The Exile and the Sorcerer (21 page)

*

Her tankard was empty. Tevi considered returning to the guildhall, but she was warm and comfy, and the other customers had long ceased paying her any attention. The tavern noise had become a background rumble in her ears, letting her think in peace, and the ale really was very good—enough to tempt her to a second tankard.

She had scarcely returned to her seat when the door opened. The drop in noise warned Tevi that the new arrival was not just another customer seeking cheer on the frosty night. A tall, middle-aged woman stood just inside the entrance with an expression of bored arrogance on her face. The hem of her blue cloak fluttered in the last of the icy draft that had followed her into the tavern. The cut of her clothes indicated wealth, but that alone would not explain the way the innkeeper rushed to escort her to a table by the fire, unceremoniously displacing its original occupants.

Obviously everyone recognised the woman. Folk returned to their gossip, but the atmosphere was strained. Then Tevi caught sight of a black amulet on the woman’s wrist, engraved with oak leaves. It explained all—the town sorcerer. By now, a bottle of wine had arrived at the table, accompanied by much bowing. As the bar staff retreated, the bottle floated into the air and poured itself. Oblivious to the disturbance she had created, the sorcerer picked up the glass and sipped, while her eyes stared vacantly into the air.

The floating bottle was the first piece of magic Tevi had seen on the mainland, but it did not appear to be the precursor to anything more dramatic. Soon, Tevi’s attention drifted back to the fire and her plans for the future. Taking work as a caravan guard would bring money and the chance to see more of the world. It would also bring new friends and new risks. Tevi frowned at the memory of Cayell that had dogged her all the way from Lyremouth and the questions it raised.
Why did she try to tempt me like that? How did she know I would be open to the approach?
On the islands, with hindsight, it was obvious.
I stood out like a sheep in a pigpen. Too soft and masculine. Even the way I walked and talked must have had them guessing
. But on the mainland, the same codes of conduct did not apply. Or did they?
How did Cayell know about me?
Until she could answer that question, Tevi knew she dared not let anyone get close. She bit her lip, heartsick at the prospect of loneliness.
But I want friends
.

Tevi’s eyes fell on the woman sitting alone. The sorcerer was someone who must have even greater problems finding company. The people kicked off their table had shown no sign of objecting, but it was hardly a way to make people like you.
Do sorcerers enjoy
the way they’re treated?
Tevi wondered.
Might they prefer a bit less deference?

It was no surprise that normal folk had mixed feelings about the Coven, although if it did not exist, there would be nothing to stop sorcerers from taking whatever they wanted. At least the Coven ensured that its members gave something in return. The town sorcerer was responsible for supervising healers and other witches in the area. She was oath-bound to protect the people from attack, magical or otherwise. She was the final arbiter of all inter-guild disputes and the chief civic judge. Her word, quite literally, was law. On top of that, she could be called on for advice in any situation.

And what advice could the sorcerer give me?
Tevi sighed. The situation was hopeless. She had learnt to treat the mainland men as if they were female, but it was only a mental game that she was playing with herself. Tevi knew she would only ever want a woman as a lover.

Her tankard was empty. Tevi was again served without delay, but a clump of people blocked the route back to her seat, forcing her to detour by the sorcerer’s table. Tevi glanced at the woman’s face as she passed. Seen close up, she was older than Tevi had first thought. Wavy grey hair framed a deeply lined face, and brown liver spots marked both hands.
What advice could she give me?
The words repeated in Tevi’s head. Before she had the chance to think it through, her feet had stopped.

Immediately, Tevi knew it was a mistake. Heads twisted in her direction, only to turn away as folk decided that true wisdom lay in minding their own business. The sorcerer looked up, yet her eyes were focused on a point far beyond the room.

“May I talk to you, ma’am?” Tevi asked politely.

By way of consent, the sorcerer indicated an empty chair. She waited until Tevi was seated. “And what do you want to talk about?”

