The Queen of Mages (36 page)

“Tomorrow,” he said softly. She nodded, and
they undressed for bed. It took an hour for Dardan to fall asleep,
as he listened to the hammering rain lessen to a steady patter,
Amira curled up warm against him. He could not help feeling that
though they were on the same road, they were not pulling the same
wagon.

———

Everything was still wet in the morning, but
at least the sun shone between a few high puffy clouds. The air had
that damp cleanliness, with a tang of salt from the ocean a few
leagues distant. Amira tapped her foot impatiently, having dressed
even before Dardan woke. “I saw it again. Whoever it is, he was
walking around, and then he stopped over there,” she said, pointing
below the window. “Come on!”

They went down to the common room, where the
innkeep brightly offered them a table, but Dardan said they fancied
a walk before breakfast. Outside, Amira stopped and looked around,
and asked Dardan what direction she’d been facing inside. He
pointed, and she led the way around the side of the inn.

A rhythmic clanging came from up ahead. Just
past the inn’s stable was an alley, and beyond that a smithy.
Dardan followed his wife around to the front of the building, a
stone bunker with a wide, doorless gap in the front. She peered
inside, then jerked back. “He’s in there! Or… she.”

“He. It’s a smithy. Who ever heard of a
female blacksmith?”

“Who ever heard of a female… whatever I am?”
she retorted, slapping her trousers. “Come on.”

Dardan rocked on his toes, nervously looking
around. “We just go talk to him?”

Amira huffed and went inside, leaving Dardan
to hurry after.
Madwoman.

The smithy’s sulfurous air choked the
pleasant morning air from his nostrils. He could see two men
working at the forge. One of them put down his tools and came
forward. He was a scarred man with a face clean-shaven, wearing
trousers and boots but only a leather apron on his torso. He had
little shiny patches of skin all over his muscular arms and chest,
presumably where specks of hot metal had burned him over the years.
Clearly this was the blacksmith. Was he the mage Amira sought? He
was clearly much older than the three mages they knew of so far.
“Greetings there, sir, uh… ma’am. You in need of ironwork?”

Amira peered past him. “Is that your
apprentice?”

“Yeah, that’s Garen,” he said, squinting at
her. “But if you need ironwork, I’m the man to see. Orville Walker,
master blacksmith.” He held out a hand for them to shake, which
Dardan took, since Amira seemed unaware of it.

“Dardan Howard,” he introduced himself. “My
wife, Amira.” They’d tried using aliases for their given names, but
Amira had slipped and called him “Dardan” three times in an hour,
so she gave up. Besides, she said, Edon would never be fooled by
such a simple ruse. But there was no need to spread the Tarian name
around, and Dardan had long since gotten past the instinct to
introduce himself as a noble. It was better that everyone thought
them to be commoners. So they used Liam’s family name instead,
which was the first thing that had come to Dardan’s mind.

Amira brushed past the blacksmith. “Sorry,
she’s very curious,” Dardan apologized. “Er, we’ll just—Amira!” He
chased after her.

She stopped in the rear of the smithy,
staring at the apprentice. He was young and dark-haired, possibly
handsome, though his face was streaked with grease and smoke and
sweat.

Dardan came to Amira’s side as she watched
the apprentice—Garen—hammering a hot piece of metal against an
anvil. He stood in profile to them, and eventually noticed that he
was being watched. He glanced at them for a moment, then went back
to his iron, but Dardan could see his body tense.

“Excuse me,” Amira called to him. Garen
stopped hammering and looked up at her. Amira turned her head,
presenting her own profile to him.

He gaped at her as the hammer slipped from
his fingers. Amira held her pose for a moment, then turned back,
showing her most radiant smile. “My name is Amira. We need to
talk.”

Amira’s ember glowed bright, its warmth
cascading all through her. The blacksmith’s apprentice, Garen,
stared at her in shock. He’d seen her silver light, and she’d wager
it was the first time he’d met another mage. After a moment he bent
down and retrieved his hammer, clearly shaken.

“It’s all right,” she said as gently as she
could. “I know what you are. I am too.”

