Evon was suddenly the center of ten magicians’ intense interest. “I—the spell has altered Miss Haylter’s body in a way that gives off a particular...olfactory residue. I isolated the scent and used it to track her.”
“Like a dog,” Mistress Quendester scoffed.
“Yes, Mistress Quendester, if you want to put it that way,” Evon said, feeling his irritation threatening to spill over, “but it works. I can find Miss Haylter and I can lead you all to her.”
“Why not simply teach us the spell?” asked another magician, an elderly woman with a sharp-nosed face and short white hair.
“We don’t have time for that,” Evon lied. It probably wouldn’t take more than an hour to teach them all the spell—longer, in Mistress Quendester’s case—but he wasn’t going to give them any excuse to send him away. “If you’re willing to follow me, we can leave immediately.”
“I think you should be able to prove that your spell works,” Mistress Quendester said. “Your lack of experience doesn’t fill me with confidence.”
Evon had to pause for a moment; it was either that or scream obscenities at the woman. “I can’t prove it except by finding Miss Haylter,” he said finally. “But we can either sit here and watch your further attempts at a finding spell fail, or we can start the search we should have started the instant she was discovered missing.”
Mistress Quendester’s face went white with fury, but before she could speak, the elderly woman said, “Don’t be testy about this, young man. We got here as quickly as we could. And now we’re going to leave as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you,” Evon said. “Ma’am, if you would tell Mrs. Petelter your decision, and we should all meet in the stable yard as soon as we’ve made whatever preparations you think necessary.”
The woman’s mouth quirked into a sideways smile. “You’re very decisive, Mr. Lorantis,” she said. “A desirable trait in a magician, though not always a comfortable one for those around you.” She glanced around the room. “Gather your things and find your mounts. We leave in half an hour—if that’s sufficiently speedy for you, Mr. Lorantis?”
Evon blushed. “Thank you, Mistress—?”
“Belitha Gavranter,” the woman said. “And I am interested in learning your scenting spell...when we have time.” Her tone of voice suggested that she knew what Evon was doing, and approved. It comforted him to think that not all of these magicians were hostile. Mistress Quendester had enough hostility seething within her for all ten of them.
He and Piercy gathered their things, then Evon went and packed Kerensa’s bag with what little she possessed. On his way out, he retrieved her discarded dress from the taproom and did his best to roll it up neatly. How women managed to pack their clothes was a mystery to him. He loaded his bag and Kerensa’s on his horse, then mounted and wheeled the animal in a slow circle, trying to contain his impatience. The magicians seemed not to feel the urgency. Only a few of them had arrived in the stable yard, and they were standing near their horses but not mounting them. He sniffed the air, taking in a great deep breath, and released it, both trying to calm himself and seeking out Kerensa’s scent. There it was, a thin line leading out of the stable yard and to the east. Fifteen hours now, but it was still strong. He once again controlled his impulse to simply ride off after it, Piercy no doubt following his lead even though he would be taking them both into disaster.
“Evon, you’re making the horse dizzy. Be still,” Piercy said.
Evon looked over at his best friend and a wave of misery hit him, bringing with it a simple realization. “I love her,” he said.
“I know,” Piercy said, and put a compassionate hand over Evon’s. “I’ve been wondering when you would realize that.”
“I—what?”
“I love you like a brother, Evon, but you can be remarkably dense at times,” Piercy said, “particularly in matters of the heart. You began falling in love with Kerensa the moment we left Inveros.”
Evon stared at his friend, dumbfounded. “I think I would have noticed,” he began, and memories of every interaction he’d had with Kerensa played out, all the times he’d been mesmerized by her beauty and quick wit, how often he’d sought her out, and he felt like an idiot. “You’re right,” he said. “Piercy, we have to find her.”
“We will, Evon.”
“She’s out there, having the Gods know what done to her—”
“You can’t help her by stewing about it, dear fellow. She knows you’ll follow her. Be patient.”
