Darkspell (47 page)

He looked up from his brooding to find Sarcyn watching him.

“What do you want?” Alastyr snapped.

“I only wanted to butcher the rabbit for you, master. It’s my place to wait on you.”

Alastyr handed him the knife, then washed his bloody hands in a bucket of water. Nearby Camdel sat crouched in the straw.

“If we do make a run for it,” Alastyr said, “Camdel has to die. He’ll only slow us down.”

Whimpering, the lordling shrank back. Sarcyn looked up with the knife in his hand, and his eyes were murderous with rage.

“I won’t let you kill him.”

“Indeed? And who are you to let me do or not do anything?”

Alastyr sent a wave of hatred down the link between his aura and Sarcyn’s, following it up with a twist of rage. With a gasp Sarcyn dropped the knife as the emotions translated themselves into pure physical pain. Writhing, he fell to his knees, his face twisted as he tried to keep the pain from showing there. With a snarl Alastyr released him, shaking on the floor.

“Now hold your tongue until you’re spoken to,” he snapped. “I have to think.”

He paced over to the window and stared out blindly, feeling his fear clutch and pulse within him. Once he glanced back to see Sarcyn and Camdel clasped in each other’s arms. Fools! he thought. Maybe I’ll kill them both!

When the time came for the evening meal, Jill ate in Nevyn’s chamber with the old man and Rhodry. Although she had no appetite, Rhodry packed away roast beef and fried onions like the true warrior he was, eating cheerfully before a battle because he knew he might never get another meal. And what am I, then? she thought. A coward, sure enough. As much as she hated the word, she had to admit that she was terrified at the thought of dark dweomer wanting to capture her for reasons of its own. Finally she couldn’t stand to watch them eat any longer and went to the window.

Looking out on the golden sunshine of a summer evening reminded her that the real, solid world was still there, untouched by dweomer, yet she knew that she would never see that world in the same way again. A question haunted her, almost as frightening as the dark dweomer itself: How do I know so much about all of this? Although she’d been
caught up in events that would have baffled most people, she’d known so many things instinctively: that the jewel could shapechange, that the apprentice had the dark dweomer and could use it to see if she was speaking the truth, that she could reach Nevyn through the fire. Reluctantly, slowly, fighting all the way, she was being forced to realize that she had not only a dweomer-talent, but a strong one.

Clenching her hands on the sill, she leaned out of the window and reassured herself by watching the ordinary bustle of servants in the ward below. Then she saw Bocc, lurking by the main gate of the dun and peering around him. He must want to talk with me, she thought. And why had she gone to the window at just the proper moment to see him?

“Is somewhat wrong, child?” Nevyn said. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”

“Oh, it’s naught, but Bocc’s at the gates, and I think we’d best speak with him.”

Nevyn insisted on sending a servant to bring Bocc up to their chamber rather than going down to the ward. The poor man was so nervous at being inside the gwerbret’s broch that he couldn’t bear to sit down. He paced restlessly back and forth, clutching the tankard of ale that Jill poured him.

“Here, good herbman,” he said, “are you truly sure we won’t be overheard?”

“I swear it. I’ll lie to the gwerbret’s face if I have to protect you.”

“Well and good, then.” He had a gulp of ale. “I think we’ve found the men who tried to poison my Da.”

It took Jill a moment to remember the lie that Nevyn had told Ogwern, but the dweomerman sat bolt upright in his chair and smiled.

“Oh, have you, now? Here, tell me everything.”

“After you warned us, you see, we did some hard thinking. It had to be a stranger who put that oily-fur-what’s-it in Da’s ale, because he’s as fair as fair when it comes to splitting swag, and none of the lads would want
him done away with. So we figure another gang’s trying to move in on us. So we all spread out, like, marking any strangers we saw and following them. We spread a bit of coin around, too, for information. And so just before noontide I had a bit of luck when this fellow comes into town to buy at the market fair. Someone told me he was a farmhand, but he was buying a cage full of rabbits. Now, I ask you, why would a farmer spend coin on rabbits when his fields are full of free ones?”

“A better question than you can know, my friend.”

“So I got my horse and followed the man out. I was being careful as careful at first, but he never even looked back once. From the way he sat on his horse, all slumped over, it looked as if he was ill or suchlike, so I could follow pretty close. He goes to a farm, all right, and I begin to think I’ve got a false trail. But I’m there and all, so I spread a few coppers around in the village nearby, and I hear a strange tale. That farm belongs to an old widower, who’s gotten a bit strange over the years. Now, everyone thought he didn’t have a soul in the world, but all of a sudden, like, he’s got guests. One of the village lads was chasing a lost cow up that way, and he saw a fellow saddling up an expensive horse out in the farmyard. Fortunately the lad had to keep after his cow, so he didn’t go down to ask nothing.”

“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.

“Now, remember what I told you,” he whispered to the two silver daggers. “At a certain point we’re slipping away from the warband.”

They nodded agreement. With a jingle of tack and scabbards, the warband mounted. Motioning to Jill and Rhodry to follow, Nevyn rode over to the gwerbret.

“Your Grace is sure he knows how to find the farm?”

“A blind man could find it from the instructions you
gave. Don’t worry, good sorcerer. We’ll dig these rats out of their holes.”

When the warband rode out, Nevyn kept Rhodry and Jill with him at the very rear. He tossed his reins to the lad and told him to lead his horse along. Since he was needed to go into a light trance, it would be difficult enough to stay in the saddle without worrying about guiding his horse. As the warband clattered down the night-dark road, Nevyn slowed his breathing and withdrew his consciousness from the world around him. To an observer he would have looked half-asleep, his head bobbing in time to the horse’s motion. Through half-lidded eyes he watched the warband and set to work.

First he called upon the Great Ones and saw a beam of imagined light come to him. He meditated upon it, saw it ever more clearly in his mind, until at last it lived apart from his will, a great swath of light shaped like a sword. In his mind he caught it by the hilt and used the blade to trace a mighty sphere of light around and above the war-band. Because of the motion of the horse and the noises around him, it was a hard struggle to concentrate, but eventually he got the sphere solid and the seals—the five-pointed stars of the Kings of the Elements—set at each ordinal point and at zenith and nadir. As soon as the sphere glowed bright, he invoked the great Light that shines behind all the gods and begged permission to meddle with darkness. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew the light from the sphere while leaving its structure until there was nothing left but a solid sphere of darkness, invisible to normal eyes but a shield against scrying.