Wizard of the Grove (27 page)

“Well, if you're well enough,” Dorses spoke over her thought, “there's one man I wish you'd see. That Raulin's been driving me crazy trying to get into your room.”

“Raulin? The brother?” She wondered what he wanted. Over the last twelve years she'd learned they always wanted something. “I guess I'd better see him.”

“Good, I'll tell him . . .” Dorses paused in the doorway, nodded once, and added, “. . . Crystal.” Then she was gone.

A long time,
the wizard thought sadly,
since someone said my name in friendship. Except,
she added upon reflection,
for Lord Death.

It was too soon for the food to do any good, even in a wizard's system, but Crystal imagined that she could feel her power grow. It frightened her being helpless; there were too many who would love to make a wizard pay for a wizard's crimes. She studied the ceiling and reached out just a little.

The logs were pine. The branch now growing into the room at her urging, fully needled, and tipped with a pair of pinecones, proved it.

“More power back than I thought,” Crystal muttered. She'd only intended a light touch. “This could be embarrassing to explain.”

Out in the hall she heard Dorses trying to make an impression on someone who didn't appear to be listening.

“. . . and you will not stay long. She'll be here for a few days, you'll likely see her again before you leave.”

“I only want to thank her. That's all.”

Crystal wasn't sure, but she thought she recognized the voice,
although when she'd heard it last, it had quavered with pain and exhaustion. Raulin. He spoke in a kind of lazy drawl she found pleasing. The voice of a man who smiles a lot she decided; smiles and means every one.

“Lady?”

Rested and fed, Raulin was much more attractive than he'd been that night in the tavern. It wasn't so much the features—the nose a bit large, the gray eyes a bit deep, the brows a bit too definite, the mustache more than a bit . . . Crystal paused, uncertain of how to describe the mustache but it was more than a bit, that was for sure—but rather how he wore them: with laugh lines, and a twinkle, and a willingness to be delighted by life.

“Lady?” he repeated and stepped into the room. “Mind if I come in?”

“You're in,” she pointed out.

He smiled. “And you don't seem to mind.”

No, she didn't. She returned the smile and said, “You wanted to see me?”

“I've been trying for the last two days,” he admitted. “In fact,” his smile grew broader, “Dorses would say I've been very trying.”

Crystal gave a gurgle of laughter, the sort of uncomplicated response she thought only her younger brother could evoke. “I really doubt Dorses would,” she told him.

“Maybe not.” He reached the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees. His face grew serious and his eyes stared fearlessly into hers. “You saved my brother's life,” he said. “I can never thank you for that, there aren't the words, but I wish you could know how I feel.”

Maybe later she would warn him about the dangers of looking into a wizard's eyes.

An emerald spark appeared and Crystal took the gift Raulin so innocently offered, moving across their gaze into his heart. It held little darkness, she found, and much light. At the center of the light was Jago. The younger brother, much loved and protected. The companion, the right arm, the other half. A man to guard his back, a friend to guard his dreams. Could he lose this much of his life and still have a life remaining?

Crystal didn't know she was crying until a gentle finger wiped away a tear.

“Lady?”

She caught his reaching hand and held it for a moment. “I do know how you feel,” she said, so softly he had to lean forward to catch the words. “And I am well thanked for your brother's life.”

To her astonishment, he brought the hand that held his to his lips and kissed its back, his mustache drawing fine lines of sensation across the skin.

“Lady,” he told her, allowing her to reclaim her arm, “I will continue thanking you all the days I live.” His smile returned. “And never has gratitude been expressed so willingly.”

Was he flirting with her? Crystal tilted her head and gazed at the man in puzzlement.

“And if my thanks could be expressed in some more tangible way . . .”

She recognized that tone. He
was
flirting with her.

“You have only to command me, Lady. I long to fulfill your every wish.” The florid words were accompanied by a mighty flourish of an imaginary hat.

“Uh, no wishes at the moment.”

