by Rick Shelley
"Do you have any idea how long your work will take?" she asked. "How long it will be before our people have the water they need?"
"I will act as quickly as I may on that, and on whatever else is asked of me, but such a powerful effect requires study first to find the proper way."
"I am sure you will do what you can," Eleanora said. "It is so wonderful to have hope at last."
"Hope?" her husband asked sharply. He finally looked up. "How do you find hope in empty air?"
"Now, my lord," Eleanora said. "We have a guest."
Noisy footsteps clattered on the stairway from above. A girl, perhaps sixteen years old, came into the great hall. She didn't stop until she reached the landing and turned. Then she looked at the group of people as if seeing them for the first time.
"Oh, I didn't know we had company, Father." But she didn't look at Eustace. Rather, she locked her eyes on Silvas. And the tone of her voice put the lie to her words.
"This is the wizard Silvas," Eleanora said. "He raised the pillar of smoke in the village. Lord Silvas, this is Maria, my husband's daughter by his first wife." There could be no more than five or six years between Eleanora and Maria in age, and they looked nothing at all like each other. Eleanora had coarse flaxen hair and light brown eyes. Maria had dark brown hair that was glossy and fine, and her eyes were a very dark bluish-gray.
Silvas bowed his greeting as Maria walked toward him. The girl was attractive in a wholesome country sort of way, though Silvas thought that she might well look plain in a more regal setting. He closed his eyes for a second, as if to banish such thoughts. Maria's skin had lost none of its youthful glow and softness yet. There seemed to be light in her eyes. There was really no physical comparison, but something about Maria's eyes called Carillia to mind, just for an instant.
"I was on my way through to the scullery," Maria glanced toward her father and Eleanora but quickly returned her gaze to Silvas. She took another step closer to him.
"I didn't know we had company," she repeated. Her features were delicate and pleasant, her smile warm. But Silvas thought that she might yet have trouble finding a husband. If she wasn't betrothed by this time… Sir Eustace could hardly provide the kind of dowry that might win her a fitting mate, not from a fief like Mecq, and without dowry Maria might easily end up in a nunnery. Unless Mecq itself became her dowry at the death of her father. A question worth considering, Silvas thought, but not one he could politely ask.
"Well, we do have company." Her father apparently could not avoid brusque speech, but he did try to smile over the words to his daughter. "If you're going to the scullery, then on with you, go."
"Yes, Father." But Maria made no move toward the stairs leading down to the windowless level below the great hall.
"The wizard was just ready to leave," Eustace said, staring at Maria.
Her "Oh?" had too much feeling. Eleanora and Eustace both stared at the girl. She hardly noticed them. She was still staring at Silvas.
"He's coming to dinner tomorrow," Eleanora said. Maria's face reddened as she realized what the others must be thinking of her.
"Till then, ladies, it has been my pleasure." Silvas divided one bow between them, then directed another to Sir Eustace. "Your leave, sir?"
Sir Eustace nodded and gestured vaguely toward the door without looking at the wizard. Silvas bowed again and strode across the room. He didn't need to look back. He could feel the eyes of the others following him: Henry Fitz-Matthew, still by the far wall; Sir Eustace, who undoubtedly still wore a scowl; Eleanora, who had asked him to tend to Mecq's water supply; and most definitely Maria. The girl's stare was almost like a pair of hot pokers pressed against the back of Silvas's head.
CHAPTER FOUR
Silvas reined Bay to a stop on a switchback halfway down from Castle Mecq. He looked down at the village, then gazed along the valley toward the ridge where they had stood earlier that day to take their first look at the area.
"Sir Eustace enjoys being awkward," Silvas said softly. "You might think he just sits there waiting for someone to badger." He hesitated a moment. "But he doesn't seem particularly evil, just bad-tempered. It's his style." He laughed. "It might be nothing more than poor digestion."
Bay didn't reply, even with a snort. Although no one was close enough to overhear, he didn't care to take chances-a matter of discipline, he liked to tell Silvas.
