Amberglas nodded, looking, if possible, even more preoccupied than before. “Yes, I see, though I can’t think what good it will do you there; but then, things are often useful in the most peculiar places. I knew a man in Tar-Alem who used his mother’s sword for hoeing cabbages, though Tar-Alem isn’t really much more peculiar than other places, so perhaps it isn’t the same at all. Of course, it wasn’t intended to be particularly useful, but one never knows, and I do hope you’ll take it anyway.”
“What? What are you—” Jermain caught himself just before the words “babbling about” slipped out. Amberglas did not seem to notice.
“The medallion I’m going to give you,” she said. She reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out a small package, and held it out to Jermain.
Jermain hesitated, then reached out and took the package. The wrappings were slightly dusty; he pulled them away and was absurdly relieved to find only a heavy brass medallion on a chain, the kind used by professional messengers for identification and safe conduct. With a slight shock, Jermain realized that he had been half afraid the package would contain some sort of magic amulet, and he almost laughed aloud. What had made him think that any sorceress, however absentminded, would give something like that to a chance acquaintance? Still, he was glad that the gift was relatively ordinary; he had no wish to become involved in affairs of sorcery.
He looked up and found Amberglas watching him. “Thank you,” he said. “This will be very useful.”
“I thought it might be,” Amberglas said with some satisfaction. “Useful to you, I mean; it isn’t likely to be useful to me, except as a paperweight, though one can’t always tell. Particularly since you’ve been exiled, which can make traveling very difficult because so many places have guards who ask a great many unpleasant questions and insist on knowing who one is before they will let one in. Or out. Which can be extremely inconvenient, though sometimes it isn’t.”
Jermain nodded. Briefly, he wondered how Amberglas had come by the medallion, then dismissed the question; it was no concern of his. He slipped the chain over his head and adjusted it, then bowed and thanked her again. She murmured something polite but rather vague and at last stepped out of the doorway and let him by. Jermain made a somewhat hasty farewell and left the tower.
When he reached the stable, he found Blackflame’s saddle and bridle hanging by the door of the stall. On the floor below them were Jermain’s saddlebags, which seemed considerably fuller than he remembered. Uneasily, he wondered how she had known he would be leaving today; she certainly had had no time to replenish them since he’d announced his departure. He shrugged; if Amberglas was determined to provide him with supplies, he would certainly not throw them away.
Jermain saddled Blackflame and led him out of the stable. The tower door was open, but Jermain saw no sign of Amberglas. Feeling slightly disappointed, he glanced about the clearing to check his directions, then turned to Blackflame. The medallion swung against his chest as he mounted, and after a moment’s thought Jermain lifted it and dropped it down the neck of his tunic. Few messengers displayed the medallions openly without need; he would attract less attention with it out of sight. He shrugged twice to get the chain in a comfortable position, and rode out of the clearing.
The weather was warm, hovering between late spring and early summer, and Jermain made good time. His side bothered him not at all, and by nightfall he was well south of the tower. The following day he reached the River Clemmar. He turned Blackflame east along the river’s bank, looking for a place where he could ford it. This part of the Clemmar ran narrow, swift, and deep, and he could not risk Blackflame being injured in the crossing. One stumble, or one rock flung too forcefully by the current, and Jermain might lose days waiting for the horse to heal.
At last Jermain found a spot that suited him, and, after checking the fastenings on the saddlebags, he urged Blackflame into the water. The crossing was uneventful, though twice the horse had to swim when the river grew too deep. They reached the opposite bank in soaking safety, and Jermain stopped at once and built a fire to dry his clothes and Blackflame’s gear. While his tunic and cloak steamed on a rock beside the fire, Jermain gave his horse a thorough rubdown.
By the time Jermain finished, his tunic was dry enough to wear. He put it on and made sure Amberglas’s medallion was concealed beneath it, then examined the cloak. The heavy wool was still too damp for comfort. Jermain was trying to decide whether to continue once the cloak was dry or simply camp where he was when he heard a rustling from the woods behind him.
