Eolyn (13 page)

“Can you sing?”

“A little, but my voice is not nearly as spellbinding as the women who sang tonight.”

The Mountain Queen arched her brow. “You certainly know how to boast your talents.”

“Young lady.” Corey’s impatience returned. “If you can’t sing, dance, ride a pony, or juggle fire, we have no place for you here.”

Eolyn bit her lip. Had she been wrong about Ghemena’s prophecy? She had none of the talents Mage Corey demanded, unless…

Ignoring every cautious instinct, Eolyn stepped up to the table and showed Mage Corey her palms. Just as he had done during his act, Eolyn folded one hand over the other in a brief but complex choreography that ended with the revelation of a single coin at her fingertips.

She let the five pence piece drop onto the table in front of him.

Corey and the Mountain Queen stared in stunned silence at the bit of copper. The mage picked it up and examined it carefully.

“Now, that is convenient trick,” he said, his tone dubious. “You produce a few thousand of these, and we could close up the show and go home rich.”

“I cannot do that, Mage Corey. This is the only coin I have, which is why I need employment.”

The Mountain Queen snatched the coin from Corey’s grasp and held it up to the torchlight. “Hire her, Corey. She looks unassuming, but she’s all a rebel inside. I think she’ll fit in quite nicely.”

Corey’s brow furrowed. “What did you say your name was?”

“Sarah.”

“Sarah, are you aware that a trick like this can put you on the pyre?”

“They could burn me, but not legally. What I did was not true magic. It was merely sleight of hand.”

The Mountain Queen laughed. “Listen to her, Corey! She sounds just like you.”

“I can’t put you in the Circle doing this! Illusion or not, they’d set fire to you without trial.”  Mage Corey’s rebuke rang harsh and final.

Eolyn lowered her gaze in disappointment. “I see. Thank you for your time, Mage Corey. I will not trouble you again.”

“I did not dismiss you.”

Leaning back in his chair, Corey poured himself another drink. He studied Eolyn, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I might be able to get away with making you my assistant,” he said. “You wouldn’t perform any illusions yourself, but you’d be next to the ‘magic’. I’ve been looking for a woman to accompany my act, but the girls of Moisehén won’t let themselves near magic anymore, not even the illusion of it. You wouldn’t be afraid, though. Would you, Sarah?”

Eolyn’s heart leapt. “No, I would not.”

“We could call you ‘the last Maga of Moehn’. That would work Mage Melk into a fury.”

“With all due respect, Mage Corey, I think the use of the word ‘maga’ in connection with my person would be too risky.”

“I agree.” He eyed her now with suspicion. “You don’t have a husband, do you? A father or a guardian? Someone who might come after me with a knife if I let you stay with us?”

“No. I am alone in the world.”

He nodded as if he expected this answer. “So you are. Alone, and unique.”

Eolyn glanced away, disconcerted. Had he noticed the instantaneous release of her ward in the moment she produced the coin?

“It’s decided then,” Corey announced. “You may stay with us.”

The woman extended her hand in welcome. “Congratulations. My name is Khelia. I’m from the Paramen Mountains, though I am not a queen. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

“No.” Eolyn frowned. “Should it?”

Khelia shrugged. “It disappoints me. If I were queen I wouldn’t have to scrape out a living singing songs for this old miser.”

“Old?” Mage Corey said, indignant.

“I was born and raised with the Mountain People, but my mother grew up in Moisehén,” Khelia continued. “That would make you and me sisters, after a fashion.”

“She must have a good instinct about you.” There was an undercurrent of warning in Mage Corey’s tone. “Only a handful of people know that story.”

Khelia held Eolyn’s gaze. Her eyes were mesmerizing, a stunning shade of ice blue. After a moment, she released Eolyn’s and said, “I’m off, then.”

“Who’s going with you?” Mage Corey asked.

“Rohnan and Kahlil. The rest will stay.”

“Thank the Gods. Last time you nearly killed the show with all the musicians you took. And your supplies?”

“Everything is ready.” She skirted the table to kiss Mage Corey on the cheek. “Gods protect you from the wrath of the magistrates. And be kind to this woman. I like her.”

Khelia departed, leaving Mage Corey and Eolyn to watch each other under the flickering torchlight.

After a long moment, Corey rose to his feet. “I suppose we should get you settled, then.”

To Eolyn’s horror, the mage took the coin she had visualized and slipped it into his purse.

“If it pleases you, Mage Corey.” Eolyn struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice. The visualized coin would fade within an hour. If Corey were to notice, he would know for certain what she had done. “That coin is all I have. May I keep it?”

