the dappled shade of an arbutus tree, which had not been there yesterday. Apart from them, the courtyard was empty, but it would soon fill up. Lunch was a popular social event.
    "How did it go?" he inquired, pulling up a chair. Mearn pursed her lips at him, but with less than her usual distaste. "Novice Doob had a nice walk in the hills." She glanced at the youngest of the three.
    He smiled back shyly. "I'm going home!"
    "What's his talent? " Jain inquired. The boy wasn't close to pubescent yet, and looked about as intelligent as an average mango.
    "He hasn't any but his Uncle Kulth wouldn't believe it. " "No harm done? "
    "No, he saw nothing but moonlight and shadows. Can't say the same for Novice Maig."
    The second boy was slouched slackly in his chair, arms dangling, head propped against the wall; he might have been put in position by somebody other than himself. He seemed quite unaware of the world around him. His face was locked into a sick stare of horror, and his unblinking eyes gave Jain familiar shivers.
    "Don't look-it's very nasty. " Mearn meant not to look inside, of course. "He was half-witted to begin with, " she said sourly.
    "It happens. Will he recover? "
    "Probably not. Of course!" she added aloud. "Just takes a little time."
    Not necessarily. Jain would certainly never forget his own visit to the Defile, nor the many sleepless nights that had followed. He had gone in with six companions and come out with five. The biggest, toughest-looking novice in his class had died of fright. Admittedly that was unusual. The sneer on Mearn's face showed that she knew what he was