"But we have our charge at least," Silvas continued. "I thought it might take longer for someone to openly ask me to take care of the water. I didn't count on the good lady Eleanora being so talkative, so cooperative." He chuckled, then flicked the reins. "Let's go to the inn, Bay. See if anyone else is ready to open up."
There were cooking fires burning in most of the cottages now. Thin plumes of smoke found their way out doors and through holes in the roofing thatch. The women were preparing what would be the only real meal of the day for most of the villagers. The fields across Eyler had been deserted. Only a few people still worked in the small garden patches behind their homes. Brother Paul was pulling weeds in the garden behind his church. Everyone would be at supper by sunset, and most of the villagers would be in bed before full dark.
As they neared the Boar and Bear, Silvas spoke softly to Bay. "I'm going in for an ale or two. You can go home or wander the village if you want. I shouldn't be overlong." Bay stopped in front of the inn's open door, and Silvas dismounted, leaving the reins draped over Bay's neck. The horse remained still until Silvas entered the inn, then he walked slowly across the green, not quite toward the column of smoke.
Although the open door admitted some light, the Boar and Bear appeared even darker than the great hall of Eustace's castle. The ceiling was lower. There were no lights burning within. Silvas stopped just inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Along the wall to his left, two kegs rested on trestles. Master Ian stood in a doorway leading to a back room, looking toward the front. Two villagers sat on a bench at one of the two trestle tables in the public room. Each farmer had one hand wrapped firmly around an earthenware mug. They stared at Silvas but showed no other reaction to his entrance.
"Ale all around," Silvas announced. He sat at the table with the villagers, across the trestle and closer to the end. The clink of money drew the eyes of the farmers. They looked at the coppers as they spun and settled. Then their gaze moved back up to the wizard. Silvas nodded a greeting. They nodded back. One farmer raised his mug and took a long drink. His companion followed suit, just an instant behind.
Master Ian hurried to fill the order. He brought Silvas a mug, then took the mugs of the farmers after they drained the ale already in them to refill them.
"And yourself, Master Ian," Silvas said when he brought the refilled mugs back to the farmers. The innkeeper nodded and touched a finger to his brow. He brought his own mug back to the table and stood there to raise it to the wizard before he drank.
"I thank ye, sir," Ian said, wiping foam from his mouth. He took his due from the collection of coppers on the table and slid them into the leather purse hanging from his belt.
Silvas took a long pull at his ale. It was everything he expected it to be-thin, bitter, and barely drinkable-but he didn't let his reaction show. When he set the mug down, he nodded as if in approval. Master Ian was undoubtedly his own brewmaster, and Silvas didn't want to offend the man over something he probably could not help.
"It's been a dry year here, I see," Silvas said after a moment.
Ian nodded forcefully. "Aye, it has, one dry year after another." He took another long drink of ale.
"Yer can't grow food without water," one of the farmers grumbled, half under his breath. The bitterness in his words was obvious.
His companion nodded and said, "One o' these years we'll jist dry up complait like and blow away i' we don' get better rains."
"Sometimes now, when the wind blows, ye can see the dirt jest blowin' off the fields," Master Ian said, his voice soft and sad. "If we don't start getting rains the way the
y should come, year after year, if the Eyler don't come back into its banks the way it did when I was a lad…"
"The vicar says it's jist God's way o' testin' us," the second farmer said. He shook his head. "E'en Job wasn't tested so to tears."
"Mikes a man wounder," his companion said. Both raised their mugs to take long drinks of their ale. Silvas followed suit.
"Before I leave," the wizard said, "I'll solve your water problem. That is my promise to you, to all the village."
Master Ian and the farmers stared at him for a moment before anyone spoke.
"God bless yer if yer can, Lord Wizard," the first farmer said. Then all three drank their mugs dry. Silvas finished his own and ordered another round.
"I'll do whatever must be done for the water," Silvas said while Ian was fetching the second round, "but I doubt that's the only need you'll have of my services. There's not a village in the kingdom that can't use the help of my sort now and again."