Jermain was on his feet in an instant. Three strides put the fire between him and the source of the noise. As he loosened his sword in its sheath, he saw a dark-haired man on a bay stallion riding slowly through the trees toward him.
The rider stopped just within speaking distance. He looked about forty, and he was dressed in dark blue velvet and a cloak of gray wool. His eyes were black and intelligent, and he had an air of decisiveness about him that Jermain liked. Jermain noted with surprise that he wore a dagger at his belt in place of a sword. Either he is very brave, or he is very foolish, Jermain thought. Possibly both, though he looks more like a warrior than a fool.
“I crave your pardon for this intrusion,” said the horseman after a moment, “but I have been traveling for some time and your fire was too inviting to resist. May I join you for a while?”
Jermain did not reply at once. He was well aware that his own appearance was barely respectable, and he wondered why a lone traveler would risk approaching him. Still, Jermain did not wish to refuse hospitality merely because of a few doubts, particularly when talking to the horseman was probably the only way he could ever learn the answers to his questions. He let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword with deceptive casualness. “You are welcome, sir.”
“I thank you.” The horseman dismounted and tethered the bay, then seated himself by the fire. “May I know your name?”
“Trevannon.”
“Ah.” The satisfaction in the man’s voice was unmistakable. “Then you are the man I have been looking for these past six months.”
Jermain tensed. “Indeed?” he said, trying to sound casual. “I’m afraid I don’t see why.”
“You have information I need and skills I want,” the man said promptly. He smiled. “It’s a common enough reason, I’m afraid, but true nonetheless.”
“Perhaps.” Jermain allowed his skepticism to creep into his tone. He was not the only man in the Seven Kingdoms to possess experience or skills of swordplay, and he doubted that anyone would risk a king’s enmity for such common abilities. That left three possibilities: his knowledge of Sevairn, his knowledge of the Hoven-Thalar, or his presumed treason. “What skills do you need, and why do you come to me to find them?”
“I know your reputation. I’ve been looking for you since I heard of your exile, but you went south too quickly for me.”
“I won’t betray Sevairn,” Jermain said abruptly.
The traveler raised an eyebrow, but all he said was “I have little interest in Sevairn at present, but I will bear that in mind.”
Jermain felt himself flushing. “Why should you want a man who has been convicted of treason? How do you know I won’t ‘betray’
you
?”
“Because you didn’t betray Marreth,” the man said flatly.
Jermain’s eyes narrowed in surprise. The man looked at him sharply and went on. “You were exiled for giving unpopular advice, no matter what name Marreth chose to put on it. What difference should that make to me, as long as the advice was good as well as unpopular? And the advice was certainly good.”
“How do you know?” Jermain said.
“You told Marreth to arm Sevairn because the nomads will move north this summer, did you not? I have my own sources in the south, and I do not think you are wrong. If I had known in time, I might have . . . But it is far too late for that now. Still, I think I can use your services, if you are willing to join me.”
“Who are you?” Jermain demanded.
The man hesitated an instant, then looked straight at Jermain. “My name is Carachel.”
Jermain felt his eyes widening. “The Wizard-King of Tar-Alem!”
Carachel nodded. “Some call me that.”
“Then I fail to see, my lord, what use you may have for my services,” Jermain said. “Who can advise a wizard?”
“I am more interested in your other skills,” Carachel said. “The Hoven-Thalar move northward this summer, and I want you to command my army against them. Will you?”
CHAPTER 5
B
y the time Vandaris finally arrived, Eltiron was beginning to think he had imagined the whole conversation between Terrel and the unknown man. He had almost decided not to mention it, but Vandaris saw the way he started when she opened the tower door, and she demanded an explanation.
“It was Terrel,” Eltiron said reluctantly. “He was out here with someone when I got here; at least, I think he was.”
“So you’re afraid enough of Terrel Lassond that you jump when a door opens? Fire and sand snakes, what’s the man done to earn that kind of reaction? Now, if you’d said it was me you were worried about, I’d believe you had reason.”
“If it were only Terrel, I wouldn’t have been so tense,” Eltiron said, stung.
“Well, explain, then, and convince me.”