“Well, then . . .” He stood and dusted off his knees. “I'd best get back to Jago.” The smile became a grin. “He's not as pretty, but I don't want him to spill soup in the bed. We can't afford a second one.” He bowed, winked—she was quite sure he winked—and left.

Crystal shook her head. What an unusual man. His gratitude seemed truly to come with no strings. And Dorses appeared to want her around only because, for some unsaid reason, she liked her. Did everyone she'd met today play a very deep game or were they actually aware of her as a separate being, not necessarily evil because she was a wizard and not some thing to take advantage of because she had power? Had she stumbled on a small pocket of crazy people? Or perhaps, her expression grew slightly wistful, had she found the last of the sane?

Lord Death stood in a corner of the room and watched Crystal's
face, wishing he could read her mind to see what prompted such a soft and dreamy look. She wasn't aware he could be with her unseen and he had no intention of telling her. If there were dead or dying present, she always saw him, but at other times he often chose to just spend time invisibly watching.

He was pleased to see he'd been right about Dorses. This woman could accept what Crystal was. He'd thought as much when he'd urged Crystal to heal that young man, knowing what it would take out of her, knowing it would throw her on the mercy of the innkeeper. The wizard needed to spend more time with people and less time brooding about her future. Brooding would lead her nowhere good.

He wished she'd confide in him about what had been bothering her lately. He wanted to help but didn't know how. Perhaps she'd say something to mortal ears. Once it was in the open he'd be able to do something.

The pleasure faded as he considered Raulin. It was so easy to forget Crystal had a mortal heritage as well and he greatly feared she now found herself in the company of one who would appeal to that side.

He didn't want to understand the pain he'd felt when the mortal touched her.

He was Lord Death and pain was not a part of that.

He looked up and the pine branch died.

*   *   *

The next morning, Crystal left her room, wandered down to the kitchens, and astounded the innkeeper by not only suggesting a new way of doing turnips, a staple in the local diet, but by then preparing the dish herself.

Dorses, knowing Crystal's background as both princess and wizard, for who in that part of the world did not, assumed it was something she'd learned in the dozen years since the defeat of Kraydak, made a note of the recipe, and asked no questions.

Crystal, thanking the vegetarian centaurs for teaching her at least one skill that served some purpose in the mortal world, offered no
explanations. She had no wish to underline differences, not when she felt so content.

While they worked, the two women talked, and firmed their tentative feelings of friendship.

When Ivan came in from morning chores, he brought a dried and delicate wild rose, found perfectly preserved, mixed in with the summer's hay. Wordlessly he presented it to Crystal, accepted her thanks with glowing eyes—few wizards' had ever been so bright—and pink with pleasure, watched her wind it in her hair where it slowly softened and lived again.

The afternoon, Crystal spent with Raulin. He made her laugh with his wild flattery, and she felt herself beginning to respond to his obvious interest. In his own way he was as single-minded as those who saw only the wizard, but it was a single-mindedness she couldn't help but appreciate. It was a nice change.

Although he never mentioned it, his accent told her he came from the Empire. She wondered how he'd managed to survive the long years of Kraydak's rule with his good nature intact.

That evening, she lay on her bed, listening to the sounds rising up from the common room, one hand gently stroking the velvet petals of Ivan's rose. Dorses had asked her to come down, but she hadn't the courage to face the locals and risk their almost certain fear and rejection.

*   *   *

“There,” Nad sat back on his heels and beamed down at his handiwork. He'd just set new andirons into one of the common room's giant hearths and he was pleased with the way the design looked. “You see,” he said, “they've got ta be large enough ta carry the load but not so large young Ivan here can't move them out ta clean the ashes like. And as this is a public place,” he looked up at his audience and smiled, “then best make 'em easy on the eyes.”

Crystal grinned back and tucked one foot up under her on the bench. With both hearths unlit, the room was far from warm. “They're
certainly very pretty,” she agreed. “I've never seen irons shaped like stag horns before.”

“Stag horns!” Dorses snorted from behind the bar where she was counting stock. “All I asked was that they be thick enough not to melt out of shape and he brings me stag horns!”

