Free Children of Enchantment by Anne Kelleher Bush Page B

for their
     messages.” Hesitantly, she held out a hide-bound package, greasy and worn from much handling.
    “Have any of the Children touched this?” asked Jesselyn sharply.
    “No, Rever’d Lady. But before it was burnt, we thought you’d better have it. It does look as if it’s come a long way.”
    Jesselyn nodded and took the package. “That would explain who the poor wretch was.” She turned her face up to Everard. “Some
     messenger—bringing this to one of the Northern tribes, no doubt. We’ll have a look and perhaps you’ll see it gets to wherever
     it was to go.”
    Everard was like a mother hen, Jesselyn thought as she leaned against the high back of the one comfortable chair in the room
     which served her as sitting room and office and, if necessary, supply closet. She sipped at the cider he handed her. For a
     man so big and burly, he moved lightly, even gracefully. His eyes watched her closely, and though they had not lost that glint
     of humor, he looked as careworn as she felt. She closed her eyes and let the hot steam curl around her nose.
    “Feel better?” He settled on the floor by the hearth near her feet.
    “Much.”
    “You’ve had a hard time.”
    It was not a question, but she shrugged in response. “It has never been worse. The stream of refugees is nearly constant—
     we’re always short of everything. If you hadn’t sent those supplies a month ago, I don’t know what I would have done. There’s
     never enough food, enough clothing. I try to find them little plots of land, or settle them with some of the neighboring tribes,
     but—” She broke off, suddenly too exhausted to continue.
    “You do good work, Jessie.” For another long moment there was silence, while they sipped their cider, and the fire burned
     merrily in the hearth. He poked at the logs with a long iron. “Better open that message while I’m here. I’ll take it with
     me if needs be when I leave in the morning.”
    With a start, she set her cup on the floor and pulled the packet from the pocket of her gown. In the confines of the room
     it stank of a sick man’s sweat. Gingerly, she unwrapped it and removed several sheets of parchment. She leaned forward and
     read it with growing disbelief.
    “Well?” Everard asked finally.
    She held it out to him. He glanced at the parchment and shook his head. “You know I don’t read Muten, Jessie.”
    “No,” she said, beginning to tremble. “But look at the signature. It’s from Vere.”
    “Vere?” Everard turned the parchment over. “I always wondered if that’s where the poor bastard had gone when he disappeared
     all those years ago, during Mortmain’s Rebellion. You were probably too little to remember—“
    “I remember Tavia telling me, when I’d got a little older.”
    “So what does it say? Who’s it addressed to?”
    Jesselyn took the sheets back from Everard and peered at them with a wrinkled brow. “It’s addressed to the Council of the
     Elders—the Pr’fessors—at the College.”
    “Vere moves in high circles.”
    “Indeed. This messenger was to take this to their place of exile—do you know where that is?”
    Everard only shook his head.
    “Let me see—it says—‘To my brothers and sisters of the Council, I send greetings and the urgent wish that the recent unrest
     among the Lesser Children has not affected the tranquility of your lives. I fear this message will have just that effect.
     I believe I have found the traitor, Ferad-lugz, in the deep desert of Dlas-for’Torth. Our fears are justified that he has
     continued in the study of the Magic and at this moment poses a greater threat not only to the Ruling Council and the Children,
     but to the whole of Meriga itself. Despite the uncertainties of the present situation, I am sending my servant to you in the
     hope that you, having taken counsel, will be able to advise what the next course of action should be. I intend to follow my
     servant. However, due to the current