Touched By Magic (The King's Wolf Saga)

by Doranna Durgin

  The man grunted. "The whole conversation is foolishness," he said. "But then, I'm a fool. I sent my guard packing two nights ago. He was sleeping through his watch when he wasn't borrowing a horse to spend an hour or two in the low water section of town. I tried to hire an outsider, but they chased him off in a night. He looked to be as good a man as you."

  "Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't." Reandn avoided the wet questing snuffle of a mare who'd just taken a drink. He straightened her forelock and scratched around her ears, listening.

  "We realized what we were into quick enough—but we agreed that the pilfering was less than when we had no guards at all. It seemed safer to go along."

  "And now it's been some time, and they're getting a little bolder. Raised their fees a few times. Grown careless about keeping up appearances." Reandn gave the mare a final pat and pushed her head away, straightening to face the dealer. The man's dour expression confirmed his words. "Meanwhile, I hear robberies on the roads have increased, and the Locals haven't been able to track down the brigands."

  "I don't know about the last," the man admitted.

  "You would, if your merchants' organization was working with the Locals instead of handling this on their own."

  The dealer's face set in a stubborn expression. "We got into this on our own, and we'll get out of it on our own."

  Too embarrassed, more likely. Until things got worse—as they inevitably would.

  "And now," the dealer told said, "do you still want to stand watch for the sake of that bay?"

  "Let's try him," Reandn said.

  The man gave him an even, unreadable look. "There are better animals in that corral."

  "I can't stay long enough to work off one of the better animals," Reandn said bluntly, following it up with a short, single shake of his head as the man opened his mouth. "Part of the deal—I don't answer those questions."

  Nimbly changing words in mid-stride, the man said, "I'll get his gear."

  Reandn waited by the gate while the merchant actually did quite a bit more. He forked out a copious amount of hay for the horses at the hayrack, who were starting to get crabby. He opened the little tack shed off the hay storage, propped up the awning that shaded the doorway, and then unshuttered the window. At last he emerged with bridle and saddle in tow. Flinging the saddle over the top rail, he handed the bridle to Reandn.

  "There you are," he said. "If I'm to have you around my stock, I'll want to see how you handle them. So suppose you go in there and get him."

  "Without boots?" Reandn said, and grinned as the dealer eyed his feet in surprise—but this time closed his mouth on any questions. Without comment, he grabbed the rope that hung over a post and slipped into the corral, threading his way through the horses, touching backs and shoulders and shushing reassuringly through his teeth until he came to the bay. He slid the rope around the horse's neck, high up behind the jaw, and led it out to Reandn.

  The bay rolled an eye as Reandn lifted the bridle, but his mouth was full of hay and the attempt to look menacing failed outright. His flattened ears only made the bridle easier to pull on, and most of his attention focused on recapturing the hay he was losing around the bit. Reandn pressed the reins into the merchant's hand so he could grab the saddle.

  Careful as he was, the bay still humped up his back and raised a threatening hind foot as the girth tightened against him. Reandn left it and moved to the horse's head, aware of the merchant's sharp eyes.

  "Do you put all your hires through this little routine?" Reandn asked, meeting those eyes with a sharp gaze of his own. The horse was a test of sorts, there was no doubt about that. He lifted the bay's lips to check his teeth, satisfied to find the horse was under seven. Just a youngster at that.

  "Nope." The man smiled, displaying crooked teeth. "Just the ones who seem to think they have mettle."

  The horse pulled away from Reandn's examination; he took the reins and walked it in a few circles. "If I get up after he kicks the fire out of me, I've got mettle, is that it?" He raised a sardonic eyebrow at the dealer, eased the girth tighter, and circled the other direction.

  "Being able to keep him from kicking you is a pretty good sign, too," the man said, not the least disturbed with Reandn's annoyance...and just a little too complacent at that. Reandn eyed him, giving the girth a final tug. Then, with one last look at the unfamiliar southern-style saddle and bit, he aimed the horse toward the road out of town, and mounted—

  Hells, yes, here we go!

