“HAIL! HAIL! IT IS I, ADON THE WANDERING MAGICIAN!” Charlot cried, and he could see shadows moving within the house behind lacy curtains. Not only could she light her house with candles, the widow was rich enough to afford real glass.
“What do you want?” called Henriq’s Aunt Giselle. The thick door could not muffle the tension in her voice. Charlot pictured her standing off to the side, arrow nocked. He looked uncertainly toward the windows and held his fingers ready to slide on Nemonullus, the ring of protection. He did not fancy being shot again.
“Widow Giselle! I found your nephew, Young Henriq beset by the legion! He lives, though he is injured!”
“Oh, stars!” cried the woman. The door flew open and before Charlot could warn her about the odd menagerie outside her home, Henriq’s aunt swept out onto the covered porch, holding a candle rather than a bow. He was too far away to make out much about her.
“Henriq!“ she began, and then she saw the great bulk of the silverpaw bear, the dark eyes of the war dog, and the perked ears of the wolf, all just paces from her door.
“Down, friend,” Charlot said, keeping his voice low and calm. The bear lowered himself to the ground, and Charlot climbed down, feeling a twinge of pain in his injured shoulder as he helped the boy down. He held out an arm and walked Henriq to the door. The boy’s injured leg would take no weight whatsoever.
“What have they done to him?” Giselle asked. Her face was pale and her eyes kept darting back to the massive bear. Closer now, Charlot could see she was bony and severe, with a long, stern face. Her hair was a stately gray, tied back in a tight bun.
“Nothing compared to what I have done to them, I assure you. I happened upon the lad as the Wyrth chased him to the beaver dam a few leagues south. The boy swam out to the mound, as the legion do not swim. They’d just chopped up the dam and drained the pond when we arrived! My friend Korak here dealt with the brutes. Little remains of them! Yet, you have nothing to fear from the bear. He will not harm you.”
“Henriq can’t stand!”
“I’m all right, I just ran too hard on my knee,” Henriq waved away her concern.
“The boy is brave, and very lucky,” Charlot noted.
“Girls! Come carry Henriq to bed!”
The twin girls, Petal and Audee were watching from the window. They came out onto the porch to carry Henriq off, but he shook his head in protest.
“I just need to sit down!” Henriq exclaimed. He pointed to one of the rocking chairs on the porch, and Charlot helped him over. Seeing the boy seated comfortably, Charlot realized his own knees weren’t in much better shape. Unbinding Flaccaro from his back, Charlot set the staff against the side of the cabin then settled into one of the other chairs with a deep groan.
“Let me rest a moment please, and I’ll explain it all. Lak! Bring me the helm! We’ve come a long way. Wait! Is this epee wood?”
No sooner had he settled into the chair than he was out of it, lifting it up to feel its weight. The wood was heavier than oak, and at once he knew his suspicions were correct. How marvelous!
The wood he’d sat upon had once floated all the way down the great river Lie, past the stately minarets of Fang and through cane fens teeming with river elephants and pirates. With incredible difficulty, someone had worked the saw-breaking wood, and now it was a humble chair, thousands of leagues away from its origin.
Though lavish, epee wood was a superb choice for outdoor furniture. The chairs would last for generations of snow and rain if well-cared for. Curiosity sated, he settled back into the chair and ran his fingers over the smooth varnished wood of the arm-rests.
“How did you know?” Henriq’s aunt asked, a sudden chill in her voice.
“I’m a craftsman! I’ve worked this wood. You have to use a fire-drill for the pegholes, else you’ll dull an auger as fast as if you tried to drill through rock. How did you come by these chairs?”
Giselle’s eyes dropped, and her lip grew tight.
“I made them,” Henriq’s aunt said quietly, and Charlot blinked. He’d found the wood nearly impossible to work. He tried to fathom the effort of doing so without magic.
“It must have taken you a whole season!”
“Less than half a winter,” Giselle said, and she sat down as well, setting the candle into a lantern hanging from one of the posts that held up the porch.