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Try me, squash head. I’ve seen a lot more strange things outside Sevairn than you’ll ever know about.”
Eltiron sighed inwardly and explained. To his surprise, Vandaris seemed to believe him. She listened without interrupting until he finished his tale, then shook her head.
“So Lassond is taking orders from someone. I wonder what they’re after? I think I must make a point of allowing him to meet me sometime soon.”
“You haven’t seen him yet? But you’ve been here nearly three days! Terrel must be busier than usual; he hardly ever waits that long before he calls on guests.”
Vandaris smiled nastily. “He isn’t waiting by choice; I’ve been stalling him. Fortunately for him, he’s finally starting to sound interesting. Now, about this person Lassond was talking to. Are you sure he couldn’t have hidden on the stairs while you went by?”
“There’s no place for anyone to hide. If there were, I’d have used it myself. And I only heard the tower door open and close once.”
“And there was no one here when you came up. Hmmph. Stay here a minute; I want to look around.”
“What for?” Eltiron said irritably as Vandaris began slowly circling the tower. “There’s nothing around; you can see that from here. Besides, I already looked.”
“Not very hard,” Vandaris said from one of the battlements on the south side of the tower.
“What?” Eltiron went to join her, and she nodded toward the flat surface of the wall. In the center of the parapet was a patch of something wet and red, about the size of Eltiron’s hand. Eltiron stared in disbelief, and his skin crawled.
“It wasn’t here before!” he said. “It can’t have been! I’m sure I looked through all of these.”
“Well, it didn’t come out of nowhere,” Vandaris said mildly. She eyed the red patch briefly, then drew her dagger and leaned forward as if to touch the spot with the dagger’s point.
Without thinking, Eltiron grabbed her wrist. “Don’t touch it.”
Vandaris’s eyes narrowed, and Eltiron hastily let go of her. “I—I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t want an apology, dragon bait,” Vandaris said, not moving. Sunlight glinted on the dagger she held. “I want an explanation.
“I don’t
have
an explanation,” Eltiron said almost desperately. “I just—just did it, that’s all, and I’m sorry.”
“You have singularly dangerous impulses, then.” Vandaris sheathed her weapon and turned away, and Eltiron felt as if a door had closed in his face. Then he realized that Vandaris was staring down at the stone parapet, and his eyes followed hers.
The red patch was barely half the size it had been a moment before. As Eltiron watched in disbelief, it shrank even further, like a living thing drawing back hastily from something painful. Then it was gone completely, leaving no trace on the stone.
Hesitantly, Eltiron reached forward and touched the place where the redness had been. He felt a brief warmth, and for an instant his hand tingled as if it were asleep, and then there was only the cool, familiar stone of the battlement beneath his hand. Slowly, he drew his hand back and looked at Vandaris.
“Morada’s sword!” she said softly, still staring at the stone. Then she looked at Eltiron. “I apologize. Whatever that was, you were right to keep me from touching it.”
“But what was it?”
“Sorcery,” Vandaris said matter-of-factly.
“Here?”
Eltiron jerked away from the parapet and almost lost his balance. “How do you know? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I told you; I’ve seen strange things outside Sevairn. I should have realized earlier.”
“Why would anyone want to—to put a patch of blood on top of one of the towers of Leshiya Castle?”
“What makes you think it was blood?”
Eltiron blinked. “Wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“Then what
was
it? And what was it for?”
“Maybe some sorcerer in Navren was trying out a new long-distance spell, or maybe it was a side effect of something else entirely. Who knows what magic is for?”
“I thought you said—” Eltiron stopped short, trying to find a tactful way of finishing the sentence.
Vandaris snorted. “You think I’m a magician, cloud head? I can’t even tell you what kind of sorcery that was; I can recognize magic when my dagger hits it hard enough; that’s all. Come on, let’s see if there are any more.”
Eltiron swallowed, but he did not reply as he turned to follow Vandaris. The idea of sorcery unnerved him, though he knew that there were places where magic was not as rare as it was in Sevairn. Still, he was relieved when they found nothing else unusual, though it took two turns around the tower before Vandaris was satisfied.