Part 36 (1/2)

”I'll track him down,” the woman said, ”eventually.”

”That was my plan also.”

”Mmhm. And what sort of business do you have to do?”

Dewar had not noticed: while her left hand stroked the feathers, the right had brought the c.o.c.ked crossbow to bear on him. ”We met recently, under flurried circ.u.mstances, and parted inconclusively: not on good terms or ill, just suddenly. I wish to finish the conversation we had begun, and to understand what our future relations.h.i.+p will be.”

”Mmhm,” she said again, her eyes on his. ”You're not exactly lying,” she said after a moment, ”but you're so full of deceit it's hard to be sure.”

”I mean him no harm, no injury. I may even be able to speed you to him, if you ally with me for the search.”

”You're one of these sorcerers,” she said, ”of whom I've heard that everything is for sale. Your help wouldn't be free.”

”We'd help one another,” Dewar said. ”I do not engage in commerce.”

”Mmhm. I suspect I'd come off short, as I did last time I helped you. You'd be taking care of yourself first.”

”So would you, certainly. It's only natural.”

”Had I placed myself first the first time we met,” she said, slowly cradling the crossbow (glittering starlit steel) in both hands, ”I'd have left you with a big pile of food, a barrel of water, and good-luck wishes-before the storm trapped me there.”

Dewar looked away, chewing his lip. If she had truly placed herself first when they had first met, he would lie now stiff and cold under a slowly-compacting cover of snow, dreaming unknowing of darkness.

”I'm too soft-hearted,” she said, and turned away.

'Elizabeth That's what I've been told, anyway, and I guess it's true,” le added, and walked back around the gryphon. The ani-lal crouched.

”Don't go!” he said, as her head and body appeared etween the wings.

”I don't think I want you to help me,” she said, ”but I'll ;11 him you're looking for him when I find him.”

”Do that, then,” said Dewar.

She did not reply; the gryphon turned quickly, light on real taloned and clawed feet-how could anything so big y?-and trotted awkwardly, then leapt upward, wings seiz-ig the air and mounting it. Dewar tipped his head back, matching; the gryphon went forward, down, caught a draft, nd he lost it in the night.

Dewar noticed that she had left him her canteen. The nountains were nearly waterless, besides being of barren tone and thin on Leys and firewood. He'd need the canteen o get out of here, which he'd have to do the hard way: on oot.

27.)EWAR, LEANING OVER THE EDGE OF the Well, pulled the nossy bucket up. The frayed rope was iced, and it tried to reeze onto his gloves every time he touched it. But the water fas wet and refres.h.i.+ng and he filled the canteen and drank lowly, relieving his thirst with reverent animal pleasure. It lad been most of a night and a day since he'd drunk; he'd ound no open water on his route to the village, nor even ice o thaw. Where was the snow? There'd been plenty of it in he South all autumn.

The village was deserted. Doorways gaped doorless; shut-ers banged unevenly in the whistling wind. There was no ign of recent inhabitation; as Dewar looked around at the veathered and crumbling houses, he knew no one could lave lived here for some years. Gra.s.s grew on thresholds ind birds' nests were visible in unlikely places. Why aban- Sorcerer and a QentCeman 309.

don a place with a good well in these parts? Ascolet was an odd country. He shrugged and filled the canteen again.

A sound more regular than the flapping of a shutter came to his ears as he drank. Dewar recognized it as hoofbeats, approaching at a fast, purposeful clip. He tightened his belt, capped the canteen, and readied himself for an encounter which could hardly be pleasant in these wild places. Some of Golias's loose mercenaries, most likely.

But only one horseman rode into the square, and he pulled up five or six paces from the well and stared at Dewar. The horse was tired, wheezing and frothing; its sides were blooded from the spurs of the mailed rider, who wore Ascolet livery and a closed helm.

Messenger? wondered Dewar, and waited, ready.

”I challenge you,” said the other. ”You are a cowardly, sneaking intriguer, and the world will be lighter without your soul.”

