With A Single Spell

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Can you make a light?” he asked Karanissa.

  She responded by raising a hand that glowed dimly. “I’m out of practice,” she apologized. “I’m better with fire, if you can find me something to burn.”

  Without regard for whatever respect might be due the dead Derithon’s property, Tobas picked up the nearest length of shelving. “I’ve got some wood here that should burn; light one end, and I’ll hold the other.”

  The witch complied, and in a second or two a blue flame sprang up from a corner of the ancient plank, then spread across one end and brightened to a cheerful yellow.

  Karanissa looked around at the wreckage of her long-dead lover’s library and murmured, “Gods!”

  “What’s the matter?” Tobas asked.

  “This place — last time I saw it...”

  “The last time I saw it, it looked just about as it does now.” The burning plank was awkward to hold, and was burning faster than he liked; he did not care to take the time to indulge Karanissa’s nostalgia. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. He took her hand and led her on into the bedchamber.

  She stared about, horrified, at each of the rooms as they passed through, but said nothing further.

  When they reached the balcony above the Great Hall Tobas noticed a light at the far end of the hall; he held his own light away from himself for a moment, to get a better look.

  A fire was burning somewhere outside, its glow visible through the crumbled gate. He hurried Karanissa down the steps and across the debris.

  As the pair emerged into the cool night air, Tobas called, “Peren? Is that you?” He looked down over the edge of the stone disc on which the castle stood.

  A lone figure sat crouched beside a campfire; at the sound of Tobas’ voice he arose and called, “Tobas?”

  “Yes!” Tobas answered, all doubts dispelled by the yellow gleam of firelight on white hair. “Thank all the gods you came! No, not the gods; thank you, Peren! Thank you for coming!” He flung aside his burning piece of shelf and began half-climbing, half-sliding down the stone, Karanissa with him, in his eagerness to join his companion.

  Peren came around the circumference to the lowest point, to help the two down; he clasped Tobas’ hand warmly, and tried to hide his surprise at Karanissa’s presence.

  When all three were on the ground Tobas, still catching his breath, announced, “Karanissa, this is Peren the White; Peren, this is Karanissa of the Mountains; she’s a witch.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Peren said.

  “And I, you,” Karanissa replied with an odd salute that reminded Tobas that she had been in the military.

  A moment of awkward silence followed; then Tobas took the initiative and began walking toward the campfire, asking, “How long have you been here, Peren?”

  “Not long; I arrived around noon.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “The sun has been down less than an hour.”

  “What did you do with the skeleton?”

  Peren hesitated before replying, “I buried it. It seemed the proper thing to do, since I had no way of making a proper pyre for bare bones. The spirit must have been freed long ago.”

  Tobas glanced at Karanissa, worried that Peren’s words would upset her, but she seemed undisturbed. “That’s good,” he said. He hesitated, then asked Karanissa, “Do you think we should make a marker of some sort?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Derry never mentioned anything about it. He didn’t intend to ever die, after all. I think he’d like something, though.”

  “Derry?” Peren asked.

  “Derithon the Mage,” Tobas replied. “Those were his bones you buried.”

  Peren nodded.

  They had reached Peren’s little camp, and all three settled to the ground by the fire; Peren, observing that Tobas and Karanissa were sitting as close together as humanly possible, quietly made sure that he was himself several feet away. He could see well enough that three together would be a crowd.

  “What about the spriggans?” Karanissa asked suddenly.

  “What about them?” Tobas asked.

  “Where are they? Some of them went through with you. And what about the mirror? Did you break it?”

  “No,” Tobas admitted. “They got it away from me when I fell down the sloping floor. They’re all in the castle somewhere, I suppose, and the mirror with them.”

  “Should we do anything about it?”

  “I don’t think we need to,” Tobas replied, then hesitated. “Kara, are any of them listening?”

  She peered around carefully. “No,” she said at last. “There are a few animals over there — chipmunks, maybe — but no spriggans.”

