The price of victory- - Thieves World 13 (36 page)

"Yes sir. Oh, are you—"

"Good. Then go to Gilla Lalo'swife. Ask that good woman whether any of her children or relatives would like good employment with a decent Rankan noble. All right?"

"Yes sir. Sir, I—"

"Aye, I am sure that you know of some prospective servants for the household of the lord Abadas, Wints. Just go on about my business my way, for now."

Wintsenay went.

In the next hour Strick saw four people. He refused to do anything at all for the one who wanted vengeance on a landlord, used a minor spell and an unnecessary foul-tasting concoction to get rid of the really ugly warts on another's face, told a third sadly that he could do nothing about the long-twisted leg but secretly made a spell to make the poor woman
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more accepting, at least, and told a sufferer of persistently upset stomach that he needed to go to a physician, at once. It wasn't.as if anyone was gong to cure the rampant malignant growth Strick saw in the too-young man's upper intestine, but at least he could go through his final weeks of life in a drugged state. For all this the spellwright took in three pieces of silver and a nice bolt of cloth of a color he did not desire. Well, he could trade it, or use it as gift goods.

Avenestra came in, chewing.

"No one else is waiting, LJncie. I hung out the 'closed' sign as you said."

"Good!" He rose and stretched.

"Ooooh! What a beautiful bolt of cloth!"

"You like that, Avneh?"

"It's just beautiful. Uncle! I love paisley!"

"Hmm. We may not be able to do anything about your craving for sweets, poor baby. But show me that you can come in here without chewing on something and we'll see what we can have made for you from this."

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"Oh I'm sorry, Uncle. Mother Shipri make me strong!"

Strick patter her shoulder, turning a little sidewise to avoid being hugged (with hands one of which he saw was sticky from some pastry), and hurried downstairs to collect Fulcris. Leaving Avenestra "in charge" and Frax on guard, Strick and his other aide headed for the Street of Goldsmiths.

188 AFTERMATH

Nadeesh the leech had heard of the foreign spellwright who had come here to be of such value to Sanctuary, both physically and psychologi cally. His sad-looking servant ushered the visitors in to his master. Nadeesh the leech was a cadaverously thin man with hair that began at about the midpoint atop his skull and dangled stringily in long ugly strands of corpse-gray. He looked to be seventy or more. He also, Strick and Fulcris discovered, wore only one earring. Attired in a paradoxically bright tunic that appeared to be draped over mere bone, he sat weakly in a chamber made dim by drawn drapes. Strick saw at once that he was in bad shape, and not just from the healed wound that showed his left earring had been torn from him. The fellow looked far too old for his age, which he said was "about fifty."

"What do you think is wrong with you, sir?"

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"Can't find a cause, sir. Just last night a friend—a fellow physician—

suggested that it might be ... a spell,"

Strick saw the little shiver that went through this too-thin man as he spoke those words. Showing confidence and making sure to project it, Strick suggested that he look. Nadeesh agreed, nervously.

"What—what do you need to do?"

"I need for you to give me something of value, and then just lie back and try hard not to think of anything at all. I will have my hands on your shoulders, that's all."

The physician snorted. "Only the gods know how many patients I've said that to—and all of us knowing all the while that it's completely impossible!"

With a little smile, Strick accepted the proffered coin and set his hands on shoulders that might have been mere bone covered by the other man's yellow tunic-The Firaqi wizard was quite able to stare at nothing.

It took him only seconds to discover the cause of Nadeesh's malaise.

"Your friend was right, leech. Someone has set a dark spell on you."

Nadeesh moaned.

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"Hmm. And left a barrier. Perhaps you would think of an opening gate, opening doors, a cave with a wide open mouth ... no no, please be still but not stiff . . . hmm."

A little work discovered the impossible: the spell came from a dead man. One Marype, the son of a mage named Mizraith and long appren ticed to a shadowy mage name Markmor. The problem was that every one knew Marype was dead! Except that this spell is not that old. Marype is vehemently alive! Furthermore he's past the apprentice stage—past jour neyman, by the Flame! Strick concentrated, began to sweat . . . and soon realized that the severity of Nadeesh's affliction was because Marype had gained possession of something belonging to the physician.

"Ah, the earring, and thus a bit of blood!"

"Wh-what?" The wizened physician's voice quavered.

Strick released those frighteningly bony shoulders and sat beside the man who looked far too old for the age he claimed. The spellmaker would have bet that before this malignant spell the physician had looked fifteen years younger.

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"How did you lose your earring?"

"Late one night about two months ago I was set upon by footpads and

—by the gods! This began about then! I have lost very much weight in these past two months, Strick, and of course strength as well."

"Urn. Those were not footpads, Nadeesh, but men hired for a definite assignment. A dark mage who hates you used them to gain possession not only of your earring but, since it was torn from your ear, a bit of your blood as well. It has enabled him to make a powerful spel! indeed.'*

"How do you know this?"

"Do you answer your patients when they ask you such a question?"

"No. And usually I cannot answer this one; What is to happen to me?"

"You already know. You are wasting away; no one would know that it's the result of an inimical spell. I'd say this sorcerer intends your death."

Nadeesh surprised his visitor with a string of words concerning the unnamed mage, his sexual activities, and his mother. Then:

"Who is it? Who has done this, Spellmaster?"

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"That I cannot say," Strick said, as perfectly capable of lying when he deemed it wise as any physician. "What mage hates you so much?"

"None! I mean—I've no idea."

"You've never treated a sorcerer?"

"Not knowingly."

"Urn. In that case, have you refused treatment to a sorcerer?"

