by LeRoy Clary
“She would say that I feed her so she can keep me warm during cold winter nights.”
Sara laughed and asked, “Will your training demonstrate the dog attacking?”
“Yes, and protecting you. My dogs are not mere animals taught to attack when they hear a command. If someone intends to harm you and the dog senses it, you will be warned by growls, and if it believes the threat is still there, the dog will attack without command. But, to reassure you, he would only attack if someone was striking you, not just shouting or yelling.”
After more discussion, the deal was made. The owner wouldn’t allow them to take the dog until they returned for training. They left his stall and paused long enough at three more stalls to purchase the basics for cooking in their new loft.
The swirl of activity in the bazaar captivated both, and as they moved up and down the aisles, they paused to watch dancers, listen to singers or musicians, and browse items of interest for whatever reason. They spoke to people and came to know several enough to pass a few friendly words.
While talking to an old lady about the benefits of one sleeping pad over another, Sara said softly, “Look at that.”
Prin turned and found a flock of ravens, ten or twelve, flying past, but as she spotted them, the flock wheeled and turned in her direction. They landed on the roofs of the stalls all around them, twisting their head to look at Prin and bobbing them as they moved closer. Each of them repeated, “Hannah beware,” before flying away.
Prin stood transfixed, and hissed at Sara, “Did you see and hear that?”
“When you can turn naturally, look to your left, at the tall man dressed in black robes walking down the next aisle.”
Prin casually turned as she examined the material of the sleeping pad displayed. Her eyes went to the tall man wearing a black flowing robe. His features were sharp, his age not much older than Sara’s. She’d first seen him often at the Earl’s castle when she was a young fire starter, and he’d watched her then. He’d watched so intently that she had learned to take the back hallways to avoid his scrutiny. He was part of those opposed to King Harold. He was probably the one who had ordered and paid for her father to be killed, and the one who was undoubtedly here to kill her.
It was the man known to her as the ‘young mage.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Prin half-turned away, concealing her face with the shift in position and with the downturned brim of her hat. The young mage walked imperiously through the bazaar, back straight, head held high, and his eyes searching each person they fell upon. They hadn’t found Prin. Yet.
What’s he doing here? The last she knew, he had been in Evelyn’s village. He had been searching for Prin, or Hannah, as she was known ten days earlier. How had he followed her to this strange place? Had she made a mistake that led him here?
“Is it him?” Sara asked.
“The young mage? Yes.”
“He knows you by sight?”
“Yes.”
Sara drew in a deep breath, then exhaled and smiled weakly. “This is good for two reasons. First, we know for sure he is here, and he does not know we are. Second, although he is a mage, his magic didn’t find you even though he was close enough that I could have thrown a rock and struck him—and as you know, I’m not very good at throwing things.”
“I know that. We’re going back to our warehouse, and you’re going to practice throwing at Treeman until your arm hurts, then you’re going to throw with the other arm.” Prin was still covertly watching the young mage as he walked down the center of the row, silently demanding all those in front of him give way.
He was almost out of sight when he paused. Prin froze. Has he somehow sensed me? His head never turned in her direction, but from one side of him, a soldier of the Order of The Iron Ring approached. While she could not hear the words, the meeting seemed to be confrontational. The young mage shook his head several times. They parted, but neither looked satisfied.
“What was that all about?” Sara whispered.
“Should we follow him?”
“No. Too much chance of an accidental sighting, or recognizing you. I think we go home and disappear,” Sara said in a voice that hinted at trembling.
Their purchases were so many, so varied, and so heavy, that they rested several times on the way back. However, they kept a vigil behind them, on all sides, and before going to their door and the new locks, they paused and checked the street again.
The side door stood open, and as they watched a workman carry tools outside to a waiting handcart. Another followed with an armload of scrap wood. Then El walked into sight and spoke with the two men, probably making sure of the work they had been sent to perform. Everything seemed completely normal.
They walked inside to where El waited after seeing them. He smiled and greeted them warmly, then asked if they could accompany him on an inspection tour. He’d finished all the work they requested.
They followed him inside. To their right was the long, open area of the warehouse, all the way to the double carriage doors at the far end. Only Treeman stood in the center. Ahead and to their left were work tables, cabinets, candle holders, shelves, stools, and the stairs to the loft.
They followed El up the stairs. The walls had been whitewashed, and the area smelled of the fresh paint. At the rear of the large, open room, there were three doors on the single wall that went from wall to wall. The center door was a small sleeping room for a guest, while the other two were larger bedrooms, one for each of them. Inside them, El had built shelves for clothing, pegs for hanging, and raised platforms for sleeping.
The large room was open. A new fireplace that doubled as a cook stove had been built against the far wall, and on the side wall were shelves from floor to ceiling for their food, pots, pans, and dishes—when they bought them. A worktable held a washbasin, with a metal tube that went through the wall to allow water to flow out, so they only had to carry water up the stairs from their well in the backyard.
