Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Sorcerer's Widow

“It seems to me that you take care of him .”

“Sometimes,” Kel agreed.

“It sounds as if he gets you both into trouble a lot.”

“Sometimes,” Kel repeated.

“You might do better on your own,” she said.

Kel shook his head. “Ezak is smarter than I am. I need him.”

“No, he isn’t smarter. He’s an idiot.”

“He’s always been smarter,” Kel insisted.

“When you were kids, maybe-he’s older than you?”

“A couple of years, at least. We don’t really know exactly how old he is.”

“Well, you aren’t kids any more, and believe me, Kel, you’re smarter than he is.”

Kel shook his head and said nothing.

A moment later he said, “He’s bigger than me. He protects me.”

“You wouldn’t need so much protecting if he wasn’t getting you in trouble!”

“He’s my friend.”

“Sooner or later, he’s going to get one of you killed.”

Kel didn’t answer.

The sun was down, and the light was fading, so that Kel no longer saw every rock or rathole and stumbled occasionally as they marched on across the fields, when Dorna suddenly said, “You know there’s still plenty of sorcery in the wagon back at the Golden Rooster, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kel said.

“So you know I’m going to use it to hunt him down and get my things back?”

“Yes,” Kel said again.

“I warned him.”

“Yes, you did.”

She stared at him for a moment, then said, “For your sake, I won’t kill him if I can avoid it.”

“Thank you,” Kel said. He pointed at a farmhouse ahead, where a lamp had just flared up in a window. “Could we stop there for the night?”

“We can ask,” Dorna said. “I wonder where Ezak will sleep?”

“Probably in a ditch somewhere,” Kel said. “He doesn’t have any money.”

Dorna grimaced; Kel could see that, even in the dim light.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “He’s used to it.”

The farmer had been happy to provide food and lodging for a price that was only mildly outrageous; Kel thought it was a very good thing that Dorna had kept her purse on her belt, and not put it in the canvas bag with her magic. Kel had hoped that the obviously-magical fil drepessis might intimidate their host into accommodating them for free, or at least very cheaply, but instead it appeared to have the opposite effect. Even though the farmer had no idea what it was, and neither Dorna nor Kel would tell him, he seemed to think that its presence meant that his guests were magicians, despite their claims to the contrary. Everyone knew magicians were all rich and could afford to pay any amount asked. Dorna was too tired, and too angry at Ezak, to be in the mood for negotiations, and agreed on the bill with only minimal haggling.

Once the terms had been determined Kel and Dorna ate, bathed, and then settled onto the farmer’s bed, while their host made do with a blanket and a pile of straw. The bed was somewhat crowded with both of them in it, quite aside from Kel’s discomfort with the impropriety of the situation, but Kel had slept in cramped quarters before. As for the two of them sharing, Dorna told Kel he was being silly to worry about it, and they were sufficiently exhausted that not only were they both quickly asleep, but they both slept late.

Kel felt much better after a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast, and Dorna seemed equally pleased, even though their host had charged them almost three times what they would have paid at a good inn. The farmer also provided directions to Shepherd’s Well at no additional cost, and they set out around mid-morning.

This proved to be the warmest day of the year so far, and Kel would have been happy to spend it sitting in the shade somewhere, but Dorna maintained a brisk pace, and he kept up without complaint.

They reached the Golden Rooster an hour or two after noon, and found Irien waiting for them in the inn’s cool interior. Her reaction upon seeing Dorna walk in with the fil drepessis under her arm was an outburst of relief, and she flung herself at her friend with such enthusiasm that Kel had to snatch the big talisman away so that it wouldn’t be sent flying. The thought of accidentally triggering it and setting off another chase terrified him.

“You’re safe!” Irien exclaimed, as she embraced the sorcerer’s widow.

“I’m fine,” Dorna said, pulling away. “Has Ezak been here?”

“What happened to your hair?” Irien demanded, as she looked at Dorna and saw where Northern sorcery had sliced away a large hank of her hair.

“Nothing,” Dorna lied. “Is Ezak here?”

“I didn’t expect you to be gone so long!”

“I know; I’m sorry. It took longer than I expected. Have you seen Ezak?”

The repetition of the question finally penetrated Irien’s enthusiasm. “Wasn’t he with you?” she asked.

“He was. He ran off. Did he come here?”

“I don’t think so,” Irien said.

“Why are you in here , then? Is someone watching the wagon?”

“Oh,” Irien said. “I…I paid a local boy…”

“Come on.” Dorna turned and headed back out the inn door, then toward the stableyard, with Irien and Kel close behind. Kel was still lugging the fil drepessis .

A boy of about ten, in a brownish tunic and black cowhide breeches, was sitting on the driver’s bench of Dorna’s wagon, whittling at a good-sized chunk of wood; he looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, lowered the wood, and brandished his knife. Then he recognized Irien and lowered the blade, as well. “Are they with you?” he called. He had a surprisingly loud voice.

“Ducks and rabbits,” Irien called back. Kel looked at her in confusion. “It’s a password,” Irien explained to Dorna. “If I’d said anything else, he was to raise the alarm.”

“Clever,” Dorna said.

Irien turned up a palm. “Simple enough,” she said. Then she called to the boy, “Has anyone else been here? Perhaps a young man?”

“No,” the boy said. “It’s been as dull as sheep.”

“Damn,” Dorna said.

“Isn’t that good?” Kel asked. “It means he didn’t steal anything more.”

“It also means we don’t know where he went, and there may not be enough traces left here for a tracker to follow.”

“He went home to Ethshar,” Kel said.

Dorna stopped and turned to look at him. “You said before that he’d meet you there. How do you know?”

Kel turned up an empty palm. “Where else would he go? He doesn’t know anywhere but Ethshar.”

“He doesn’t?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve known him all my life,” Kel said. “So far as I know, the first time he ever set foot outside the city walls was no more than three sixnights ago, when we went to look for your village.”

“Which Ethshar?” Irien asked.

“Ethshar of the Sands,” Kel replied.

“We knew that,” Dorna said.

“Did we?” Irien asked sharply. “How do we know that they told us the truth? How do we know he’s telling us the truth now? Every word could be lies!”

Dorna smiled. “Irien, do you think they’re smart enough to lie about all of it?”

Irien glanced at Kel, then grimaced. “Maybe not,” she acknowledged.

Kel thought she expected him to be insulted, but he wasn’t; Ezak always said it was useful if your target under-estimated you. Besides, Kel didn’t think he could have maintained so elaborate a lie. That was one reason he tried not to talk when he didn’t need to. He had inadvertently given away too many schemes and secrets in the past.