“Stars above. What a feat,” he muttered.
“You have to seal the pores of the wood and steam it to make it pliable. Once you know that, it’s not so difficult.”
Charlot blinked in surprise. He’d never thought of that! What hours he’d wasted, struggling with the impossible wood!
“Here is the proof of my tale,” Charlot said, motioning to the helm of black Wyrth steel clasped in the war dog’s jaws. Giselle nodded, her eyes lingering on the huge dent left by the bear’s paw.
“Girls, go get us some mead. Warm it up and bring cups for everyone,” Giselle told the twins, and from the way they hustled inside, Charlot could tell this was a rare treat.
“How many legionnaires?” Giselle asked, a catch in her throat.
“There were five. Four are dead, one is likely dead, but I could not find the body.”
“So, the rest of the cohort might be out there still?”
“I saw no sign of them, but yes. There may be others. My trail is not hard to follow.” Charlot nodded at the enormous bear, whose deep paw prints were impossible to miss.
“The legion have never come this far along the Reyane. Never in my life.”
“It’s the knuckle bones! They roll them to decide where to go!” Henriq interjected, and at once Charlot and Giselle both shot the boy a sour look for interrupting. Henriq shut his mouth at once.
“Perhaps there’s more than chance drawing them,” Charlot offered.
“Is it you?” Giselle asked, indicating the motley assortment of creatures Charlot had brought to her door.
“Not I, but the one I seek. A boy with Audera’s finger on him. He has a white blaze in his hair, straight up the middle, his eyes green on the right and blue on the left.”
“An odd-sounding youth,” Giselle noted with a squint, and Charlot nodded in agreement.
“His looks are as uncommon as his luck. He should have died a dozen times by now. There’s something special about him for certain.”
“Why do you think the Laughing Star is involved?” Giselle asked, looking unconvinced.
“The boy speaks only Terhaljatani. Somehow, he made it halfway across the Arc on his own. He eluded the dogs of the legion, slept in the lair of a demon, and made it through an enchanted wood alive. In a place where he once stood, I found a four-leafed crimson clover. That’s coincidence enough for me. Who but Audera would shepherd the scamp so far?”
“Is that it? Slim proof. Why are you chasing him?” Giselle said. What a far cry from the superstitious country widow he’d expected! The woman was keen, as skeptical as any he’d ever met.
“He came to me begging to learn magic, but I thought him too old so I gave him an impossible task to dissuade him. Only later did I realize his coming was an omen, and now I am on his trail to bring him back,” Charlot said, too tired for guile.
“So, you are a magician, then? Show me,” Giselle said. It was nearly a demand. She must have seen her share of charlatans. Charlot paused, wondering if he could manage even the slightest work of magic. At last, his eyes set on the lantern, and he pointed a finger at the little flame burning within.
“Out,” he commanded, and the light was snuffed. Giselle took a sharp breath.
“Could have been a trick or luck,” she said, and at once he frowned. Luck indeed!
“Alight!” he commanded, and the flame struggled, but then caught. Thank the stars the wick was still hot! The simplest cantrip in a magician’s repertoire and he’d nearly been too tired.
“He’s a real magician! He burnt those legionnaires up just like kindling! And Korak here just ripped them to bits!” Henriq said, and Charlot nodded. No reproach for the boy this time. A bit of fear could serve as a shield while he recovered his strength.
The girls arrived with a tray of steaming cups. Charlot noticed they were made of the same fine white clay as the shattered honeypot. In the lantern light, his critical eye roamed over the vessel and found no flaws. The glaze had been perfectly applied, uniform and without the slightest hint of singing at rim or base. Henriq’s father was no healer, but he was a fine potter.
Sitting in the sturdy chair, outside the tidy, unusually well-built house, Charlot began at last to relax. There was nothing to make the arcanist feel at ease like a bit of expertise.