“I’ve barely known her two weeks and already I can’t imagine being without her.”
“It happens that way sometimes.”
“I can’t tell her. What would I say? She’s already depending on me to break her free of this spell; learning that I love her would just burden her further, since I know she sees me only as a friend.”
“Are you certain of that?”
Evon finally met Piercy’s eyes. “How many hours have we spent together in the last several days? I may be dense, but I’m certain she’s never once looked at me that way. And suppose I declared my love for her, and she felt she owed me something, and...oh, Piercy, I really must have angered the Gods, that They’re tormenting me like this.”
The white-haired Mistress Gavranter approached, riding a horse nearly as white as her own hair. “I believe we’re all ready, if you’d care to lead out, Mr. Lorantis.”
Evon looked around the yard. Ten magicians, twelve Home Defense agents, and Mrs. Petelter and Terantis, the latter looking as if he’d rather stab Evon through the heart than follow him anywhere. He checked the air again, not caring that he looked like a dog casting for scent. “This way,” he called out, and led the procession out of the stable yard and into the streets of Belicath.
Chapter Thirteen
The scent led Evon eastward, through the merchant district where every kind of religious artifact was for sale, icons for the home, medallions and amulets for people, even tiny charms for pets. Evon had never seen the point of outward religious observances, reasoning that the Gods knew how devoted you were without you rattling around weighed down by ugly necklaces, but now he wondered if there wasn’t something to the practice. Perhaps he needed an ugly necklace so Belia or Cath, or possibly both, would turn Their attention elsewhere. He certainly felt like Their fool.
He barely heard the clamor of horses’ hooves, of people behind him talking as if nothing were wrong. If he’d stayed just minutes longer, he’d have been with her when Speculatus struck. Yes, and he’d still have been helpless, and they’d have cut his throat like they had the guard’s. There was nothing he could have done to stop them. All he could do now was reach her as fast as he could, and be prepared to kill as many Speculatus members as got in his way, if that became necessary. If he was capable of killing. He let his nose find the way and set to reviewing spells in his head, practicing gestures for spells he’d learned the theory of in school and never cast. Defensive spells—Odelia was almost as good as he was, good enough that the difference wouldn’t matter if it came to a fight, and he would need to shrug off whatever she cast without slowing down his own casting. He had a feeling he would be facing her; it would fit the way his life was going if he had to fight his nemesis in defense of the woman he loved. He was certain now that the Gods were using him as entertainment, watching from wherever They lived and possibly placing wagers on how it would all turn out.
Kerensa’s face emerged from memory, looking the way it had when he’d seen her last, excited and hopeful that he might have found part of the solution. Excited, hopeful, but nothing more, no deeper feeling that might have matched his own. Evon closed his eyes and cursed himself. If the spell didn’t exist, would he have been able to court her properly? If the spell didn’t exist, you’d never have met her.
He let his nose lead him and made himself focus on the new spell, the one that would prove the existence of the entity, and was so engrossed in it that he didn’t realize people were calling his name un
til Piercy said, “Dear fellow, are you certain of the path? Because you seem to have left it behind a quarter of a mile ago.”
Evon looked around. The last he’d been aware, they’d passed the eastern gate of Belicath and proceeded along that road. Now, though, he was standing in a treeless, snowblown expanse somewhere well to the north of the road. He sniffed, then turned his horse in a circle, and felt the beginnings of dread.
“I knew it was a mistake to trust him,” Mistress Quendester was saying to Mistress Gavranter as both approached him.
“We have a problem,” he said. “They’ve turned northeast. Kerensa—Miss Haylter was being drawn south by the spell. If she ignores the urging, the power builds until it activates on its own. The results are devastating. The first time it happened, Miss Haylter simply stayed in one place, only knowing that following the urge resulted in a death. If she’s taken in a direction opposite to the one the spell wants her to take—”
“The process will be accelerated,” Mistress Gavranter said, cutting across whatever insult Mistress Quendester was about to fling at him. “Are you certain this northeastern heading is their true route?”
