Touched By Magic (The King's Wolf Saga)

by Doranna Durgin

  Suspicious and confused, Tanager cast a quick look over his shoulder to ensure there were no customers waiting. "You come in here every evening," he said. "Are you part of the night guards now?"

  "What do you think?" Reandn shifted his weight to one hip in a loose-jointed way and cocked his head at the boy.

  "I don't know what to think about you," Tanager said bluntly, and flushed. "Pa-farren says you're all right...he says you make bad decisions, but you're not a bad person."

  "I doubt I changed his mind today—or that I ever will. And you might want to get that sorrel before it wanders completely out of reach."

  Tanager's head jerked around; he quickly spotted the loose mare at his tie area. With a muttered curse, he loped after the horse.

  "Now there's a fine boy," Bergren said from behind.

  Reandn looked over his shoulder. "He's certainly concerned about his family."

  "Dark Lady! What happened to your face?" Bergren circled him, towing a small recalcitrant donkey.

  " I took care of a problem at the tavern. It's not serious."

  "No," Bergren agreed. "But appears to me it could have been." His expression sobered, and too damn fast to suit Reandn. "I hope you're still in fine shape for tonight, son. There's been talk...and more trouble."

  Only what to expect from a day that had taken the course of this one. Reandn shrugged. "We'll find out," he said. "Show me some horses, Bergren—one of Shuyler's men is hanging out at the south entrance."

  "Soon as I get this little thing tied up," Bergren said, managing to glance at the entrance without turning his head. "It's been somebody's pet, I guarantee. Useless creature." He cajoled the long-eared problem along with them; once at the corral, the donkey bit Bergren on the arm. The dealer growled and joined Reandn a few posts down.

  "Interesting looking bay you've got in there," Reandn said.

  "He's spoken for," Bergren told him. "Good thing, too. Worthless piece of horseflesh." Reandn just grinned at him. After a moment, Bergren said, "I'm afraid that this has become more than just my problem. Or maybe I should say, I've become everyone else's problem."

  Reandn nodded. "Shuyler's threatened the others if they don't get you tamed, I imagine."

  Bergren put his hands on his stocky hips, and cocked a furry eyebrow at Reandn. "Yes," he said. "No big surprise to you, I can see. Well, the others got the word this morning; we spent the heat of the day trying to figure out a solution."

  "And?" Reandn leaned on the top rail of the corral.

  "We didn't come up with one," Bergren admitted. "But we decided we've had enough of this mess. Instead of pressuring me like Shuyler intended, they've decided it's time to do something about him. They just don't know what." He scratched the back of his neck and contrived to find something in the distance to focus on. "I, umm, allowed as to how you might have some ideas."

  "Two weeks for the horse, Bergren. I didn't promise to be everyone's hero."

  "You're the only one with the kind of experience to deal with Shuyler," Bergren protested.

  Reandn's eyes hardened; he gave the dealer a cold stare, until Bergren understood and added hastily, "No, no, I haven't told them where you got that experience. I...may have given the impression that you've been a mercenary."

  Better a mercenary than a Wolf. "Two weeks for the horse," Reandn repeated, trying to ignore the dark voice of his common sense, telling him the market's precarious balance would never last that long, and neither would he.

  "Things won't hold that long," Bergren said, as if he'd read those thoughts. "Not unless you can protect the entire market—which," he added hastily, "no one expects you to do. But there are going to be accidents at other booths unless something's done—one way or the other—before then." He stared gloomily at the donkey, which was contemplatively sucking its tie rope. "Besides...we didn't see it before, but this morning, we more or less put things together. There's a lot of road thieving going on—one low-placed Highborn was actually killed last week. It started about the time we made our deal with Shuyler."

  Reandn watched the bay bully another gelding away from the hay rack and said quietly, "I do know of a solution."

  "Well, don't keep it to yourself!" Bergren snapped.

  Reandn regarded the dealer in a moment that was meant to be warning. "Get the Locals in on it."

  "Not a chance!" Bergren's face darkened. "I told you that when this started. If the Locals come in here they'll start quoting rules at us, forcing us to their mold. Well, we like things the way they are!"