"Not knowingly," Nadeesh repeated. After a few seconds he added,

"But now one is going to murder me."

"Is murdering you," Strick said, staring at nothing. "Unless we can do something about it."

Nadeesh lurch up, gasping with effort. "You think you can?"

"One can always try. In this case, one must."

"I don't understand."

"Never mind. You are too good a man to be murdered this way with out my trying to stop it."
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A long sigh escaped the pitifully wizened man, and Strick heard the rattle in his scrawny throat.

"Bearing in mind that I am a spellwright, not a physician, let us dis cuss the bill in advance."

190 AFTERMATH

Nadeesh's smile was hideous, but genuine. "You certainly have me, sir. Name the price and I shall agree. Understand that if the patient dies, however, he cannot pay."

Despite the gravity of the complaint of his "patient," Strick laughed aloud.

They discussed his bill.

Hanse noted more construction/reconstruction on his way to pay a visit to Mignureal's widowed father. It was not something Hanse wanted to do. He had loved Moonflower, Mignue's gross diviner of a mother; he was able to admit that to himself, now. Ahdio and a couple of others at Sly's Place last night had already observed that the dark, youthful man called Shadowspawn was "different." They were right. Events on the desert and up in Maidenhead Wood had changed him a bit; the Mignureal experience had enforced responsibility and changed him ac
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cordingly; the constant dark shadow of sorcery and ghastly events in Firaqa had changed and matured him; and so had more recent experi ences in Suma.

The presence of the outsized red cat strolling along at his side, tail high, attracted plenty of looks. Hanse's eyes and the presence of so many sharp blades worn openly here and there about his person persuaded people to keep their comments to themselves or low-voiced. Once he did hear a scornful laugh and knew it for a deliberate attempt at provocation. He didn't even turn. Shadowspawn was "different," yes.

At the shop where Mignureal's father Teretaff sold this and that . - . item, he was admitted by one of Mignureal's dark-haired and dark-eyed younger sisters. Since their number was several and Hanse had never been interested in children, he wasn't sure of this one's name. Odd, how she had bloomed in so short a time. Girls had a way of doing that, and the S'danzo did seem to bloom earlier than others.

He entered into warmth made heavy by a fragrant mix of odors, aro mas, smells, scents of foods and leather and spices and perfumes and other herbal . . . things. The shop had always been cluttered. It was more so now, with Moonflower dead.

"Does your father have a, uh, woman friend?" he asked, feeling sneaky, and was not displeased by the shaking of a large-eyed head. What
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was this girl, about thirteen? That meant that the next one—the boy Cormentaff—was fourteen. Another member of the family was pushing sixteen too, as he recalled. The one with red hair, or almost red. What was her name, anyhow?

This one made girlish noises over Notable, who eluded her attempts to pet him. The cat disappeared behind a counter.

"He, uh, he's a one-man cat," Hanse explained. "Notable, if you knock anything over or get into anything it will go hard with you!"

"Mraow."

Hanse was not happy to discover that Teretaff already had a visitor. The aged S'danzo "chief" with the implacable eyes and straight mouth and the usual multicolored, modestly cut garb barely acknowledged Hanse's presence. Hanse was determinedly respectful. The Termagant was not visiting Teretaff, he realized; she was interested in the almost sixteen-year-old. Now both stared at Hanse, Jileel from huge round eyes the color of walnut wood flanked by a great deal of hair the color of a roan horse. Her blouse was striped yellow and green and was unaccount ably stuffed; under a multiprint apron, her skirts showed six or nine other colors and hues.

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"You left here with my daughter," Teretaff said, but it was a question rather than an accusation.

"Precipitately," the Termagant said, straight-mouthed and flat-eyed.

Suddenly Hanse has to tell them, no matter the consequences: "Yes. When I found Moonflower I went wild. I started running, ran into a fish

—a, un, Beysib, and killed it. Her. I think it was the one who ki—

who . . ."

"Oh, I do hope it was!" the almost-sixteen-year-old said ferociously, in a rather throaty voice.

"Jileel!" the Termagant snapped, inadvertently helping Hanse by pro viding the girl's name.

Teretaff glanced at her, and back to Hanse. "I hope so too, Hanse. She did like you, my wife."

Hanse was surprised to hear himself say, "I loved her, Teretaff."

All three of the others blinked. At last the old woman said, "You have changed, young man."

Hanse nodded. "We endured much. We even accomplished much, up
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in Firaqa."

"Firaqa?"

"A city far north. Strange people with a strange religion. Ruled by a sort of council of sorcerers. The chief was also the most evil and I sup pose the most powerful. He's dead, now. Teretaff, Termagant . . . Mignureal's powers soared, in Firaqa. She was glad to find a small colony of S'danzo. They were unwelcome in Firaqa; S'danzo, I mean. That's no longer true. She . . . Mignureal has remained there, Teretaff. She's an accomplished Seer, now, an amoushem. Did I say that right?"

"Yes!" the Termagant said, astonishing Hanse by the sudden happy light in her eyes. "So! She flowered, then, and is respected, with the Ability."

192 AFTERMATH

"Yes. She Sees, Termagant, Teretaff; Mignue Sees beyond anyone else

in Firaqa."

"She will do well there, then," Teretaff said, with some happiness and pride mingled with sadness. Tears had appeared in the walnut eyes of the girl beside the old woman, to hear that her sister was not coming back.

"But—you are here and she there?"

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Hanse nodded. "It was not easy. Oh, we had our troubles—probably mainly because we were under the shadow of sorcery all the time. But I think we will always love each other. It's just that I had to come back, and she felt she had to remain there. She is happy there. Established."