But not out of character for their baron, if Wardin could judge by the few minutes he’d known him. So jolly. The whole idea of this conspiracy seemed to amuse him. Perhaps playing games was his way. Something Wardin would do well to remember.
Still, even if he was toying with them, that didn’t mean Wardin couldn’t use him.
“Where is your daughter now?” Arun asked.
Dain pointed at him. “Looking to corroborate what I say? Smart man. You won’t find her in Heathbire. Or at all, for that matter. I’ve tucked her well away, in case I should end up in Bramwell’s bad graces during this war. I’m afraid the king has a bad habit of venting his anger against his nobles on their offspring. But ask anyone, and they’ll tell you she’s real enough. And a beauty, at that. Charming girl, much like my wife was.”
“Your wife, Pate’s sister,” Wardin said. When Dain nodded he added, “And where is Pate?”
“Waiting. To hear what I think of you.” Dain gestured at Corbin. “To hear what his boy thinks of you.”
“Well, then.” Wardin crossed his arms. “What do you think?”
Dain spread his hands. “The only relevant question to me is which of your sides is the dominant one.” He refilled his mug, then studied Wardin over its rim as he took a long drink. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and said, “So tell me, Wardin. Are you a Rath, or are you a Ladimore?”
4
Erietta
The sharp tang of the sea was everything Erietta had hoped it would be. As a girl, she’d chosen her affinity mainly on the basis that all the madcap adventurers and explorers of her most beloved tales were contrivers. Their stories were filled with exotic lands and strange magic, impossible quests, daring deeds, near escapes. At eleven, she’d wanted nothing more than to be able to boast of such exploits.
But she’d become a magister, and then the archmagister, far too young to even leave Eyrdon, much less indulge a thirst for adventure. Though nothing was more dear to her than her homeland and her magistery, she had to admit that this taste of another sort of life was glorious. And it was all in the service of Pendralyn and Eyrdon, which meant she could enjoy it entirely without guilt.
It might have been perfect, if not for Desmond. It was a wonder the man was even conscious; he certainly never seemed to cease his complaining long enough to take a breath. It was too cold. Tarnarven was too windy. The port city of Rivenmist was too small; they ought to have gone north to the capital of Tridmere, where it would have been easier to find a ship that hadn’t halted travel for the winter.
On the latter point, at least, he may have been right. But then, there was no guarantee of finding passage to Dordrin from Tridmere, either. Erietta chose to wait, staying quietly at a small inn and making discreet inquiries daily.
Eventually it paid off. Though travel across the sea during the winter was treacherous, it wasn’t impossible. A captain willing to take the risk stood to make a fortune, at a time when trade goods were in high demand and there was little competition.
They finally found such a captain, four days after their arrival in Rivenmist. He was bound for several ports to the east, carrying wool (plundered mainly from Eyrdon, no doubt) and glass to trade for various foreign wonders, including Dordrine furs and honey. With the silver Erietta was willing to pay, it wasn’t difficult to convince him to accept two passengers, and keep their business to himself.
Not that this small victory quieted Desmond in the least. The day before they were to depart, he droned on and on as they walked through the streets near the docks, supplying themselves for the journey. Much to her delight, Erietta found she could cast a spell to tune him out. It heightened her awareness of other sounds at the same time, as his constant, nasal litany competed with them less.
A lucky thing, because it allowed her to hear the danger coming—in the form of two harsh male voices—before it got to them.
“Look at that lady there. Only Eyrds wear their coats that long. And that hair! It’s practically black.”
“Black like the magic she practices, perhaps.”
“We need to get in front of her and check her nose. The one they’re looking for has a long nose.”
They hadn’t spent much of their balance or energy on disguising or hiding themselves; the only time Erietta had altered their appearances was to make arrangements with the ship’s captain. Nobody in Tarnarven would recognize two people who had barely left Pendralyn or its vicinity since they were children. Though Tobin knew her face, she didn’t think the prince had had either the time or the inclination to draw up a sketch during her brief sojourn in his dungeon.
