If she needed a blade, her athame would work as well as any other knife-or better, really, as it was stronger and sharper than an ordinary knife, and had its ability to keep her free of any bonds.
She looked down at the pouch for a moment, trying to guess what more she might need, and could not think of anything.
Her plan was to go to the overlord’s apartments with Lady Nuvielle, bringing Kelder and Opir and Adagan with her, then to simply carry the couch out. Getting it home from the Fortress might involve leading it, or hiring a wagon, or perhaps even levitating it-it would depend on circumstances.
Leading it might call for a rope. That wouldn’t fit in the pouch, but she intended to bring plenty of rope. Most of the household’s lighter cords were already in use holding the other furniture, but there was the coil of rope she had used to bring back the bench and chair-she had replaced it with shorter, lighter strands when tying them to the line in the chimney.
She straightened up, fastened her belt and pouch and knife securely around her waist, and slung the rope on her shoulder. Then she told Ithanalin, “It won’t be much longer, Master,” and marched out into the morning sun.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Adagan was waiting at his door, just as Kilisha had hoped he would be, and the two of them strolled down Wizard Street together, then turned north on Cross Avenue.
As they walked Kilisha asked Adagan what magic he had brought, and was answered with a rambling disquisition on how witchcraft differed from wizardry in requiring no specific ingredients or preparatory rituals.
“What about herbs?” Kilisha asked as they rounded the corner from Cross Avenue onto the East Road. “Or those crystals?”
“Oh, well, that’s not the same thing,” Adagan said. “The crystals are just to aid in focusing the mind, and the herbs-that’s really herbalism, not true witchcraft. Most of us learn some of that, but it’s not really the same thing.”
“So you know two kinds of magic? I thought the Brotherhood didn’t approve of that-and I know the Wizards’ Guild doesn’t.”
“No, no, it’s all still witchcraft!”
“You just said it wasn’t.”
“But it’s... well, herbalism isn’t really magic.,..”
“Don’t let Urrel hear you say that.”
“But it isn’t! Herbalism is just the knowledge of the natural properties of plants, while magic is the altering of nature!”
“Oh, I don’t accept that,” Kilisha said. “How are you defining nature?”
That debate lasted until they reached Market Street, where they crossed to the Old East Road, which wound its way up the hill toward the Fortress.
It wasn’t quite as steep as Steep Street, but it was steep enough that the conversation faded away for a time; both were saving their breath for climbing.
As they neared Fortress Street, though, and the gray stone walls towered ahead of them, Kilisha asked, “Why didn’t you levitate up here?” She didn’t look at Adagan as she spoke; she was trying to gauge the sun’s angle from the shadows on the pavement. “Because it would take just as much energy as walking,” he replied. “Witchcraft doesn’t create energy, just redirects it.”
“And that’s different from herbalism?” The shadows looked right; Kilisha judged that it was very close to the appointed time of two hours before noon.
Adagan refused to revive the argument and instead retorted, “Why didn’t you levitate?”
“I’m saving my spells for later, just in case,” Kilisha replied. “Besides, it wouldn’t be very polite to leave you behind.” The truth was that it hadn’t occurred to her.
“I thought you didn’t have the ingredients. You wizards always need your strange powders and stones and smoke.”
“I have a potion right here,” Kilisha said, patting her pouch. “But it would only lift me, and I didn’t want to leave you behind.” “I’d have levitated if you did,” Adagan said. “It doesn’t take more energy than climbing, it just doesn’t take any less.”
“Ah. I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it, then, but there’s no point now.”
And in fact, there wasn’t, as they had reached Fortress Street. Kilisha turned right and led the way to the north door.
Kelder was waiting for them, chatting idly with the guards, and Kilisha, remembering the dream they had shared, almost blushed at the sight of him.
There was no sign of Opir. Kilisha wondered whether the dream had reached him. There was no sign of Lady Nuvielle, either, which was rather more important.
Kelder fell silent and watched their approach, then said, “I haven’t seen the treasurer yet.”
“She’ll be here,” Kilisha said, not meeting Kelder’s eyes. She hoped her certainty wasn’t misplaced. She didn’t really know Lady Nuvielle, but she assumed anyone the overlord trusted to manage the city’s finances must be fairly reliable. Wulran III wouldn’t have given her the job just because she was his aunt; for one thing, he had plenty of aunts to choose from. Wulran’s father, Doran IV, had had eleven sisters, ten of whom were still alive, and eight of whom were still in the city. Nuvielle was one of those eight, and had been chosen for her current job, so Kilisha assumed she must be at least reasonably trustworthy.
Opir she wasn’t quite so certain of. Her brother was generally sensible enough, but he had been known to miss an appointment or two. She looked worriedly down the street that dropped away steeply behind her, then realized she was looking north down the Old Coast Road, which was not a route Opir would use, any more than she had.
Then a metallic thumping sounded, and the heavy door swung open. Two more guards appeared in the opening, stepping out onto the pavement, blinking in the bright sun.
Behind them came Lady Nuvielle, attired in a gown like nothing Kilisha had ever seen before. This was not the velvet dress she wore when going about the city on business, a dress that had impressed Kilisha as exceptionally beautiful; no, this was what she wore at home, when she had no need to worry about dusty streets or adventurous thieves.
It was made in layers-an outer layer of fine white lace and gold filigree over a dress of blue silk, and here and there the silk was slashed dramatically to reveal a golden lining. Kilisha could not help staring at this elaborate garment.
Kelder, she noticed, was staring, as well-but not at the dress, exactly. She felt a twinge of jealousy.
She silently chastised herself; she was taking that dream too seriously. Kelder had every right to admire a beautiful woman.
Adagan seemed unimpressed with Nuvielle’s appearance; he bowed, belatedly reminding Kilisha of her own manners. “My lady,” she said as she curtsied.
“Kilisha,” Nuvielle said. “I’m pleased to see you; do come in! And introduce me to your companions.”
Kilisha rose, and took a last desperate glance down Fortress Street, and saw Opir hurrying toward them.
“This is Kelder, one of your tax collectors,” Kilisha said. “He was the one who was at the door when the spell went awry.”
Kelder bowed. “Kelder Goran’s son of Sixth Company, my lady.”
Kilisha was pleased she had remembered that name from when Kelder had given it to the Fortress guard a few days earlier; without the patronymic she could not have invoked the Spell of Invaded Dreams, since there were so many Kelder in the World. She smiled at him at the memory of that dream. But Lady Nuvielle was waiting, so Kilisha turned and said, “And this is Adagan the Witch, one of my neighbors. He and Kelder have been aiding me in the search for the missing couch, and have agreed to help me capture it and carry it home.”
“Kilisha!” Opir called, as he came trotting up. “And my brother, Opir of Eastgate,” Kilisha said. “Opir, this is
