After the sun set, Ellasif munched on a sweet apple and paced a perimeter just outside the campfire’s light. Balev had assigned pickets at four points, but Ellasif’s watch did not begin until the small hours. She knew she should catch her sleep soon, but she felt restless, and walking helped her digest the thick venison stew the Varisians had shared in generous helpings. Unless the caravan saw some action soon, this job threatened to give her a merchant’s paunch.
Before she’d stretched her legs enough to settle onto her bedroll, Ellasif noticed one of the girls who’d been flirting with Avari kneeling beside his packs and bedroll. She remembered hearing Timoteo call the girl Vira earlier. Avari remained near the fire, now flanked by another pair of chatty women. Despite all of his city education, Avari had fallen for one of the world’s oldest ruses. The proof of his fallibility in such matters brought a smile to Ellasif’s lips. As she moved quietly toward the girl opening one of Declan’s packs, her smile turned grim.
“I can’t imagine how Varisians developed this unfair reputation as thieves,” she said.
Vira startled and froze. Ellasif saw in her eyes that an excuse was already taking shape in her mind. She opened her mouth to voice it, but Ellasif silenced her with a disapproving cluck of her tongue.
“You were merely making yourself ready to surprise him as he came to bed,” Ellasif suggested. “Or you were going to wash his clothes as a favor. Maybe you left him a flower as a symbol of your esteem.”
Vira smiled ruefully. She said, “One of those, yes.” She closed the flap on a familiar leather traveling satchel and patted it wistfully.
“Balev took the Korvosan’s coin,” said Ellasif. “Yet I saw their color glow in your eyes.”
“Do not tell Balev,” said Vira. “I beg you.”
That was reassuring. If Vira feared the captain’s reaction, Ellasif could count on some semblance of discipline within the caravan. The question now was whether it was better to rely upon Balev’s authority or to place her confidence in this clumsy little conniver. It was really no choice at all, since Ellasif carried so little weight with the captain.
Ellasif sighed. “If Avari finds anything missing—”
“He won’t,” promised Vira.
Ellasif shot a hard finger into Vira’s belly. Vira gasped, but not in pain. Ellasif’s finger struck the rigid, flat surface of a book hidden beneath the Varisian’s shift. Ellasif put out a hand, and Vira sighed again before removing the stolen book and surrendering it.
“Don’t let me catch you sniffing around things that aren’t yours,” said Ellasif. Remembering how she’d stung Gisanto, she added, “You little squirrel.”
Vira smiled as though Ellasif had called her by an affectionate nickname. She darted away.
Ellasif opened the book and found that it still contained only a single illustrated page, as it had when she’d left it for Declan at Basha’s shop. She returned to her own pack, looked around to be sure she was not observed, and removed the other book. The distant firelight was barely enough to make out the images. The subject matter was different—one depicted a lonely milkmaid, the other an adventurous noblewoman—but both were notable for their lascivious subject matter and their magical animation. This was one unusual wizard she had been sent after.
She casually wandered over to Avari’s spot and slipped the book back into his pack. Satisfied she had done so unseen, she returned her own copy to her pack and moved her bedroll to gain a clearer view of the spot Declan had chosen for himself. If Ellasif understood Vira as well as she hoped, the little squirrel would soon chatter all to her sisters. If they had half the good sense Vira had demonstrated, they would realize Avari’s purse was off limits for the duration of the trip. Just in case, Ellasif would keep an eye on the young wizard.
On the next day the meadows gave way to rolling foothills. The morning dawned warm and clear, but strong winds stirred around the hills. Hawks wheeled overhead while ravens called their fellows to join in a feast of carrion. The tall grass was full of grouse. From time to time one of them danced away from the caravans, dragging a wing to appear easy prey. Foolish birds, Ellasif noted, to nest so near the road.
As the thought formed, a grouse burst out of a cluster of grass ahead.
Ellasif strung her short bow.
“Do you plan to hunt?” Balev asked.
“Something scared up the grouse.”
“A merchant caravan, perhaps?” Balev’s suggestion held a hint of sarcasm.
“And the bird flew toward us, not away.”
The captain considered her point. “Perhaps a few of the guards should ride ahead.”
“Just two,” Ellasif said. “This could be a ruse to lure the fighters away from the caravan.”
Balev nodded his approval. “Choose one fighter to accompany you. Anyone but Gisanto.”
Ellasif beckoned to Camillor. The young Varisian looked to his captain. Balev shrugged. “Do as she says.”
They rode forward. When they reached the spot where the grouse had emerged, the caravan lay yards behind them. A gentle cooing came from the grass, a sound as sleepy as a lullaby. Camillor grew drowsy, dull-eyed.
Ellasif leaned over and swatted him on the cheek. Camillor barely registered her touch, so she slapped him smartly. He blinked and shook his head, but not in time.
A tiny black creature shot up out of the grass. Ellasif snapped her bow up and got off the shot.
The arrow tore through the imp’s wing and sent it spinning to the ground. The pony snorted an equine battle cry and stamped at the imp.
Ellasif recognized its wicked little head. It was Jamang’s familiar, the fiend he’d called Vexer.