And indeed, it seemed these men did not have a sketch, only a general description. Which was all to the good, but how did they know she’d left Pendralyn at all? How did they know to look for her in Tarnarven?
There was no time to ponder the matter—nor to give in to the alarm tightening her chest and parching her throat. Erietta yanked Desmond’s elbow and dragged him into a tiny apothecary wedged between two much bigger shops. She hastily prepared a trick, gathering her energy while conjuring a mental image of a face different from her own. One with a shorter, wider nose.
“Eyrdri’s teeth, Desmond, will you please shut your mouth?” She turned to look around the narrow, cluttered shop, and was relieved to find that they were alone. There was a low doorway behind the counter, and she caught a glimpse of the room beyond, crowded with shelves. Perhaps the owner had gone back there for something.
Erietta took the opportunity to release her spell, altering both her face and Desmond’s. But she was careful to keep her dark hair intact.
“What happened?” Desmond hissed.
“How are you at confusion?” She peered out the tiny square of glass in the door. They’d just come to a bend in the road when she heard the men behind them. Perhaps they didn’t see her come in here.
That would be unfortunate. Her best hope was that they would come in and have a good look at her not-at-all-long nose, and see that they were mistaken.
“I beg your pardon?” Desmond squared his shoulders, clearly ready to give her another lecture on whatever imagined offense she’d committed this time. “How could I help but be confused, when you—”
“At confusing others,” Erietta snapped. “The men about to come in here looking for us, for example.” Nobody was approaching yet, but if they’d lost sight of her, they might have started with the shop next door, or the one next to that.
She hoped there was a back door. They needed an escape route, in case this didn’t go well. She glanced over her shoulder again.
And was nearly startled out of her disguise. A boy of perhaps eight or ten, with bronze skin and startling pear green eyes, stood behind her, watching her and Desmond with calm interest. He blinked slowly at her, and raised his brows as if to say Yes?
“Well, hello.” Erietta collected herself, and smiled brightly. “Were you hiding just now, when we came in?” she asked in her best confidante voice.
The boy only rolled his eyes. “They said you were a magister.”
Her stomach writhed. “Who did?”
“The men who’ve been asking about you. In all the shops, and at the docks. Bounty hunters. They say you’re a fugitive who runs an illegal magistery, and that you’re very dangerous, so we shouldn’t trust you or try to capture you ourselves.” He cocked his head to one side, clearly not intimidated by her supposed ferocity. “I saw you cast that disguise, so you must be a contriver, but I would have expected a magister contriver to spot things better. I wasn’t hiding. I was standing just there.”
He pointed at a cramped space between two shelves, a chaotic heap of crates and straw and jugs. Erietta thought it would take more than a skilled contriver to pick out a human in all that mess.
“I was just sorting through some things,” he said.
“I see.” She forced another smile. Desmond stood wide-eyed and (miraculously, blessedly) silent, staring from the boy to her. But befor
e Erietta could say more, there was a jingle from the bell above the door, and she was obliged to step aside to make room for two men.
She met their eyes with a pleasant, bland expression. “Good afternoon.”
One of the men—not brawny, but with as mean a face as Erietta had ever seen—grunted as he studied her through narrowed eyes. His stained teeth were twisted, giving him the permanent appearance of gnawing at his lip. Neither he nor his companion looked at Desmond. Perhaps they’d only been told to look for her, which meant Corbin was likely not the source of their information.
The silence was broken by the snap and crinkle of paper. Erietta looked at the boy, and found him studying a page in his hand.
“We should have all of this in stock, ma’am, or at least, all but the crowliac. That’s hard to find this time of year, and we sold most of our stock to a ship’s physic last week. Bound for Aldarine, he said. But I’ll check for you.” He glanced up at the newcomers. “Something I can get for you while I’m back there?”
