He sat up, supporting himself with his hands. He was freezing and his head hurt. “I found it,” he said. “It exists. I didn’t know the spell would do that.”
Kerensa stood and glared at the people in the doorway. “He’s fine,” she said. “He’s just stupid. Go on back to whatever you were doing. Go.” She shut the door and turned her glare on Evon. “Into bed,” she told him. “Right now.”
“I have to do the location spell while the thing’s identity is still fresh in my mind,” he said. He wearily got to his feet, every joint in his body aching, and took a large roll of paper from beside the wardrobe. “Would you move that table?”
“I don’t want anything to do with your mad desire to drive yourself into an early grave.”
“If I have to move it, I might overexert myself and get sicker. You wouldn’t want that.”
Kerensa threw up her hands and dragged the table under the window, rattling the glass still resting at its center. “Piercy was right. You use guilt like a weapon.”
“Only because Piercy doesn’t respond to other forms of persuasion.” He stood at one side of the room and unrolled the paper, revealing a map of the continent with country borders and cities marked out. “Stand on that end so it doesn’t roll back up.” He lifted Piercy’s bed a few painful inches and slid it to rest atop one corner of the map, then did the same with his bed on the other side. He needed ink. There was an inkwell in the drawer of the dressing table; he had to walk around Kerensa to reach it, and she folded her arms across her chest and continued to glare at him. He smiled pleasantly at her, then coughed long and hard and had to wave away her concern. “I’m fine,” he said, “just had something caught in my throat.”
“Of course you did,” Kerensa said sarcastically.
The door opened. “I heard you were dead, Lore,” Piercy said. “I knew it was impossible, because you are too stubborn to allow death to take you in the middle of an experiment.”
“He found the entity and it nearly killed him,” said Kerensa, “and now he refuses to admit he’s sick and he won’t listen to me.”
“Well, he won’t listen to me either, if you were hoping for some sort of support. Sympathy, I have in large buckets.”
“Both of you be still and watch this,” Evon said. “It’s fascinating. Unless it doesn’t work, in which case it’s just messy.” He stood on the map over a dot marked OSTRADON with the inkwell in hand. He swung his left hand across the map, rubbing his fingers together as if sprinkling salt over it, and said “Epiria sepera.” Nothing happened.
“I’m so glad you risked your health for that outstanding display,” Kerensa said.
“You have such a negative attitude sometimes, do you realize that?” Evon paused to cough, wiped his mouth, and added, “The interesting part comes next.” He crouched above the map and tipped the inkwell so a thin stream of ink spilled out of it to fall on Ostradon. Just as the ink touched the page, Evon said, “Reperto Fathlon.”
Instead of soaking into the paper, the ink gathered into a large bead about half an inch across and quivered like quicksilver atop the map. Its quivering sent out tiny tendrils in all directions like tentative fingers. After about thirty seconds of this, it appeared to come to a decision and began rolling across the map, slowly, leaving no trail.
“It’s going south,” Piercy said. Evon nodded. The ink continued rolling until it reached a point south of the Dalanine border, where it stopped moving and began quivering again. Suddenly, as if it were a bubble someone had just stuck with a pin, the bead of ink collapsed and soaked into the map, making not an irregular blotch but an intricate design of curves and circles centered on a single point.
“Where is that?” Kerensa asked.
“The back end of nowhere,” Piercy said. “There isn’t even a city there.”
Evon pulled a silver coin out of his pocket and knelt near the ink design. “The Despot is there,” he said, and held the coin so its edge just touched the ink. “Reperto Fathlon,” he repeated, and a thin stream of ink ran up the coin and pooled in the groove around its milled edge and along the contours of some long-dead queen of Dalanine. Evon blew on it, and the ink disappeared, but when he tilted the coin to catch the light, it iridesced as if coated with a thin layer of oil. He tossed it at Piercy. “Hold it in your hand and do a slow turn.”
