She walked around the fire to put her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin atop his head. "If neither of us wants her to leave, surely she will stay."
He said nothing, and it was nearly a lie, that silence. He had seen Elaine's face, felt her pull away from his arms. If she could read their thoughts, thoughts they could not control. But he said nothing. He didn't want to fight with Tereza tonight. He needed her arms around him too much to risk it.
"Elaine asked if the elven healer could heal Calum."
Tereza grew very still against him. He knew she was rolling the thought round in her mind. "Could he truly save Calum?"
"He called the dead back, Tereza. I would believe him capable of anything."
She slid to her knees, arms still around him. "If he could save Calum … we must send him to Calum at once."
"He lost an arm today, a grave wound. Do you think he is well enough to travel days back in the cold by himself, with just his own people?"
"We would go with him."
"Calum gave us this task to perform. If the elf, Sil-vanus, cannot heal him, Cortton will be the last evil we ever fight at Calum's bidding. I cannot fail him now."
"But if he can truly be cured?"
"We can tell Silvanus tomorrow about Calum's illness. He may not be able to cure a disease, especially a disease of old age."
"My mother was years older than Calum, and she died quietly in her sleep. Old age does not have to end in such misery."
He patted her hand. "Good to hear."
She smiled suddenly. "You are not old."
"I am no longer young."
She hugged him tight. "That is not the same as being old."
He didn't argue; he didn't want to. Watching Calum's strong body being eaten away by pain and age had made Jonathan aware of his own mortality in a way that no battle ever had.
"We'll talk to Elaine tomorrow," Tereza said.
He nodded. "Yes, tomorrow."
Tomorrow they would talk with Elaine. Tomorrow they would speak with the healer. Tomorrow, perhaps, Silvanus would tell them he could save Calum Songmaster. But even after what Jonathan had seen this day, he did not truly believe. It was as unreal as a dream. He mistrusted anything that promised to give him his heart's desire. Healing was still a form of magic. Magic often promised exactly what a person most wanted, then found a way to cheat him. He feared he might have his heart's desire as long as he didn't mind fiends feasting on his heart.
"Let's go to bed." Tereza helped him stand. His knees were stiff from sitting so long in the cold, even with the fire so near. A few years ago the cold had not made his bones ache.
She kissed him gently on the cheek, as if she, too, could read his gloomy thoughts. "It will all look better in the morning, Husband. I promise."
He smiled and let her know he believed her. It was a lie. A lie that he told with his eyes. Perhaps if he practiced enough, he could fool Elaine as well. This reading his thoughts was harder. Perhaps the wizard would have a cure for that.
Could he really let a wizard, any wizard, work a spell on him? He did not think so. But he hoped so. For Elaine's sake, he hoped so.
SIXTEEN
Harkon Lukas watched the campsite. He stood wrapped in a wine-dark cloak. A matching hat swept round his head, a hat more suited for a ball than winter travel. White ostrich feathers fluttered on it, and the wind tugged at the feathers as if trying to steal them. His long hair blew in tangles across his face. He should have been noticeable standing among the winter-dark trees in his ridiculous hat.
Harkon had watched the camp since Konrad had stood watch. Neither Konrad nor Tereza had seen the tall figure moving in the darkness. Now Thordin stood watch, and somehow he didn't see Harkon either. It was good to rule the land. It gave a person certain. abilities.
Harkon might even have loved his land of Kar-takass were he not trapped here. The country was too small to satisfy his ambitions and appetites. He could trap others inside the borders, but could not free himself. The irony was not lost on him.
He sniffed the cold, tugging wind. He smelled. goodness. Not one, but a handful of shining goody-two-shoes lay in one of the tents. New blood come to the land. He had not brought these people over. Sometimes the land itself plucked away someone from another place. There seemed no logic to the land's choices, or none that he could understand.
Harkon ran fingers under his cloak, over a small bump in his tunic. It was a magic amulet, an amulet that allowed the wearer to switch bodies, whether the other person wished it or not. He had seen it used once, had killed the owner of the amulet, and kept it, until he found the right use for it.
