Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Sorcerer's Widow

“Come on,” Kel said, setting out after her.

A few minutes later, still in the meadow, they topped a small rise, Dorna holding her sorcerous device out. “It’s just ahead,” she said. “We should be able to see it.” She looked up from her talisman, then cried, “Look out!” and flung herself to the ground.

Kel instantly copied her, although he had no idea why. His survival instincts had been honed on the streets of Smallgate, and he didn’t need a reason. As he dove, a red flash suddenly blinded him momentarily. He blinked, and landed hard on the ground. Lying flat on his belly in the grass, Kel twisted his head as his vision cleared, and peered through the tall grass to see Dorna equally prone. Ezak was not in sight, and Kel was trying to locate him when a howl from somewhere behind him drew his attention. He pushed himself up on one elbow and peered back.

Ezak was sitting on the ground just behind the low ridge in the meadow, holding the side of his head. At first Kel thought that he was seeing an after-image of the red flash, and then realized that the red stuff trickling between Ezak’s fingers and down his wrist and neck was blood. The howl was coming from Ezak.

“Shut up!” Kel hissed. “They might hear us!”

Ezak, who had been looking nowhere in particular, turned to glare at his companion. “ Who might?” he said. “It hurts! ”

“Whoever made that flash,” Kel said. He glanced ahead, but could not see anyone or anything moving.

“Stay down,” Dorna said, without moving from where she lay. “I don’t think it can hurt us if we stay low.”

“It?” Ezak asked. He carefully took his hand from the side of his head.

“The talisman.”

“The one we’re chasing? It can…it cut off the top of my ear ?” He stared into the blood-filled palm of his hand. Kel could not see what he held, but he could see that something had cut a gouge in the side of Ezak’s head, a shallow gouge that was bleeding profusely. A large hank of Ezak’s hair had been sliced away and had tumbled down across his shoulder and tunic, scattering black hair in the blood, and his ear looked wrong-apparently a sliver had indeed been removed from its upper curve.

“No, not that one,” Dorna said, shading her eyes with one hand as she peered out across the meadow. “The one it repaired.”

“ What ?” both men said in unison.

Dorna pointed. “That thing,” she said.

Ezak and Kel turned to look in the direction she indicated, and Kel started to lift his head to see over the grass.

“Stay down!” she snapped. “It won’t blast you if you stay hidden in the grass.”

Ezak let out a low moan, and fell forward onto his belly; from Kel’s vantage point he vanished behind the rise. “What is it?” Ezak wailed.

“I don’t know,” Dorna said, “but I would guess it’s Northern sorcery left over from the Great War. I saw it pointing at us right before that flash.”

“I’m bleeding a lot,” Ezak said. “Am I going to die?”

“I don’t think so,” Dorna said. “Shut up and I’ll see if I can help.”

Kel glanced over and saw Dorna twisting around to head back over the rise, carefully staying below the top of the grass as she crawled along. He did not follow; he didn’t know much of anything about caring for wounds, and if she needed his help he was sure she would ask-or order-him. Instead he scanned the land ahead, trying to locate the Northern sorcery and make sure it wasn’t coming any closer.

“What’s that?” he heard Ezak ask, his voice unsteady.

“A healer,” Dorna replied. “Hold still.”

“I never heard of healing sorcery,” Ezak protested.

“You don’t know much about sorcery, then. Witchcraft is usually cheaper, but sorcery can heal, too.”

Kel had never heard of sorcerous healing, either, but he had heard that not only could witches heal injuries, but so could warlocks and wizards and theurgists. It didn’t seem very surprising that sorcerers could, too. He kept his attention focused forward.

Nothing was moving, so far as he could see, unless he counted occasional small ripples where the breeze disturbed the meadow grass. He heard insects buzzing, but could not see them. Cautiously, he lifted his head and saw the afternoon sun glinting from something almost directly ahead of him, easily a hundred yards away.

“I think I see it,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“What?” Dorna replied.

“I said, I think I see it,” Kel repeated, a little more loudly.

“Well, of course,” Dorna said angrily. “I saw it, too. That’s why I said to get down, which your big clumsy friend, who has now passed out on us, chose to ignore.”

“But all I see is something shiny,” Kel said quietly. “How could you tell it was dangerous?”

“Will you speak up ? It can’t possibly hear us from this far away, if it can hear at all.”

“I said, how could you tell it was dangerous?” Kel shouted.

“I didn’t know for sure, but when I saw it swivel toward us I thought we’d better be careful.”

“It swiveled?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t see that. It’s not moving now.”

“It’s probably still pointed straight at us.”

“Why isn’t it coming closer?”

“I don’t think it can. I think it’s fixed in place. The fil drepessis isn’t moving, and I think it would be following the Northern thing if the Northern thing was moving.”

“Why?”

The silence after Kel asked that was long enough that he was beginning to worry, but at last Dorna said, “You’re right. It might have just shut down where it was when it finished its job. I don’t know what your idiot friend told it to do.”

“Neither does he,” Kel said.

“So I understand.”

“What do we do now?”

The pause was not quite so long and worrisome this time. “I don’t know,” Dorna finally said. “We need to stop that thing and get the fil drepessis back, but I don’t know how.” More quietly, she added, “I wish Nabal were here.”

“So do I,” Kel said to himself, too softly for the others to hear. Then more loudly, he said, “Couldn’t we go find another sorcerer to take care of it? Or a wizard, or some other magician?”

“No!” Dorna said. Then a moment later she added, “At least, I’d rather not. That’s my fil drepessis out there. I don’t want anyone else to take it. And I don’t want it destroyed-it might be the last one.”

“But…” Kel began. Then he stopped, uncertain what he was going to say.

“It is mine!” Dorna snapped. “I know I’m not a sorcerer, so I’m not supposed to have it, or most of the other talismans, but Nabal never had an apprentice, living in that miserable little village the way we did, so it’s mine . I’ll decide who I sell it to!”

“But couldn’t you hire someone to smash the Northern thing and leave your feel-drapes-hiss alone?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But this is my fault, so I should take care of it.”

Kel blinked, and turned, but could not see the sorcerer’s widow. “Why is it your fault?” he asked.

“Because I knew you two were thieves come to steal my husband’s magic, and I didn’t just chase you off. I thought I could outsmart you and make you work for me, and now look! Here we are in the middle of nowhere trying to fight Northern combat sorcery, and that whole wagonload of magic is sitting there at the inn just waiting for someone else to steal it!”

“Irien’s watching it.”

“Irien’s just an innkeeper! What does she know about it?”

“Innkeepers are usually pretty good at dealing with thieves,” Kel said. “It’s part of the job.” Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, though, he wondered whether that was as true out in the country as it was inside the city walls.