The girls had warmed the mead in the hearth, and wisps of steam rose from his cup. He stopped for a moment and smelled it; cinnamon and nutmeg, and a faint flowery note of lavender. They all blew on their cups and waited for the mead to cool, and when at last he took a sip, it was sublimely sweet and warming.
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It was only deep into the second note that he could taste the potency of the drink, and he warned himself to drink a cup and no more. He noticed the widow watching him as he drank, but he feared no poison in his cup. The ring of protection would have alerted him.
“What’s his name?” piped Audee, the braver of the twins. She pointed into the dark where Charlot could see nothing, but it was not difficult to guess she meant the bear.
“That is Korak, he is a silverpaw. Like you, he’s not even half-grown.
“I’m already twelve!” Audee protested.
“Twelve! Why that’s positively ancient. I would wager our friend Korak here isn’t even half that. He’s quite tame. Watch out for the wolf and the black dog, though. They’re wild creatures still.”
“Can we pet him?” asked Petal, and as his eyebrows rose as her eyes sought the floor and her cheeks colored. A bear that could tear Wyrth legionnaires apart as if they were made of straw? Of course, they wanted to pet him.
“What brave girls! If you would like to make a friend for life, bring him something to eat. He’s the greatest glutton to ever stride the Arc.”
“Can we?” Audee asked her mother, her voice rising with excitement.
“Put some honey on bread. Use the old loaf! I won’t have my good bread going to the dogs,” Giselle said, then she caught herself being too severe. “It’s small thanks for saving Henriq,” she said, softer.
“If I could beg a bit of dinner and a place to sleep, that would be thanks enough. Furthermore…” Charlot felt in one of the hundred pockets of his robe until he found what he sought, a dark red gemstone the size of a ladybug. He held it up to the light. “If you have an old sheep or two you can part with for my companions here, they’ve had a hard day. Surely they are hungry.
Giselle reached out and took the gem, marveling at it.
“It’s a pretty garnet, but certainly not worth a sheep,” she said, caution in her voice.
“Were it a garnet, you would be right. But this is a ruby.”
“Bosh. A ruby this size is worth a whole flock.”
“I have no doubt Korak would happily eat your whole flock, but I have no wish to create a hardship for you. If you can spare one or two, that will suffice.”
“And this stone isn’t cursed or going to turn into dust the moment you walk out the gate?” she asked, her voice quickening with elation.
Charlot shook his head. “If you think it too dear a price, put the rest on account for me. We shall trade in the future, I think.”
“Deal,” Giselle said, tucking the ruby into her pocket. “I’ll cook you two some dinner. The girls can sleep with me and you can each have one of their beds. I can’t have your beasts in my barn, though. The sheep will perish of fright.”
“Worry not, they are stoic creatures. A night out of doors will not harm them. There’s some danger I’ll fall asleep where I sit as well! It’s been a most exhausting day.”
Indeed, he nearly did, but the girls appeared with a loaf of rich black bread and a honey pot, and Korak drew near, with his ears twitching and his stubby tail wagging. Siyabros the wolf perked his own ears, noting the bear’s excitement, and he padded over, sniffing the air.
“Korak! Sit!” Charlot commanded from his comfortable perch. The bear at once settled on his backside with a heavy whump that made both girls titter. Audee dared to tiptoe forward and hold out a thick slice of bread slathered with honey, and the bear lolled out his long tongue. No sooner had she set the slice on his tongue than it vanished, and Korak noisily gobbled it down.
He gave a sudden growl of approval, enough to make them all jump in fright, but Charlot knew it was not even a quarter of his full roar. Then, he rolled on his back and paddled at the air with his feet, wriggling with delight, and even the Widow Giselle laughed at his antics.
Surprisingly, it was not Audee who dared to pet him first, but the shy Petal, who crept forward and held out a hand. Korak eagerly craned his head beneath her hand, trying to get her to scratch behind his ears. Soon, both girls were petting the huge bear, and Siyabros sniffed pointedly at the bread and honey, pacing back and forth at the injustice of it all. He whined.
