Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

“Gall and twice gall! He must want this thing really bad. I mean, it’s a big risk, coming here in broad daylight.”

“Oh, I doubt me that he’s putting himself at any risk.” Ogwern paused for a comforting gulp of ale. “Now, here’s the strange part. I know it’ll sound daft, but, Jill, I swear it’s true on my fat but precious self. When he left, I decided to follow him. It was easy enough, because the street was crowded, and he walked right along without even a look over his shoulder. So he strolls along, and I trail him from a good bit back. He goes right down to the commons by the river. Do you know that clump of birches by the bridge?”

“I do.”

“Well, he walks into the trees and disappears. I mean, he truly disappears! He walks into the trees, you see, and I wait. And wait and wait. I never see him come out, and birch thickets aren’t dense like hazels or somewhat, you know. So finally I walk into the thicket, and he’s not there.”

“Now, here! You’re letting your nerves get out of hand. You must have just missed seeing him leave.”

“Would I have the position I do if I couldn’t even see a man in broad daylight? And don’t tell me I’m getting old. That would be very rude.”

Jill shuddered in cold fear. He has to be dweomer, she thought. She knew how dangerous dweomer could be in the hands of a madman; now she was faced with a man coldly using it for evil ends.

“I want to offer you a hire,” Ogwern went on. “Guarding precious me. A dagger won’t be much good against this fellow, and if I have a sword at my side, that sword had better be in someone else’s hand if it’s going to do me any good. A silver piece a night, silver dagger.”

“I’m on, then. He might have eyes like the Lord of Hell, but I wager he bleeds like any other man.”

“Let us profoundly hope that we don’t have him bleeding all over my floor. Ugh! How I hate all these nasty threats.”

A rainy sundown caught Rhodry a good twenty miles from Dun Hiraedd. Mindful of Nevyn’s warning about traveling at night, he offered a farmer a couple of coppers for the right to sleep out in the cow barn. For two coppers more the farmer’s wife threw in a bowl of stew and a chunk of bread. Rhodry accepted them gratefully and ate with the family at a long plank table before the hearth. The gray straw on the floor smelled of pigs, and the farmers ate with dirty hands, saying not a word to each other or to Rhodry until the last crumb was washed down with watery ale, but much to his surprise, Rhodry was glad of their company. When he was finished eating, he lingered awhile, idly listening to the talk of the next day’s hard work, staring into the fire while he both hoped for and feared another message from Nevyn. None came.

All at once the dogs leaped up from the straw and charged through the open door in a barking, snarling pack. The farmer glanced at Rhodry’s sword.

“You’re a good bit more welcome than I thought. Come outside with me, silver dagger?”

“Gladly.”

The farmer grabbed a pitchy torch, shoved it briefly into the fire to light it, then hurried out with Rhodry right behind, his sword in hand. Down at the gate in the earthen wall, the dogs were barking furiously at a man standing outside. He was leading a horse, and Rhodry noticed that he was wearing a sword. When the farmer swore at the dogs, they stopped barking, but they snarled and growled with bared teeth at the stranger the entire time he remained. No amount of kicks or curses could silence them.

“What’s all this?” the farmer said.

“Naught that concerns you, my good man,” the stranger said with an unpleasant smile. “I just want a word with this silver dagger.”

Rhodry felt a little coldness in his stomach. How had this fellow known where he was? The stranger looked him over with a twisted intensity. All at once Rhodry realized that the fellow was sexually interested in him; he’d probably smiled like that himself at many a pretty lass. He was so revolted that he stepped back.

“I’m looking for a stolen gem,” the stranger said. “I had a tip from someone in Marcmwr that you might be carrying it.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“Of course not, but if you’ve got this opal, I’ll give you a gold piece for it. That’s more than you can get from any midnight jeweler.”

“I’m not carrying any gems.”

The stranger leaned forward and stared him full in the face. For a moment Rhodry felt as muddled as if he’d had too much mead.

“You’re not carrying any gems?”

“I’m not.”

With a brisk nod the stranger stepped back and released him.

“So you’re not,” he said. “My thanks.”

Before Rhodry could say another word, he mounted and rode away. The dogs snarled until he was well out of sight. With a shake of his head Rhodry turned from the gate and saw, as clearly as he saw the dogs, two tiny creatures, one yellow and fat, the other gray and bony, staring at him. While he gaped at them, they smiled and disappeared.

Sarcyn had found a big wooden shed, doubtless built for the various cowherds who wandered with their stock. Although it stank, it was dry and had a little hearth in one wall. He stabled his horse at one end, then built himself a fire. When he thought of Alastyr, the master’s face appeared instantly. Apparently he’d been sticking close to his own fire and waiting for the news.

“ He doesn’t have it, ” Sarcyn thought to him.

“ I was afraid of that. ” Even Alastyr’s thoughts sounded weary. “ Well, I’ll have to force the spirits to scry it out. If the lass has it, you’ll have to go back into town. ”

“ Just so. I won’t be able to reach it tonight. ”

“ Of course not. Tomorrow will do. ”

Alastyr’s image vanished. Sarcyn started to rise, then saw, just for the briefest of moments, another face staring out of the flames—a dark face, narrow-eyed. With an oath he scrambled up, dodging away from the fire before the eyes could see where he was sheltering.

Jill and Ogwern stayed at the Red Dragon through the evening meal. While he worked his way through a huge bowl of stew, Jill picked at her food and considered contacting the town wardens. Yet what could she do? Go running to the gwerbret with chatter about cursed gems and evil dweomermen? Blaen would probably have her arrested for public drunkenness if she tried. After they ate, Jill and Bocc fetched her gear from the Running Fox, then went to Ogwern’s lodgings, a pair of small rooms above the inn. In one was a bed; in the other, a wooden chest, a small table, and two benches. Jill dropped her bedroll on the floor and sat upon it, but Ogwern paced about, lighting tin candle lanterns, waddling over to the window to peer out the crack between the shutters, then waddling back to the hearth with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, come now,” Jill said at last. “Do you think our nasty friend is going to drop out of thin air into the middle of your bed?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.” Ogwern lowered his bulk to a bench with one last sigh. “I’m very upset. If I liked this sort of thing, I’d have been a silver dagger myself.”

“It might have kept you leaner.”

“Kindly don’t be rude. A man can only take so many insults. Sausages, indeed! The gall of—” He paused, listening.

Someone was coming up the stairs with a heavy tread. Jill loosened her sword in her scabbard as she got up. The someone pounded on the door, paused, then pounded again.

“I know you’re in there.” It was a different voice from what they’d been expecting. “Come along, my good man. Open it. It could profit you.”

Jill and Ogwern exchanged a puzzled glance.

“Who are you?” Ogwern snapped. “What do you want?”