  The horse exploded into motion, giving an exuberant crow-hop before taking off at top speed—and Reandn almost fell off out of sheer surprise at the unexpected feel of the gait. He'd been ready to sit a bolting gallop or leap into bucking—the dealer's face had told him that much—and instead the horse rocked beneath him, a swift rolling motion accompanied by an almost even four-beating pattern of hooves. What the Hells?

  But once he caught the rhythm, the movement was easy enough to stick. Reandn settled deeply into the saddle, gathering the reins.

  The bay raised its head high in the air and moved even faster.

  All right then. The road was smooth enough, wide enough, and long enough. Reandn let it run—or whatever it was doing—until its breathing finally grew labored. Then he stiffened his back against the horse's rolling movement and tightened his fingers, a mere flex of the rein. Two furry black ears swiveled back to think about him.

  "Easy," Reandn told the ears, a soothing murmur. Abruptly, the bay's head came down from its sky-gazing and tucked rightly into its chest—an evasion of another sort; still they traveled at full speed.

  Might as well give it a try.... Keeping his voice low, Reandn said, "Ho, son—" and then nearly went over the bay's head when it did just that. Blowing, bobbing its head and chewing on the bit, it flicked anxious ears at him while the first of the morning's traffic met them on the way to market.

  "I see," Reandn said, and took a deep breath. "All right, then. Easy does it."

  With the slightest twitch of his fingers, the easiest shift of his weight, Reandn suggested the horse turn around and walk back to the market. In halting steps, nodding anxiously, the horse did as requested, curling his neck up tight even though the reins were loose. "Relax," Reandn told it, and asked for a trot.

  To his surprise, the bay gave a weird hop and hit the same rocking gait as before—albeit at a more reasonable speed. They arrived back at the corral in a much more dignified manner than they had departed. Reandn stopped the horse with a murmur and dropped the reins against its lathered neck to stare at the dealer. "The first thing we do," he said flatly, "is get him a different bit. One he won't run from."

  "Then...you want him," the man said, in flat disbelief.

  "If he's shown me the worst of it, he'll do." He patted the horse's wet shoulder and straightened a bit of mane, giving the man a meaningful eye.

  The dealer shrugged, not in the least abashed. "It's a good way to judge a man, the way he reacts to a scared horse. With his gait, I didn't figure you'd hit the ground."

  "Unless I fell off from surprise, you mean." Reandn dismounted and went to check the bay's mouth more carefully. The bay tossed his head away from the inspection, flinging foam and spit on both men.

  The dealer made a face and wiped his sleeve off. "You are green to the area," he said. "You must have come over water if you didn't run into one of these racking horses on the trip down—you'll never go back to your northern-bred trotters after this, I’ll take that bet."

  "I'll have to go North to have the chance," Reandn said. "Which I won't be doing on this horse unless we can come to an agreement."

  "Three weeks' watch for the horse," the dealer said promptly.

  Reandn laughed. "You figure I won't last that long. Think you'll get some work out of me and then hang on to the horse as well."

  The man contrived to look offended. "Two silvers in three weeks is damn good pay for night watch."

  I'll walk out of here barefoot before I wait that long. "Assumin
g the horse is worth two silvers—and the work's routine." The dealer looked away, silent...unable to argue the truth of that. "I want him in two weeks, plus his gear. You bring along some of your breakfast and lunch for me, and let me sleep the morning in your shed."

  "Breakfast and lunch!" the man repeated, taken by surprise at the request.

  Reandn grinned at him. "Think about it, trader. If I last two weeks, it may inspire your friends to join you. If not, you lose nothing." He lowered his voice, giving the man a look from beneath lowered brow, his voice going hard. "But don't make this deal unless you're prepared to keep it, because I intend to leave here in two weeks on the back of that horse."

  The merchant stepped back, eyeing him. However he'd gotten into his mess, there was no foolishness in his gaze now. "What makes you so sure you'll last even one night?" he said, giving Reandn an obvious once-over—no boots, a shirt to his name, a man of average size and lingering signs of illness.

  Reandn's grin turned feral. "I am a King’s Wolf, meir."

  The man's gaze went to the crest on Reandn's vest, widening for an instant as he placed it; his eyes skipped over the leather lacing of rank over the crest without recognition; just as well. "So," he said, and turned away, his expression thoughtful.

