“Who was that?” the older man asked.
“Oh, an old veteran with a magic sword with a curse on it — nothing I wanted to deal with, though. Eighth-order, he said.”
Varrin shook his head. “Those idiots during the war didn’t know what they were doing, throwing around spells like that; it’s amazing we survived, let alone won.”
Tagger, who had not yet been born when the war ended, shrugged. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, reaching for the candy jar.
CHAPTER 27
Valder found Lurenna’s shop only with difficulty; reading signs by the flaring, uneven torchlight was more than his weak eyes could handle readily, and hers was small and discreet, a simple panel reading, “Lurenna of Tantashar: Your Questions Answered.”
Fortunately, the window was still lighted, behind heavy wine-red draperies. The blue-painted door, however, was securely locked; he knocked loudly.
It was a long moment before the latch slid back and the door swung in. A thin woman in a lavender gown — a color Valder had never before seen used for an entire garment — peered out at him.
“I have closed for the night,” she said.
“My apologies for disturbing you, then, but I have come a dozen leagues today to find answers to my questions.”
“Then you must be Valder the Innkeeper, here to ask about Wirikidor.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “Come in — but I warn you, I can’t help you.”
“I have not yet said what I want.”
“I know — but I know that whatever it might be, although I will answer your questions, the answers will not be the ones you seek.”
“How can you know that?” Valder said before he could stop himself; no wizard, he still knew exactly what her reply would be.
“It’s my business to know things; why else would you come to me? I can answer my own questions as well as anyone else’s and I like to know who my customers will be and whether I will please them — though I had neglected to ask when you would come and had not expected you until morning. Now, come in and be seated.”
Valder followed her into a small room hung with wine velvet and sat down in a velvet chair by a small table. Lurenna seated herself opposite him and reached for a small velvet pouch.
“My price is fixed; I will answer three questions for a gold piece and guarantee the answers to be correct and complete. For a silver piece I can answer one question with no guarantees save that what I then tell you will be the truth.”
Valder hesitated; that was more than he had expected to pay. Still, he needed answers. He fished out one of his carefully hoarded gold pieces and tossed it on the table.
“Good; now, what are your questions?”
“Are there any limitations? Must answers be yes or no?”
“No, of course not — I would not dare charge gold for that! However, be careful just what you do or don’t ask; I will probably answer only what you say, not what you intended to say.”
That seemed fair enough. He thought for a long moment, composing his question.
“Who,” he said at last, “of all those alive today, is capable of removing the enchantment from the sword Wirikidor, which I carry?”
“And your second question?”
“Will depend upon the answer to my first.”
The wizard looked displeased. “That makes it more difficult for me, but I’ll get your answer. Wait here.” She rose and vanished behind one of the velvet draperies.
Valder waited, growing ever more bored and ever more aware of the pain in his overworked feet and his general weariness; finally, after what seemed like days, Lurenna emerged.
“I have a list of some eighty or ninety names here,” she announced. “Do you want them all?”
“I might,” Valder said, pleased.
“Have you decided upon your second question?” Lurenna asked.
“No; I hadn’t expected so long a list.” “If I might make a suggestion, what would be the consequences of removing the enchantment?”
“I had been thinking rather of where I might find the one of those ninety wizards most willing to perform the removal, but I have two questions left; very well then, what would be the consequences?”
“I have already asked that, in anticipation and to satisfy my own curiosity, you would die, and, of the wizards listed, only one, a hermit living on the Plains of Ice beyond the old Northern Empire, stands any chance of survival. The number of innocents in the area who would also die could reach as high as thirty-three.”
Valder sat, stunned.
“I told you that you would not be pleased by my answers; when the first seemed so promising I could not resist asking my own questions.” The wizard seemed almost to be gloating.
“This hermit in the far north — what of him?”
“Is that your third question?”
“No! No, it isn’t. Wait a moment.”
“The hermit knows you of old, apparently, and would probably refuse to aid you in anything whatsoever. Furthermore, because his surprisingly powerful magical aura interfered with my spells, I could not determine the extent of harm that might be done to you or to him if he were to try to remove the sword’s spells. I give you this answer free of charge, and you have one question left.”
Valder sat for a moment, then finally asked what he realized should have been his first question. He had more gold, if necessary, and could ask further questions.
“My question is this: What are all the possible ways in which I might be freed of the enchantment linking me to the sword Wirikidor?”
Lurenna smiled. “That’s a much better question; it may take some time, however. Would you prefer to return tomorrow?”
“I’ll wait,” Valder replied.
“As you wish,” she said as she rose and again vanished behind the drapery.
The wait this time seemed even longer than before — and in truth, it was longer than before. Unable to sit still, Valder at last rose and went to the door, only to discover that outside the street was dark and empty, the torches doused or burned out, the shops shuttered tightly, their lamps extinguished, and the people gone to their homes. The sky was clouded with the city’s smoke, so that he could not judge the hour from the stars, but Valder guessed it to be midnight or later. He had, he remembered, arrived at this shop shortly after full dark; whatever spells Lurenna might be working, they obviously took time.
There was nothing to see on the deserted street; he returned to his chair and waited.
He had dozed off before Lurenna returned; he awoke with a start to find her staring at him, a sheet of parchment in her hand.
He stared back for a moment, then said, “Well?”
“No, I’m afraid it is not well at all.” She held up the parchment. “I had to ask a second question, for which I will not charge you. The answer to your original question was very brief, very simple; you may only be free of Wirikidor with your death. No other possibility exists anywhere that wizardry holds sway — and wizardry, of course, holds everywhere. My second question, then, was by what means might you die — I promised you a complete answer, after all, and you paid me on that basis. There are only two ways in which you can die; I was surprised, I will admit, to find that out, since most men may die in any number of ways. You, however, may be slain only by another’s hand drawing and wielding Wirikidor, or by a magical spell powerful enough to break the enchantment, thereby killing you, destroying the sword, and slaying the spell’s wielder in an explosive release of the arcane forces