“No. I need this to help cover your expenses until you start earning your keep.”

Eolyn opened her mouth to object but thought the better of it. To insist might arouse suspicion, and she had taken enough risks for one evening. She sent a silent prayer to the Gods, hoping that the disappearance of one coin among many would go unnoticed.

C
hapter Sixteen

After a few weeks
in the Town of Moehn, Mage Corey packed up his show and headed toward the province of Selkynsen. The Circle’s long caravan snaked northwest through a gently rolling landscape laid out in verdant crops and adorned by scattered hamlets.

In some of the villages, Corey arranged simple shows for smaller, less privileged audiences. Farmers arrived in loose flocks, whole families crowding into creaky wooden carts drawn by stolid oxen.

When they descended through the narrow Pass of Aerunden, Corey wondered, as he often did, why the noble houses of Moehn had never fortified this access point. Well defended, it would have made Moehn nearly impervious to attack. Yet Moehn was the easiest conquest of the old kings of Moisehén, falling under their control long before Selkynsen or Selen.

Corey had often commented on this in the presence of Lord Felton, the patriarch of Moehn. The old man always responded in the same fashion, laughing in his humble, self-effacing way. “What can you expect from a province of farmers?”

“You underestimate your importance, Lord Felton,” Corey had replied. “The fertile lands of Moehn feed the rest of the kingdom.”

“Moisehén lives on the power of its magic and might of its kings,” Felton declared quietly.

At times, Corey could not tell whether the patriarch was naïve or prudent. Were Moehn ever to wake up to its own power, it could become a force to contend with overnight. For this reason, Corey kept a close eye on the province, as he did on many things.

Once they cleared the pass, the Circle set up camp in the Valley of Aerunden, a narrow stretch of grassland between forested hills. Corey decided to linger a few days. He liked the magic that hummed under this valley, and he thought it wise to drink his fill before continuing on to Selkynsen. For all its wealth and elegance, the eastern province offered pitifully few wellsprings of magic.

As Corey anticipated, his people were grateful for the break.

One afternoon, he returned from a lengthy walk through the summer woods to find Renate at work with her dancers.

That woman does not understand the concept of rest.

Not that Corey minded. Hawk-faced Renate kept the show crisp and his people in check with her tireless discipline. She was advanced in years, her raven hair streaked with gray, but no one was more dedicated to the Circle, and few kept Corey better company.

The mage paused on a small knoll to watch their practice. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of all the women, including the girl of most interest to him now, the intriguing Sarah of Moehn.

Renate made the poor girl suffer more than the others, with constant rebukes and scolding. This was the way of things for any new member of the Circle, but in Sarah’s case the challenge was multiplied by the girl’s utter lack of experience. Corey would no doubt get an earful about it this evening, but Renate had no grounds for complaint. She had brought this upon herself.

“Have you gone completely mad?” Renate had cried, bursting into Corey’s tent the day after he hired Sarah. “Putting that girl in your magic show?”

“I’ve been seeking an assistant for some time,” Corey had replied evenly.

“She’ll be on the pyre within a week, and the rest of us may very well burn with her.”

“She will not do any magic.”

“Even the illusion of magic could—”

“She will not perform any illusions.”

“Curse you, Corey! I am so weary of the risks you take.”

“You are free to withdraw from the Circle any time you please, Renate.”

Renate had set her lips in a thin line. Corey knew well the terror he invoked whenever he suggested she leave. Nothing waited for Renate outside the Circle, save solitude and fear, the unending torment of all her ghosts from the past.

Renate’s tone softened. “Corey, please. She’s just a child. Don’t make her your toy in this.”

Toy? Was that what Renate thought?

“I can’t imagine what you expect to gain from this folly,” Renate insisted, “but that girl, that beautiful, innocent girl, could lose her life. Is that a fair price for your amusement?”

He could not very well argue with that.

Well, he could, but why upset Renate more than necessary?

They came to an agreement that Sarah would perform in only half the shows as Corey’s assistant. Otherwise, she would occupy a more benign role as a dancer. In truth, Corey thought this would do little to lessen the risk for young Sarah, but at least Renate’s temper was soothed.

Several men of the Circle were gathered to watch the women practice. They sat or stood on the grassy slope, linen shirts open to the golden sun, their chatter low and jovial. Under other circumstances, Corey might have indulged their idleness, but today he had questions, and he wanted answers.