“Ah! None of that! You’re a noble wolf, not some base cur. Sit, Siyabros!” Charlot commanded, and the wolf blinked at him. At his side, Korak sat down at once, sniffing at the air expectantly. Charlot motioned to the bear, then to Siyabros.
“Siyabros! Sit!”
The wolf looked from the bear to Charlot, feeling the stirrings of its true name. The utterance of an archmage would have compelled him to sit at once if he knew what Charlot meant, but he was confused. Charlot let him get his bearings and then gave the command again and, at last, Siyabros understood and sat down.
“Good Siyabros! Good sit! I’ll feed this one if you don’t mind,” Charlot said, and he rose and gave a slice of honeyed bread to the hungry wolf. Siyabros gobbled the bread with great haste.
“Now, don’t spoil your appetites you gluttons. I’ve bought you a real feast.”
“What of the other dog. Does she want honey, too?” Henriq asked once he’d noticed the one getting left out. Charlot shook his head.
“She will get indigestion. You see, Siyabros here is what we would call an opportunistic carnivore, he prefers meat but won’t turn up his nose at a bit of sweet bread. And Korak is an omnivore, he can and will eat absolutely everything. War dogs are pure carnivores that eat only meat. A great deal of it. Look at her bulk! She was bred for fighting and nothing else.”
“I’ll show you the sheep. Do you need me to slaughter them?”
“I will take care of it, Charlot said. “Only bring the lantern, please. I can barely see the nose on my face.” He grabbed his long nose and tugged at his beard, winking at the girls, who snickered at him, and then giggled.
The lantern was enough to let him see perhaps two steps ahead of him, and he walked slowly, his whole body creaking and complaining of the long ride. Flaccaro was in his hand, and he was glad of the staff’s support, though he sorely missed its light. The pair walked out to the barn while the sounds of the laughing girls rang through the cold night air around them.
As they walked, he could see the light was wavering. The hand that held the lantern shook. He paused, and she turned to look at him. Her face was pale, beaded with cold sweat. She pull the ruby from her pocket and thrust it toward him.
“Take what you want. Do whatever you want to me! Only spare the girls. They know nothing! Don’t let the legion have them, I beg you!”
Charlot blinked. She’d been wearing a mask to keep from frightening the girls. The whole time she’d been terrified, and here he had tutted, thinking her simple to read. What a fool he was!
“Keep the ruby. I’m no bandit. Who do you think I am?” he spoke slowly, keeping his voice steady.
“You’re not here for me?”
“No! I merely saved the boy. Who is after you?”
“The Wyrth. I thought the bit with the legionnaires was a ruse.”
“A bit elaborate don’t you think? Do you imagine I killed five of my own men to fool the boy?”
“It’s not difficult to trick a child. Perhaps they were only pretending.”
“Believe me, they weren’t pretending,” Charlot said, and at once, he regretted the dark turn of phrase. The fear was plain on her face. There was a stirring, a thread of someone he’d been long ago who would have reveled in that awe, but it was swept away by an old man’s disgust.
“I am not Wyrth. Indeed, I am their bitter foe. I mean you no harm.”
She fell silent, then tucked the ruby into her pocket once again.
“I’m sorry to be suspicious. I’ve suffered much at their hands. Is there a chance they’ll follow your trail and attack us in the night?”
“Sheer suicide. The bear would annihilate a cohort on his own. To say nothing of what I’d do. You are safe.”
“And when you are gone? Will they come in your wake?”
“I pray not. What have you got to defend yourselves? You should have dogs or fighting oxen this far out in the wild.”
“I have a bow.”
“Not much use against the legionnaires, sadly.”
“This bow is different,” Giselle said after a pause. For a moment, he considered it, the sure tone of her voice. Swiftly, he put the pieces together.
“Ah! That explains the epee wood. Your husband was the bowyer?”
“Yes. His name was Shen.”
