Part 27 (2/2)

”Of course,” Gaston said then, and rose.

He knew, Dewar thought, but he stood and followed Gaston out, standing aside as the tall Prince took a heavy red cloak from a coat-rack.

Hurricane, outside, was stamping in the cold; Dewar undid the reins and looped them around the hand, his left, that bore the ring beneath his glove.

”A fine horse,” Gaston said.

”I found him wandering around-I was . . . wandering myself.”

Gaston said nothing more, but led him through the torch-lit camp to a tent ringed with uneasy guards.

Could he be attempting this in truth? wondered Dewar. It was the stuff of cheap popular ballads. He dropped Hurricane's reins and left him standing outside the tent-flap when Gaston lifted it and ducked in. Going in behind him, Dewar nearly b.u.mped into him because the Marshal had stopped.

Then he straightened and saw why. A brittle, not-quite-visible s.h.i.+mmer in the air marked the edge of a circular Boundary drawn to confine Prospero here.

Prospero had looked up with an expression of chill inquiry which hardened as he recognized Dewar. He was not asleep, not even resting; he wore a heavy cloak, under which his left arm could be seen to be in a sling, and he sat on his cot, reading at a low table by a sickly green light.

Foxfire, Dewar realized. An illumination so energyless as to be useless as a focus for sorcery.

”Lord Dewar hath desired of me that he speak with you privily,” Gaston said. ”Is this agreeable to you?”

Prospero closed his book deliberately, and Dewar was unnerved to see that he was really thinking it over. ”Very well,” he said. ”We've professional gossip to change, and this midnight's as good an hour as any other for't.”

”1 knew you would not yet lie asleep,” Gaston said.

”Go sleep yourself, and sweet dreams, Prince,” Prospero said, a note of irony in his voice. ”You've much to look forward to tomorrow.”

Gaston's lips pressed together and his nostrils flared, but he said evenly, ”Very well. Lord Dewar, 1 shall tell the guards one quarter of an hour.”

”Thank you, sir.” Dewar bowed his head, speaking quietly.

Gaston bowed slightly to him and left.

Dewar moved around the perimeter of the unseen-but-felt Bounds until he was closest to Prospero. Prospero looked at him, his eyebrows drawn together, with a pained, not unkind expression.

”Thou, idiot,” he informed Dewar.

”I know another,” Dewar said, p.r.i.c.ked. He removed his glove and held up his hand. ”Recognize this?”

Prospero leaned forward, then stood and came to the Bounds. ”How didst thou come by that,” he hissed.

”A gift from a lady,” Dewar said softly.

”A lady.”

”A friend of yours.”

”I see.”

”She would have liked to come and talk to you herself, but I convinced her it was not the wisest thing to do. We have another acquaintance in common.”

”Have we?”

”Four legs, twenty hands-”

”Idiot!”

”He's outside.” Dewar reached into his jacket and took out his wand, beginning to draw power into it, into his hands, changing it, restoring its shape.

Prospero, who had begun to turn away, spun back and 244 -=> *E(iza6etfi 'Wittey stared at Dewar. ”Where is she? Thou canst not be in earnest,” he whispered.

”I wouldn't be, but for something the lady said before leaving.”

”That, being?” Prospero would have pounced on him if he could.

”She has it on excellent authority that the Emperor has the cold cup ready for your gullet. This despite Gaston's objections; indeed, he may not know of it as such. To be slipped past Gaston to you as soon as possible. Perhaps for breakfast, who knows.”

”Avril would keep that to himself. Here.” Prospero pointed at a spot on the floor across from where Dewar stood, and Dewar went around to that place. He saw that it was a knotlike focus for the spell. ” Tis there he closed it.”

”I'll try my key in his lock. I didn't know he had the Art. The Well was plain in him, but not more.”

”Didst not? Aye, he was with Neyphile, yon half-tutored vixen. She'd been prowling for a Prince. She had that knave false Golias awhile, lacking better company. A sweet pair of playmates, each to wreak 'pon the other by turns, poignant, pungent games of pain and steel in th' embrace of mutual vice.”

Dewar covered his surprise, snorting. ”Gossip indeed.”

” Tis the sort can keep thee alive, thou young idiot.”

”It's congenital,” Dewar said, nettled. ”Don't interrupt me.”

Prospero, who had opened his mouth to do so, chuckled, holding his head in his right hand and shaking it. ”Who'd believe this in a romance?” he muttered. ”Why, n.o.body. Certainly not I.”

Dewar was moving his staff, pa.s.sing it from hand to hand slowly and gracefully, eyes closed now, following the spell. It was a simple but durable construction. There were three false knots to it and a fourth true knot; the false must be loosed first, and so he did that with all the care and meticulous attention he could muster. The spell was built of Well- Sorcerer and a (jentfeman 245.

force, and Well-force was a white line, an additional nerve and sense in Dewar's spine.

”Haste,” whispered Prospero, watching him, still disbelieving. At least it was winter, so the quarter-hour they had been granted was long. He turned and rumpled up the bedding, then half-covered the foxfire with his book, dimming the interior. ”A grey-bearded ruse,” Prospero muttered, shaking his head at the unconvincingly mock-tenanted bed. It might buy a few seconds1 reprieve.

Perspiration ran from Dewar's forehead to sting his eyes. He finished the third and began the true knot, moving the staff more and more slowly, as the resistance of the spell increased. Otto, luckily, didn't seem to have built any traps into the thing; there were a few odd tingles and pops, but Dewar ignored them as minor flaws or flairs and concentrated on taking it apart.

He slammed the staff down. Sparks shot up its length as force was channelled out through it, through Dewar and back through the staff to dissipate, and a glowing rush poured in from the Binding as it came apart around him.

”Right peremptory-beautiful,” whispered Prospero, smiling. He gestured, three quick loops, drawing the Well into his own hands and shaping a spell with economy. The air around him s.h.i.+mmered and thickened.

Dewar leaned on his staff, panting and soaked; he mopped his face.

”Hurry,” he whispered in his turn, and started for the tent-flap.

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