“Actually, they don't look very thick,” Crystal said softly to Nad, not wanting to get him in trouble with the innkeeper and her quest for durability. “Are they likely to melt?”

“Nay.” The blacksmith's brow puckered and he scratched at the bald patch on top of his head. “But they may sag a tad the next time we have a cold snap and some stonehead overloads the fire.”

“That would be a definite shame.” She slid off the bench and onto her knees beside him. “May I?”

“Be my guest.” Nad waved a hand, puzzled but gracious.

Crystal leaned forward and lightly touched both antlers. The iron flared a sudden brilliant green. “No fire built in this hearth can affect them now,” she explained as the glow faded. “They'll always be as lovely as they are today.”

“Well, I'm much obliged,” Nad's broad features were rosy. Praise always made him blush, for he could see the flaws he'd left even if no one else could, and this was high praise indeed. “That's a right handy trick.” He gave her a sly grin. “Can you straighten nails?”

She laughed and held out her hand.

The nail Nad dropped on her palm had certainly seen better days. It was bent not once but twice, and touched with rust as well.

She held it gently by the head and stroked the index finger of her other hand down its length. No green glow answered. The nail turned cherry red and melted into slag.

“Good thing we were on the hearth.” Nad observed philosophically.

Crystal stared down at the tiny puddle of molten metal. She didn't understand; the power had begun to answer, then it had twisted off as if responding to another call. She wiped suddenly sweaty hands on her thighs. “That's . . . that's never happened before.”

“Idiot,”
sneered a voice in her head.

“You shouldn't get upset about it.” Nad grasped her shoulder lightly with a warm and comforting hand, misinterpreting Crystal's bleak expression. He liked the girl. Let others argue the mortality of wizards—and they had been for the three days this one had been at the Nugget—she was kind and she was beautiful and that was enough for him. He loved beauty and tried to put a little into everything he made; from pickaxes, to plows, to andirons. “I couldn't have used that nail agin anyway, not bent as it was,” he continued, smiling sympathetically. “I guess you were still fired up.” His blunt chin pointed at the stag horns. “From doin' t'other.”

“I guess.” She managed a small smile in return because the blacksmith looked so upset at her distress. She wanted to accept his explanation. She hadn't been paying much attention to the nail, it was such a small thing, and she could easily believe she'd used too much power. Foolish, for attention should be paid to the smallest of power uses, but not frightening. Except for the voice.

“Well now, look who's comin' down ta join us,” Nad got to his feet and extended a massive hand to Crystal.

She took it and stood, fortunately enough taller so that Nad's huge shoulders weren't blocking her view.

Slowly descending the stairs, placing each foot firmly but with care, was Jago. He'd been shaved, his hair washed and rebraided, and no trace of his injuries was apparent, but knuckles showed white in the hand that gripped the banister and his gaze never rose from his path. Raulin followed closely behind, his expression as proud as if he'd taught Jago to walk.

“Well, you certainly look a sight better than you did,” Nad boomed, striding forward to meet the brothers at the foot of the stairs. “Just tryin' out the new pins are you.”

“Yes,” Jago said shortly. He was out of banister and it was a good five feet to the nearest bench.

Nad looked at Jago, looked at the open space he must cross, and understood the hesitation. “You've nothin' ta worry about, them legs of yours are as good as new.”

“I know that,” Jago's tone was polite, but only just barely.

“I've been telling him the same thing,” Raulin put in. “Not that they ever were much . . .”

“Raulin . . .”

“And it'd not be polite to let the lady wizard think you didn't trust her healin',” Nad added.

Jago's lips narrowed. “It's not that, I . . .” He trailed off, unsure how to explain.

“It's just you saw your legs,” Crystal said gently, stepping into his line of sight. “Before you lost consciousness you saw and you knew what you had to look forward to if you woke. And no healing can erase a memory like that, not if the Mother-creator Herself had been the healer. You know your legs are whole, but you can't believe; not quite, not yet.”