Part 56 (1/2)

”He told me not to!” she cried, throwing his hands away from her and jumping up, backing away from him. ”You're always wanting more!”

A perfect, taut silence stretched between them. Dewar broke it. ”Your pardon, Lady,” he said. ”Yet your father's-our father's-safety hangs on it.”

”He couldn't make sorcery beyond here and I don't believe you could either even if I showed you the Spring,” Freia retorted. Why had she trusted him? She should not have brought him here; she should have stayed in cold, hateful Landuc until Prospero returned for her. Her stomach cramped. She rubbed it and swallowed a lump in her throat.

Dewar gazed at his hands, not seeing her. ”Well,” he said then, ”I must leave here at once if I'm to get to Landuc or to him in time to keep him from cutting his throat on your behalf, Lady.” He had been too vehement. More gently, and she might have shown him the Spring. He suspected she'd not leave him an instant alone now, so that he'd not be able to find it himself.

”I'll go with you. To explain.”

”It is your choice. The ride will be fast and hard. I do not constrain you,” he said.

”We'll go. Utrachet will give us horses. Come with me,” Freia said.

The city was out of sight behind them before Freia thought to look back. Utrachet had given them food for the horses and themselves and water in heavy skins for the desert area. ”Perhaps I'll be able to work in that desert,” Dewar had said. He understood now that the desert was where Landuc A Sorcerer and a Qentkman <^- ended=”” and=”” this=”” place=”” began.=”” it=”” was=”” two=”” days'=”” cruel=”” riding=”” away=”” from=”” the=”” spring,=”” two=”” days=”” of=”” rationed=”” rest,=”” of=”” pus.h.i.+ng=”” the=”” horses=”” to=”” the=”” limits=”” of=”” their=”” endurance=”” and=”” encouraging=”” them=”” to=”” go=”” beyond=”” if=”” they=””>

”If only Trixie had stayed,” Freia said at one rest stop, as she rubbed down her mare, Epona.

”If, if, if,” Dewar retorted curtly, having no patience with conjecture.

Freia said no more.

She knew the shortest way by some instinct and he followed her along the unmarked Road through the vast forest she said was called Threshwood, the core of the Spring's dominion. As they drew near the edge of Threshwood, Dewar began to feel again the beat of the Well, intermittent and weak. They saw no other people; the Road pa.s.sed only through forests. It was a straightway journey with none of the waits, detours, and enc.u.mbering procedures required in Landuc, yet they still took more than two days to reach the hilly, dark-skied semidesert where Dewar would try to open a Way to Landuc with the first trickle of the Well's power. The distance seemed wrong to Freia. She said nothing to Dewar, but it felt farther every time she travelled it. Usually distances shortened with use.

Dewar had collected f.a.ggots of wood, which load had slowed them, and with his sister now he piled these and lit them. She rubbed and walked the horses and watered and fed them slowly. The animals were nearly foundered; Freia had called for a halt again and again when her brother would have pushed onward, and now her care was more for the horses than for the sorcery. They paced heavy-hooved with her under the stars. A little food, walking; a little water, walking-the horses followed her dully.

She heard him chanting words and saw the light pulse upward, sparks flying to the night sky. A few heartbeats later he was calling her.

”Freia!”

The horses plodded with her, back to him, through the lumpy hillocks.

”Dewar.”

460.

'Wiliey Leaning on his staff, he was soaked with sweat, his cloak, coat, and waistcoat discarded. ”Not working,” he said. ”Can't quite get there.”

”They can't go farther, Dewar. They can't. It will just kill them. They must rest.”

The two looked at one another. Dewar muttered something and spat in the fire, mopped his face on his sleeve.

”Once when I was hurt,” Freia said, ”I'd fallen and broken my leg, you see, and I couldn't get home, Papa brought me home with sorcery. I was fainting and I thought I heard him call me, and when I woke he was holding me and we were home.”

