Gareth made himself breathe deeply as he counted: one, two, three. He’d reached fifty when a tiny worm of green light insinuated itself from the crack where the door met the doorsill and snaked around the thick, heavy slab of wood that served as a bar. He wondered if Ivor was awake.
Gareth pushed aside his coverings and rose, still grasping his knife. Silently he approached Ivor’s cot, but his friend gestured him back with a two-fingered wave. The Turmish man’s short sword hung beside his head. Silently he reached for it with his left hand and drew it from its scabbard with scarcely the ring of metal. They both watched as the green worm divided and spread over the wood, individual threads of it nosing all over the surface as if they were exploring the grain. Soon the whole bar was tainted with its light.
Making a sign to Ivor to wait, Gareth took his thin pillow and humped it under the sheets, shaping the bedcover into the approximate bulk of a sleeping man. He left his boots standing beside the bed and tiptoed to one side of the door. Drawing his knife, he put his back against the wall, making sure he would be out of the light that would illuminate the room when the door opened. Ivor did the same with his own bed and likewise ranged himself on the other side of the door.
The green-glowing bar shifted in its wooden cradle, then slowly started to lift. Impressed, Gareth watched as it floated free of its restraints, then was slowly lowered to the floor, where it landed with the softest of
In the green glow, Ivor lifted an eyebrow. Whoever was on the other side of the door knew what he was doing.
Again the unnatural light faded, and there was another long pause. Seconds stretched to minutes, and Gareth was about to seize the door and fling it open for the satisfaction of taking the thief by surprise, when a crack of yellow light showed the invader was finally entering.
A slim hand pushed the door open just enough to allow entry, and a dim triangle of light from the flickering torch in the hall outside fell into the room. A shadowed, robed figure inched into the doorway. A hood hid its face, but it didn’t seem to spot him as he leaned against the wall beside it.
Despite the danger, a wave of relief passed across Gareth’s body. The thief was much too small to be Helgre.
The hooded head turned from one bed to the other, where their improvised decoys lay.
The figure ventured forward another step. It lifted its left hand, and a small ball of blue light flared and formed there. Cautiously the figure moved all the way into the room. Its right hand was raised in a warding gesture, the fingers slightly spread. It didn’t hold a weapon, but then, a spellcaster didn’t have to in order to be a deadly threat.
It paused as if making up its mind, then moved silently toward Ivor’s bed. The wrinkles in the coverings were cast into sharp relief by the blue glowball as the figure approached. It paused and drew breath.
Surely it was about to utter an incantation. Gareth was about to shout a warning, when Ivor launched himself at the invader.
It didn’t see him. Just before Ivor made contact, Gareth heard a feminine voice say, “Excuse me.”
There was a muffled shriek as Ivor bore the intruder down on the bed, grasping it by the approximate location of its neck and drawing the short sword back with the sharp point under the intruder’s chin. The blue glowball went out with a fizzle, and the hood fell back from the face.
It was a young woman, staring up at Ivor with wide, startled eyes. Gareth kept his knife ready. He knew enough women, old as well as young, who were as deadly as the most brutal pirate.
One of them
Ivor’s face was inches from the girl’s, his muscular right arm heavy across her chest and neck, her legs pinned to the bed by his own. They stared into each other’s eyes with mutual astonishment. Then, with an oath, Ivor pulled away his sword and scrambled off her slight body. He muttered something that sounded like an apology.
The girl didn’t move, but she opened her lips to speak. Gareth swore to himself as Ivor stood staring at her like a poleaxed ox. He shoved Ivor aside and clasped his free hand over her mouth.
“I’ll have no spellcasting, you understand me?” Gareth said in a hoarse whisper. “Try anything like that and I’ll cut your throat before you can get it half out.”
He turned to Ivor, who stood opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “And you-get your wits about you and check the hallway. We’ll get knifed from behind while this one charms us.”
Ivor nodded and moved to the half-open door.
Gareth turned back to the girl. “Silence, mind. And keep your hands where I can see them. Am I heard?”
Beneath his hand, she nodded. He paused, assessing her. But she remained still, and she didn’t glance behind him as she might if she expected help. Ivor vanished into the hallway and swiftly returned, shaking his head.
“No one out there,” he said. “Let the girl up, Gareth. She can’t do much with the two of us here.”
“You’re naive,” said Gareth, but he backed his weight off the intruder, allowing her to sit up. As she did, the hood fell completely free, exposing thick brown hair braided back from her face.
He studied her in the dim light from the hallway. She was human, mostly, dark skinned, with wide-set green eyes in a catlike face. High on her left cheek was a small rune drawn or tattooed on her face. He frowned, reminded of the markings of the strange creature on the
He gestured at her with the knife, and she flinched back. “Explain,” he said.
“Easy, Gareth,” murmured Ivor at his shoulder.
“I came to warn you,” she said, with only a slight tremor in her voice.
“You might do that anywhere other than our chamber in the dark of the night,” Gareth said. “Or you might have knocked rather than unlocking the door from the wrong side. You should be careful about doing that if you’re likely to get caught. People tend to take it the wrong way.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt you, or rob you,” she said, glancing from his face to Ivor’s. “I’m supposed to, but I won’t.”
“That’s kind of you.” He lowered the knife but didn’t sheathe it. “Would you care to illuminate us?”
Carefully she lowered her hands and shifted her weight to make herself more comfortable. He watched her narrowly but allowed it. Something about her shape or the fall of her robe reminded him of something. Or was it her voice? It was the same as the soft voice at the entrance to the mage’s chambers. He snapped his fingers, making her jump.
“Mage Magaster!” he said. “You were there when I consulted him today. Did he send you?”
She inhaled sharply. “In a manner of speaking.” She nodded at the door. “Privacy would be prudent. Do you mind?”
Ivor pushed the door shut and replaced the bar. The girl pushed back her sleeves, and Gareth tensed. She smiled.
“Just making a little light,” she said, palm extended. After an instant he nodded and sheathed his blade. Perhaps he was as naive as Ivor, but she had an air of truth about her. And few spellcasters bothered saying, “Excuse me,” before they tried to kill someone. Some did, he was sure, but not many.
The blue ball of light reappeared in her palm. With a few muttered words she released it, and it floated to the ceiling, illuminating the room reasonably well, if casting sharp shadows against the floor and walls. He folded his arms and watched with Ivor as she rose and went to the door, then spread her fingers over the lock while muttering under her breath. The now-familiar green light flowed from her hand to the bolt, and as she fisted her hand, it flared briefly, a deep emerald, before the light faded away completely.
“That should hold, and ward against listening as well,” she remarked, as much to herself as to them.
“You mentioned a warning,” said Ivor, sounding impressed.
She turned away from the door toward them, watching both of them closely with her wide cat eyes. He saw her robe was belted securely around the middle, and that beneath it she wore leggings that looked like leather, tucked securely into soft boots. A knife with an intricately engraved hilt hung at her belt. It was almost ridiculously small, and it didn’t seem likely to make an adequate weapon. She’d made no move toward it when Ivor jumped her, Gareth remembered. It must have something to do with her Art, which seemed to have more to do with undoing locks than with offense.
“My master told you there was nothing special about that bracelet you brought him,” she said to Gareth. “He lied.”