Prin noticed the floors felt solid. None of the boards squeaked, and when covered with rugs the rooms would take on a warm feeling. She imagined it with chairs and other decorations and then noticed the windows. El had done such a masterful job of building, the existing windows stood open, airing out the smell of paint and fresh cut lumber. He had been right. Larger ones were not needed.
One window looked down on the garden and fruit trees in the rear, but in front, there were three windows in the main room, all of them with a view of the street in both directions, and even to the intersection to her left. The light streaming inside from them brightened the room, and she noticed a catch on each that would allow it to swing closed and lock.
Sara paid the fee and assured him he would be the one she would call if any more work was needed. He returned the key and shook hands.
They had made their home in a corner of the warehouse below while the loft was built. This would be their first night in their rooms. They both wanted to rush out and buy furniture, but with the young mage in the bazaar, didn’t dare. His presence hung over them like late winter weather. The appearance of the ravens bothered Prin more. She had expected the young mage to arrive sooner or later, or at least the bounty hunters and murderers. The ravens told of more danger.
However, Prin pulled herself together and carried her backpack and belongings up to her room. She removed the painting of her parents. The hook she’d requested was on the wall. When she hung the painting, she noticed the expressions they wore were barely faint smiles, worried possibly, but proud. She sat on the edge of her bed and cried herself to sleep.
When she woke and looked at the small window in her room, the sun was low. She opened the door and found Sara missing, but thumping sounds from the warehouse told her where to look and what she was doing. Prin stood on the bottom stair and watched the knife spin in the air and strike Treeman, waist high.
Prin said, “You’re getting better.”
“After all the throws my arm does hurt.”
> “Have you been doing that all afternoon?”
Sara said, “No, I spent some time looking at the two books we bought at that first dealer. One is filled with simple spells, and I know many of them, but there are a few I haven’t heard of.”
“Are you going to teach them to me?”
“When you can read better, I won’t have to. But, there are a few new ones I like. Remember the dry-spell where you can stand in the rain?”
Prin said, “Yes, and I remember that I must wet my hair and clothing, so others don’t see the raindrops are missing me.”
“Well, besides the usual spells for love, there is one to make someone forget.”
“Why that?” Prin had not mentioned her escape where Sir James had used a similar spell on small grape-sized globes.
Sara spread her arms wide, “To forget pain, or the death of someone close . . . but I have another idea.”
“Tell me.”
“That young mage is no more resistant to a sorceress’ spell than anyone else. The spell makes you forget the day before. It doesn’t skip a day but dulls the senses, so you don’t remember. What if he finds something to lead him to us, but we have him forget that information?”
Prin rolled her eyes. “Do you think that will work?”
“Do you think I’m not going to gather the ingredients and try it? Or, at least, be prepared to use it?”
Prin spun, pulled her knife as she did so, and let it fly. The thwack of striking Treeman was solid, the blade parallel to the ground, buried in the softwood chest high. Six paces.
“Show-off.”
“Practice. I’ve almost got it at six paces, and I do have it at three and a half. I think ten is my next to learn, and that is as far as I can probably throw accurately. That spell on your arrows that makes them never miss. Will it work on knives?”
“I think so, but it certainly won’t tell it to strike with the tip of the blade first. I guess it could be used to throw at someone’s head, and that might hurt them, even if the butt end struck them,” Sara said.
Prin said, “It’s dark in here.” She reached for a candlestick on a workbench among a dozen other candles.
Sara motioned to the next table where more materials were stored. “Flint and tinder.”
Prin held her finger to the candle and produced a tiny flame. She held it to the wick, watching Sara the entire time.
Sara shook her head in wonder and asked, “Can you make it bigger?”
“It’s like sorcery that takes properties from a plant and moves it to a potion. I use heat from drawn from my body to make it, so the larger the flame, the more heat is pulled from me.”
Sara came closer and examined the finger. “Can you make it turn cold?”
“I would think so. It seems like it should be the same thing, only backward. But, why would I?”
“This summer when the drinking water is warm, can you put your finger in my mug and cool it down?”
Instead of laughing, Prin raised her finger and concentrated. “Touch it.”
“It’s cold. Not like ice, but cold.”
“Instead of sending heat to my finger, I pulled it away.”
Sara said, “Have you ever heard of anyone else doing that?”
“No, but this afternoon I learned to make cold, and you learned to make people forget things. For one day’s lessons, that’s a lot. Listen, I want two tables and chairs right in front of the windows in the loft where we have good light and can study. We should have El come back and make us some bookshelves, too.”
“Our study room?”
“I feel like reading is becoming more important daily, and I think I almost have it. Did I tell you I read hat, bat, mat, rat, sat, and cat? By myself? Six whole words.”
Sara broke out in a huge smile. “It’s like jumping into a lake. One instant you’re dry and the next wet. You cannot read, and then you can.”
“I wouldn’t say I can read.”