“An Albarian?” Charlot guessed, and she was briefly surprised at his knowledge.
“Yes. He left his tribe to become a sailor. By the time we met in Khemeria, he’d seen every port in the lake.”
“The boy said he was drunk and fell in the river.”
She shook her head. “A convenient rumor. He was betrayed and murdered.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“It’s been seven years. The pain has faded,” Giselle said, but her face said otherwise.
“What’s the secret of the bow?”
“Not a secret so much as just uncommon materials. The laminating resin comes from the Kalparcimex, it’s very dear. The strings are shadowcat sinew, which can bear twice the pull of a common bowstring, if only the frame can bear it. Yew and ash cannot, even laminated and sinew-backed. Only epee wood can. A recurve bow that combines these three things can put an arrow through Wyrth plate at a hundred paces. He named it the Shenden bow.”
“Ah! A scholar as well as a bowyer. Shenden is Uld Iltry. It’s a root language of Albarian.”
“Peerless destroyer, he told me.”
“The translation is close, but it misses the mark a bit. Closer is: that which puts to shame those it slays. Very aptly named. He played a dangerous game, opposing the Wyrth.”
“We knew it was a risk. But imagine if someone could stand against the Wyrth on the battlefield! It could change the course of history! A thousand men with epee bows could wither the legion enough to break their charge. The Wyrth are lumbering brutes. It would be the end for them!”
Charlot could picture it at once, and her passion was catching. The hate had tumbled over and over again in her thoughts until it was smooth and pure as a stone in a riverbed.
“How were you undone?”
“For a time, we made a good living selling the bows to assassins and legion-hunters who had much success with them. But we wanted to do more than just nip at their heels. Shen went to the Yarlee to try and sell them on the bow. He wanted them to sponsor an expedition up the Lie to secure more of the wood. Then, he would train others from the bowyer’s guild and begin to manufacture them by the dozens.”
“Ahh…the Yarlee court,” Charlot winced. Already he knew what was coming.
“Riddled with spies,” Giselle said, nodding her head. “We had no idea. It took me two years and a fortune in letters to learn his fate. They sealed up the inn where he was staying and burnt it to the ground. Better than a hundred were inside. None survived.”
“Fortunate you were not with him.”
“I was here with the girls. They were five years old. Someone in the village started the rumor he fell in the river drunk. It was easiest to let everyone believe it. But he was a good man. He died trying to make a better world for me and our daughters.”
“A noble goal,” Charlot said. He had a sudden urge to tell her of his own plan to destroy Urth'Wyrth but, of course, she could never understand. “Let us talk more of this in the morning,” he said, and she nodded in reply.
Within the barn, she picked out two old ewes whose milk had dried up and led them out to the chopping block. Even with the lantern, it was too dark for him to work, and he had to ask Giselle to light two more.
When he could see, he unsheathed the phase dagger. Stunning each ewe with a strike of a mallet, he then slit their throats. It was the cleanest death he could grant without magic. The phase dagger thrummed in his hand as it ended the sheep.
He quickly skinned and butchered each, offering Korak, Siyabros, and the war dog a portion proportionate to their size. He set aside a bit of mutton for them all to eat as well.
“I’ve never seen such a skinner in all my days!” Giselle breathed, marveling at the perfect fleeces. “How do you do that with just a dagger?”
“There is no keener blade in all the Arc,” Charlot said. Even sheathed, he could feel the phase dagger buzz at the praise. The girls were watching as well. They’d seen plenty of sheep slaughtered before but never such deft butchery.
Once his task was completed and his companions were fed, Charlot felt lightheaded. His body’s strength was spent as well as his magic. He reeled as Giselle led him to bed. Within the cabin there was only the dim glow of the hearth, and he could see almost nothing. There was no fight left in him.
If she’d wanted, the Widow Giselle could have slit his throat as neatly as a sheep’s. But she only laid the old wizard down in the bed and gently bid him to rest. As she covered him with a fur blanket, he was already fast asleep.