“Where’s your father?” the crooked-toothed man asked.
“Went to the scribe’s, two streets over. Left me in charge.”
“And you know this woman?” He jerked a thumb at Erietta.
The boy waved a hand, encompassing both her and Desmond. “Mistress Elinor, and Master George. Course I know them. They’re in here three times a week!”
The man crossed his arms. “Why would anyone need an apothecary three times a week?”
The boy’s expression didn’t change, nor did he look Erietta’s way. But in her mind she had a sudden, clear image of an old man clutching his head and wailing.
“My father gets frequent headaches,” she said.
At the same time, the boy said, “Her father is ailing.”
Erietta’s heart slammed against her ribs, but she couldn’t afford shock or wonder. She kept talking. “They’re terrible, violent attacks. He can’t even w—”
“You look like an Eyrd,” the second man interrupted. It was the first time he’d spoken. Erietta took in the scar at his temple, the bulging nose that had clearly been broken, probably more than once. Here was a man accustomed to fighting.
She sniffed. “Is that a crime of some sort? If so, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. My father is an Eyrd.”
“Him of the headaches?”
“The same.”
“And what about your husband’s father? Is he an Eyrd too?” The crooked-toothed man was finally paying some attention to Desmond, looking him up and down.
“Both sides, actually.” Desmond, to his credit, managed to sound reasonably calm, though his voice was pitched a bit higher than normal. “I was born in Eyrdon, though I grew up here in Tarnarven.” He slipped an arm around Erietta’s shoulders, and she did her best to look comfortable in his embrace. “Our parents arranged our marriage. You know how Eyrds can be.”
“That I do. Fought for the Harths in the last war.” The scarred man’s lip was curled in disgust, but he turned to his companion and shrugged. “Her nose is short. And fat.”
“I beg your pardon?” Erietta and Desmond both gave the man highly offended looks.
The boy laughed. “I bet you never noticed how many Eyrds there are in Rivenmist, until you started looking for one, did you? That’s what my father says. Says he’s tripping over them, now that you’ve told him about the reward.”
Both men glared at the boy, and the scarred one jabbed a thick finger at him. “You tell your father that reward’s not his to claim. He doesn’t know the first thing about bringing down a magician. You tell him if he sees her, he comes to me. I’ll give him a bit of coin for his trouble.”
“Yes, sir.”
Not.
The word came unbidden to Erietta’s mind. Not? Not what?
Nott.
Harsher this time. More urgent. Like a scream and a hiss all at once.
The boy. That’s his name.
And if she said it, it would only reinforce that they knew one another. Erietta cleared her throat. “Nott, do you think you could check on those things now? My father was doing quite poorly when we left.”
It seemed to be the last thing the bounty hunters needed to satisfy them. With a nod—and, in the case of the scarred one, a growl—they left to go search for their Eyrdish outlaw elsewhere.
Erietta didn’t drop their disguises, even after the door closed. “Did you confuse them?” she breathed to Desmond on her sigh of relief.
Desmond, who had gone from pale to a bit gray, shook his head. “I’m not very good at confusion spells, but it wouldn’t have mattered. It took every scrap of energy I had to keep from wetting myself, if I’m honest.”
Nott laughed, and Erietta joined him. It was the first time she could recall being amused by Desmond. But she sobered as she looked down at the boy.
“You did magic, just now. Did you confuse them?”
“No. Least not with magic. I’m not sure they’re very hard to confuse whether you have magic or not. Not the smartest, are they?”
“I didn’t get a sense of great intelligence, no. Are you a sage? How were you able to put your thoughts in my mind, even though I’m not a sage?”
Nott shrugged. “I don’t know what I am. Or how I do it. I’ve just always been able to.”
“Is that so?” Erietta’s anxiety ebbed away, replaced by professional interest. “That’s very rare, to be able to do magic on your own, without any schooling. Are either of your parents magicians?”