Dardan tugged at her arm and hissed into her
ear. “Amira, we should do this later.”

The older blacksmith came around to face
them, glaring irritably. “What is this about?”

Amira turned to the man. “Forgive me, master
smith. Might I speak alone with your apprentice?”

The blacksmith—what was his name? He’d said
it, but she hadn’t paid attention. He squinted at her, not looking
at all pleased. “We’ve got work to do now, ma’am, if you don’t
mind. We close at sundown. You can come back then.” He glared at
the apprentice. “You, get back to work. I don’t pay you to stand
around gawking.”

Dardan pulled at her again, and reluctantly
she followed him.
So close!
She prayed the boy would still
be there later. The memory of Tyndam Town pricked her.

“That could have gone worse,” Dardan
muttered once they were outside. “You can’t just rush in without
thinking, every time we find… someone.”

He was right, Amira knew, but he had no idea
how hard it was. She’d told him again and again, and he still
didn’t understand. She’d been living with the ember for months, and
knowing that there was someone out there she could really talk to
about it—it was magnetic. She held tighter onto his arm and let him
guide her back to the inn. She nearly shuddered with elation and
anxiety.

When they reached the inn, she let go of his
hand. “I don’t want to just sit around all day. Let’s explore the
village.”

Dardan sighed. “People will ask
questions.”

“Let them. Maybe it’s time my power became
more public.”

“No!” Dardan almost shouted. He cut himself
off, embarrassed. “Just because Count Barnard reacted well, do you
think that means every common shepherd and farmer and blacksmith
will? Barnard is a learned man, trained to deal with unexpected
situations. Half the people in this town, in any town, would panic
and try to kill you. Kill us.”

“I used to be a commoner, dear. We’re more
resilient than you think. If they know me first, it’ll be easier.
So let’s at least introduce ourselves.”

He stared down at her, those plain dark eyes
crinkled with worry. It was that more than anything that had made
her start to love him. He worried so much, and all for her. But
despite what had happened in Tyndam, she could take care of
herself.

“Just be careful. Promise you won’t tell
anyone about…” He glanced up at her forehead. “About that, until
you warn me first. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what you’re
going to do.”

Her spine stiffened a little. “I don’t need
protection. I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you!” he said loudly, then drew
a calming breath. “But I need you to trust me as well. Aren’t we in
this together now? Forever?”

Sometimes she forgot they’d actually gotten
married. For months she’d expected a big country wedding in
Hedenham Town’s square, so to carry it out on the spur of the
moment in a strange town had been thrilling and confusing. Her
rings were a reminder, but everything that came with it was harder
to grasp.

“Promise me,” he said, when she
hesitated.

“Fine, yes, I promise,” she said. She
bounced on her toes, still eager to explore. “Let’s go!”

“Let’s eat,” Dardan said. “We didn’t have
breakfast, remember?”

Amira blinked, and realized that the anxiety
in her belly was, at least in part, simple hunger. In the inn, they
breakfasted on eggs and sausage and more fish stew. She wolfed down
her food and waited impatiently for Dardan to finish, tapping her
foot. He ate slowly, smiling at her the more she frowned. Was he
teasing her? Finally they went out for a walk.

Most of the buildings in Stony Vale turned
out to be made of the same limestone as the mountain that loomed
over them, the sharp peak the townsfolk called
Caddair Tuol
,
which meant “Great Watcher” in Old Caelan. Amira saw all the usual
landmarks of a small village: a building with the magistrate’s
hammer painted on the wall, and the constabulary’s shield below it;
an unobtrusive temple next door; a weathered malthouse beside the
inn. Amira half considered going into the malthouse to see how
they’d deal with a trousered woman entering what was supposed to be
a men-only establishment, but Dardan would panic, so she forgot
about it. There was a greengrocer, a shop selling kitchenwares and
dry goods, and no less than three fishmongers. They passed a
weaver, a cobbler, a stonecarver, even a little trading house.