The tiny devil snatched one of the pony’s legs and climbed, talons digging into the thick blue hide. The pony screamed and reared back. Ellasif dropped her bow and gripped the pony’s mane to hold on.
Vexer leaped up at Ellasif, raking at her with teeth and talons, hot spittle spraying from its savage little jaws.
They fell from the saddle and rolled into the grass. Ellasif pinned the creature and drew a knife from her belt. She drove it down hard, but the blade plunged only into the grassy soil.
The imp had vanished.
Ellasif heard a cackling taunt from above. She looked up to see the black imp hovering with some difficulty due to its injured wing. It jabbered in some tongue Ellasif could only presume was spoken in the depths of Hell, and jerked its fingers, arms, legs, and tail in the most spectacular show of vulgar gestures she had ever witnessed.
If she did not wish so badly to rip the little monster in half, she might have grinned at the sight.
As it was, it was all she could do not to gape when she glimpsed a flash of blue swooping toward her foe. The interloper was almost the same color as the blue sky, and when it struck the imp it knocked the devil tumbling to the ground only seven or eight feet from Ellasif. She rushed forward, sword high to dispatch the foe, but then she saw she was too late. Its scrawny body lay limp and headless.
Camillor ran up beside her, sword in hand. As Ellasif withdrew from the stench emanating from the imp’s mortal wound, Gisanto and Timoteo arrived, along with Declan Avari. The mapmaker turned his face away as a sky-blue house drake flapped frantically upon his arm like a startled falcon returning to its master. The little drake spat out a glistening black lump. As it hit the ground and bloodied the surrounding grass, Ellasif recognized the imp’s head.
“I was wondering whether you’d show up,” said Avari. The dragon’s response was a constant thrusting of his blackened tongue while he gagged and spat. Avari tried and failed to swallow his laughter, and the indignant drake flew away to perch on one of the Varisian wagons.
Gisanto shot Avari a curious look, then shook his head and turned to Camillor and a matter he understood. “You were slow to attack.”
“It’s not his fault,” Ellasif said. �
�The imp’s magic slowed him.”
“It had no effect on you.”
“I’m obstinate,” she said with a shrug. “And I’ve dealt with such imps before. It may be that I’ve built up immunity, as one does when one lives near snakes.”
“Or swamp nettles,” Timoteo observed. Behind him, the rest of the caravan approached.
There was a general laugh at Gisanto’s expense. The big warrior gave the singer a good-natured punch in the arm and climbed back into the saddle. He gestured for the others to follow him back to the caravan, leaving only Camillor and Avari with Ellasif.
“It was kind of you to excuse my failings,” Camillor said.
“What failings? Once I had the imp engaged in battle, its power over you faded. If I’d needed help, you would have given it.”
“Most gladly,” he said. He offered her a gallant little bow and a smile that trod dangerously close to a leer.
“But she did not need your help,” Avari said. He sounded irritated, and Ellasif could not imagine why.
A shadow passed over Camillor’s face. “Viland Balev hires only competent fighters. Obviously, this shield maiden is no exception.”
“No, she isn’t.” The emphasis on “she” was just subtle enough to leave some doubt as to whether or not Camillor had been insulted.
“I have no need to prove myself to you,” Camillor said.
Avari stepped closer to Ellasif and sent Camillor a level stare. “That matter we discussed the first evening? I believe I’ve changed my mind. Thanks for your offer to respect my claim. It makes things simpler.”
The young Varisian’s face darkened, but he gave a curt nod and vaulted into his saddle. Ellasif watched him ride away.
“What was all that about?” Ellasif concealed her disgust at Avari’s presumptuous claim. She knew perfectly well what they were talking about, but she was wise enough not to let on that she’d been eavesdropping.
“I just wanted a private word with you.”
“It must be important, to risk angering the one person in this company who likes me.”
Avari wrinkled his nose as if he’d smelled something rank. “The imp you chased off. It’s likely it was following me.”
Ellasif had already come to that conclusion, but she wanted to know how he’d learned of the necromancer’s death.
“Why would an imp be following you?”
“I failed to obey the wishes of a certain necromancer. He was a vengeful sort.”
“Was?”
“I have reason to believe he is dead,” Declan said. “But before his death, he sent an imp to attack me.”
“That must have been frightening,” ventured Ellasif.
“Not really,” he said with a shrug. “Someone chased off the imp. I heard about it only later.”
Ellasif considered this news. If someone had witnessed her fight with the imp and told Declan about it, he might also know of her involvement. But if he did not, pressing the matter might make him suspicious.
“Since you have enemies, you should be prepared to fight them. When we stop, let’s see what you can do with that sword.”
He eyed her dubiously. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
The rest of the caravan caught up with them. Gisanto clapped Declan on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, brother. There is no shame in fighting a woman. This one can handle herself.”
“That’s what concerns me,” Declan said, drawing a chuckle from the nearby Varisians.