  “Good. Kara, wizardry doesn’t work around here; we think that’s why Derithon’s castle fell. I told you about that. The mirror’s harmless unless they take it out of the dead area, and I don’t think they’re smart enough to ever figure that out unless someone tells them. So there won’t be any more spriggans appearing. And I don’t think they can reproduce any other way. A few dozen spriggans won’t hurt the World; we don’t need to worry about them any more.”

  “Oh.” Karanissa relaxed slightly. “Oh,” she said again, “that’s good.”

  Peren said nothing, but glanced curiously at Tobas.

  “Oh, you don’t know what a spriggan is, do you?” Karanissa said, noticing the glance. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “It’s all right,” Peren said.

  “No,” Tobas said, “I don’t mean to shut you out. I’ll tell you the whole story.”

  He described his adventures since their parting. By the time he had finished Karanissa had dozed off, her head on Tobas’ shoulder, and the greater moon had risen halfway up the sky.

  “...And we didn’t bring any supplies at all, I’m afraid,” he concluded. “Just what we were wearing. I’ve got my belt, and a few precious things, but no food, no other weapons, no blankets. I’m sorry to be so careless.”

  He did have his athame — he never went anywhere without it — and the little vial of brimstone was still on his belt because he had never bothered to remove it, but he had no other magical ingredients, no book of spells. He was glad that he had happened to have boots on when he tumbled through the tapestry.

  When he stopped speaking, he shivered; the night had turned cold, and despite the fire they had kept up he felt a sudden strong chill. “What’s the date?” he asked, suddenly curious.

  “The fourth of Snowfall,” Peren replied. “We’re having a warm spell, and the snows are late this year.”

  “Snowfall?” Tobas stared at the flames. “That’s almost three months. Where have you been, all this time? Did you get over the mountains?”

  “It’s late,” Peren said. He pulled a blanket from his pack and wrapped it about himself. “We all need sleep. You and your woman take the tent; I’ll stay out here.”

  “But...”

  “I’ll tell you in the morning,” Peren said. “Now, go get some sleep.”

  Reluctantly, Tobas obeyed. Karanissa never stirred as he carried her into the tent.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The sun was well up in the southeast when Tobas awoke, its light filtered by the leafy treetops.

  Karanissa was still lying beside him, but her eyes were open, staring up at the light that seeped through the tent’s fabric. When she saw that he was awake, she turned and smiled at him. “We’re really out of the castle?”

  “We really are,” he said, smiling in return.

  “It’s hard to believe that, after so long — I’m afraid I’ll wake up again and discover it’s all a dream. Even you — maybe this whole time with you is a dream.”

  “Oh, it’s all real enough; come on out of the tent and I’ll show you.” He opened the flap, and sunlight streamed in.

  “Oh!” Karanissa said. “It’s so bright!”

  “It’s not so bad,” he said, as he crawled out, blinking.

  Karanissa followed
him, one hand shielding her eyes. “That’s easy for you to say,” she retorted, “but I haven’t seen the sun in four hundred years!” She shivered. “And it’s cold, too.”

  Tobas spotted Peren, sitting quietly on the far side of the remains of last night’s fire, stirring the ashes with a stick to get out the last bits of warmth. “Good morning!” he called.

  Peren nodded acknowledgement, then stood up, brushing ash from his breeches. “We should get moving,” he said. “I’ve packed up everything but the tent, and I scratched out a stone for the grave. Derithon the Mage — that was the name?”

  “Yes,” Tobas said.

  “I thought so,” Peren replied, nodding. “Well, are we heading for Dwomor, or hadn’t you decided?”

  “Dwomor, by way of the cottage where I left the tapestry. What’s your hurry, though?”

  Peren stared at him for a moment, then said, “Tobas, today is the fifth of Snowfall, and we’re leagues away from anywhere, in the middle of the mountains. I don’t care to stay up here any longer than necessary; even if you and your witch can keep us from freezing, we would still starve if a real storm caught us here.”