Piercy raised his eyebrows at Evon, but slowly rotated in place. When he was about three-quarters of the way through his turn, he exclaimed, “It’s hot!”
“It works like the children’s game,” Evon explained. “As you near the correct direction, it warms up. Cold, and you’re facing the wrong way.”
“Wouldn’t it be cold anyway, since it’s winter? Or hot from being kept in your pocket?” Kerensa said.
“That’s part of the magic. Its temperature is always dependent on the spell.”
Piercy handed the coin to Kerensa, who repeated his movements. She handed the coin to Evon and said, “Are you certain it’s the Despot?”
“It’s only instinct, and your story,” Evon said, “but what I am certain of is that this coin will lead us to the spell’s actual target. Even if it isn’t the Despot. Which I think it is.”
“You’re starting to babble,” Piercy pointed out.
“I feel a little light-headed after that.” Evon sat down on his bed. “Tomorrow I’ll have to convince the magicians to let me work with them on separating the spell from you, Kerensa. Once we figure that out, we can work out a way to take the spell to the Despot and release it without killing anyone but him.”
“Or I could walk up to him and let the spell do its work,” Kerensa said.
Evon and Piercy looked at each other. “That would not be wise,” Piercy said. “The spell...once it fulfils its purpose, it no longer needs its carrier. You would die in destroying the Despot, and you wouldn’t be reborn.”
“Oh,” said Kerensa. She blinked a few times, and again said, “Oh.”
“So we have to find a way to release it from you before that happens,” Evon said.
“I see,” said Kerensa. She took a few steps and the map rolled up behind her. “How long have you known this?”
“A few days,” Evon said. “We didn’t think you needed to know, since there was nothing any of us could do about it, and—”
“I understand,” Kerensa said. “You were trying to protect me. I don’t really need that kind of protection.” She didn’t sound angry, she sounded tired.
“I’m sorry,” Evon said.
“It doesn’t matter.” She raised her head and glared at him. “Now,” she said in a more normal tone, “you’ve done the locator spell and you are getting into bed and staying there.”
“I agree,” said Piercy. He pulled the map free of its weights and rolled it up. “I’m going to take this to Mrs. Petelter. If it represents the Despot’s current position, she should know about it, if only to communicate it to her superiors. She may even thank me. Evon, get into bed like a good boy and I’ll be back to check on you later.”
Evon sat down on his bed and began to take his boots off. “No, let me do that,” Kerensa said. “You really did frighten me. Did you know the spell would be that dangerous?”
“No, of course not,” he said, crawling under the blankets fully dressed. Now that he was lying down, he realized how terrible he felt. The bed was warm and soft and he felt himself beginning to drowse off immediately. “I don’t know what happened. I was in its presence...I think it noticed me. I hope it doesn’t know how to follow me here.”
Kerensa sat on the bed. “Could it do that?”
“Possibly. I don’t know. It doesn’t have a physical presence...oh, no, I think I was inside its host’s head. It was truly disgusting.” Evon took her hand, as much to give himself comfort as to reassure her. “I think...it sounded as though it had to direct the host to do things because it didn’t have the physicality to do them itself. So I’m safe.”
Kerensa squeezed his hand. “Good. I was terrified that
your illness was far worse than it seemed.” She stood and walked across the room to Piercy’s bed, sat down, and crossed her legs. “Now go to sleep. I’m not leaving until you do.”
“I can’t sleep if you’re watching me.” Evon yawned until his jaw popped.
“I think you can. I also think you’re stubborn enough that if I leave this room, you’ll get up and go back to work on whatever the next step is.”
“You know me too well.” It occurred to Evon, even in his sleep-fuddled state, that her knowing him that well should make her inclined to fall in love with him. Then he thought about all the qualities she knew about him, his stubbornness, his failures, his obsession with work, and had a moment’s self-pity that he was, from that perspective, fairly unlovable. He rolled onto his side, facing away from her, and after a minute or two essayed a faint snore. “Don’t even bother,” she said, and he grinned. After a few more moments, he drifted off to sleep for real.