She led Dardan on a circuit of the village,
stopping to chat at each shop. Amira did most of the talking,
leaving her husband to glance around nervously. The townsfolk were
all pleasant enough, though of course Stony Vale had its share of
grumpy malcontents. One of the fishmongers chased them out when it
became clear they weren’t planning to buy anything. The cobbler
gave Amira the hairy eyeball and followed her around his shop,
perhaps expecting her to try to steal the shoes he had on display,
even though they’d never fit her.

But the greengrocer was pleasant, and even
offered them a bite of roasted turnip left over from his luncheon.
A flock of goodwives descended upon them when they came outside,
curious about these odd travellers and asking for news from parts
beyond. Amira and Dardan’s explorations had not gone unnoticed, and
the townspeople were talking.

“Is it true the king’s dead?” said one of
the goodwives, a tiny black-haired woman in a brown woolen
dress.

“King Viktor has died, yes,” Amira said
consolingly.

The little woman burst into tears, and one
of the other women, not terribly old but with hair already going
gray, patted her on the back. “She’s always like this,” the
gray-haired woman explained, rolling her eyes; not cruelly, but as
if treading old and wearying territory.

“I’m sorry,” wept the little woman, “it’s
just so awful! I always heard he was such a good king, so kind and
brave, and to hear he’s died…”

Another of the women bulled forward. She had
a pointy face and constantly smoothed her skirts. “I heard tell the
Vaslanders are coming down into the valleys again,” she insisted,
though she mostly seemed to be addressing the other goodwives.
“They’ll trample all over us like twenty years past if a stop isn’t
put to them.”

“You weren’t but five years old the last
time Vaslanders came over the mountains, Caroline,” the gray-haired
woman said. “Anyway, that’s miles from here, and why would they
come down into Seawatch? The capital’s far west. That’s what they’d
be after.”

“I’m sure King Edon will take his army to
oppose them,” Dardan said, catching Amira’s eye. She frowned, not
wanting to think about that monster, but Dardan was right. The
Vaslanders wouldn’t be able to stand against him, not with his
power.

The women chattered a while longer before
scuttling away. The sun was well past its peak, and Amira grew
anxious to return to the smithy, even though it would be hours yet
before it closed. Dardan finally relented and agreed to wait there
with her, but first he wanted to go to the inn and check on the
horses. She begged off and went straight to the smithy. Annoyingly,
he made her promise yet again not to tell anyone about her
power.

Amira perched on a low stone wall across the
road from the smithy. She watched as various townsfolk went inside
to place orders or pick up completed ironwork. After a few minutes,
she saw a wrinkled, white-haired man walking down the lane toward
her. He wore stout wool, no more adorned than any other she’d seen
in Stony Vale, and carried a staff in one hand. A sword rode at his
hip. The taller, younger man beside him had a sword as well, and in
addition wore a mail shirt under a white tabard with a shield
picked out in black thread on it: a constable. Amira waited, hoping
they would pass by, but they came to a stop before her.

“Excuse me, miss,” said the old man. “I’m
Magistrate Baxter. This is Constable Adams.” The taller man nodded
crisply. “And who might you be?”

“My name is Amira,” she said with a bright
smile. “This is a lovely village you have here. We’re thinking
about settling, if there’s land available.”

“You and your…” The magistrate looked down
at her hands for a moment, and seemed to notice her rings.
“Husband?”

She nodded. “He’s at the inn, looking after
our horses, though I expect he’ll be along shortly.”
We have
horses, and therefore money. We’re no ruffians to be concerned
about.
She hoped he took the hint.

Magistrate Baxter glanced up at the
constable, then looked at the smithy across the way. “You have
business with Master Walker?”

“Yes. A personal matter.”

The magistrate’s eyes lingered on the sword
at her hip. “Ma’am, you’re free to roam, but I’m going to have to
take your sword as long as you’re in the village. Strangers don’t
get free rein here.”

“Is one woman with a sword so much of a
threat?”

The constable took a half-step forward. “You
can hand over your sword or leave the village, it’s up to you.”
Amira didn’t like the way his eyes bored into her.

