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curtain around the manor's front drive. Standing before the main doors was the
red-clad form of Jennicandra, Mistress of the
Crimson Scholars. Behind her loomed the green-mawed ape made of hewn rock.
"Heliz," said Jennicandra, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile.
"Great-grandmother," said Heliz, his throat tightening.
"You've caused me a lot of trouble, child," she said reproachfully.
Her mannerisms were careful now, those of an old person. She looked like a
child playacting.
"I'm sorry," said Heliz, feeling his knees tremble and threaten to go out. "I
didn't mean to destroy the tower. I didn't know the word was that dangerous.
Don't kill me."
The smile blossomed fully on the young/old woman's lips. "Kill you? Hardly.
Not while you have that useful word in your mind."
"But the tower?"
Jennicandra laughed harshly. "What of the tower? Fifty scribes. A word that
powerful is worth five hundred. I've been looking for words like that.
Original words. Words of Destruction and Creation.
Show me the word you learned, child. I'll be happy to leave you in this hole
of a town if you just show me the word."
She said something else, something that Heliz heard and then forgot
immediately. Something that slid off his brain, leaving a muzzy residue
behind. He wanted to speak, but his throat tightened at fear of his
great-grandmother. He shook his head, more in confusion than in negation.
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"Come now, child," said Jennicandra. "You wrote it down, didn't you? Of
course, you're a good scholar.
I taught you to be one. So you would find the right words for me. Now I want
you to show me your devotion to your Great-grann-nanna. Show me what you did,
child. Show me the word."
Again she added something else, the extra syllable that strained at the gates
of Heliz's mind. Heliz made a gasping whisper. "I'm sorry," he managed.
Despite himself, he clutched at the notebook resting over his thundering
heart.
Jennicandra took another step forward. "You disappoint. All those deaths are
meaningless, child, unless I
get the word. Unless I get the power. It's your purpose in life. It's in your
notebook, isn't it? I can take it off your body. Don't fight me, child. Your
blood comes from me. You owe it to me. Give it to me. Give me the word."
This time the syllable struck like a blade against the bounds of his mind, and
the torrent came loose. He felt the sudden need to pull the small notebook
out, to show his Great-grann-nanna what he did, to make her proud of him. He
reached for the book.
And something large and heavy slammed into him, knocking him against the side
of the door. Something sharp broke inside Heliz's mind, and he realized that
he had fallen beneath one of Jennican-dra's own words of power.
Lumm, rubbing his shoulder, bellowed, "Use it, Heliz! Use it on her!"
Heliz looked at the staver. "But the town& "
"Will be my first test of power," said Jennicandra, and she shouted, "NOW,
GIVE ME THE WORD!"
and added her word of power. Behind her, the rock-ape bellowed in chorus.
Heliz opened his mouth and screamed, bellowed the word of power that had been
unspoken these many months. It was a short word, but charged with the power of
sun and stars and earth and creation. It pulled fury with it, and detonated
right where Jennicandra was standing.
And as Heliz shouted the word, he changed it, twisting it in his mind and his
throat to merge it with the diminutive form he had discovered earlier in the
evening. He appended it more as a hopeful prayer than as a real attempt to
control the damage.
A bright light flashed, one that Heliz had seen once before, long ago in the
tower. It blossomed outwards, encasing his great-grandmother, the rock-ape,
and licking at the entrance of the manor itself. Yet it was contained, folded
back upon itself by its diminutive suffix. It looked as if a massive ball of
lightning had detonated among the manor houses, turning the region to brief,
sudden day.
And as suddenly as it appeared, it diminished again, collapsing like energy
without matter to house it, pulling itself inwards and evaporating in a single
point. The area in a fifty-foot circle was blasted black, and the stone front
of the manor house was charred and blackened. All that remained of the
rock-ape was a pair of roughly hewn feet, which could be imagined as being
anthropoid only with a vivid imagination. Of the Great-grandmother of the
Crimson Scholars there was no sign. The rain was falling again in the
courtyard, and the thunder grumbled in the sky like a god disturbed from its
slumbers.
Lumm helped Heliz to his feet. The linguist had not realized he had collapsed.
"You got her," said Lumm, self-satisfaction in his voice.
Heliz shook his head. "I did this to her before. She survived that."
"No, you got her," assured Lumm. "If she lived through that, she's a better
thesaurus, or sorceress, or whatever, than she should be."
Lumm thumped down the broad steps of the manor house, then turned. "You
coming?"
Heliz was quiet for a moment, wrestling with his thoughts. "Yes. Let me take
you to the Unicorn. I
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suppose I owe you a drink."
Lumm shook his head, then spat, "You owe me a house
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