He had been forced to flee from Konrad Burn. The warrior was a superb fighter, and Harkon had feared he might be forced to harm the man in order to save himself. It wouldn't have done to damage the very body he planned to inhabit. So he had fled, leaving his dire wolves to be slaughtered.
A growl started low in his chest, climbing up his throat to spill in a snarl from his lips. The sound should have had fur around it and fangs. If anyone had been near enough to hear and see, they would have known him for what he was: a wolfwere. Harkon had never been human, but once he held Konrad Burn's body, would he be human? Would he lose his ability to shapechange?
He did not know. So much was unknown, but the gamble was worth it. If he could be free to travel all the lands, his power would know no bounds.
He stood contemplating his future conquests. It brought a smile to his handsome face. Killing usually did.
Konrad Burn was part Vistani. He didn't look it, but he was, and he could travel to any land because of it. Jonathan Ambrose's mother had been a gypsy, too, so he was also free to travel. But Ambrose was too old. If Harkon really did become human, he wanted as many years left to him as possible.
He had thought about taking his choice of gypsies, but something had protected them, as if the land itself kept them safe. Harkon did not understand why, but he knew that to harm them was to risk much. Kartakass was his, yet there were some things the land would not allow. Harming gypsies was one of them.
Why had the land brought in these new people? They stank of goodness. The smell of it attracted evil. Harkon himself had been drawn to them. They had come so conveniently near to him and his wolves. Harkon wanted to feast on pure flesh, to crack the bones of saintly men and suck the marrow from them. There was nothing like fresh marrow to warm a wolf-were on a cold winter's day. Then it had all gone wrong. Had the land planned it that way? He was never sure how conscious of its own actions the land was.
They had killed the two that shone the brightest, extinguished that goodness forever. He had been far away in the forest when he felt what the cleric had done. It had felt like a great stabbing whiteness in his head. Even behind closed eyelids he could see the light. It had called to every evil thing in the land. If Harkon had not forbidden it, the creatures of Kartakass would have descended on the party like a plague. They wouldn't have survived a mile. But his future body was traveling with these interlopers. Harkon would not risk any harm coming to Konrad Burn until he himself brought it.
The wolfwere watched through the night, for he did not trust every evil thing that crawled or flew in Kartakass, not with so much shining goodness blazing forth. It was a candle flame to a moth, irresistible though it burned away the wings that bore the creature to it.
Harkon had made it plain he would punish anyone who harmed them, but there were things in the land that would care more for the killing than the punishment afterward. Harkon sympathized, and once he had the body, the land could slaughter every man and woman among them.
But for now, Harkon Lukas stood knee-deep in snow-cold, irritable, and watching over them all. The bard of Kartakass guarded the sleep of Jonathan Ambrose, mage-finder.
Harkon, who enjoyed irony when it was at someone else's expense, chuckled in the winter's dark. Perhaps he would tell the mage-finder what had kept him safe in his travels, tell him, watch his face crumble in disbelief,
then kill him. A low, growl trickled from his lips. Yes, that sounded like fun. A poor wolf-were was entitled to a little fun in the middle of a larger plot. A little frivolous cruelty always made him feel better.
SEVENTEEN
The next morning, the sky was an unrelieved white that promised snow. Beneath that sky came Elaine's horse, wandering back into camp without the slightest hint of apology for nearly breaking the girl's back. There was a gleam in its eyes that said it would be happy to give it another try. Elaine had hoped it had been eaten by wolves.
Thordin spooned stew into thick pockets of bread that he had made to hold the stew. It was an invention of his from his homeland. He called them "kangaroo sandwiches." A much younger Elaine had asked what a kangaroo was, and his description had been so funny, she hadn't believed him. Carrying its young around in a pouch, indeed. It was a tale to enthrall travelers who could never check one's story. But she, like all the others, dutifully called them kangaroo sandwiches.