  “Oh,” Tobas replied sheepishly. “You’re right. What should I do?”

  “You and she can eat breakfast while I pack up the tent,” he said, holding out a sewn pouch of dry salt beef. “I’m afraid it’s cold, but I didn’t want to waste time building another fire and then burying it again.”

  “That’s all right,” Karanissa said, “I can warm it up.” She took the pouch and held it.

  After a moment it began to steam; she ripped opened the pouch and handed a strip to Tobas.

  They ate in silence while Peren took down the tent and folded it away. As he finished, Tobas remarked, “It’s too bad I hadn’t got as far as making a bottomless bag — Derithon had a spell for one in his book.”

  “Well, you didn’t,” Peren said, “so you’ll have to carry half the supplies.”

  “I can carry a share,” Karanissa interjected.

  “All right, then, all the better; we’ll split them three ways. Let’s do that and get moving.”

  Ten minutes later they were on their way south through the forest, toward the familiar path around the end of the great cliff, with Peren’s supplies divided more or less evenly. When they had walked far enough to settle into a comfortable rhythm, Tobas reminded Peren of his promise. “You said you’d tell me what happened to you these past three months,” he said.

  Peren was silent, and Tobas added, “I thought you’d have rich clothes and servants by now, but that tunic you’re wearing is one of the ones you had when we met. I don’t even see your sword.”

  Peren nodded. “I was robbed,” he said.

  Tobas had thought that Peren had seemed more irritable, less pleasant, and even quieter than before, and had suspected that he had had a hard time. “Tell me about it,” he said.

  They marched on another dozen paces before Peren began, “I’m not the hunter I thought I was; after we split up I didn’t catch much. Oh, I could hit what I aimed at — I am good with a sling — but finding anything to throw at is harder than I thought. I ate everything in my pack and only caught a couple of rabbits and once, when I was desperate, a chipmunk. I was hungry — really hungry! — when I came down out of the mountains in Aigoa.”

  “You did reach Aigoa, though?”

  “Oh, yes. I came across cottages as soon as I was past the last of the true mountains — or maybe those hills are still mountains, I suppose it depends on how you look at it. I was past the last of the peaks that broke the timberline, put it that way.” He paused for a moment, remembering, then continued, “I was hungry. I stopped at the first cottage I found, the home of an old shepherd, and traded him a gold candlestick for a good dinner, a night’s lodging, a hearty breakfast, and some supplies to see me further down the road. While I slept he helped himself to a few other things, as well, my sword among them, but I was too weak to argue, and grateful he didn’t just cut my throat and keep it all. I told myself that I would hire helpers and come back later for the rest, if I needed it.”

  “Did you come back?” Karanissa asked.

  “No, of course not. After that, I begged or stole what I needed and kept the bag hidden, until I reached the trade-road between Aigoa Castle and the Citadel of Amor. I found an inn, and waited there until a caravan stopped in. That was — let me see — the twenty-eighth of Harvest, I think, that I reached the inn, and the last caravan of the season arrived on the third of Leafcolor. I had kept the innkeeper happy by working for my keep — cleaning stables, and the like — and by showing him that jeweled box and telling him I’d pay my bill when I sold it to the traders.”

  “Which box was it?” Karanissa asked, her voice wistful.

  “It was made of white shell, with a gold catch and pearls at each corner.”

  “Oh, well,” she said, resignedly, “I never cared for that one anyway.”

  “Just as well, lady. When the caravan arrived, I spoke to its master; he asked questions about where I had found the box and the other things I showed him, and I lied with every word I told him — I didn’t like his looks, but I was in no position to be choosy. The innkeeper wouldn’t wait much longer. The caravan master seemed to take it for granted that I had stolen it all somewhere, despite my story, but that didn’t seem to bother him much. Finally, we settled on a price — a hundred pieces of silver for everything I had left. It was easily worth twice that, I’d say, probably more, but I was in no position to bargain. So he counted out the coins, and I took them, and we went to our rooms for the night.

