The Sorcerer's Widow. Lawrence Watt-Evans

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      That seemed like something of a leap to Kel, but she could not say exactly where the flaw in his friend’s logic was, so he did not say anything.

      “Come on,” Ezak said. “Let’s go see what we can do to help.” He marched out the door.

      Kel followed.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Some of the local farmers were not happy to learn that the sorcerer’s widow was leaving. Kel got the definite impression that while they might not have been her friends, they liked having her around. A sorcerer’s presence was a point of pride for the tiny village, and even with the sorcerer gone, his widow was better than nothing. Her departure would reduce the place’s prestige, such as it was.

      Losing the innkeeper was another blow, though the inn itself obviously wasn’t going anywhere. A few of the farm women made a point of questioning the smith to be sure he would not be following Dorna and Irien, as well.

      Despite not wanting Dorna to leave, Grondar did not refuse to sell her his wagon—she had not wasted time haggling, but had simply offered him twice what he had paid the cartwright, in hard coin, and he could hardly turn that down! She had also paid twice the going rate for four oxen to haul it.

      Another man, Hullod the Younger, had sold a wagon and a pair of oxen to Irien, though at a less generous price; Irien did haggle. Her resources, though vast compared to most of the locals, were far more limited than Dorna’s.

      But both sellers insisted on delaying delivery for a day, so that the village could give the two women a proper send-off. Other details arose, as well, and loading turned out to be a time-consuming task, as the sorcerous devices had to be handled with care, packed neatly and securely, and checked against their late owner’s catalogue. As a result, it was a good four days later, after a reasonably lavish feast and far too much time sorting and packing, that Dorna’s little caravan finally rolled out of the square, bound southeastward toward Ethshar.

      Kel had said as little as possible, and had tried to be as helpful as possible, throughout the various preparations and the farewell party. He had kept a watchful eye on Ezak, and had sometimes whispered a warning to his companion when he thought the bigger man was doing something unwise.

      That catalogue of talismans, for example—Ezak’s interest in it had been far too obvious for Kel’s liking.

      “I am supposed to be a sorcerer,” Ezak reminded him, when they were alone again. “Of course I’m interested in sorcery!”

      “You looked more interested than that,” Kel said.

      Ezak glared at him. Then he said, “It doesn’t matter anyway. I got a look at one page while she was checking it against the stuff we’d loaded, and I couldn’t make any sense of it. I don’t even know what language it’s in.”

      Kel blinked. They might be days away from the city here, but they were still well inside the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars. “It isn’t in Ethsharitic?”

      Ezak shook his head. “The runes are Ethsharitic, but the words are gibberish. Those little blue things, shiny on one side and dark on the other? They’re listed as gob opo zishin. That doesn’t sound like any language I ever heard!”

      “I guess sorcerers must have their own secret language,” Kel said, as much to himself as to Ezak.

      Other than the feast, which had been the best meal he had eaten in years, Kel’s favorite part of the preparations was that in all the confusion Irien neglected to collect what Ezak and Kel owed her for their stay at the inn. That was very welcome, since so far as Kel knew, they did not actually have the money. Ezak had spent what little coin they had when they arrived on assorted small purchases, in an attempt to make them look wealthy—after all, he was still pretending to be a sorcerer, and magicians always had money. Kel thought it would be far more convincing if he had actually demonstrated some sort of magic, but that was beyond Ezak’s ability; his very limited skills in sleight of hand might possibly pass as minor wizardry, but bore no resemblance to any sorcery Kel had ever seen.

      In the end the little company did get under way one cool still morning, with all the talismans loaded in the big open wagon Dorna had bought from Grondar, while the personal possessions of all four travelers were on the much smaller covered wagon Irien had bought from Hullod. A heavy yellow cloth was tied down over the sorcerous devices in Dorna’s wagon, to keep them from bouncing out. Ezak expressed some concern about whether that would be sufficient in the event of rain, and Dorna almost laughed at him. “Didn’t your master ever tell you that talismans are waterproof?” she asked.

      “I don’t recall that the subject ever came up,” Ezak replied, a bit stiffly. He stalked over to the big wagon and climbed up onto the driver’s bench.

      Once they were moving out onto the road Irien took the lead with her wagon, with Kel riding beside her; Dorna and Ezak were in the rear, aboard the larger wagon.

      They had been traveling for perhaps half an hour and had covered perhaps a mile in silence interrupted only by creaking wheels and an occasional bird when Kel finally said, “I’m sorry you aren’t getting to ride with your friend.”

      Startled, Irien looked down at him. “I’ll have plenty of time with her when we get to Ethshar,” she said.

      “Yes, but…well, then I’m sorry I’m not better company.”

      Irien snorted, and turned her attention back to the oxen. “I’d rather have you here than someone who’s talking constantly.”

      Kel could not think of a good answer to that at first, but after a few more minutes he said, “Why aren’t you riding with Dorna? Then you could talk to your friend. Ezak and I could drive one wagon, and you could drive the other.”

      Irien turned again to stare at him for a moment, then answered, “Do you really need to ask that?”

      Confused, Kel leaned out to the side and looked back over his shoulder at Dorna and Ezak, on the driver’s bench of the other wagon, then at Irien. “Yes,” he said. “Why?”

      Irien’s mouth twisted up at one side. “Because we don’t trust you, of course. What would stop you from driving away with one of our wagons?”

      “Oh,” Kel said. He thought for a moment, then said, “But you could chase us if we tried that.”

      “Your friend says he’s a sorcerer; what if he has magic that can hobble our oxen?”

      “But you could run faster than oxen! They’re slow!”

      “You might be surprised—oxen can run if they need to. But again, what if your friend has magic that can stop us?”

      “I don’t…” Kel stopped, trying to decide what he should say. Finally he simply turned up an empty palm and said nothing.

      Two miles and another hour later, he asked, “Why are you letting us travel with you at all, if you don’t trust us?”

      Irien smiled at him. “If it was up to me, we wouldn’t.”

      “Oh. Dorna wanted us to come?”

      “Yes.”

      Kel СКАЧАТЬ