Part 18 (1/2)

”I don't know, but I tried to open one to leave here. It doesn't work. Prospero has not been idle; he has advanced certain aspects of the Art intriguingly.”

”We can march,” Otto said.

”Not fast enough. He can throw Bounds around you faster than this many men can move. Your Marshal knows that.”

”Well, thank you for letting us know, then,” Ottaviano said. ”I'd better go write a will and put it in a fireproof chest.”

Dewar poured himself another gla.s.s of wine, smiling slightly. ”You really have no idea what to do,” he said. ”Really?”

The Fireduke frowned, catching Otto's eye. Otto shrugged.

”You have a suggestion?” Gaston said.

”Actually I have a question, or a criticism.”

Gaston inclined his head, waited.

Sorcerer and a gentleman 169.

”Why don't you have Bounds on your encampment?” Dewar asked, setting the gla.s.s down, genuine wonder in his voice. ”You're facing a sorcerer, and you don't have the most rudimentary of Bounds.”

”I know not the Art of placing them,” Gaston said, ”nor does anyone who is not a sorcerer, and we have no sorcerer among us.”

”Hm,” Dewar said. ”Panurgus's doing. I see. Pity.”

”I cannot make contract with a sorcerer,” Gaston said bluntly.

”I don't sell my services,” Dewar said. ”I just came to see Ottaviano, how he was getting on. I shall convey, sir, your respects to your widow,” he added, rising to his feet.

Ottaviano kicked Gaston again, hard, and stood himself. ”Don't bother,” he said, and dragged his temper under control. Gaston had risen too now and appeared to be holding some hot words in his clenched teeth. It reminded Otto of the coy conversation he had had with Dewar before, when Dewar had been obliquely letting Otto know that he would help Otto with his war. ”Perhaps you'd like some supper,” Ottaviano said. ”Let's go to my tent. It's not far.”

”Very kind of you,” Dewar said, that annoying smile returning. ”I shall accept with all the grat.i.tude of the famished, if the Marshal will allow me to leave his presence without sending those husky fellows after me everywhere.”

Gaston looked at Ottaviano, clearly considering whether this were some treacherous game or weird plot. He nodded once. ”Baron, thou shall wait on me at midnight,” he said.

And report on what this is about, Otto filled in. ”Yes, sir.”

”And whilst Lord Dewar is in the camp, bear him company at all times.”

”Yes, sir.”

Uninvited, Dewar sat down in the one real chair Otto had in his tent, a rather nice one Lunete had embroidered with ;, a picture of the famous Ascolet castle, Malperdy, on its ,. back and a fine big ram, representing the acknowledged %** fundament of the Ascolet livelihood, on the seat. She had 170.

'Elizabeth had some trouble with the ram's right legs, so that he appeared to be fixed to his hillside at an angle, and his gaze was a touch cross-eyed. Still, it was an excellent chair, having upholstered arms and built to be tilted onto two legs, and the Baron of Ascolet nearly suggested that Dewar might be more comfortable on one of the three-legged sling stools.

But Dewar slouched and propped his feet on a chest at the foot of Otto's bed, and Otto sat on another chest.

”I hope you meant it about the food,” Dewar said after a moment, opening his eyes and looking sharply at Otto.

”Sure I did. I'll send someone. There's usually stew at least.” Ottaviano went out again and found one of his squires, who was a few tents away giggling and dicing with two other boys and a predatory off-duty lieutenant from Herne's troops. Otto sent the boy off to find them a late bite of supper and considered, as he squelched back to his tent, that perhaps he should find more work for his squires, if only to keep them from losing their s.h.i.+rts and the Sun might see what else.

Dewar was rubbing his forehead and yawning.

”Tired?”

”The Marshal's wine in an empty gut brews instant hangover,” Dewar said. He smiled thinly. ”He would have been happier to see Prospero himself, I do think.”

”I'm sure that if he does, he'll offer him a drink,” Otto said. ”Gaston doesn't seem to take this whole thing personally.”

”But of course not. Is it not the Emperor whom Prince Prospero opposes? The Marshal is, hm, standing in the way. Not a good place to be, between a sorcerer like Prince Prospero and something he wants.”

Otto sat on the bed again. ”Not a good place at all. Even less good in a few days, if what you said is true.”

”It's true.”

”Did you drop by just to tell us that?” Otto asked.

”No,” Dewar said, after thinking for a moment.

The wind flapped the tent's sides. Dewar got up, thumping the chair, and went to the tiny wood-stove in the center Sorcerer and a gentleman 171.

of the tent. ”Coal would be better,” he said, stuffing two days' ration of wood into the cast-iron belly.

”In Ascolet we use coal,” Otto said; ”we've got a lot of it. Out here there's nothing to burn but dung, which stinks, so we're leaving that for the foot troops and as a special concession to the officers the Marshal let Herne haul in some wood.”

”Most of the heat goes right up and out,” Dewar observed, standing and closing the stove, looking up the pipe.

”Why are you here?”

The sorcerer dusted bark from his hands. ”Have you ever seen Prospero?”

”Yes. Well, at a distance. A great distance. I thought it was him.”

”I dreamt of him,” Dewar said, turning and sitting on the stove. He and Otto eyed one another by the dull light from the lamp, whose chimney needed to be cleaned.

”Did he tell you to come here?” Otto asked, trying to keep his voice level. He didn't believe in supernatural dreams, dreams of foreseeing and dreams of far-sight.

”He laid a geas on me,” Dewar said, ”to seek him until we met.”

”h.e.l.l of a geas,” Otto said. ”What did you do to deserve that?”

Dewar lifted his eyebrows. The stove was becoming warm enough to penetrate his trousers. He s.h.i.+fted his seat. ”Well,” he said, ”when I first had it I was in his tomb.”

Ottaviano opened and closed his mouth. Trespa.s.sing in the Royal Tombs? How? Why? But Dewar wouldn't answer questions, certainly. ”You get around,” he said.

Dewar inclined his head, smiling. ”Lately,” he said, ”the geas has, in a manner of speaking, been roused. I could ignore it before. Have you ever had a geas?”

”Uh, no, not that sort.”

”They're a pain in the neck,” Dewar said thoughtfully. ”Dreadful nuisance. Particularly that sort, the very vague and wide-ranging sort that, if one isn't aware, hangs over one's every deed and either shapes or shadows it. One forever has a feeling that there's something else one ought to 172.