  Reandn gave him a sharp look. "Do you?"

  The pause was a long one. Bergren looked away, clenched his jaw, and swallowed hard. "That's our choice, then," he said. "Shuyler or the Locals."

  Reandn shrugged, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees. "The only choices I see," he said. "But you worry too much. The Locals have enough to do—they may not be interested in your little corner of Keland once they get it cleaned up."

  Bergren nodded unhappily.

  "Maybe we can renegotiate," Reandn suggested, looking out over the busy market. Business was at its peak and not one merchant was smiling. There might be a way to cut his time here short after all. "Shuyler's gang must have some sort of ultimate safe spot, a bolt hole—otherwise the Locals would have closed in on them. My guess is at least one of these boys will head for the bolt hole, come morning."

  Bergren nodded cautiously. "And?"

  "I track him down and give it to the Locals—probably won't even have to bring the market situation into it. But whatever the outcome, once I find the den, the bay's mine. "

  Bergren eyed him for a moment. "That might leave me here wide open."

  "That's right," Reandn said. "But that's going to happen soon enough either way."

  Bergren frowned at him; the the judgment in his expression stung. "I hadn't sized you up as a man who would walk out on this situation."

  Because that's what a Wolf was for, wasn't it? To protect Keland's people.

  And that meant stopping Ronsin. Reandn held a steady gaze. "Take the chance, Bergren. Give me the bay and I'll spot the gang for your Locals."

  Bergren's voice was hard. "I'll keep the two weeks, then, and after that I'll go to the Locals myself. If you can track them, they can track them."

  "Are you sure?" Reandn asked. "Can they do it before your time runs out? If Shuyler's gang kills me tomorrow night, you'll be unprotected. I can have them located by then."

  "Graces, you're cock-sure of yourself," Bergren said in annoyance.

  "It's your choice," Reandn said. "I'll stick by the two weeks, if that's what you want. But I think this other is a better idea."

  Bergren's words were still biting. "A better idea for who?"

  "For both of us," Reandn said, biting the words off hard. "What makes you think I'm free to stay, merchant? What makes you think it won't put someone else in danger to delay me here?"

  Bergren looked startled. "I...never thought," he said. "After all, you've told me so little. But...I guess I should have suspected there was a reason for that, when a barefoot Wolf showed up at my corral, wanting my scarred up, studdy bay." He hesitated. "Will you stay until the Locals make their move? Win or lose, I won't need you after that."

  "No," Reandn said somberly. "You won't." He batted at a fly that fussed around his raw cheek. "If they move within a day, I'll stay. No longer."

  "I guess that's as much as I could ask for." Bergren seemed reluctant to leave, and finally, awkwardly, he said, "I know about Wolf's Rights. I know you could have taken that bay any time you wanted him. I don't know why you didn't, but...I should be grateful to you, instead of harassing you because you won't stay. I'm sorry."

  Reandn looked at him in surprise. "You're welcome," he said after a moment, and pushed away from the corral. "After this is done—no one knows my part in it."

  "I figured as much." Bergren wiped the back of his wrist across his sweaty brow. "I'll need some time—this isn't a decision I can make on my own."
r />   "I need to know tonight, or it'll be the day after tomorrow before I can do anything about it."

  "I'll do my best," Bergren said.