Chapter Sixteen
Evon slept restlessly, woke after dark, slept again. He hurt everywhere with a dull, throbbing ache he couldn’t escape from no matter what position he slept in. Piercy was there when he woke, with water and a cold damp rag to lay on his forehead. He shivered under the blankets. Shivering hurt. He couldn’t stop coughing, though when he woke the second time to full daylight it had subsided to a mild, dry cough that barely hurt at all. Piercy gave him more blankets and he huddled underneath the mound they made and wondered if he would ever feel well again. He had feverish dreams about riding his horse across a bare, charred landscape that he knew was the result of the weapon being activated to kill the Despot, only its destructive force had taken everything with it. Kerensa was dead, and he cried for her and for himself. Then his dreams turned darker, and he was trapped in that fleshy red nightmare with the entity searching for him, to crush him with its baleful attention, and he ran through the pillowy pink flesh that kept sticking to his feet. The Despot rose up in front of him, fifteen feet tall, but Alvor with his mace stepped between them and swung at the Despot’s head. The stump of his missing finger shone bright gold, though Evon couldn’t see why. Shadowy figures joined Alvor, who shouted “Run!” at him, and he stumbled away into another nightmare about the Witch of Marhalindor, though he knew nothing about her except that she was insane, and now he was looking for Kerensa to tell him a story about the Witch, and he remembered she was dead, and he wept again.
He woke, clear-headed, after full light, and wondered what day it was. His hair was matted with sweat and he felt uncomfortably warm beneath his many blankets. Piercy slept on his own bed across the room, his mouth open as usual. Evon stretched and found that he didn’t hurt nearly as much as he had, and that his head didn’t ache and his vision was clear. He felt sticky and sweaty all over, and he needed to relieve himself, but when he stood, he realized he was too weak to make it to the water closet down the hall, so he used the chamber pot under the bed and felt much better.
“I am grateful to see you mobile again, dear fellow, but I hope you do not expect me to empty that thing for you,” Piercy said with a yawn.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. You looked exhausted.”
“And well should I be, what with caring for you for the last two days. No, no thanks needed, you would undoubtedly have done the same for me.” Piercy sat up and stretched. “Fever gone? No more aches? You really do have the worst nightmares. Fortunate Kerensa was not here or you would both have been very embarrassed.”
Evon flushed red. “Did she stay away? I wouldn’t want her to catch this.”
“No, she stayed well away,” Piercy said, too casually.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Piercy sighed. “Things became, shall we say, rather intense while you were on your sick bed. She...” He reached into his coat, which was hanging up at the head of his bed, and pulled out a folded piece of paper which he handed to Evon. Evon opened it and read:
Don’t follow me, Evon. I mean it. Time’s run out and this is the best option. You and Piercy won’t be safe where I’m going and I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt or killed. Thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve been the best friend I could hope for.
Evon tossed the paper on the bed. “You let her leave?” he exclaimed.
“There was no ‘letting’ about it, dear fellow. She made a clean escape that I would admire if I weren’t so worried. She told the magicians she was going out for the morning to do some shopping and she told me she would be with the magicians all day. Then she took her bag and left.”
“But why did she think she had to go? I’m so close—I know I’ll figure it out soon! She didn’t have to do this!”
“As I said, dear fellow, things became rather intense while you were ill. You know I took the map to show Mrs. Petelter? She became very agitated over it and there were many communications to headquarters and much running about in the manner of poultry wondering where their heads have got to. Ultimately we learned that the Despot is pushing north at an alarming rate rather than waiting for spring as any sensible mad dictator would do, leaving nothing in his wake but destruction and brutality. When confronted with this terrible reality, one of the magicians whom I will not name because I am certain you can guess her identity rather vocally protested that there was no way they could figure out the secret in time. Kerensa apparently took her seriously, which, since none of the other magicians contradicted Mistress Quendester, is not nearly so foolish a thing as you might otherwise think. Kerensa disappeared yesterday morning.”