“I’d like some advice.”

“Eat three meals a day, sleep well, and avoid sharp objects when they’re poked in your direction.” The sorcerer rested her head on one hand. “Or was there something slightly more specific bothering you?”

“Er...yes. I wanted...if, er...” The unfocused gaze was disconcerting. Tevi’s eyes dropped to the tabletop as she floundered for words. The mocking tone made it even harder to speak.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more precise with your question. Very few sorcerers can use telepathy to any useful extent, and I’m not one of them.”

“My problem is...I need to know what to do...”

Again, Tevi’s words ran into a brick wall. However, instead of taunting her, the sorcerer’s expression became puzzled.

“What to do?” For the first time, her eyes focused on Tevi. “Well, unlikely as it may seem, you should ask those two men to give you a job.” She pointed to the people she meant, sitting at one side of the room.

“I...? Pardon?” Tevi’s surprise jolted her out of her awkwardness.

“You should ask them for a job. Do you know why you should do that?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. Isn’t it intriguing?” The mocking tone returned. “Perhaps they pay well.”

“That wasn’t the question I wanted to ask, ma’am,” Tevi said with slightly more determination.

“Maybe not, but it’s the question you should have asked.”

Tevi opened her mouth to speak and then closed it as she considered the implications of the sorcerer’s words. “You mean it’s a prophecy?”

“In a way.”

“I thought oracles were supposed to be cryptic.”

“If it makes you happier, I could tell you that you’re about to go on a difficult journey and to expect health problems towards the middle of next month, possibly with your eyes. But I think my original advice was better. It’s certainly easier to act on, wouldn’t you say?” The sorcerer drained her glass and stood. “Before I go, do you want to try again and see if you can ask me your original question?”

“Er, no. Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most helpful.”

“True. I have.”

The woman swept out of the tavern. The door swung closed behind her. In the hush that followed, Tevi looked around. The two men identified by the sorcerer appeared extremely uneasy. Judging by the looks they were receiving, it was obvious that everyone knew they had been pointed out.

Tevi picked up her drink and walked towards them, hoping it was not just the sorcerer’s idea of a joke. Both men were in their early twenties. The taller of the two had a round face and unruly fair hair that fell over his forehead. His companion was dark, with angular, boyish features. Their eyes, edgy and distrusting, fastened on the tattoos on the backs of Tevi’s hands as she sat down.

“Well met, fellow citizens.”

“Well met,” they replied in disjointed uncertainty.

“The sorcerer thought you might be able to offer me a job. My name’s Tevi, by the way.”

The fair-haired one answered cautiously. “My name’s Harrick, and this is my partner, Rorg. We’re traders from Rizen.” His companion nodded sharply.

“Are you looking to hire people?” Tevi asked.

“Um...yes. But we’re mainly after guides and mule drivers. Though I suppose a scout might be useful—if that’s what you are.”

“No. I’m just an ordinary warrior.”

Harrick’s wariness was fading into confusion. “Then I can’t see we’d have much need of you. Bandits are rare in the mountains, even in good weather. They aren’t going to be about in conditions like these.”

“We’ll be lucky to get anyone,” Rorg interjected. Like his companion, he spoke in the clipped accent of the eastern Protectorate.

“Look, I keep telling you, it will be all right,” Harrick shot at his partner with unconcealed anger.

“You’ve said that before.” Rorg scowled.

Tevi realised she had stepped into an ongoing argument. “You have a problem?”

Rorg merely shrugged, retreating into a mood of sullen despair.

Harrick turned to Tevi. “We’re planning on going over the old pass, but Rorg has some doubts.”

“The old pass? Is that different from the current one?”

“Oh, yes. The new Langhope Pass was made sixty years back. Three sorcerers and a couple hundred dwarves did the work. Before that, the old route ran farther to the north—an old pack trail, twisting all over the place. The new pass just blasted its way straight up one side and down the other. They even knocked a couple of tunnels through bits that got in the way. You can drive two wagons abreast the whole way.”

