Part 16 (1/2)
”His chances are better there than if he continued here,”
Dewar said, lighting the pipe off the candle and puffing smoke around his words.
”I mean the dishonor!” cried Lunete. Dewar gazed at her over the candle and smoke. ”Otto's honor seems rugged and durable enough to withstand a compromise,” he said. ”He knew the odds when he started the game, Lunete.”
”I want him to fight on,” she said. ”I want him to have Ascolet, and not as another man's lackey. I want him to be himself, independent and unchained, not bound to the Em-peror.”
Dewar shook his head slowly. ”Perhaps later,” he said. ”Perhaps it might be done were there no Prince Gaston to flank and counter and antic.i.p.ate as he does, with the flood 154.
'Etiza&etfi of men he commands. He will still be Otlo if he is a baron and not a king, Countess. He will lose nothing of his essential self.”
”You don't know him-”
”Perhaps not,” Dewar admitted, sucking the pipe thoughtfully.
But they both knew he did, and that she did not, and that he had lived more closely now with Ottaviano than had Lunete his wife and for longer. Lunete bit her lip and looked away, at the little wood-burning stove which barely warmed the tent.
”It is not for me to make his future, I know,” she said after a moment, ”but-Dewar, 1 do not want him to be hurt.”
”It will sting, but it will not kill him.”
”I mean in the West.”
”He probably doesn't want to get hurt there either,” Dewar said, shrugging.
”Will you do what you can to protect him?” Lunete asked, her eyes on his.
Dewar sat very still.
”I will pay you,” she said in the silence.
”I have other concerns,” he said, sighing a long stream of pale smoke. ”Moreover I am not ashamed to say I have no more desire to face Prince Prospero than Otto has to face Prince Gaston, and for very similar reasons.”
”Oh,” she said, and with a flick of acid, ”I was forgetting. You don't sell your sorcery.”
Dewar was master enough of himself not to answer the implied insult. ”No, and the Emperor doesn't buy,” he reminded her. ”There would be no point in me going there; they would not have me, would not trust me. Otto does not quite believe that I stay here now, and for me to go west with him to face down the most powerful sorcerer of Phe-yarcet-” He snorted. ”They would chain me in a madhouse, rightly too. It is beyond all reason. I have important work to do, which goes undone while I play court-wizard with these petty wars and politics.”
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”You could go for the same reason you came here,” Lunete said.
Dewar lowered his eyes from hers and watched the hourgla.s.s run.
”Are you not his friend?” she whispered. ”You said so.”
”It is not so much a question of that, madame-”
”You said you would help him because you liked him,” she reminded him, still whispering. ”You are a gentleman as well as a sorcerer. Will you not follow this through to its conclusion? a.s.suredly he has needed you here. He will need you more there. Would you deny that?”
Dewar said nothing, studying the candle-flame now instead of the running sand in the hourgla.s.s.
”There are things I must do,” he said to the flame, ”but when I have done them, I will join him and Prince Gaston in the West again. They will not need me at once; it will take them some time to travel thither.”
Lunete's breath made the flame bow to Dewar, a cloudlet of black soot rising as it kissed its well of melted wax.
”Anything in my power to give you-”
”I do not sell my sorcery,” Dewar said in a voice without emotion, turning the words back on her as she had turned them on him.
She stiffened, looked down. ”I-”
”Nay, Lunete,” he said, and rose, leaned over the table, took her hands. ”Let us not quarrel for pride. Let us be friends, as we have been.”
She stood too, clasping his warm hands with hers that were cold. ”Thank you,” she said. ”Let us be friends.” His eyes rested on hers, and she felt that disconcerting swimming warmth move through her body again. ”Will you accept, not payment, but a token of my friends.h.i.+p?” Lunete asked softly.
He began to say no, and she forestalled him.
”Something of no value, save to a friend-”
Dewar bowed his head gracefully. ”Then I am honored.”
Lunete let go of his hands and took off her helmet. Her hair was braided and pinned tight against her head beneath 156 -= 'Elizabeth 'Wittey the metal and wool. She undid one of the plaits, drew her knife, and cut a long russet-glinting lock of it.
Dewar watched, unspeaking.
”This is a precious thing, and of great value; I thank you,” he said low, bowing deeply as he accepted the gift, coiling it round and round into a ring. Did she know that she had just handed him full power over herself? Was she so ignorant?
Lunete, blus.h.i.+ng, put her hair up again.
”There is a favor I would ask of you, Lunete, in friends.h.i.+p's name,” Dewar said.
Her eyes glanced at him and away.
”Do not tell Otto we have spoken thus,” he said.
The winter sun was blazing hot. Indifferent to its rays, Prince Gaston stood on the Erispas road's packhorse bridge, arms folded, waiting for Ottaviano's party to dismount and join him.
Behind him, waiting with the same patience displayed by their commander, were arrayed in a semicircle the Fire-duke's four princ.i.p.al captains and a standard-bearer who carried the Imperial standard and Gaston's own on a single staff.
First down at the canyon's mouth was a blue-cloaked man, whom the Marshal recognized as the fellow who'd acted as messenger between his camp and Ottaviano's while they negotiated, followed immediately by Ottaviano himself and Golias. Golias was dressed in the same leather and mail he wore to fight. Ottaviano had a new-looking surcoat. Three other men and a boy carrying their standard were with them, witnesses for their side.
The lanky emissary walked beside Ottaviano, avoiding slush-puddles without looking down; they were talking about something, Ottaviano nodding. The standard-bearer was on the emissary's other side, eyeing the bridge, which had been cleared of the previous day's wet snow and ice. The river underneath was too fast-moving to freeze, and the ice that fringed it was wet and dripping today under the sun's brief appearance.
Sorcerer and a Qentteman 157.
The emissary glanced up, caught Prince Gaston's eye on them, and smiled slightly and nodded once, a greeting to a peer. He fell back half a step to join the others. Gaston realized he didn't actually know the man's name. He had always identified himself as the Representative of the King of Ascolet, Count of Lys.
Ottaviano and Golias walked onto the bridge, and Gas-ton's attention was drawn from their follower, who had his hands behind his back and was looking off to one side at the stream now.
”Good day,” Gaston said.