Elaine sat on a log by the fire, Blaine beside her. He was on his second sandwich. Silvanus and Averil sat across the fire, eyeing the morning fare.
"How are you this morning?" Elaine asked.
"I feel quite myself again." Silvanus gave her a small nod.
Konrad had convinced the strangers not to mention anything to Jonathan of Elaine's new talent, fearing that one more magical ability would make the mage-finder send her packing. Elaine had told no one of what she and Jonathan had discussed before the fire last night. She doubted Jonathan could think less of her than he already did, nor she of him.
Fredric and Randwulf reclined before the fire, wrapped thickly against the cold. Konrad had bandaged the wounds that still bled. Silvanus had been too weak to heal them yesterday, so Elaine had volunteered, but the elf thought she was too new. He had helped her heal himself. Neither of the warriors could do that.
Fredric took a small bite of the kangaroo sandwich. He rolled it round, tasting. Then a broad smile spread across his face. "This is wonderful." He finished the rest in three bites. Randwulf matched him, bite for bite. Being wounded clearly hadn't affected their appetites.
The elf and his daughter took smaller bites, but seemed to enjoy the food. Anyone who had eaten Blaine's dinner of gray stuffing, herb-sauced sausages, and rock-cake cookies was grateful for the simpler but more edible meal. Thordin had no gourmet pretensions, but he could cook anything and make it tasty. On really long trips, it was best not to ask what was in the stew. There are some meats that, despite their pleasant flavor, turn the knowing stomach.
Elaine glanced back at Silvanus. There was something different about him, some change overnight that her eyes noticed but her mind could not make sense of. What was it? Something had changed in his appearance. Mot that she had become an expert on what elves, even this particular elf, should look like.
Silvanus had no trouble eating the sandwiches one-handed. Had Thordin made them knowing the wounded could eat them easily? Probably. Thordin was thoughtful and courteous, when he could be so quietly.
"Which one are you staring at?" Blaine asked. He spoke low, face nearly touching her hair.
She felt the heat climb up her face and knew she was blushing. It was like an admission of guilt though she was entirely innocent.
"It is impolite to stare at people," she said. She was now staring fixedly at the ground. Mo matter what had happened between them, Silvanus was a near stranger, and she had been staring. It would be too awful if Silvanus thought as Blaine did, that she was staring at him.
Blaine grinned. "Then what were you staring at?" His grin was the crooked one he wore when he was determined to tease.
"There is something different about the elf this morning, but I can't figure out what it is."
Blaine glanced across the fire. Averil caught him looking and smiled. He grinned back, not upset in the least to have been caught looking at a pretty girl.
"You two look a fine pair, whispering before the fire." The voice made her whirl. The wizard was behind them. He had come quiet as a cat, unheard through the snow.
He smiled. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Elaine wanted to say he hadn't, but her heart was beating in her throat, and she didn't trust herself to speak.
"I've never heard a man move like that. Silent as a spy," Blaine said.
The wizard shrugged. "Live long enough and you learn a few useful tricks."
"That was no trick," Elaine said softly.
"Nor was it magic," the wizard said.
She frowned at him. She didn't believe him.
"We all have inborn abilities, Elaine. I was called Gersalius Catpaw in my youth. I once thought of being a thief, but my mother said she'd cut off my ears if I disgraced the family." He laughed. "She was always threatening such dire things. I don't think she ever took a switch to any of us."
The wizard sat down next to them. Thordin handed him food. "I hope your old bones find this traveling easier than mine," the fighter said.
The wizard nodded. "It isn't only age, Thordin. I have hidden away in my own cottage for years. I haven't gone on a long journey for over a decade."
"You don't complain much," Thordin said.
"Complaining about hardship doesn't drive it away, though it does drive away one's companions."
"True."
Elaine leaned close to the wizard and whispered. "Is there something different about the elf? I think there is, but I can't quite see it."
Gersalius nodded, mouth too full to speak. He swallowed and said, "Observant girl. His arm's longer."