  He looked back out into the corral, watching his threatened livelihood settle into patient horseflesh, stomping a leg in protest of flies here, flapping a mane there. "So," the man repeated. "My name is Bergren. I believe we've come to an agreement."

  "Be sure," Reandn said. "These two weeks could get interesting."

  The man nodded. "I'm sure."

  Reandn patted the bay's shoulder. "I'll be back this evening, then. I want this horse ready to go. Muffle his feet, and in the name of Ardrith, get me a different bit for him. One without shanks."

  Bergren hesitated, but at Reandn's hard look, nodded. Then his gaze traveled down Reandn's legs to stop at his dusty feet, flicking upwards again, looking away as he kept his remarks to himself.

  "I've just now made a deal for a horse," Reandn said, not hiding the irritation of his situation. "I'll get to the boots eventually."

  He left Bergren holding the bay's reins. Reandn turned back after he'd gone just a few steps—and in the corner of his eye, saw movement by the edge of Bergren's pavilion—a long morning shadow quick across the dusty ground. Something to watch.

  "Bergren—" he said, catching the man's eyes again, holding them for a moment. "We know each other's secrets now. Keep mine, or I give this whole thing to the Locals."

  "I think we understand one another," Bergren said stiffly, his fingers clutching the bay's reins like a man buffeted by the wind.

  For all Reandn knew, it might not truly matter; Farren might even now be spreading those secrets through all of Maurant. But he didn't think so; the wizard wouldn’t alienate him so carelessly—at least, not until he had that which he wanted.

  Reandn stopped by the pavilion as he left, casting a quick eye on the scuffed imprints in the damp dirt, flicking his gaze out to follow them to the tie circles.

