Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

“Fortunate and twice fortunate,” Nevyn said softly.

“That’s what I was thinking, too,” Bocc said with a nod. “Because I’ll wager those guests belong to some other gang, and the poor old man’s gone to join his wife in the Otherlands.”

“I have the nasty feeling you’re right.” Nevyn got up and joined Bocc at his pacing. “Tell me exactly where this farm is and everything you can remember about the countryside.”

The “everything” turned out to be a great deal. Apparently Bocc could memorize a place and turn it to a clear picture in his mind, because as he talked, he stared off into space, his eyes moving as he examined an image that no one else could see. The farm was up in the hills and quite isolated; once a month or so a neighbor would go up to see if the old man was all right, but otherwise, the villagers rarely saw him.

“A perfect place for men to hide when they’ve got murder on their minds,” Nevyn said when he’d finished. “Now, listen, tell your father to leave this to me. I can’t explain why, but these lads are far more dangerous than you think.”

“I will, then. Here, good sir, Ogwern swears that you’re dweomer.”

“Does he, now? Isn’t dweomer just embroidery in a bard’s tale?”

“Oh, you see many a strange thing when you work the streets. I know lords and merchants and suchlike scoff, but they’re not out in the streets at the bottom of things.”

“So they’re not. Well, Ogwern’s a shrewd man, for all his fat, and I’m going to prove it to you. You want to get out of here without being seen, don’t you?”

Bocc groaned as he remembered where he was.

“Well and good, then,” Nevyn went on. “If you swear to me that you won’t steal anything while the spell lasts, I’ll make you nearly invisible for a few minutes.”

Although Bocc swore in perfect sincerity, Jill was shocked. She’d never seen Nevyn be so open about his powers when there was no true need. When the old man led Bocc out into the shadows of the corridor, the thief suddenly turned into an oddly blurred figure. He had scuttled off only a few paces before he seemed to disappear. Rhodry swore aloud. Grinning broadly, Nevyn shut the door.

“The hunt is up,” Nevyn announced. “The masters of the dark dweomer are known for eating raw meat but not for their skill at snaring rabbits. I’ll wager the farmhand is ensorcelled, too.”

“They’re right at hand!” Jill snapped. “The arrogant bastards.”

Rhodry was staring at the closed door, his mouth set tight and a little twisted, as if he’d eaten something bitter.

“What’s wrong, my love?’ she said.

“That man’s a thief, and so’s Ogwern.”

“Oh, come now, my innocent one, did you only just realize it?”

“Don’t tease, curse it! He’s given us the help we need, and I should be rewarding him, but I’m honor bound to turn him over to Blaen.”

“What! You can’t!”

“Now, here, lad,” Nevyn broke in. “I despise thieves myself, but I’ve known about Ogwern for years and haven’t given evidence. Do you know why? Because as thieves go, he’s very small beer indeed. He keeps his lads in line, he never murders, and he does his best to prevent murder. With him gone who knows what vicious sort might come to power?”

“That’s all well and good,” Rhodry said. “But here I am, my cousin’s guest, when by rights he should have turned me out on the road. I can’t hold my tongue and make a mockery of his justice.”

“You dolt!” Jill felt like grabbing and shaking him. “Why are you making a fuss over this now? There’s dark dweomer all around us.”

“That’s got naught to do with it. It’s the honor of the thing.”

“Now, now.” Nevyn laid a paternal hand on Rhodry’s shoulder. “I know it’s a hard road you’ve got to ride, lad, choosing between two dishonors. Just look at me, will you? There, my thanks. Now, you’re not going to say a word to Blaen about the thieves. You’ve forgotten already, haven’t you? Young Bocc isn’t a thief, and neither is Ogwern. They just owe me a few favors; that’s why they helped us. You’ll remember that, lad.”

When Nevyn took his hand away, Rhodry blinked like a man walking out of a dark room into strong sunlight.

“Who was that fellow, anyway? A pot boy down in Ogwern’s inn?”

“His son, actually,” Nevyn said. “You know I’m always willing to heal the poor for free.”

“True, but it was good of him to run that risk, anyway. I’ll make sure Blaen gives him a reward.”

It took all of Jill’s will to keep a normal expression on her face.

“Rhodry, would you go fetch Blaen up here?” Nevyn went on. “I think we’ll be taking him up on his offer of the warband after all.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jill turned to Nevyn.

“Here!” she burst out. “You told me that ensorcelling someone is a wrong thing.”

“It is, but not when it’s the only way to save someone’s life. When the word got out that Rhodry had turned Ogwern over to the gwerbret, how long do you think your lad would have lived?”

“Not very. I was going to use that argument next, truly. The thieves wouldn’t think of him as an honor-bound man.”

“Exactly. He would have been only a traitorous silver dagger to them. You know, child, I’m very glad I haven’t swore a vow that I’d never lie. Many dweomerfolk do, and it gains you the favor of the Lords of Wyrd, but I prefer to be a little more flexible about such matters.”

He looked so sly that she had to laugh.

“That’s a better mood,” he said. “Now, would you stand guard at the door? I’ve got to scry.”

After the Wildfolk lit the firewood in the hearth, Nevyn knelt down and stared into the leaping flames. Since he knew the settled parts of Cwm Pecl quite well, he’d recognized the farm in question from Bocc’s description. In fact, many years ago he’d ridden there to treat a sick child. When he called up the memory of following the path on a sunny afternoon, immediately the image in the flames changed to the path as it looked now in the darkening light outside. In vision he followed the road up to the spot where the farm should have stood. Nothing was there but wild meadow, not a house, not a wall, not even a cow grazing nearby. So Alastyr had set an astral seal over it. With a snap of his fingers he put out the fire.

“Did you see them?” Jill said.

“I didn’t—which means they’re there. Oh, Alastyr can hide from me, sure enough, but he forgets what it means to make enemies of men who trust their eyes, not dweomer.” He smiled gently. “He’s about to remember.”

Now that his mind was made up, Alastyr felt much calmer. He strode into the kitchen and found Sarcyn and Camdel sitting at the table. Sarcyn looked up with a satisfying cringe.

“We’re leaving at the break of day,” Alastyr announced. “I’d rather take our chances with the Brotherhood than with the Master of the Aethyr.”

“Well and good, master. I’ll pack some of the gear tonight.”

“Good.” He turned to Camdel. “As for you, if you cooperate with us, you’ll live. We’re traveling fast, and if you cause the least bit of trouble, you die. Understand?”

Camdel nodded a cowed agreement. Alastyr turned on his heel and strode back to the ritual chamber. He had to keep up his guard.

The plan was risky, Nevyn knew, but he had to act fast. As he sat on horseback in the torch-lit ward with Jill and Rhodry, Nevyn shuddered. The battle ahead would be a hard one, and against two opponents if this apprentice had the skill to fight alongside his master. Around him twenty-five of Blaen’s best men were saddling their horses, while the gwerbret walked through, speaking to a man here and there. Although Nevyn was throwing his dice on a long wager by taking his grace along, he needed to have something to use as a distraction.