“I will. Now it is only to what degree. Since we’re hiding out here the next few days, you will work on reading, and I will study the books we bought and see what else is in them. We need to hire people to do our shopping, so we don’t expose ourselves to the young mage, or anyone else. We should become hermits.”
Prin said, “I agree. The one is a book of simple spells, you said, but what’s the other?”
“A diary.”
“Which is?”
“A sorceress took an ordinary book and wrote between the lines of printing, then enchanted it so only another sorceress can read them.”
Prin was excited. “Oh, wonderful. What does it have in it? Secrets?”
Sara led the way to the loft and inserted kindling into the oven. She stepped back and motioned for Prin to light it with her finger instead of striking the flint. “No, not those kinds of secrets. She didn’t write in it every day or even every month. But when things of interest in her life happened, she wrote them down.”
“For who?” Prin asked as the flames took hold.
“For us. Or for any other sorceress who found it. I’ve only read a few pages, but it tells how she learned her craft, who she trusted, and why.”
Prin considered it for a time. “If she trusted someone, we probably should find them and trust them too.”
“Good idea but for two details. She didn’t live in Indore, and I think she lived long ago. The leather cover is dried and cracked. The ink has turned brown in most places, but there are a few traces of black. That happens to ink that is maybe a hundred years old.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, the information may still hold something good, an idea, or new spell, or a plant used in a way we don’t know. But mostly, it’s just a story about a woman like us, her experiences, triumphs, and failures.”
“And nobody else can read it but us?”
“Well, they can read the words originally printed in the book, but not the ones she wrote. They can’t see them.”
Prin warmed her hands on the dome of the brick oven and watched Sara make a simple soup from some of the items they’d purchased in the last four days. She said, “I’m going to give a small copper penny to one of the kids outside to go tell El we want to see him. He can buy two tables and chairs, and maybe some other chairs for up here.”
“And what will you use as an excuse for not doing it yourself?”
“I will tell him you are sick and I have to stay and take care of you.”
Sara set the small pot on the lip of the oven where it would get plenty of heat. “I wish we had a few people we trusted to watch out for us and tell us what’s happening. That young mage is the one we must avoid. I thought about dressing you as a boy, but I don’t believe it would work. I’ve never met a mage, and don’t know a lot about them, but he might be able to see right through a disguise, and it might even make you stand out more.”
“Can mages tell who is who? I mean, can they see another mage or sorceress and know what they are seeing?”
Sara considered the question while she touched her fingers to her chin, a habit Prin had noticed. She said, “No, I don’t think so.”
“But you’ve never seen or met a mage, so how do you know?”
“Because you told me so. Remember when the young mage watched you at the Earl’s castle? If he suspected you were either, he would have reacted differently. I think he heard the rumors that you might be the Old Mage’s daughter and he was trying to figure out how to use that information to help overthrow King Harold and maybe to prevent your father from resisting. He might have planned to hold you hostage, or kill you before anyone knew who you were.”
Prin asked, “So, what do you think we should do now? Just stay inside and hide and hope for the best?”
Sara strode to the front door, unlocked it and peeked outside before fully opening it. She stepped out onto the street and found a boy about ten and motioned to him. After passing a few words, and a copper coin to him, the boy ran off to deliver her message to El. She turned to Prin. “We’ll hid
e until we think of something better, but we should be safe here for a few days because Indore is so big. We can get those tables and chairs, and some shelves to hold our things. But until we do, I want to begin reading lessons for you.”
“Great. We’ll do it all day long until I can read as well as you.”
Sara laughed and said, “No, your head will explode if we do that. I’ll work with you in short sessions, then you can practice for a while, but you need to take breaks.”
“I’ll be the best student you ever had.”
“You know that you’re my first, so that is true. But while we’re down here, teach me to throw my knife like you do.”
Prin spun while pulling her knife and threw while taking a substantial stride forward. The knife whipped past her ear. With practice, she’d found that like boys throwing a rock, the stride helped accuracy, speed, and power. The blade spun, turning over too fast to follow with her eye, but it struck in the very center of Treeman, if a little higher than she’d intended. Her first throw from such a distance.
Sara spun, pulling her knife from the scabbard between her shoulder blades—and dropped it. The blade clattered to the stone floor.
The expression on her face warned Prin not to say anything, and especially not to laugh, and it would be a good time to climb the stairs and begin her studies. As she spread her writing materials near the front windows, she glanced out at the street. Behind a tree on the other side, a man tried concealing himself by standing directly behind the small trunk.
“Sara, can you come up here quickly?”
CHAPTER NINE
Sara arrived at her side, and together they watched from the edges of a small window at the man skulking behind the tree. He peeked around the trunk enough to see their front door, and he could also see the large double doors at the far end of the warehouse. His actions were obvious and clumsy. They saw El walking their way, head down, eyes on the uneven bricks of the street. Sara ran down the stairs to open the door, standing behind it to hide.