  “And when I woke up, the money was gone.

  “Oh, I shouted, and I argued, and no one so much as offered a prayer of sympathy. I was just another penniless adventurer, making big claims with nothing to back them up. The caravan packed up and left, saying they had a schedule to keep, and I stayed to search the inn and berate the innkeeper.

  “Finally, the man would take no more; he picked me up and threw me out onto the road, with all my belongings, in the rain. Last of all he threw a silver coin after me, and told me, ‘The caravan master gave me a tenth as my share; here’s a tenth of that to go away and never come back, you lying pale-skinned little thief.’

  “I swore and I cursed and I called down the wrath of the gods, and then I picked myself up and ran after the caravan, determined to get my money back. I caught up to them late in the afternoon.

  “I hadn’t thought how I, a lone man, unarmed and not in the best of health, would take my money back from the crews of a dozen wagons. I marched up as they pulled into the yard of the next inn and demanded my money, hoping to shame them into honesty; instead they called me a liar and a monster, and beat me, and threw me out on the road.

  “I was still lying there the next morning when they moved on; I believe they thought I was dead. I almost was, I suppose. I had more bruises than sound skin.

  “Eventually, though, I picked myself up and crawled away. No one had stopped to help me, though a dozen travelers had passed.”

  Peren paused, as if waiting for comment, but neither Tobas nor Karanissa could think of anything to say.

  “This was in Amor,” Peren said. “I had crossed the border when I followed the caravan. Amor is said to be one of the larger of the Small Kingdoms.”

  Again, they walked several paces in silence before he continued.

  “I found a farmer who took me in — I promised to pay her when I could, but she didn’t seem very concerned about that. I stayed there for the rest of Leafcolor and into Newfrost, getting my strength back. I thought at first that I might stay there permanently; she had no husband, and seemed to take an interest in me, and was comely enough. After a few sixnights, though, it was obvious that her interest had passed. Once she had realized that, despite my color, I was nothing but an ordinary man, she had no more use for me. I think she had assumed I was a magician of some sort, or a magician’s creation, and she would be richly rewarded for hel
ping me; when I convinced her that was not the case she allowed me to stay, but treated me with more scorn than affection, and on the tenth of Newfrost I left.

  “I had no money and nowhere to go, but Desset — that was the farmer’s name — had mentioned a great highway somewhere to the north that led around the mountains to Ethshar, so I headed north — or northwest, actually. I suppose I also hoped to come across members of that caravan, so that I might somehow retrieve some of what I had lost, since the Citadel of Amor also lay to the northwest.

  “And then, on the first night I was alone again, I dreamed that I heard you calling me to come back to the castle in the mountains.

  “I thought it was just a dream, but it happened again on the next night, and the next, and each time I remembered more of your message, and I realized that it was magic — or I hoped it was. I had no real goal, nowhere that I had to be, so I saw no harm in returning; I had been treated better in Dwomor than in Aigoa or Amor, certainly. I had a few things Desset had given me, and I found others where I could — the thieves had never bothered to take everything from my pack, only the valuables, so I still had the tent and rope and so forth. I took odd jobs to earn money for the things I couldn’t beg, borrow, or steal, and when I had everything I needed I began retracing my steps; I knew I’d never find the place if I tried taking a different route. I got here two nights ago, on the third of Snowfall, and you know the rest.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tobas said. “I hadn’t realized that you would have so bad a time alone over there.”

  Peren shrugged. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry for; you had your own life to live, back in Ethshar with your tapestry. If I had had any sense I would have come with you.”

  “Well, I’m still sorry about the way things turned out. Do you know the names of any of the people who robbed you?”

  Peren looked at him curiously. “Some of them,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  Tobas looked at the ground for a moment, then back at Peren. “If you want,” he said, “I can put curses on them once I get back into the castle in the tapestry and bring out Derithon’s Book of Spells and some of the paraphernalia and supplies.”