”A tender tale,” Dewar said. ”He Summoned you, a Great Summoning.”

”Can you do that?”

”It is a basic spell. You mean Summon Prospero.”

”Yes.”

”If I cannot open a Way to Landuc, in all likelihood I cannot drag Prospero to me with a Great Summoning- against which, in all likelihood, he is well-guarded.” He shook his head, ”I have no token to Summon him with, anyway, Freia. You don't understand sorcery.”

”You mean something that's his. I have something. If I give it to you, will you try?”

”It won't work. Why do you think it will?”

”Maybe he would at least feel it a little and, and-I don't know.” She wasn't sure. Her thinking was as blown as the horses. She walked up and down, tugging their reins gently to make them move slowly with her.

Dewar drank greedily from one of the wineskins. He took out a flat loaf of bread, their last, and devoured half, considering. It would be a small gesture, and if he did not try she would think he meant them to fail; she was suspicious of him still, mistrustful. ”To please you I'll do it,” he said, brus.h.i.+ng crumbs from his sleeves. ”We'll not move from here before the animals are ready anyway.”

”If you don't want to-”

He held up a hand, silencing her. ”It's as worthwhile a Sorcerer and a Qentteman 461.

way to spend the time as any,” he said. ”Give what you have to me.”

”Here.”

The token was a dagger, an elegant weapon tingling with sorcery, with an ebony handle that fit Dewar's hand like a lover's touch, the blade silk-smooth steel gold-damascened with clouds. The pommel was set with a glittering stone like a diamond, but black. ”This is a thing of some power, Freia.” He turned it over and over, sheathed it again after looking at it in the firelight. The sheath was plain and black, tipped with silver: a gentleman's accoutrement, functional, not ostentatious. Prospero was a man of good taste.

”He carries it often. I thought he might want it. Maybe he forgot it.” It was a fixture in her mental picture of him: the gem at his belt, always, the blade drawn to cut a piece of bread at table; to dissect a dead animal and point to its parts, naming them to her; to split and graft a twig; to share an apple. Other things too, that she never saw.

”Maybe. I'll try, Freia.” One bundle of wood was left, and he dropped it onto the fire. ”Stand back. Well back. It may frighten the horses.”

She led them away. As he began to speak and invoke Prospero (the dagger thrummed in his hands, cold though he held them in the very heart of the fire), Freia came and stood just behind him, watching.

The power of the Well's Fire coursed through and through Dewar, and a part of his mind recognized that this time it was going to work, and that part tried to brace itself for success, but most of him was caught up in the beautiful coils of his spell winding around and out and through the world, snaring already-tangled Prospero, snapping back- The fire exploded; sparks, coals, and half-burned wood sprayed high and wide.

A thunderous voice roared, ”b.a.s.t.a.r.d! By Blood and Breath, I'll send thy soul to frigid h.e.l.la piecemeal-”

”Papa!”

Dewar ducked beneath the sword blow he barely saw; it whistled; Freia screamed the same note.

462.

Ttffky ”Papa!”

A horse snorted and then a man. Dewar straightened, his own sword in his hand.

Black Hurricane had pranced out of the fire, which was only coals now, nearly consumed. Prospero on his back was staring down at him, the sword which had trimmed a few stray hairs from the top of Dewar's head still hovering ready for murder.

”Your pardon, sir,” Dewar said weakly. ”I-I didn't think it would actually-work.”

”Cub! And I thought thee adept,” snarled Prospero. ”What manner of play be this, that thou mak'st Summon-ings with no faith in their potency- Give that me, 'tis mine own-” He sheathed the sword and dismounted, grabbing the dagger from Dewar. ”Freia!”

Dewar said nothing as Freia leapt for Prospero, hugging him. The change from incandescent rage to confused relief and then solicitude on Prospero's face was nearly comic to watch.

”Puss, Puss,” Prospero was whispering, stroking her hair.