She sat very still, looking at him. "What do you mean, his arm's longer?"
"The wounded arm is growing back." He ate more sandwich, smiling and happy as if what he had just said were perfectly possible.
"But the arm was torn off, completely. It's gone."
The wizard finished his sandwich, wiping his hands on his robe. "You saw him call the dead back from the beyond. Why shouldn't the arm grow back?"
"I… don't know, but… but. " She just stared at him. She wanted to sputter and say it was impossible. She had half convinced herself that the two men hadn't really been dead, just gravely injured, and he had healed them. That was miracle enough. But the elf's arm was longer. The arm had been missing above the elbow, now there was almost a whole joint there. It was a hand-span longer.
Was the skin still smooth and thick with flesh? Elaine had an almost overwhelming urge to unwrap the arm, to see it bare. Was bone poking through the skin? Did it bud like a flower?
Silvanus met her gaze. "Do you have a question for me, Elaine?" His liquid-gold eyes were calm and smiling. There was about him an aura of peace that Elaine found intriguing.
"I didn't mean to stare."
"It is all right to stare when your intentions are to learn. I see a question in your eyes. Ask it."
She took a deep breath and asked the question quickly, as if it would sound less strange if she rushed through the words. "Is your arm truly growing back?" No, even fast, the question seemed ridiculous. And yet. she could see for herself that the arm was longer.
He smiled. "Yes, it is growing back."
"Does it hurt?"
"No, but it does itch abominably." He gave a small laugh like the distant ringing of bells. Human throats did not sound like that.
"How does it grow back? I mean …" Elaine tried to think how to phrase the question.
"Elaine, just ask, the perfect words for such questions are never found," Gersalius said.
"Is the arm growing back in stages? Is the bone growing first, then the flesh covering it, or does it grow all at once like a tree limb?" It sounded a very personal question, but she wanted to know. Her hands itched to touch the growing stump.
Elaine looked down at the ground, afraid he would see the eagerness in her eyes and mistake it for something else.
"Would you like to see it?" Silvanus asked.
She looked up at him, studying his face. Was he teasing her? No. His face was pleasan
t, but serious.
"Yes, very much." Elaine was surprised by the eagerness in her own voice. She had to learn magic, for it would control her otherwise, but healing. she wanted to learn healing, too.
Blaine was looking at her strangely. She had not told him she might be a healer, like Silvanus. It wasn't that she had tried to keep it from him. It was more that she herself didn't believe it yet. It was both too wonderful and too frightening to share, even with Blaine.
She touched his arm, leaning close to whisper. "I'll explain all later. I don't want Jonathan to know."
Blaine tipped back from her to see her face, then leaned in, breathing words against her skin. "Is it another magic?"
She nodded.
He hugged her briefly. "You must tell me everything later." His face was very serious when he said it.
"Promise," she said softly. She caught movement from the corner of her eyes. Jonathan was walking toward them, his cloak held close to his body against the cold. It was hard to see his expression with the hood up, but Elaine thought he was scowling.
Of course, that could have been her own insecurity. She hadn't realized she did anything differently, but Blaine touched her arm. "What's wrong?"
What could she say-that Jonathan was afraid of her? That he hated what she was? Elaine shook her head. "Jonathan is unhappy with me."
"With the magic?"
She nodded.
Blaine squeezed her arm. "It'll be all right. He'll come around."
She looked into his face, trying to see if he were just saying something to comfort her, or if he believed what he was saying. His eyes, his face, his touch were utterly sincere. He believed. Elaine wished she did.
Silvanus's sleeve was tied up with string. He undid the string and began to push back the cloth.
"What are you doing?" Jonathan asked.
"Elaine wishes to see my arm. She is curious about how it grows," the elf said. He said it as if it were an everyday occurrence.
Jonathan stared down at him. "What do you mean, your arm is growing?"
"It is growing back," Silvanus said.
Death of a Darklord (ravenloft) Page 13