By the time they stopped for their midday break, Avari pretended to have forgotten her suggestion, so Ellasif fetched him and nearly dragged him to a clear spot. She’d hoped they could work in private, but it was no use. Before they had even drawn their swords, Gisanto and half a dozen others arrived to form an audience. Ellasif noticed that the big Varisian warrior had cut the rest of his hair short since the loss of one of his braids. She thought of telling him the new cut looked good, but that was as likely to spark new anger as to soothe his hurt feelings.
After a few initial exchanges, Ellasif was pleased to see that Avari’s parries were strong, if a little slow, but he did not counterattack as often as he should to disrupt his foe’s advantage. She showed him a few simplified alternatives to his existing repertoire. To become good with them, he would need only practice.
“Go ahead, Mouse,” said Gisanto. Ellasif sighed, hoping that name would not stick to her. “Show him some of your cunning.”
The other Varisians shouted agreement, and Avari lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Your cunning?”
“You would call them dirty tricks.”
Avari nodded. “I’m game,” he said, but then a thought darkened his eyes, and he stepped close. “On the other hand, since you got off on the wrong foot with some of these men, perhaps you’d rather keep them a surprise.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I have plenty of tricks.”
“All the same,” he said, but before he could continue, Balev bellowed the order to resume travel. Gisanto and his friends groaned in disappointment, but they moved quickly when the captain called. Avari and Ellasif did the same, and she made sure to ride beside him.
“I see you can use a sword. What else can you do to help the caravan?”
He shrugged. “Out here in the wild? I can do this and that. I can read the stars a little. I know how to catch a fish and sail a small ship. I know which mushrooms can be eaten and which should be avoided.”
He said not a word about the spells she knew he could cast or the strange moving art he’d created. She knew she had the person the winter witch had demanded, but Ellasif could not understand why Avari, or anyone for that matter, would pretend not to wield such powers.
“These are useful talents,” said Ellasif. “I did not expect a wizard to have learned such mundane skills.”
“I’m not a wizard.”
“That little dragon,” said Ellasif. “I assumed he was your familiar.”
“Ha!” said Declan. “He assumes that, too. But no, he’s just a neighbor. More like a friend of the family, really.”
“But you do know magic, don’t you?”
Avari sighed. “I studied for a few years, but I’m done with that.” Before Ellasif could ask why, he anticipated her question. “Let’s just say I’ve learned enough about magic not to put my faith in it.”
Ellasif grunted approval at Avari’s philosophy. No matter how dearly she loved Liv, she had no love for the magic and the fear of it that had made her sister a pariah among their own people. The irony that she required a wizard, then, to rescue her witch sister was not lost on her. Ellasif supposed she could understand why Avari might prefer to be known as a mapmaker. “If that is how you feel,” she said, “then you are smarter than you look.”
Chapter Eight
The Tangled Skein
A few days after leaving Korvosa, the caravan passed the village of Harse by the Falcon River. The settlement was small and of no particular interest to Declan, but he was relieved to have the break. He was unaccustomed to riding more than a couple of hours at a time, so three days of travel had left him stiff and sore. He was glad he had decided to travel light, and he was sure his horse felt the same way. His pack contained only two sets of spare clothing, a pair of thick woolen blankets, and a tin cup and plate. In addition, Declan had brought along Jamang’s satchel, which he had recovered from Basha. It now contained the caricature book, a sheaf of fresh parchments for sketches, a small parcel of charcoal sticks, a sketchbook, and the small spellbook he had retrieved from the Unicorn.
Ferrying the caravan across the river, two carts at a time, took the better part of the afternoon. The Varisians used the time to good effect trading for Korvosan goods. By the way they stood so close to the locals and shared a smoke afterward, Declan guessed they were selling flayleaf and perhaps thileu bark. He did not know whether s
uch drugs were legal in Harse, but he decided to stay well away from the traders just in case. The last thing he needed was an excuse for some greedy constable to confiscate his purse as a fine.
He recalled from some otherwise forgotten university course that Harse was founded by a mapmaker, and his legacy remained in one of the finest map and folio shops Declan had ever seen. He selected equipment he would need for his own work: a small astrolabe and sextant, ink, quills, parchment, and a waterproof bag to hold them. It was about time he began doing more than rough sketches from time to time. Even the Varisians, whom he suspected kept their own maps on the parchment of their memory, would suspect his ruse given enough time.
The Varisian caravan continued until after dusk, when they made camp just outside the city. Declan was beginning to realize there would be few opportunities to spend the night in a soft bed, for the Varisians preferred their independence—and freedom from taxes, tolls, and levies—to the comforts of a city. Despite the fatigue that had burrowed down into his bones, he remained awake long enough to make a few rough calculations from the position of the stars. Without the proper equipment, he was able to make only the crudest of approximations, and he resolved to correct that problem as soon as he could.
Two days later they reached Baslwief, a mining town beneath a fortress on the Sarwin River in the foothills of the Fenwall Mountains. Declan was greatly relieved to hear they would spend a few hours in the village. Among the Varisian and Chelish humans, Declan noted a higher proportion of halflings than he had ever seen. Unlike those few who lived in Korvosa, these halflings walked with a proud demeanor suggesting that here, if not in other human settlements, they were equal partners in the community. Declan liked that notion. Such a town promised safety and a line of shops willing to barter.
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