Part 48 (1/2)
”Good night, then. Rest thee well.”
The whole business, he thought, closing and locking her door, was enough to make a man gag on his own breath. Prospero would find some way to make Avril pay Hel! for it. And Otto and Golias? Death for them, at best.
' Dewar, hard on the Third Force's trail in western Ascolet, looked at the deepening blue of the heavens and wondered where he could stop for the night. He had no map of the area, but any fool knew that inns were few and far between in the bush-through which he had been riding on a weak Ley on which path the Third Force appeared to travel in an overlay-and more common on the Emperor's highways. He had crossed such a highway at midday.
His dilemma was complicated slightly by the knowledge that if he was seen in an inn and recognized by one of Ottaviano's people, there would more than likely be an incident of the sort both a sorcerer and a gentleman of quiet habits would prefer to avoid. Dewar's horse, who had been drinking at a stream while his master thought about beds and mulled wine, blew and shook his head, jingling harness.
The area was not uninhabited. If he continued along this Ley by the stars' light, he was likely to come on another road, or a cot and a barn, or something more sheltered than the frozen earth and dry snow.
He nudged the horse and they climbed a ridge slantwise, dark trunks and the pallid snow monochromatic around them. At the ridgetop, the Ley ran on, and two streams seized by ice lay to either side below; Dewar could sense them without seeing. The horse went more quickly, but cautiously on account of the dark. Dewar pulled him up and took out his staff, and a few minutes later they had the company of an indignant little ignis bound to the end of it.
”... ay .. .” came a bleating sound from the dark gully below the ridge.
Dewar's horse p.r.i.c.ked his ears and looked toward it.
”Some dumb sheep,” Dewar said. ”I'm sick of mutton. Gee.”
The horse began walking forward. Between his steps, the sound rose again, louder.
”Hey!”
Dewar frowned.
”Hey! Help!” shouted the man's voice, weak but carrying.
”Oh, h.e.l.l,” Dewar said.
The horse waited again, uncertain.
”I suppose it would be bad luck to leave him there,” Dewar said. ”He'd curse us or something. Though they're pretty ignorant of that hereabouts. Come on, Cinders. Humph, and he can give us hospitality for the night in return. Yes.” He raised his voice. ”Hey yourself!”
”Help! I ...” the voice faded.
”You hurt?”
”Can't . . . move,” the voice replied.
It was a rustic who'd fallen and hurt himself, Dewar supposed, probably chasing a dumb sheep. He turned the horse and began descending the ridge aslant as before, listening. At the bottom, he called, ”So where are you?” ; ”Here . . . here . . . near the brook ...” ,'; He was east of Dewar. Cinders had harder going here; it
was stonier and icier than the other side. Dewar dismounted and they proceeded carefully, by ignis-light, together.
”That's not a-” began the voice, much nearer, and Dewar recognized it as the light showed him Ottaviano, Baron of Ascolet, tied to a tree. A trio of huge black birds, ;* screaming disappointment in rasping voices, flapped up into ''.' the branches above the stubble-bearded Baron and sneered * down at him. There were large-pawed, long-clawed footprints in a circle around the tree, close to Otto.
”Well, well,” Dewar said, and stopped. - A bow and a quiver of arrows hung from another tree.
400.
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”Dewar. For love of life, untie me. I've been here two days. I'm frozen. And I'm peris.h.i.+ng of thirst.” Hoa.r.s.e and white-faced, Otto still looked healthier than he ought. Dewar suspected he had drawn on the Well to preserve himself.
”Why?”
”Why?” repeated Otto. ”It snowed yesterday, I can't feel my hands-”
”Why should I untie you-hm. Interesting tattoo you've got.” Otto's throat and collar were stained with blood. Dewar leaned closer, looking at the marks, holding the light near so that the tree-limbs' writhing fretwork above was illuminated from below. The birds sat just beyond the sphere of light, watching, striking their bills on the ringing wood.
”I'll tell you, but untie me! What have I done to you?”
”Shall I make a list?”
”Dewar! Please!” Otto whispered. ”Please. Oaths, rewards in my power to give, deeds-name it-it's yours-”
Dewar studied him by the light of the ignis. ”I imagine being bound to a tree in a wilderness for a couple of days gives a man a degree of perspective on life,” he said.
”It does.” Otto's lips were cracked and parched. The brook gurgled under thin ice like white porcelain two paces from him. Apparently his sorcery didn't extend that far.
”What have you concluded, then, from your new contemplative and detached-sorry-viewpoint?”
”Life is better than the alternative.”
”You thought differently before?”
”Dewar-” he moaned.
Dewar shrugged and half-turned to go.
”Don't go!” rasped Otto. ”No! I thought no differently.”
”So it has confirmed you in views and habits you already had.”
Otto stared at him.
”I think I'll leave you there, then, Otto, because your views on life seem to involve parting me from mine. I cannot Sorcerer and a Qentteman 401.
support you in that.” Dewar smiled, bowed, and turned to go again.
”No! No! I'll swear-Dewar, no!”
”What would you swear, Otto? And would it be worth the breath you blow past your teeth to say it?” Dewar folded his arms, his staff in the crook of his elbow.
”Nonaggression-I won't attack you again, that was stupid and-and I won't-won't-”
”You'll not interfere with me, either.”
”I won't interfere. Whatever that means.”
”You'll not speak of me to anyone else, on pain of suffocation in your next breath.”
”I won't squeal, lest the air leave me.”