  Do it. The prospect of leaving Maurant early dangled before Reandn like a lure. Do it, Bergren, and set me free.

  ~~~~~

  Early arrival of the remaining guards forced Reandn into the woods before Bergren returned, already hard-pressed to stay out of sight. Respite came when the clouds gathering on the seaward horizon rumbled in to unleash a hard, soaking rain, enlivened by bouts of close lightening; Shuyler's men stayed huddled under the awnings. Reandn suspected that they, too, were weary of the chase, and just as glad for the excuse to lay off a night.

  The steady downpour eventually penetrated the thick evergreen boughs and it didn't let up before morning; Reandn was still damp when he arrived at the Unicorn. It was a strange relief to feel chilled after so many days of Maurant's heat.

  Ania greeted him with one of the rough kitchen towels and the jar of salve he'd left behind, taking him into the kitchen to make faces over his injury—a procedure she repeated through the day. Reandn bore it in silence, letting her fuss...knowing he had caused that worry.

  The smell of the salve stung his nose as he slipped back into place at the entrance dormer; he gingerly prodded at the edges of the wound, wiping greasy fingers on his bare arm. The sound of an approaching one-way conversation made him straighten. Nonstop, it was somehow familiar, but he couldn't quite place it until the couple entered the dormer—and then it was too late.

  Jilla. The minor's wife, who had taken such offense at his very existence, there in Farren's shop.

  She paused at the threshold with a man who must have been her husband, adjusting to the dimmer light within. The man wore a patient look; he regarded his companion fondly. But when he saw her reaction to Reandn, his expression hardened.

  The minor. And yes, Jilla—her hair piled up on her head in a style that somehow looked contrived after less than a week among short-shorn men and women. Her dress rustled with its many fine, sheer fabrics, imitating the many-layered appearance of the Northern Highborn without putting her in a sweat bath. She looked at him, her eyes widening at his wound; she took a small step backward. Then she looked at her husband, and her chin came up; her eyes grew scornful.

  Savill stood barely as tall as his wife, a compact man who moved with energy. He raked Reandn with his gaze, hard brown eyes beneath brows that held a tilt of dissatisfaction. He might have said something; he looked like he wanted to. But Jilla took her skirts in hand and swept past with him, picking up her conversation where she'd left off.

  Personally, Reandn didn't give scat what the minor—or any Highborn—thought of him. But Savill could ask questions of King's Keep that would reveal Reandn—and the very fact that he was still alive—to Ronsin.

  All the more reason to make his departure from this place as quick as possible.

  Or maybe it was too late already; Savill hadn't followed Jilla into the tavern. "Meir," Reandn said politely, waiting.

  Savill's eyebrow lifted. Jilla most certainly had prepared him for something other than polite discourse. "You know who I am."

  Reandn tipped his head, silent affirmative.

  "You will have noticed, I hope, that I oversee a large and growing town. That, as always, presents the opportunity for banditry and misbehavior."

  "I haven't noticed any of those problems in great quantity," Reandn said, turning his face so its ugly wound wasn't quite so obvious.

  "I'm glad to see you've been paying attention." Savill entered the dormer so he, too, could look out into the street, though the afternoon sun had driven everyone under the protection of porches and awnings. Reandn knew that particular message well: See me make you wait.

  After a moment, the man turned his gaze back on Reandn. "The circumstances of your arrival are somewhat confused, but it is certain they weren't orthodox. Consider yourself lucky that Farren has spoken of what he deems to be your good character."

  Farren. Just what he needed. Did the wizard have his fingers into everything that went on in this town? "I usually speak for myself in such matters."

  "Your actions have spoken for you." Savill shook his head in a short, curt gesture. "I don't know who you are, but I know you're from the far North. I've sent a message to the Keep—if you're wanted, I'll soon know."

  Reandn's neutral gaze failed him; he gave the minor a sharp look. The keep could have meant anything—and should have meant nothing, to one not from the King's Keep.

  "Yes, the Keep. Not many in this area know the implication of that expression." Savill tilted his head back to regard the taller man in a leisurely manner. Leisurely, like a muscled hill cat about to pounce. "You're either in deep trouble, young meir, or you're a badly misplaced attempt by Northern securities to prowl my region." His hand reached out, fingers tipping Reandn's shoulder where the leather showed brightly unweathered. "Jilla said you had a colorful patch. Well, young meir, we'll soon see."

  He prodded Reandn's shoulder, a touch Reandn wouldn't have allowed under other circumstances—but under these, he kept his gaze steady. His self-control seemed to satisfy the minor in some way, for Savill offered him a humorless smile and entered the Unicorn without further comment.

  Reandn leaned back against the wall, growling inside. If Savill had sent that message upon Reandn's encounter with Jilla, the response would be on its way within days. With another exchange of missives, Ronsin would realize that Reandn had survived...and where he was.

  And because he did not care to be prodded, pushed, or tested any longer, when he saw the minor preparing to leave after his meal, Reandn abandoned the entrance and slid into the haven of the adjacent alley. He leaned against the cool, shaded wood of the Unicorn, tracking the minor's progress by Jilla's conversation.

  A scuffle to the rear of the building diverted his attention—it was a furtive sound, and he spun to face it. There, briefly framed by the Unicorn and her neighbor building, was the strapping, distinctive figure of a man he'd so far only seen silhouetted against the darkness beside Bergren's corral.

  Before Reandn could do more than drop to the balls of his feet, prepared for attack, the man dodged away, running along the narrow alley behind the tavern. Reandn slumped back against the building.

  They'd found him.

  They knew who he was and what he looked like, and they could come after him any time.

  Not that they were likely to try something in the middle of the day—but to and from the market would be an entirely different matter. Reandn tilted his head back against the building and closed his eyes. The sudden peal of Jilla's receding laugh seemed to be aimed right at him; her voice faded, at last lost in a tiny gust of sea-laden air.

  Reandn scrubbed his hands through his hair, knowing he no longer had Bergren's two weeks. In the morning he'd be tracking outlaws.