“I don’t pay you to sit around gawking like fools while the women work,” Corey barked. “Why don’t you follow their example and do something useful?”

The men responded with guffaws and rolling eyes, but they heeded his rebuke. One by one, they rose and headed back toward camp, all of them save Tahmir, who remained at Corey’s signal.

“What do you think of our new acquisition?” Corey nodded toward the young women, who held poses while Renate corrected their lines.

“She works hard,” Tahmir said. “And she is not unaccustomed to criticism. I doubt she will ever acquire the skill of our better dancers, but she will hold her own. I suspect she’ll be ready when we reach Selkynsen.”

Corey agreed. The girl had a natural grace about her, the reflection of some animal spirit. A fox perhaps, or a lynx. “Tell me something I don’t already know. Something your famous Syrnte sight has shown you.”

Tahmir closed his eyes and lifted his face to the breeze. An unnecessary show, really. Those gifted with Syrnte sight saw past, present, and future as readily as they breathed. Yet like all Corey’s people, Tahmir had a natural inclination toward drama.

Or perhaps he is merely considering his words.

“Her true name is not Sarah,” Tahmir said.

Corey lifted his brow. It had not occurred to him the girl might have reason to use a false name. “What is her name, then?”

“I cannot say.”

Cannot or will not?

“She has a gift with animals,” Tahmir continued. “She took to riding very quickly, as if she understood the language of horses. As if she could speak to them, and they to her.”

The riding lessons had also been Renate’s idea.
So she can make her escape swift as an arrow, should there be any trouble
. Corey, mindful of his battles, chose to indulge his dance mistress in this as well. Tahmir had been assigned the task of teaching Sarah horsemanship, a duty he had accepted with discrete enthusiasm.

Stepping aside from the group, Sarah removed her worn tunic to continue practicing in her chemise. Corey noted a flash of light just above her elbow. He narrowed his eyes.

“That armband she wears,” he said. “What is it? Have you seen it?”

“No, but my sister Rishona has commented on its workmanship.  It is a jewel of solid silver, etched with the images of many animals strung together into a single serpent.”

By the Gods
. Corey’s heart paused in disbelief. He checked his thoughts and covered them with words, hoping Tahmir would not notice the deeper question that now troubled him. “Where do you suppose a peasant girl would get a hold of something like that? What else has Rishona gathered from the women’s tent?”

“Nothing that you don’t already know,” Tahmir replied. “The stories Sarah shares with the women differ little from what she has told us. Indeed, she has spoken very little about herself, preferring instead to ask questions about Moisehén. Its people, its king…and you.”

“Me?” This amused Corey. “She suspects I pose a danger to her, then.”

“She’s been assured you bear no love for Tzeremond.”

“If she’s wise, that will make no difference in her suspicions. What else have they told her?”

“She knows about your blood ties to the Clan of East Selen, and to the royal house of Moisehén through Queen Briana. And she’s heard many greatly embellished stories of your travels to the southern kingdoms.”

Corey grimaced. “Nothing too scandalous, I hope.”

“Nothing you would not want her to hear. She is very curious about magic.”

“Indeed. She shows far too much curiosity in that respect. It’s not normal for a girl of Moisehén.”

“Perhaps she is one of your magas, returned from the world to which they were banished.”

Something in Tahmir’s tone gave Corey pause.

“That would be quite impossible, my friend,” he said carefully. “All the magas of the Old Orders were dead by the time she was five. And Moehn has no tradition of magic, no hope of producing something as sophisticated as a maga. It’s almost an insult to propose a maga could spring out of those muddy fields of oats and barley.”

“Yet you share my suspicion.”

Corey cast Tahmir a sideways glance.

“When she did the trick that got her this job, yes, I suspected, but I have found no evidence of a ward since. Still, it’s clear she knows something. How much is anyone’s guess.”

“You don’t need any more evidence to turn her over to the magistrates.”

A witch to burn.
That might earn him some favors.

“I prefer to keep her with us, for the time being,” Corey said.

The mage turned his back on Renate’s dancers and started toward the tents. Tahmir followed suit, keeping pace with Corey.

“I want to see how she responds to the Circle,” Corey said. “Perhaps she will let down her guard. Perhaps she will tell someone what she is, and whether there are more like her hidden away in Moehn.”

“She is a careful woman,” Tahmir replied. “Slow to friendship, even slower to intimacy.”

Corey shrugged. “How many careful women have succumbed to your admirable charms, Tahmir? Make use of your Syrnte skills. Convince her of your friendship, and let me know what you find out.”