Dewar looked at the well. ”Is this some local custom?” he inquired. There'd been nothing in the Ephemeris about meeting a mortal challenge at this well.

”Eliminating vermin is a universal practice,” said the knight.

The voice was familiar, though altered by the helm.

”Who challenges me, then?” Dewar asked, humoring him.

”Ottaviano,” said the knight.

Dewar blinked. ”Otto? What's your problem?” Perhaps Lunete had told him of Dewar's visit after all.

”Choose your weapon.”

”I don't think you're quite-”

”Choose your weapon or be ridden down!” screamed Otto, who had fired himself to a blazing rage during his ride and meant to be rid of Dewar, who had twice now released Prospero, Otto's prisoner and the lynch-pin of Otto's future.

”I have no reason to fight you,” Dewar said, bemused, ”so-”

Otto spurred his horse, which screamed and leapt forward, exhausted though it was. In less than a second he was 310.

'Llizabetfi 'Wittey on Dewar, and Dewar, astonished, threw himself down, rolled out of the way, and rose and drew. The horse swung around and came back, and Dewar deflected a wide decapitating swing from Otto and then grabbed his wrist and yanked him sideways. Overbalanced, Otto fell, but he drew a dagger as he did and gashed Dewar's arm.

The horse staggered away a few steps. Although being mounted gave him great advantage, Otto did not pursue it and instead went for Dewar again, dagger in one hand and his wide-biaded gold-damascened sword in the other.

Dewar abandoned argument and defended himself, using his cloak to confuse and screen his movements and to foul Otto's dagger blade, which had bitten deep. His forearm ran with blood; he hadn't time to bind it nor to draw on the Well for strength.

A high scream came from overhead. The horse whinnied in rolling-eyed panic and stampeded out of the square down a side street. A shadow pa.s.sed over them, and as it did Otto fell back under a determined attack from Dewar. Dewar wanted to disarm his challenger or wound him enough to stop the fight; he had no intention of dying over jealousy sparked by a woman, which he suspected was the germ of the quarrel here. Lunete, surely, would not have told Otto of their dalliance, and Dewar considered it irrelevant-she had started it, after all-but Otto was edgy and hot-tempered and might have leapt to his own conclusions without evidence.

The shadow had left a musty-smelling draft behind it. With a scrabbling whump the gryphon which had carried Dewar from the castle tower and left him on the hillside landed on the other side of the fountain.

”Stop!” cried the young woman who owned the beast, running toward them. She dove at Otto, dodged his dagger hand, and ducked away as he whirled on her; Dewar, using the opening, struck Otto's sword down. Otto spun back and swung at Dewar again, a wild but strong blow, and yelled in protest as the woman from the gryphon grabbed his cloak and pulled him off-balance.

Dewar laughed at the incongruous sight, a mouse pulling Sorcerer and a Qentteman 311.

a cat's tail. But Otto rounded on her and she cried out as he punched her, his left fist glancing across her face and staggering her, and then the gryphon pounced into the disorderly melee too and knocked him down, taking a nick or two as Otto Hailed and fell.

”Trixie! Stop!” The woman stomped on Otto's left arm and knelt on it, keeping him from stabbing the gryphon.

”Yield, fool!” yelled Dewar to Otto.

Otto cursed the woman up and down her ancestry and then lay still as Dewar lifted his visor so that he gazed straight up at the gryphon's beak. Blood ran from the young woman's nose and spatted on his helm and face.

”What the f.u.c.k is that?” Otto shouted after a moment.

”Trixie,” said the woman, breathing hard. ”Gryphons don't like people who hurt their riders.” She cautiously ma.s.saged her face where he had hit her and wiped tears from her cheeks. ”Ouch.”

”You get the h.e.l.l out of this fight, and your gryphon can mind its own business,” Otto bellowed, red-faced. He scrabbled for his sword, which had fallen from his hand.