  There, Tanager was busy with his first customers, a long morning shadow in the dust.

  ~~~~~

  Reandn set his feet on the road back to town, and the dusty toes at which Bergren had stared were glad it was only a mile to the main streets of Maurant. He quickly found his way back to the Forgotten Unicorn, where he could get a meal big enough to last him through the day—for he had only a few more parscores in his pocket, and not since Adela had gotten hold of him had he turned his skills to thievery.

  Adela. His steady stride faltered; he stopped in the middle of the pine-lined road, wrapped in grief—choking in it.

  No. Enough. More than enough. He had other things to do, important things—things that would take him back to Ronsin and revenge. But it was his own awareness of himself that finally bought him control—red-eyed, unshaven, unwashed, standing in the middle of the road with his face wet and his jaw clenching. Big bad Wolf.

  He scrubbed his hands across his face and started to think again. Bergren and Farren each had their own interest in keeping his secrets, but there was no reason anyone else would. He took off his vest and sat on a protruding pine root to remove the most obvious clue to his identity.

  It was slow, working the tip of his small boot knife between the stitches of his patrol crest. But every tiny, carefully placed stitch of bright thread on that patch was Adela's handiwork—all he had left of her, of his life in the Keep.

  When he eased the crest away from the leather, the unweathered spot was obvious, but not as obvious as the emblem itself. In time the leather would darken and the stitch holes would close. He shoved the patch into the sleeve of his shirt, tied a knot at the wrist to hold it, and then pulled the leather lacing of his rank from the vest as well. The punched lacing holes would hardly "heal" like Adela's finer stitches, but even a Local would have trouble recognizing his rank without the lacing. He put on the vest, picked up the shirt, and resolutely headed for town.

  When he and his empty stomach arrived at the Unicorn, Hurley was back at the door, loitering into the street up to the edges of the shade. His expression upon seeing Reandn brightened, but he shook his head as Reandn headed for the tavern's entrance. "Not open."

  "And yet you watch the door." Reandn tried to keep his tone reasonable. Every smart Wolf knew that survival sometimes meant not fighting at all—even a Wolf with a temper.

  "You saying I lie?"

  Ania had spoken ruefully about the big man's penchant for picking victims—and then picking a fight. The grief inside Reandn reawakened, curling into tendrils of anger looking for an outlet. "I'm saying," he replied, far too evenly, "that I'm hungry." Beyond Hurley, he could see figures moving around inside the Unicorn. "Looks like you just opened. Going to let me in?"

  "I don't think I want to," Hurley said, with evidence in his expression that he'd given the decision great thought.

  "Hurley." Ania poked her head out the door, apparently endowed with a sixth sense when it came time for the big man to make trouble. Her voice held the same tone the Keep Houndmaster used with misbehaving puppies. "If you're bored, I'm sure Kelton can find chores for you."

  "Leave off, Ania," Hurley said, his voice gone flat.

  Ania turned to Reandn—and hesitated, taken aback at what she saw on his face. "Just let me get Kelton," she said, and her voice held a note of pleading. "He can handle this. Hurley, you big oaf, why don't you just go down and work it off in a dock fight? Oh, Dark Lady—" She plunged back into the Unicorn, probably in quest of the tavern's owner.

  Saxe would have marveled, Reandn thought, that the peace between Wolf and guard had lasted this long.

  But not much longer. Sweat trickled down his back as he stood at bay in the direct sunlight. "I'm hungry. The Unicorn's open. Are you going to let me in?"

  With anticipation, Hurley stepped forward.

  "Back off," Reandn told the big man, growling the deep notes.

  "Troublemaker!" Hurley said it with startling glee, and lunged.

  Reandn met him, ducked the grasp of two arms intent on crushing him, rammed the heel of his hand under the man's chin and slipped away. No prolonging this one, not with his stamina so low. He caught an arm as it flailed for balance, twisted it quickly up and behind, and dropped Hurley with a kick behind the knee. The crack of the arm was unmistakable, and still he used it to drive Hurley into the cobbles; the man's head hit in a second crack, quickly muffled by the deadened thud of the bulky body against the ground.

  Silence. It had taken only seconds.

  Suddenly the hot, quiet street had more than its share of people, and Ania was one of them. Behind her was a short, big-chested and balding man who could only be Kelton; on the man's face was an eye-rolling look of exasperation. More disturbing, however, was the man now at Reandn's side, the one wearing a crest of the colorful flag of Maurant—a Local.

  But worst of all, walking up the street with a face full of curiosity, was Farren'
s daughter Lina.

  She took in the scene, fixing him with a withering stare. "I suppose you're responsible for this."

  "That's what I'd like to know." The Local took a broad stance, hands on his belt. He was a man weathered by sun and age, with a spare frame and an expression that said he was not interested in nonsense.

  Ania frowned at the Local, but couldn't get her mouth open before Kelton's rueful response. "Why even ask? You know Hurley starts these things."

  The man rubbed thoughtfully at the slight tobacco stain at the corner of his mouth. "True enough. But then, Hurley always wins. Didn't think he'd pick a fight he couldn't."

  Kelton looked sourly at his injured employee, who was beginning to stir, huff and moan. "I'm sure the outcome was a complete surprise to him."

  "Please," Ania said. "Must he go to the cells? He'll need care—and maybe he's had punishment enough."

  The Local's lips closed tightly over his stained teeth as he looked from Hurley to Reandn, raking the Wolf with a one-stare assessment. "I'll agree with you there. And you—" he said to Reandn, "ought to know we don't tolerate this kind of thing here. If it happens again, things'll end differently."

  "Now, wait—" Ania stepped forward, even as Kelton's hand landed lightly on her shoulder. "He wasn't at fault—"

  "Never mind," Reandn interrupted, earning her surprise. He'd understood the message. The Local had seen...the Local had recognized. If not Wolf, the skill involved. This was warning: Reandn was not to unleash that skill—or temper—again.

  Reandn met the man's narrowed gaze and nodded; the Local gave a short nod in return, and, satisfied, stepped out of the circle of people. "I'll send Rierdon to see to him," he told Kelton. "Best bone-setter in town."

  Kelton knelt at the big man's side and said firmly, "Be still," when Hurley stirred. He called after the Local, "Make sure he brings several stout men with him."

  Reandn eased past his fallen opponent, out of the reach of Lina and other too-curious eyes. "Come for a meal?" Ania said, at his side.

  "Didn't come for the fight," Reandn said shortly. He sent her a direct look, brow raised. "If I'm still welcome in here."