“My father?” The boy snorted. “No ma’am, most definitely not. Never knew my mother.”
“Now listen here.” Desmond bent in front of Nott, color rushing back to his face. “If you think for a moment that you only sent those men off so you can collect the reward for yourself, you’d best think again. I’ll skin you alive if—”
“Desmond.” Erietta rounded on her companion, arms crossed. “Honestly. He’s only a boy, and he just helped us. Is that how you speak to the children in your care at home?”
Nott spoke at the same time. “It’s not the King of Harth I want my payment from.”
Erietta swung back toward him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I did you a favor,” Nott said. “I want payment.”
“Extortion, is what he’s doing!” Desmond huffed.
Erietta ignored him, and arched a brow at the boy. “And what is your price?”
“It’s true, isn’t it? That you have a magistery? That’s what they’ve been saying. They also say it’s heresy, and that the Aldars will burn you when they come. That’s why the Harths have a new tax, and why they want silver from our king, too. So King Bramwell can go to righteous war and root this evil from our land.”
“I don’t know that I’d call the King of Harth righteous, but the magistery part is true.” She saw no reason to deny it. He’d already seen her do magic, and he was obviously clever. Whatever he wanted, he wouldn’t be talked out of it with lies.
“My father doesn’t know what I can do,” Nott said. “He’d probably burn me, if he did. He says magic was a great scourge, and we’re well rid of it. But he has a lot of old books. Not illegal books. Just the ordinary kind. I’ve been learning about the old magisteries, and the old affinities, and everything else I can find out about magic.”
“And?” Erietta prompted.
“I’ll let you go, and I won’t tell my father you were here. I won’t tell anyone. But if you win your war, and you aren’t burned, you have to come back for me and take me to your magistery. As a student. For free. My father would never pay. He’ll disown me, when he finds out where I’ve gone.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” She tried to keep the growing pity out of her voice; in her experience, young boys rarely appreciated it. “You’d be willing to part ways with him forever, just to learn magic?”
“He’s bound to find out I can do magic some day anyway, isn’t he? I can’t be sure I’ll never make a mistake. And then he’ll do a lot worse than disown me. I’d rather
never see him again than be beaten to death.”
He said it with such practical acceptance, Erietta’s heart broke for him. She wanted to hug him, but she settled for a smile. “You have yourself a bargain, Nott.”
Nott grinned back. “In that case, I wish you a successful journey, wherever you’re going.”
Though she knew they needed to hurry away before his father came back, Erietta spent another precious minute or two giving Nott what quick advice she could on how to grow his skill on his own, without being found out. Finally, she gave in to Desmond’s pleas and sighs, and bid the boy farewell.
As soon as they got outside, Desmond began to wheeze. “How do they know? How do they know to look for you here? Do they know where you’re going? That boy didn’t seem to.”
“Lower your voice!” Erietta still kept their disguises intact as they walked along the crowded street, despite the fact that she was tiring. “I don’t know what they know, or how. But let’s hope Nott gets his wish. It had better be a very successful journey.”
Successful enough for them to sail directly to Eyrdon when they returned, and with an army behind them. It wouldn’t be safe to come back through Rivenmist. Tarnarven was closed to them now. The borders and roads wouldn’t be safe either, not that she would go back even if they were.
The only direction now was forward. And eastward, across the sea.
5
Wardin
Wardin shifted his shoulders in an attempt to rid himself of the drop of icy water that had somehow managed to find its way through both cloak and coat to slide down his neck. It had been a cold, stormy, miserable day with Arun and Corbin, riding northeast past the city of Heathbire and Heath Castle, to wherever it was that Pate was living (or hiding).
The terrain had grown steadily more boggy and uneven as they went, more like the land Wardin had crossed on his way south the spring before. The mix of icy and wet ground, combined with the fact that they could barely see more than a few strides ahead of them, made for a harrowing journey.
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