“Yes. Positive.”
“Then proceed,” the white-haired magician said. “And hurry.”
They rode across snowy fields now, Evon taking the most direct route rather than trying to follow the roads. He learned to triangulate the course Speculatus took, cutting across corners, only once having to backtrack to pick up the scent again. Twice they caught sight of the heat shimmer of a magical trap, no doubt Odelia’s work, both times before it could go off; Evon guessed they were avoiding dozens more with the route they were taking. Finally they reached the broad highway that led northeast from Belicath to Ostradon and from there all the way to Matra. The scent followed it precisely, and so did they, able to keep up a faster gait on the smoothly paved road. Carriages that would normally have expected the right of way pulled aside for the contingent of horses riding all-out along the highway. Evon leaned forward along his horse’s neck and urged it on, chafing at the delays when they had to slow to keep from exhausting the horses. The scent was stronger now, but it was growing dark, and Evon despaired as twilight fell and the trail showed no sign of coming to an end.
“Mr. Lorantis,” Mistress Gavranter said, coming up beside him, “we will have to stop for the night. I believe we can make Ostradon in half an hour.” She reached out and took his arm, awkwardly because of the motion of both their horses. “I am sorry for the delay, but we will find her. Speculatus can’t afford to kill her, not and obtain the secret of the fire spell.”
Evon looked at her. In the fading light, he thought he saw compassion in her eyes. Can everyone see how I feel? “I understand,” he said. “I’ll see if they went through Ostradon. It makes no sense to continue on tonight.”
Mistress Gavranter patted his arm again. “That spell of yours really is remarkable.”
“It was hard-won. You’re not going to like learning it,” he warned her.
She laughed, a delicate bell-like trill much higher pitched than her speaking voice. “I haven’t gotten to be this age without learning many things I didn’t enjoy. Good luck, Mr. Lorantis.” She dropped back into the gloom.
Evon sagged. He’d been so certain they could find her today. Unwanted images tried to rear up in front of his eyes again; he ruthlessly brushed them aside and refused to think of Kerensa alone among her captors. He concentrated so hard on blocking those images that he almost didn’t notice that the scent had changed. He stopped and looked around. They were riding through a small forest of pines, heavily laden with snow that the moonlight reflected off, and by that light he saw a smaller road, unpaved, that left the highway going east, toward the mountains. The scent turned to follow that road.
“Wait!” he shouted, and guided his horse a few steps along the road. It was certain. Kerensa had gone this way. He returned to the group and sought out Mistress Gavranter. “It’s definitely this way,” he told her. “I wish I knew how long ago.”
“We’re all tired,” a thin magician with plump cheeks said. “We should rest in Ostradon and return in the morning. I don’t think it’s a good idea to face their magicians when we’re in this state.”
“Mistress Gavranter, we have no idea what’s at the end of this road,” Evon said, “and by morning they may have moved on again. We have to pursue this.”
Mistress Gavranter considered him, his desperation, and said, “Mr. Lorantis, I suggest that you and your friend follow the road until you have a sense of what we face, then join us in Ostradon. Do not engage Speculatus if you find them.” She gave him a look that said she did know exactly why Evon was on this journey and warned him: if you want your woman back, don’t be a fool.
“I understand, Mistress Gavranter.” They arranged a rendezvous point in Ostradon, and then Piercy and Evon rode off along the side road while the magicians and agents proceeded north. It was even more overgrown than the main road, and dark under the branches where no snow had been able to fall. Evon ducked to avoid a low branch and said, “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
“Which this? The part where we are riding along in the ebon-black heart of winter’s night toward what may be our certain doom, or the part where I came to you asking for help to find the Fearsome Firemage?”
“All right,” Evon said, amused despite himself, “so we did some mutual dragging. But right now I’m beginning to think Mistress Gavranter was right, and we should have waited until morning.”