There was no quick responses. Ian brought the mugs back and collected his coppers. Everyone sampled. The farmers and the innkeeper looked at each other, out the door, and back at each other before any of them looked at Silvas.
"There's Giller's mam," one of the farmers said with a grin. "Her hens won' lay a rooster egg for naught. She says she's been witched."
"Aye, there's little blights enow, I'd say," Master Ian said, nodding slowly. "But good water an' plenty'll solve 'most all of 'em, Lord Wizard. We have water an' most folks'll figure all else is fine."
"Whatever the problems, I'm here to help," Silvas said, quickly downing his second mug of ale. "Anyone can come to me, any time. I'll hear a call at my gate." He didn't explain and none of the others asked what he meant.
"Thankee fer yer help, sir," the first farmer said. "And thankee much for the ale. It shore goes down proper, it do."
Silvas nodded and got up. He wished the others a good day and stepped out into the village green. He saw no sign of Bay, but that didn't worry him. Whether Bay was roaming the village or back in his stable, he could take care of himself-and if there was trouble, Bay could broadcast the news to Silvas, well enough to draw his help. The wizard stood on the green for a moment, taking deep breaths. Master Ian's ale had enough punch behind it for all that it lacked.
Daylight was almost gone. The sun was below the ridge to the west, throwing long shadows into the village and beyond. Above, the sky was still bright. There were red swirls in the sky west of Mecq's valley, too far away.
A peaceful little place, by the looks, Silvas thought, somewhat mellowed by the ale and by the wine he had drunk earlier. But he could still feel the evil that surrounded Mecq. Silvas turned slowly, looking in every direction, casting his mind out, gingerly feeling the aura of the place.
There's evil enough here, for certain, he told himself, not for the first time. There was neither fear nor triumph in his eyes as he walked to the smoke and the Glade within.
I will do my best was a promise to himself as well as to his Unseen Lord and the people of Mecq.
– |The great hall of the Glade was arranged differently than the halls of most castles. Instead of one long lower table butting against a shorter head table, there were a half-dozen tables spread around the great hall, with the head table set off a little on its dais. The different races of retainers had different requirements. The tables for Bosc and his kin were lower, the benches adapted to their different legs. The lupine warriors also had unique needs. Their tables were wider, and almost as low as those for Bosc's people. The lupine kin preferred to eat squatting next to their tables. Chairs and benches remained alien to them. Only the humans sat on normal seats at normal tables.
There were people of all three sorts in the great hall now, many more than there had been at noon. And Carillia was standing on the dais at the head of the room when Silvas entered. She stepped down when she saw him and met him halfway.
"I was wondering if you would be delayed," she said after they shared a light kiss of greeting.
"Whenever I'm away, I can't wait to get back to you," Silvas said. They smiled at each other and Carillia linked her arm with his as they walked to their table on the dais. Silvas stopped when he spotted Bosc coming into the hall, just long enough to confirm that Bay had returned.
"There has been activity today," Carillia said when they were seated and servants started bringing the first courses of food. "A horse and rider left Mecq while you were at the castle. They crossed the river and headed upstream, across the valley at an angle."
Silvas considered that news for a moment, then nodded lightly. "St. Ives lies in that direction." It was the only likely destination for a rider from Mecq, particularly now. "Brother Paul must have sent for instructions from his bishop about me." He chuckled. "The vicar of Mecq is a cautious fellow, my love, that's for sure."
"Do you know his bishop?" Carillia asked.
Silvas shook his head. "There's a new man at St. Ives since last I was there." It had been many years. Bishop Hugh had been an ancient then, long past his time. "Bishop Egbert Barlowe has the see now, as far as I know. He must know me by repute at least. If nothing else, he'll know that I have His Majesty's countenance."
"And what do you know of Bishop Egbert?" Carillia asked.
