Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

“Now, listen, you,” he said to Ogwern. “It has to be on its way to Dun Hiraedd. When it comes through, you get your fat paws on it, and you sell it to me. I’ll pay you well, but I’m the man who gets it, or you die. Do you understand?”

“My good sir! All I’d want from it would be the profit, and since that’s what you offer me, you’ll have it for sure. No need to threaten.”

“You might well be approached by someone else. Understand? Sell it to anyone but me, and I’ll cut you open and trim out some of that lard while you beg me to let you die.”

The calm way he spoke made it clear the threat was no idle one. His jowls trembling in terror, Ogwern nodded agreement.

“I’ll return every now and then to see if you have it. Save it for me. It should be soon.”

The stranger contemptuously turned his back and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Bocc tried to speak, but only gulped.

“By all the hells,” Ogwern whispered. “Did I truly see that?”

“I’m afraid you did,” Jill said. “I hope he’s not staying at the Running Fox. I don’t want to go back only to find him in the tavern room.”

“We’ll find that out easily enough. Bocc, take a couple of the lads. Don’t risk following the bastard; just ask around.”

“Someone must have seen him,” Bocc said. “I’ll wager he stands out in a crowd.”

With a couple of friends, Bocc left by the back window. Ogwern sighed and contemplated the remains of the fowl.

“I’ve quite lost my appetite,” he said. “Do you fancy a bit of this, Jill?”

“None, my thanks. It’s a marvel and a half if you’re not hungry.”

“Kindly don’t be rude.” He laid his hand over his injured heart and sheathed his dagger with the same gesture. “A man can take only so many insults. Lard? Hah!”

It was over an hour before a more than usually furtive Bocc returned. His face was quite pale as he told Ogwern that search as they might, he and the lads had found no trace of the stranger.

“Are you daft?” Ogwern sputtered. “Dun Hiraedd’s not very big.”

“I know, but he isn’t here, and no one ever saw him come in or nothing. And here’s the cursed strangest thing. We caught one glimpse of him, walking toward the city wall. Then he turned down an alley and just seemed to melt away somehow. Da, I swear it! He just disappeared.”

“Oh, by the pink asses of the gods,” Ogwern said feebly. “Let us pray that this jewel turns up soon so we can take his wretched gold and be done with him.”

Soon after, Jill went back to her inn. She walked quickly, keeping close to buildings and looking constantly around her, pausing at the door to make sure that the stranger wasn’t waiting for her before she went inside. Once she was up in her chamber, she barred door and shutters alike from the inside. Although she slept with her sword beside her on the floor, nothing disturbed her but her dreams, which were full of severed heads, dark caves, and the eyes of the stranger, glaring at her.

Rhodry passed that same day in a fury of impatience. There was Jill, off alone and in danger, and here was he, honor bound to play nursemaid to a wounded merchant and his stinking mules. Since he’d given his word to Seryl that he’d escort them to the city, he saw no alternative but to stay with him until he was fit to ride. Toward noon the wounded bandit died. Rhodry helped bury him just to have something to pass his time. Finally, about an hour before sunset, the patrol returned.

“We followed them toward Yr Auddglyn,” the captain said. “I can’t go over the border without authorization, so we’ll have to wait until his grace gets a message to us.”

“Then by every god in the Otherlands, I cursed well hope it gets here soon.”

The message arrived more quickly than anyone expected. Just as the patrol was sitting down to dinner, Comyn led in fifty men with as many spare horses. In the confusion it was easy for Rhodry to slip away. The last thing he wanted was for Comyn to recognize him. For want of a better hiding place, he went into the kitchen hut, where the frantic servants were too busy getting fifty unexpected meals to notice him standing in the curve of the wall by the hearth. The fire blazed up hot as a servant stuck a spit full of pork chunks on to roast, and grease dripped down.

Rhodry watched the dancing flames and cursed his wretched Wyrd. Here he was, hiding from a man he respected and who once had honored him. The golden play of flames seemed to mock him as they flickered this way and that, flaring up only to die in an instant, just as a man’s honor and glory could do. The glowing coals seemed to form pictures, as if in them he could see Aberwyn and his beloved Dun Cannobaen. As if he could see Nevyn. Rhodry suddenly felt a cold shiver down his back. He could see Nevyn, or rather a clear image of the old man’s face, floating above the fire. A thought came to his mind, the sound of the old man’s voice.

“ You’re not going daft, lad. I truly am talking to you. Think your answers back to me. ”

“ I will, then. But what is all this? ”

“ No time now to explain. Our enemies might be able to overhear us. But you’ve got to get to Dun Hiraedd. Jill is in grave danger. Leave tomorrow at dawn. ”

“ What? I’ll leave tonight! ”

“ Don’t! ” Nevyn’s image turned grim. “ It’s not safe for you to be on the road alone at night. Do you hear me? Wait for dawn, but ride! ”

“ Of course I will. Oh, ye gods, she doesn’t even have her gnome with her. ”

“ What? What do you mean? ”

“ The little creature disappeared somewhere along our way. Jill was worried sick over it. ”

“ As well she might be. I’ll look into it. ”

Suddenly the image was gone. Rhodry looked up to find a servant glaring at him.

“Somewhat you need, silver dagger?” he snapped.

“Naught. I’ll just get out of your way.”

As he walked outside, Rhodry was wrestling with his honor. For all that he’d given Seryl his sworn word, he knew that Jill was the one thing in the world that would make him break it. His mood disintegrated further when, as he was crossing the dark ward, he caught a trace of movement out of the corner of his eye. Reflexively he turned, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger—nothing there. Dim light spilled from the open door of the kitchen, and in the shadows again it seemed that something moved.

Rhodry drew the dagger and took one cautious step forward. For the briefest of moments it seemed he saw a tiny figure, vaguely human yet profoundly alien, standing in the shadows and grinning at him. The thing disappeared, leaving him wondering if he was going daft on top of all his other troubles.

Over the last few days Nevyn had at times wondered why the gray gnome hadn’t come to him, but he’d assumed that the faithful little creature merely feared to leave Jill’s side. Now he could guess that it had fallen afoul of the dark master. That night he was camping by the road down in Yr Auddglyn, with a cheerful campfire burning for his scrying. In his heart he thanked the gods that had made Rhodry stare into that other fire so far away. Although Rhodry had no true dweomer-talent, his elven blood made him highly susceptible to dweomer worked upon him from outside. For just that reason Nevyn was as worried about him as he was about Jill.

Nevyn turned his mind firmly to the task at hand and laid his worry aside for a moment. When he called upon the Wildfolk who knew him, they appeared immediately, crowding round, an obese yellow gnome, blue sprites, gray gnomes, sylphs like crystal thickenings in the air, and salamanders leaping up in the fire.