“Except when it’s neck-deep in snow.”

The interruption from Rorg was met by an angry glare. Eventually, Harrick went on. “We were held up on our way to Treviston. By the time we got here, the Langhope Pass was closed, and it may not reopen for months. We’re on a tight schedule and low budget, and can’t afford to wait ‘til spring. We only got our loan from the guild last year.”

Tevi remembered Verron’s remarks about young traders overreaching themselves. “You think the older route may be passable?”

“Yes. On foot. It always was, according to Rorg’s grandmothers. They used to cover this route in the days before the new pass.”

“If you can believe the old fools,” Rorg mumbled.

“And why not? The old pass isn’t so high, and it’s sheltered from the northwest wind all the way,” Harrick snapped angrily.

“So that’s your plan?” Tevi tried to ease the tension.

“Yes. We’re going to sell the wagons and transfer the load to mules. Not right now, but according to the weather witch, there should be a clear patch in another twenty days. If we can get a team together we’ll be setting off then.” He frowned at Tevi. “We’re looking for guides and muleteers. The only unskilled labour we’re going to need is the brute strength to dig our way out of snowdrifts, and that’s not going to be your field.”

Tevi looked at the table. It was about ten feet long, made from solid timber, probably weighing more than she did. She raised her eyes to meet Harrick’s and placed one hand on the underside of the table. With a smile, she lifted it a foot into the air. People sitting at either end called out in surprise.

“When you discuss the contract with the guild master, it would be better not to use the word ‘unskilled.’ You could say you wanted me to fight off starving wolf packs and the like. The mercenaries are very keen to be seen as professionals.”

The two young traders stared at Tevi in astonishment. Even Rorg was shaken from his bitter cynicism. He peered at her hand under the table and then sat upright again.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a couple of friends? We could forget the mules.”

Either Rorg’s scepticism of his grandmothers was well founded, or the old women had been tougher in their youth than they’d been given credit for. The journey over the old pass was a nightmare.

On the day they left Treviston, Tevi began to have second thoughts at the sight of ice-scoured crags overhanging the trail, but she brushed away the doubts. Ahead of her went the others in the team, mounted on hill ponies. Apart from Harrick and Rorg, there were two muleteers, a local guide, and nineteen very unhappy mules.

It was not long before Tevi was wishing that she had turned around and headed straight back to the comforts of the Treviston guildhall. For the first two days, the route wove its way into the mountains. The track hugged the southern side of a long winding valley that was comparatively sheltered and free from snowdrifts. However, the temperature was bitterly cold, firewood was scarce, and the damp found its way into everything. The track then rose along a steep-sided ravine that acted like a wind tunnel, hurling walls of sleet in their faces. At the top, they were met by a trackless expanse of moor under a leaden sky.

This was when Tevi fully came to realise that Harrick had been obliged to employ anybody he could get. The guide, Lerwill, had less idea of direction than anyone else in the party. After two hours of his dithering, Tevi was left wondering how he normally found his way home from the tavern.

The wind whipped them with freezing blasts as Lerwill looked around in confusion. “It wasn’t like this last time I was here,” he muttered.

Tevi shouted to be heard over the wind. “Let me guess. There wasn’t any of this white fluffy stuff about.”

Lerwill pouted sullenly and pointed to a long ridge cresting in a triple peak. “That’s Langhope Rigg. The new pass goes to the south of it, which means...” His hand shifted to gesture in a vague northeasterly direction. “We need to go that way.” He scowled at Tevi as if daring her to dispute his words.

They set off across the snow-covered upland. The mules were miserable and made no attempt to hide it. The same could be said for the muleteers. Tevi pulled her hood forward to shield her face from the wind and wished she could place more confidence in the guide. Listening to Ricard’s stories by the fire suddenly seemed like an extremely enjoyable way of spending time.