“You needed something to do, and she took pity on you, lovesick fool that you are. And I am along to ensure that you do not go racing off to the rescue and get yourself killed by a hundred Speculatus agents.”
“Do you really think there are a hundred of them?”
“No. But there might be fifty.”
“There couldn’t have been that many that took Kerensa, or someone would have noticed—”
They came out of the woods into a wide plain covered in snow that gleamed pale blue in the moonlight. Far ahead, at the end of the road, lay an enormous manor house blazing with light, with a pillared entrance capped with snow and two pointed towers flanking it like a pair of giants protecting a fifty-foot-tall treasure chest. Dark shadows passed in front of its lower windows, sentries making their rounds in well-trodden paths in the snow. The house rose four stories high and was made of red or brown brick; the towers were made of what looked like white stone, though it was hard to tell their true color in the white-yellow light of the magic-lit lamps that burned in every window. Evon looked closer at the sentries. Smaller shadows paced beside them—dogs on leashes. Evon and Piercy looked at one another, then slowly moved their horses back into the comforting concealment of the forest.
“I am not going in there alone,” Piercy said, “though I love Kerensa like the sister I wish I had in place of my own.”
“I agree,” Evon said. “Much as it kills me to.” He dug in his inner pocket for his mirror. “I’ll tell Mistress Gavranter what we’ve found. Then we’ll make a plan.”
***
“We aren’t at our best, after riding all afternoon,” Mistress Gavranter said. They were once again gathered at the intersection where the smaller road left the main road. Evon saw disgruntlement and open annoyance on several faces. He had to find a way to convince them.
“It’s dark,” he said, “which gives us an advantage we won’t have come the morning. And the longer we delay, the more time they’ll have to improve their defenses. They know we’ll come after them, but they won’t expect us here so quickly—they have to believe their traps and obscurations slowed us down.”
“I, for one, am not keen on the idea of that weapon remaining in Speculatus hands one second longer than it has to,” the balding magician said. “Belitha, I know we’re all tired, but we’re none of us that exhausted that we can’t perform.”
“I disagree,” Mistress Quendester said. “We ought not to attempt to retrieve the weapon until we
’re physically and mentally at our peak.”
“They won’t have more than five or six magicians,” Evon said. “And they won’t be expecting us.”
“Mistress Gavranter, I think we should attempt an assault,” Mrs. Petelter said, surprising Evon, who’d become accustomed to the idea that Home Defense had become irrelevant now that the magicians were here. “We’ve heard rumors of a Speculatus stronghold in this area, and it sounds as though this is it. We’d be wasting our advantage if we didn’t strike now.”
Mistress Gavranter looked from one person to another and ended with her gaze on Evon. “How certain are you about the number of magicians?” she asked.
“Ah...well, it would take five magicians working together to blanket a building the size of the inn with desini cucurri that creates a paralysis lasting ten hours,” he said. He’d done the calculations in his head on the road, desperately trying to keep his mind off Kerensa. “And Piercy tells me—you can confirm this, Mrs. Petelter—that Speculatus doesn’t have many magicians as a whole. He said it was why they recruited our old classmates so intensely. So it’s unlikely they would have more magicians than they needed for that desini cucurri. And there are no magical defenses on that manor, no shields or anything like that, so they don’t have enough magicians to spare maintaining them. So I estimate no more than seven magicians, and more likely only six.”
“I agree with your reasoning,” Mistress Gavranter said, “but I’m concerned about your report about the non-magical defenses and the location. It will be difficult to get close without being seen and losing our advantage.”
“Piercy is working on that. He’s a sneaky bast— sorry, a sneaky fellow when he wants to be. He’s examining the patrol pattern and looking for a hole we can exploit. And, forgive me, but shouldn’t a group of magicians this powerful be able to create a few camouflaging shields?”
“Camouflage, yes, but it’s hard to move a group this size quietly.”
The Smoke-Scented Girl Page 17