Silvas shrugged. "That he is an adept of the Greater Mysteries within the White Brotherhood and not a mere nepotistic appointee." That meant that Bishop Egbert would have considerable magical substance-much more power than Brother Paul, if not nearly as much as Silvas. The gradations were relatively clear. An initiate of the Lesser Mysteries would possess only minimal powers. He might have a dozen spells for commonplace magics at his command. An adept of the Greater Mysteries would have a lager number of magics, some of them of considerably more power. But a wizard… years of study, followed by a grueling process of initiation, made him almost a demigod, with quite extensive resources at his command.
The wizard turned his attention to the meal for a few minutes.
"In any case," he said after washing down food with a long drink of wine, "it will take better than two days, almost three full days, for a rider to reach St. Ives from Mecq. Add whatever time it takes Bishop Egbert to reach a decision and get it back to Mecq. We may have close to a week before we have to consider Egbert Barlowe in our calculations."
The evening meal was the main repast of the day in the Glade. It was not a meal to be hurried. Silvas's great hall was a cheery place most evenings, light and airy. Tall windows showed a disregard for physical assault. Mirrors on the walls reflected and multiplied the available light, whether from the windows or from fireplaces, torches, and candles within the room. In winter, thick glass panes were carefully fitted to the windows-carefully because everyone who worked with them knew the tremendous expense they represented. Many years had passed since the last time a pane had been accidentally broken. The retainer responsible for that accident, one of Bosc's people, had anguished more over it than Silvas had.
Musicians played through the meal, changing places so one group could eat while the others provided the light airs that Carillia always praised so highly. Guards finished their meals and hurried out to relieve the sentries on the walls so they too could get a hot meal and a little warm companionship. Servants brought more food in from the kitchen and carried off empty platters. The scullery staff took most of their meals in the kitchen, and preferred it that way. Their food was hotter and there were fewer hands reaching for a share.
Before the new shift of guards left, Silvas stood and banged on the table for attention. The hall quieted quickly. Everyone turned to look.
"We are in a new village tonight," Silvas said. He didn't raise his voice, but his words carried to every corner of the hall. "Normally that doesn't much affect any of you. This one might not either." He paused and looked around before he added, "Or it might." That he spoke of it at all would have given most of his people that idea. "There is a strange feeling to this place called Mecq, and until I know what it represents, be on y
our guard. I'll want to know at once of anything out of the ordinary, no matter how minor you think it is."
It wasn't the first time that Silvas had delivered that sort of warning, but the instances were rare enough that it struck home. His people sat or stood and looked at him, searching his face for clues, taking his words seriously, as he knew they would.
"Tell those you relieve on the walls," Silvas said, his eyes flicking from one sentry to another. When he sat down again, the new shift of guards hurried out. Slowly the atmosphere in the great hall returned to something approaching normal, though no one was quite as animated as before.
"You are worried," Carillia said softly, leaning close to Silvas so that no one else would hear.
"I am," Silvas agreed. "Until I can chase this feeling to its source to find out why there is such a sense of evil about Mecq, I'll feel much safer knowing that everyone is as alert as possible. Trouble in Mecq could flow over to the Seven Towers."
– |The evening meal continued after Silvas and Carillia left the great hall. One of the first changes Silvas had made when he inherited the Glade from Auroreus was to stop the tradition of meals ending when the lord of the castle got up from the table. "I've had too many of my own meals cut short," he had explained at the time. Everyone knew what he meant. Auroreus had been prone to eat quickly and sparingly, and to leave the great hall before most had a chance to fill their bellies.
Carillia went straight upstairs. Silvas went out to the mews, to the large enclosure at one end that was Bay's.
"People do not sleep well in Mecq," Bay said when Silvas entered.
"Tonight, or in general?" Silvas asked.
"Both, obviously," Bay replied. "There is much fear in the village. Many lie awake listening for the Devil's footsteps at their door."
Silvas sat on a bale of hay. Unlike the ordinary horses in the rest of the stable, Bay could be trusted not to gorge himself on fodder left within reach.