The sword wasn’t much use to her, despite
Dardan’s sporadic attempts to teach her how to use it, but she
appreciated the looks of respect it got. With a sigh she slid the
scabbard from her belt and handed it over. She also had a dagger
hidden in a sheath at the small of her back, the way Liam had
always worn his, but the magistrate didn’t ask after it, and she
didn’t offer.

“This is a peaceful town, and I keep it that
way by not taking chances.” Baxter handed the sword to the
constable.

“And what if I’m attacked?”

“Like I said, I keep the town peaceful,” the
magistrate said gruffly. “Don’t start any trouble, and you won’t
have any trouble.” He turned to the constable as they walked off.
“To the inn,” he said under his breath.

She hoped Dardan would be as accommodating
when they confronted him. He probably would, though he’d argue
more. Unarmed, he’d feel unable to protect his wife, and that would
gall him. She supposed she could have followed them to the inn, to
make sure Dardan didn’t do anything foolish, but she didn’t want to
risk the blacksmith closing up shop while she was gone.

Sure as the sun rose in the east, ten
minutes later Dardan came stomping up to her. “Are you all right?”
he demanded. “The magistrate took my sword, and he said he took
yours too.”

She nodded. “I’m fine. He missed the dagger.
And of course…” She tapped her temple. Dardan relaxed a hair, but
he stayed grumpy, muttering imprecations into the breeze as they
waited.

———

The sun slid ever downward. Amira could hear
hammers ringing within the smithy, and wondered which was the
master and which the apprentice. Garen came outside at one point to
dump a bucket of soiled water on the dirt. When he straightened up,
he caught sight of Amira and froze. She turned her head to the side
again, to let him see her light, and when she turned back to catch
his eye again, he flinched and ran back inside.

Finally the sun slipped behind a stony ridge
to the west. Orville, the master smith, came out into the evening,
and upon seeing Amira strode over to her. He wore a shirt and a
heavy leather coat now. “What do you want with Garen, exactly?” he
asked.

“I’m…” She stopped, and looked up at Dardan,
who stood beside her with his brow furrowed. “We have to start with
someone.”

“You have to talk to the apprentice first,”
Dardan said.

“Master Orville seems a grounded man,” Amira
countered. “I think we can trust him.”

“I wish I knew what you two’re jabbering
about,” the blacksmith sighed at them. “My wife’s waiting at home.”
He poked Amira in the arm. “Don’t you cause that boy any grief,” he
said, and walked off, casting dark looks back at them.

A minute later, Garen came outside. He
looked like a man about to be taken to the gallows; his coat hung
on him like a shroud.

The smithy did actually have a door, sliding
on wheels from behind the outer wall. “That’s a cunning device,”
Amira called out to Garen as he clacked it shut.

“Master Orville designed it himself,” the
boy said. “Needs grease, but it’s sturdy.” He put his hands in his
pockets. “What do you want?”

“To talk. I know what you saw.” She ran a
finger down the side of her head. “I see it too, in you. Oh! I
haven’t introduced myself. I’m Amira. This is my husband,
Dardan.”

“Dardan Howard,” he said, glancing at her
sidelong while proffering his hand to the boy.

The apprentice took it. “Garen Stills.” He
shuffled his feet a little, but his eyes pierced her.

“You had headaches, didn’t you? Bad ones?
And then they stopped, and you could… feel the warmth.”

He bit his lip, and nodded.

“May I ask when that happened?”

“The headaches stopped about two weeks ago.”
He seemed reluctant to speak. Maybe because they were out in the
open.

“No one else knows, do they?”

He shook his head firmly. “My mum was
worried sick about the headaches, till they went away. Missus
Walker, too. But they didn’t know…” He looked down, and Amira saw a
little bead of silver light zip from his forehead to the ground.
Then there was a
piff,
and a little cloud of dust rose from
the dirt.

“I think we can help each other,” Amira
said, buzzing with excitement. “I think we
must
help each
other. You’re one of the few I’ve encountered who can do this.”
Garen watched her, saying nothing. She had to get him to talk. “Is
there somewhere private we can converse?”