Evon swayed to his feet and sat back down hard on the bed. “She doesn’t have the coin, though. She’s just going to get herself killed.”
Piercy cleared his throat. “Actually, she does have the coin,” he said. “It was the first thing I looked for after we learned she was missing. She must have taken it when she came to see how you fared, night before last. And I must say I’m relieved that she does. I hate to think of her wandering out there with no direction.”
“I hate to think of her out there at all. That skin of hers might prevent her from being harmed by weapons, possibly, but there are a great many ways to hurt someone that don’t leave a mark.” Evon attempted to rise again and this time was successful. He began to remove his clothes. “Did you say she left yesterday morning? So she only has a day’s head start on me.”
“Evon, think,” Piercy said, pushing him gently back onto the bed. “You are in no condition to ride. Once you get to the border you’ll be easy prey for any bandit or thug that comes along.”
“I recover quickly,” Evon said. “Get out of my way.”
“The magicians are working on locating her. Let them track her down. You can’t help her if you relapse.”
“Did she leave anything behind?”
“No.”
“Then the only way they can track her is by her name, and for that to work you have to know the subject well. They’re never going to succeed at that. I’m the only one who can find her.” He stood for a third time, brushed off Piercy’s hand, and continued to unbutton his wrinkled, sweaty waistcoat.
“Evon, this is madness.”
“No, Piercy, this is me riding off after the woman I love so she won’t die pointlessly. I don’t care if she never sees me as anything but a friend. If she dies because I didn’t do anything to stop her, even if she saves Dalanine or the whole damn world, I will carry that guilt with me to my grave. Please try to understand that.”
Piercy looked grim, but he nodded. “I’ll start packing. You should bathe, you’ll feel better for it. I’ll find us clothing that is more suited to riding—”
“You’re staying here,” Evon said.
“I am certainly not staying here. You need my help.”
“Piercy, if the worst happens and I can’t get her free of the spell before we reach the Despot, I won’t be able to protect all three of us from the blast. And I need someone here I can communicate with that I can trust.”
“You can trust Mistress Gav
ranter.”
“It’s not the same. Piercy, you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself on the road, you and I both know that, but this is going to come down to magic, and you can’t follow me there.”
“What happens when you have to sneak into the Despot’s camp?”
“I’ll wish you were there with me, and I’ll muddle through. But you know this is the only sane course of action.”
Piercy turned away. “I wish you didn’t make so much sense sometimes. All right. But I expect to hear from you every day, even if it’s to say you’ve made no progress.”
“Agreed. Will you still find those clothes for me?”
“If you promise to bathe. You are rather ripe, dear fellow.”
Clean and dressed in a shirt and trousers that made him look like a well-heeled farmer, Evon ate quickly, ignoring the stares from the others in the dining room, packed what few things he thought he would need, and went to the stable yard. He was surprised to find Mistress Gavranter there, wearing a heavily lined purple cloak that she clutched around her against the cold. It made her look like a queen preparing to hold court. “Mr. Lorantis,” she said, “I understand from Mr. Faranter that you intend to take a ride.”
“Yes, Mistress Gavranter,” Evon said. “I hope you approve.”
“And if I did not, would it make a difference? I thought not. Good hunting, Mr. Lorantis.” From the depths of her cloak she pulled out a folded piece of paper. “You may need this, or you may not, but I believe in preparing for all contingencies.”
Evon opened it. It was a map of southern Dalanine and its borders, with shaded areas scattered across it and a silver dot near Ostradon. “Areas of magical concentration,” Mistress Gavranter said. “The silver mark is attuned to you, which should keep you out of trouble unless you desire to wander into it. Whether you use it to find those areas or to steer clear of them is up to you, but you should remember that sometimes help is available from the least likely places.”
The Smoke-Scented Girl Page 21