  ~~~~~

  When Reandn arrived at the market—a long, slow trek through the woods alongside the road, checking shadows and watching his back—he went directly to the stuffy heat of Bergren's tack and hay shed. Bergren finished up with his customer and came to the door of the shed, a large, dark form blocking the sunlight.

  "The others say yes," he announced, without preamble. "They're willing to take the chance the Locals'll haul us into town purview, if it means getting rid of Shuyler; I told them you'd do your best to keep us out of it."

  "Good answer," Reandn said. "Because the rules of the game have changed."

  "How do you mean?" Bergren straightened into a warier posture.

  Reandn came to the doorway and nodded at the market entrance, where the road made a delta into the sprawling area. After a moment, the crowd thinned momentarily; it was long enough. "Even a Wolf isn't invincible, and I reckon the odds just got overwhelming for this one. See those two men, the ones just hanging around the entrance?"

  "Yes," Bergren said, his tone clearly indicating he didn't understand yet. "They're Shuyler's; I recognize them
."

  "They know me," Reandn said, retreating back inside the shed. "They no longer have to catch me in action. They can go at me any time, anywhere. And some of them are archers."

  "Damn," Bergren said. "How'd they pin you?"

  Tanager, Reandn guessed. Not nearly as careful as he ought to be. But he shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I'm just lucky I caught them watching me at the Unicorn."

  "I want to show you something." Bergren entered the shed himself, rummaging in the corner that held things he hadn't quite disposed of yet. He returned with a long, smooth arrow. "Take a look at this," he said, holding the arrow out for inspection.

  The head was merely the sharpened end of the shaft, marked with tiny grooves; Bergren traced one with a thick finger. "For poison," he said grimly. "And sometimes, the juice of the swamp horsetail."

  Reandn grimaced. He'd heard of such arrows, although they weren't common in the north. "I assume horsetail's a plant," he said. "But what about the poison?"

  "Right about the horsetail. It's a caustic. The poison's commonly drawn from a snake—they're not too hard to find, if you have the nerve to milk them off."

  Reandn stared at the dealer, startled out of complacency. Keland near the Keep was devoid of seriously poisonous snakes—he'd twice been bitten by the rock-dwelling pinsnake, and never missed day of patrol for it. The fact that there were deadly snakes in the area, and he had not known of them, made his skin crawl.

  "If you happen to know what this snake looks like...and the areas it favors..." He looked at the arrow and added with dry understatement, "I'd be obliged."

  Bergren chuckled dryly. "I didn't mean to scare you, son. Even if you run across an swampsnake, they're basically shy creatures. They hunt mice and moles in the wet areas."

  Reandn took a deep breath. He smelled salve and sea, overset by pine. Unfamiliarity. He tried to tell himself it wouldn't make any difference, not if he moved out soon.

  Bergren twirled the arrow, watching the play of its grooved designs. "About yesterday...I'm sorry. You've been playing a dangerous game for too long already." He gave Reandn quick glance and added, "I know, I know, it was my idea to fight Shuyler's tide in the first place. I never thought this far ahead—maybe because I never thought I'd get this far. I owe you thanks."