David Wise - Tales of Ravenloft

"Why protect it at all?" Geryn countered. "Prince Othmar's nephew offered you a fortune in gold. We could open a shop in Kantora with the money we'd get for its sale."

"No!" Welse bellowed. "It's mine! I will not part with it."

Geryn, who had done no weaving for days due to lack of sleep, looked from the dwindling stack of weavings to his father's stubborn expression to the cloth itself, hanging with such splendor on the wall. "Who needs a wizard when there's magic here already," he mumbled, softly so his father would not hear him.

Though the young men had been ordered to stand guard in pairs, Geryn consulted with his brothers. Afterward, one would watch the shop while the other went in the back to weave. In that way some of their stock was replenished. Welse, who usually kept accurate count of every scarf and shirt and tunic, did not seem to notice their appearance on his shelves or the shoddy workmanship of his exhausted sons.

Eventually all but Moro became accustomed to their nocturnal hours. The boy kept nodding off. Geryn would always partner with him. At first, he would come into the shop often to be certain Moro did not sleep. After weeks had passed and no one had tried to steal his father's treasure, Geryn began letting Moro sleep for a few hours each night in a chair close to the door, often pausing in his work to check on the boy.

One night, Geryn began a particularly beautiful weave in silk and flax. Caught up in his work, he did not hear the soft padding of feet outside the shop's back door, or the quickly whispered spell, or the creaking of the hinges as the door swung open. His only warning was a sudden draft of air that made him turn and cry out before a thief's cudgel knocked him senseless.

When Geryn regained consciousness, he lay in a square of light falling through the open rear door. Staggering to his feet and into the shop, he saw Moro sprawled facedown across the counter, one hand resting on his bloodied knife. "Moro!" Geryn screamed. As he touched his brother, he saw the boy's head had been nearly severed from his body. The body was cold, dead for some hours. Even so, the cloth was still in its place on the wall.

At first, Geryn thought his brother had managed to kill the intruder, but there was no sign of a body or any blood. With a heavy heart, Geryn tied off the work he had done and wrapped his brother in it. Afterward, he went outside and sent one of the street urchins to deliver a message to his father. When his parents arrived at the shop, he did not lie about what he had done.

Ronae knelt beside the body, stroking the boy's golden hair, crooning to him as if he were still alive, in pain and in need of comforting. Welse, on the other hand, displayed no emotion but fury, and all of it was directed at Geryn. "How could you be so foolish!" Welse screamed. "I gave you orders for your own protection. Everyone covets the cloth. You should have expected this."

"The walls are stone, Father. The doors and windows are barred. Only a sorcerer could have entered without my hearing," Geryn countered with no real energy. "And if the thief was a sorcerer, it might explain why he disappeared after Moro wounded him. If the man is still alive, he'll try again."

"And kill another of us, or perhaps two," Ronae said, her voice dulled by grief. "Sell the cloth, Welse, for the good of all of us."

Sell it! How dare she speak to him that way. How dare the others nod their agreement. "Never!" Welse bellowed. "I'll watch it myself, for it's clear I can't trust any of you. "He moved toward the cloth, as if to protect it. As he did, he noticed a brown smudge in the corner and lifted it up to the light.

"Blood?" Ronae asked, thinking of the thief she had killed.

Welse shook his head and examined the spot carefully, the way a craftsman saw a flaw in his creation. The concern would hardly have been unusual had the son he loved so dearly not lain dead behind him. "The smudge seems to be a part of the cloth, some shift in the coloring. It looks like a face."

"A terrified face," Geryn commented, looking over his father's shoulder. "Two men have tried to steal it. Two have failed. Do you suppose the cloth protects itself?"

Welse looked at his son as if the boy had suddenly gone mad. "I created it. From now on I'll be the one to guard it," he said.

Each night, Welse positioned his chair in front of the cloth and sat with a knife in his hand, constantly alert for any sound outside the thick stone walls. Each day, he slept in the same chair while his remaining sons went about their work. Welse did not speak to them save when utterly necessary.

One afternoon when Geryn was alone in the shop, he saw an old man standing outside the open door, looking intently beyond Geryn to the cloth on the wall and Welse sleeping in front of it. The man was richly dressed in clothes from the northern lands and carried a tall, intricately carved walking staff. "Come in, friend," Geryn called good-naturedly. "See the wares we have for sale."

"Come out," the man responded, holding up a single golden coin.

With a backward glance at his sleeping father, Geryn did.

"You've had problems. Traders as far away as Egertus speak of some strange sorcery. I've come to help you." The man spoke so softly that Geryn had to watch his mouth move to understand the words. There was a persuasiveness to his voice, a persuasiveness so strong that Geryn forgot he should be angry at the rumors, or of being reminded of them by a stranger.

All he believed was that the old stranger was here to help him.

"I understand a sorcerer tried to steal it and failed. Such a foolish thing to do when it is clear that you desire nothing so much as to be rid of it."

"I do," Geryn answered honestly. As he did, the need to dispose of the cloth overpowered all fear of his father's wrath.

"You can have your desire, and he need never know."

"The cloth has cost us a great deal. "Again Geryn confessed exactly what was in his heart.

"Of course. You care for your family. I understand. I would not own such a thing, but there are others foolish enough to want it and to pay well. I am generous. I could steal the cloth, but that is a dangerous thing to do. Far better to share what I have been given. "He returned the gold coin to a purse on his belt then unhooked it and displayed its contents to Geryn.

Gold! Not as much as others had offered, but more than enough for a lifetime of comfort.

The man pulled a small corked vial from inside his cloak and laid it in Geryn's hand. "I will give you the gold now if you promise to follow my instructions. Tonight, when your father has his evening meal, slip this small bit of powder into his food. No, do not worry. It will not harm your father, only make him sleep soundly. In the morning, the cloth will be gone, and no one will know that you were involved."

Geryn looked at the coins and thought of the wealth.

"Spend it slowly, and your father will never know."

Geryn nodded and led the old man into the shadows beside the shop. There he took the money that was given, so thankful for the burden being lifted from him that he kissed the old man's hand before leaving him and returning to his work.

By evening, Geryn was certain that the old man was a wizard rather than a merchant, and a powerful one at that. Yet it was not only fear that made Geryn obey the man's orders. He wanted that cloth gone, and hopefully the curse that seemed to have fallen over his family would go with it.

So he did what was asked. No one saw him mix the powder in his father's stew. When Geryn left the shop a short time later, it seemed that his father already looked drowsy. Once home, Geryn hid the coins in his cupboard in the room he shared with his brothers and tried to forget they even existed.

The following morning, Geryn and his brothers were some distance from the shop when they heard their father's bellows of rage. Saying a quick prayer of thanks that his father was still alive, Geryn ran with the others, pushed past the crowd that had once more gathered in front of the store, and unlocked the door.