further; he tried to duck and felt himself losing his balance.
Then everything vanished in a sudden violent blaze of intense golden light; he staggered and fell, dazed, to the street.
He lay there for a long moment on his back, staring up at the polychrome aftereffects of the flash, streaks and stars of every color superimposed on the smoke-stained night sky of the city; then a shadow slid over him.
“Are you all right?” a woman’s voice asked.
“I’m not sure,” he managed to reply.
“Can you move?”
Valder tried and discovered he could; he forced himself up on his elbows. “I think so. What happened to the man I was fighting?”
The woman gestured. “I took care of him.”
Valder sat up and looked where she indicated, but could distinguish nothing but a vague black shape. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“Here, let me give you some more light.” She gestured again, this time not pointing at anything, but making a curious pass in mid-air with her hand. A white glow appeared in her palm, lighting the whole alleyway.
“You’re a wizard?” Valder said.
He could see her face now in the light that came from her hand; it was a young, attractive face. She smiled. “Yes, I’m a wizard.”
He looked again where she had indicated and saw that the black shape was exactly that, a charred black lump roughly the length of a man, with protruding fragments that resembled arms, legs, and a head. Valder gagged as he saw the distinctive shape of a human skull beneath a coating of ash and realized that this was all that remained of his foe.
“Not very pleasant, is it?” she remarked. “But then, they weren’t very pleasant people; I suppose they were going to rape me and kill me, if I resisted.”
“Did they know you were a wizard?”
“No, of course not; I don’t walk the streets wearing a sign proclaiming my profession, after all.”
“Why didn’t you fry them both right away?”
“They caught me by surprise; I couldn’t reach any of my magics, or move my hands to gesture, once they grabbed my knife and held it at my throat.” She held up the dagger that Valder’s first opponent had used, and he noticed for the first time that it had the white gleam of silver rather than the gray of steel and that the hilt was carved of bone.
“What were you doing in this alley in the first place, and without any protective spells?”
“Well, if you must know, I took a wrong turn; I’m lost. I had hoped this alley was a shortcut. I was sightseeing, you might say, reacquainting myself with the city; it’s been quite some time since I last visited Ethshar of the Spices. As for protective spells, I had forgotten that I might need them. Foolish of me, I know — but I never claim to be free of human foolishness.” She sheathed the dagger on her belt, then asked, “For that matter, what were you doing here?”
That reminded Valder of his own situation; he looked about, spotted Wirikidor’s scabbard, and got to his feet to retrieve it. The sword itself, under the influence of the Spell of True Ownership, had never left his hand. When he had the sheath, he turned back and answered, “I was looking for thieves and murderers.”
“It would seem you found them,” she replied with a smile. “You’ll have to tell me all about it — but not here. Do you have any idea where we are?”
“Roughly; Wall Street lies three blocks that way, if I’m not mistaken, and we’re not very far from Southgate Market.”
“Ah! Lead on, then.”
“You haven’t any magic to find your way?”
“Not with me; I didn’t expect to need it. I grew up in this city, back when it was called New Ethshar; I hadn’t realized how much it had grown and changed.”
Valder looked at her curiously at that; he had judged her to be in her early twenties, from what he had seen of her, and, though he knew well enough that the city had changed greatly in his own lifetime, he had not thought that any great part of the change had been in the past two decades. Furthermore, he had never heard it called New Ethshar.
That was none of his concern, though. He buckled the scabbard to his belt, sheathed the sword, and then led the way to Southgate Market. They arrived there without further incident, and the wizard then took the lead, in her turn. Valder followed without protest, but did ask, “Where are we going? From what you’ve said, you don’t live in the city.”
“No, but one of my former apprentices does.”
Once again, Valder found himself puzzled; how could so young a wizard have a former apprentice? She seemed scarcely older than an apprentice herself. Still, he walked on in amiable silence, his feet aching with every step, discovering bruises from his fall that had not been immediately apparent.
He had lost track of time, but it was obviously quite late, once they were two blocks from the market, the streets were deserted, and the torches were burning low, some already out. He felt rather burned out himself; it had been a very long and trying day. For a moment, he wondered why he was following the wizard, but that passed; after all, she owed him a favor for his help and might at least save him the price of a night’s lodging.
They arrived, finally, at the door of a small shop in the Wizards’ Quarter, whose sign read “Agravan of the Golden Eye, Wizard Extraordinary.” A light still burned in the window. Valder’s guide knocked twice, and a moment later they were admitted to a young man who did, indeed, have one golden eye, the other being a watery blue.
“Mistress!” he exclaimed. “What kept you? And who is this?”
“I will tell you all about it, Agravan, but first, something to drink, and I think a soft bed would not be amiss — would it, friend? Your questions can wait until morning.”
Valder, who was only semiconscious by this point, managed to nod agreement; he made it up a flight of stairs, then collapsed upon the offered cot and was instantly asleep.
CHAPTER 30
Valder awoke, uncertain of where he was. The night’s events returned gradually, and a glance around reminded him that he was in the loft room of a wizard’s shop. The room was cluttered with books and arcane paraphernalia, jammed on shelves and overflowing from tables; his cot was squeezed into one corner. An unreasonable surge of hope welled up briefly; here he had found himself with a wizard in his debt. Perhaps something could be done about Wirikidor!
That hope faded quickly, however, as he recalled Lurenna’s words. There was nothing that could be done about the sword.
He might, however, have his eyesight restored, if the wizard he had rescued were really grateful. That would be a relief and might stave off the day when death would be preferable to an enforced life.
He got to his feet and wished he hadn’t; he had done far too much walking in the past few days and had slept with his boots on. His legs and feet were aching, itchy, and swimming in sweat. He found a filled pitcher his host had thoughtfully provided and pulled off his boots to swab his feet.
He was involved in this inelegant task when Agravan appeared on the stairs.
“Good morning, sir,” the young wizard called.
“Hello,” Valder replied. “And my thanks for your hospitality.”
“Oh, it’s nothing; I owe Iridith more than I can ever repay, and you’ve put her in your debt, it seems.”
“It’s kind of her to say so.”
“Would you care for breakfast? Iridith is awake, and I’m sure we all have much to tell one another.”
“I would be delighted,” Valder replied, though he was unsure just what he would have to say that would interest the wizards. He pulled his boots back on and followed his host downstairs.
