Part 44 (1/2)

”Let us begone,” the woman said. ”The forces are disrupted here; someone may come to investigate.”

”Master!”

”Ariel?” Prospero sat bolt upright in bed and lunged over to the nightstand to light a candle. It guttered. Ariel was fidgeting about the bed hangings, fluttering the fringes. ”Report!”

”I've found her, Master, I've found Freia, she is a prisoner!”

”h.e.l.l's ice! Where? Of whom?”

”In Landuc, Master. I had great difficulty searching because of the prevalence of sorceries there, and moreover I was caught up by a wind-Summoning. The Summoner of winds was a sorceress, and she used them to destroy a fortress. But in the same place as the sorceress was the Lady Freia. She was bound and hooded, and I tried to communicate with her but could not.”

Ariel, excited by his own tale, had become a dusty little whirlwind carrying sc.r.a.ps of paper and feather and lightweight debris in his spinning form, balanced at the end of the bed. Prospero stared at him.

”Tell on.”

”The place was that where the men of Argylle were held, Master. Perendlac. They left that place, however, having 366.

”EfizaBetfi Sorcerer and a (jentteman 367.

destroyed it, and moved up one of the rivers-I believe the Rendlac, is that not the one from the North?-to a fortress which commands a great long view being on a small mountain. They took her within. There she lies still if they have not moved her again.”

”She was alive, well.”

”Alive, and 1 detected no wound, although, Master, I am not expert at these things. She is flesh, and I cannot penetrate it.”

”Of course. But she had no maleriat hurt.”

”No, Master. A prisoner, bound and hooded, held by a sorceress.”

Prospero threw back the heavy coverlet and got out of bed, lighting three more candles. The whirlwind hopped into the fireplace and made circular patterns in the powdery old ashes there.

”Shall we rescue her?” asked Ariel excitedly.

”What think'st thou?” snapped Prospero. ”The fool, to be taken- What did she at Perendlac, I'd like to know.” Freia, taken by a sorceress: she could not have done worse had she set out with intent to do so. He threw clothing onto the bed, took his sword from the wall and half-drew it, looking at the blade, tarnished to blackness that could never be polished away: the stain of Panurgus's blood.

Ariel, who did not engage in conjecture unless ordered to do so, waited. Ashes plumed up the chimney.

”Shall travel thither with me,” Prospero said. ”We leave tonight.” He slammed the sword back into its scabbard and dropped it on the bed with the clothing.

32.THE SORCERESS NEYPHILE, WHOSE SIMPLY-DRESSED hair W3S the color of dark honey, wore a low-cut gown of pale yellow satin with white lace. She half-reclined on a blue velvet divan, which was entirely out of place in the dank stone dungeon, tn the corners of the room, things moved in the decaying straw. She considered the subject of her investigations with a remote, indifferent expression.

The subject was chained to the opposite wall, leaning back, eyes closed, panting.

Neyphile was not a major sorceress. Her bargain with Panurgus for a taste of the Fire of Landuc had been accomplished with difficulty, and only Panurgus's death had freed her of some of its more onerous clauses. Panurgus had trained her just enough that, had she been more clever, she would have been killed by her own ignorance; instead, she had made other bargains, in other places, and advanced her knowledge thus and by the dint of her own plodding labors. Competent, but never brilliant, she could not be like Prospero, a self-made adept capable of holding her own beyond the Limen, in Phesaotois; nor was she sufficiently skilled at negotiation to be like Oriana, who had used trade and blackmail to leave the limits of Phesaotois and improve her standing in Pheyarcet. Neyphile's particular interest was Bounds, and, like many other diligent but dull scholars, she had acquired a sound and extensive knowledge of this specialty, with scant comprehension of the universal. Still, she was a sorceress.

Today she had met something beyond her reach in Golias's recalcitrant prisoner. A peculiar barrier sheltered the girl from the deepest sorcerous workings, and although she suffered greatly under them she was still mistress of herself enough not to speak.

^ Neyphile's curiosity was piqued, and her professional pride was insulted. After the removal of Ottaviano's spells . and Neyphile's replacement of them with her own, the girl should have been stripped open, her thoughts available at the asking. This was not the case.

Press though Neyphile did, distract the girl's concentra-% lion with other things as she might, the girl held her v thoughts within.

:v- Neyphile lifted a small silver bell on a turquoise cus.h.i.+on * beside the divan and rang.

^ The door opened and a guard entered, saluting. ^ ”Prince Golias must join me,” Neyphile said.

368.

”E&za&etfi Itfittey The man saluted again and left.

Neyphile continued to study her subject in various lights until Golias sc.r.a.ped open the door and entered.

”What is the provenance of this?” Neyphile demanded of him, gesturing at the prisoner.

Golias frowned. ”Prospero's,” he said. She knew that.

”From what circle of the world? Where on the Road was she engendered?”

”No idea. Why?”

”Strange,” Neyphile said. ”I shall have to think about it.”

”Where is Prospero's headquarters?” Golias demanded.

Neyphile ran her bone wand through her fingers. ”Ask her yourself,” she said. ”I must retire and consider another matter at present.” She stood and left the dungeon. Golias scowled after her.

The prisoner was fastened to the wall by chains at her waist, wrists, and ankles. Golias went to her and lifted her head, blew in her face. She blinked involuntarily.

”Don't feel like talking?” he said mockingly.

She swallowed.

Golias smiled. ”Let's see what kind of noise you can make,” he said, and took out his knife. Her leather trousers were fastened with b.u.t.tons. He cut them off, one by one.

Dewar's etched black tabletop was overlaid with a softly glowing webwork of light, barely visible in the midday suns.h.i.+ne from the high windows. He leaned over, staring at one pulsating point near the far edge of the table, in an area devoid of engraved and inlaid lines.

After a moment, he picked up a tiny lens on a golden tripod and carefully inserted it in the webwork. A line brightened. He nodded and chose a prism on a similar stand and another and placed them at junctions.

The bright spot grew brighter.

Dewar extended a finger and put it in the bright spot. Coldness spread up his arm; it was like dipping into near-freezing water. Pain followed the cold. Dewar hissed, then gasped and yanked his hand away. His arm felt flayed. He shook it vigorously, then unb.u.t.toned the lace-trimmed cuff Sorcerer and a QentCeman 369.

and looked at the skin to a.s.sure himself that all was as it should be.

The cold feeling was gone. It had stopped as soon as he had withdrawn his hand.

In its place was a not unpleasant rippling, which was fading with the pain. He b.u.t.toned his cuff again.

Dewar pulled a stool over to his table and sat down, looking at the lines of light.

”Contradictory. Cancellation,” he said. ”Clash of Elements.”