Arch Wizard

'Well, now,' the old knight growled. 'That's the part that's worth listening to me ramble, to hear. Lady Telclara, they say, no longer admits Tesmer to her bed, but herself selects bedmates for him from beautiful slave-girls she buys off traders who come in a steady stream to Imrush-vale from the cities of the Sea of Storms. They get them in raids from more southerly cities across that sea.'

He took another drink, shook his head at what he was about to say, and added, 'And after they bear him a child, she slaughters them. The sickly or defiant babes she kills, too. Those she deems acceptable are named heirs of the blood Tesmer, and trained to war. Wherefore there are now three Tesmer daughters, followed by six sons, all gained by this means. From eldest to youngest, they are-'

He counted them off on his fingers as he listed them, to be sure of missing none.

'Maera, a cold and haughty one who never lets anyone forget she's foremost; Nareyera, a scheming beauty whose eyes actually flash when she's raging; the tall, quiet one, Talyss, and then the sons.

Thalden cleared his throat again, and went on. 'Belard, the handsome master swordsman; Ghorsyn, who's big and loud and a bully, so of course witless lasses love him; Kalathgar, who just might be the smartest of them all, and doesn't think much of his kin; and Delmark, a lazy cheat and spy who'd slit your throat for an idle instant's amusement.'

He shook his head, waggled the two fingers still upthrust, and added, 'Two more. Ellark, who's ugly and clumsy. His brothers sneer at him, but he's strong as an ox and perhaps the only Tesmer who knows how to be kind. Last and youngest: Feldrar, another coward, liar, and prankster like Delmark, but busies himself being the dashing swindler instead of lie-a-bed lazy. Quite a House, hey?'

'By the Falcon, I don't want to rule Ironthorn!' Rod said feelingly, by way of reply. 'I take it House Tesmer has few knights?'

'Aye, and we take care to keep it that way. Poisoned arrows from the trees, if need be. Not that we often see the need; Lyrose usually has his archers in there slaying, first.'

'I cannot help but see,' Syregorn said firmly then, 'that your fit of talking has passed, Lord Archwizard. Sunset is not all that far off, now, and it will take us much of what's left of the day to work our way around and into the Lyrose lands unseen. They are not unguarded.'

'Patrols like swarming flies,' one of the knights commented, earning himself a sharp look from the warcaptain.

Ah, yes, Rod thought. This was supposed to be when the Lord Leaf's little powder made me yield up answer after answer to you. Not a time for me to ask and ask, and so hear all that befalls in Ironthorn.

The hard, steady stare Syregorn gave Rod then made the Lord Archwizard of all Falconfar wonder if the warcaptain could hear his thoughts.

Perhaps magic was among the secrets the Hammerhands were still guarding.

After all, it wasn't as if he was wizard enough to find out.

'There goes the sun,' Garfist grunted. He turned away from the castle window like a restlessly prowling bear. 'Can't help but feel this's not going to be a restful night.'

Iskarra nodded. 'So my bones tell me, too.' She made a face. 'I am beginning to hate one thing most of all.'

'That is?' Gar rumbled, flexing his fingers as if a handy throat was waiting for them.

'There's not a glorking thing we can do but sit and wait,' his lady said bitterly. ''Tis like being a sworn soldier again.'

'Ye were a sworn soldier?'

Even after all these years, Garfist was used to Iskarra being able to surprise him.

'No, but after you've killed one for his cloak and armor and put them on, one idiot who can march, dig shit pits, swing a sword, and die is enough like another for a warcaptain not to care. Especially when he can thrust his little warrior into you whenever he pleases, under threat of revealing what you've done and having you put to death slowly and painfully. With all your fellow soldiers helping.'

Garfist grew a slow grin. 'What'd ye do to him, in the end?'

'The short tale? Put him to death slowly and painfully. With all the other soldiers helping.'

Garfist waved one large and hairy hand. 'Tell me the longer tale. 'Tis better than just waiting.'

Isk gave him one of her more twisted smiles. 'Well, farther away and longer ago than I care to remember, I was born in a muddy field during a lightning storm…'

'No talking, now,' Syregorn murmured into Rod Everlar's ear. 'We are well inside the Lyrose patrols. No noise, whatever befalls.'

Like a ghost in the darkness-it had grown dark amid the trees with frightening suddenness-the warcaptain rose and moved along the line of Hammerhand knights. Rod could barely see the nearest of them, ahead and behind, even though he knew exactly where to look.

The forest was still thick, and alive with small rustlings. None of them made by Syregorn or his men, so far as Rod could tell.

Scarcely daring to breathe, he froze only for a moment when a hand patted his arm. It was the third time he'd felt that signal, and knew what to do: rise from the tree he was crouching against, and move on along the trail without making a sound.

He did that, and so did the Hammerhand knights behind him.

The last of them had been gone for the time it took the Lord Archwizard to draw in three of his new, careful, oh-so-quiet breaths before something rose silently up the other side of the stout old tree Rod Everlar had been crouching against, and started to skulk after them.

Gar and Isk stiffened when someone stepped into the room, but it was only the Aumrarr, and she gave them a smile, not a brandished blade.

She'd gone off to walk about Stormcrag Castle some time ago, telling them firmly she did not want them along, for their own safety.

'Lurking beasts? Traps?' Garfist had growled at her challengingly, whereupon she had nodded and replied simply, 'Yes.'

A look from Isk had quelled whatever defiance Gar might have offered next, and Dyune of the Aumrarr had walked off alone.

Now she was back, her hands empty. There were cobwebs in her hair, and smudges and smears of dust all over her. 'Find whatever it was ye were looking for?' Gar rumbled, raising one bushy eyebrow.

'No,' she replied, and went to sit beside Iskarra, where they could both look out the window into the night.

Silence fell. Garfist lurched a few steps, threw up his arms in exaggerated exasperation, spun around, and returned to where he had been sitting, facing Iskarra. He stared, however, at the Aumrarr.

She gave him a nod and went back to staring out at the night.

Silence stretched.

'So,' Gar asked thoughtfully after a time. 'How many Aumrarr are there left, after Highcrag, d'ye think?'

Dyune stared at him, shrugged, and asked in defiant reply, 'How many lorn are there in Falconfar, d'ye think?'

Garfist gave her a sour look. 'I'd never have a way of even guessing that, but Aumrarr have always been few, have always worked together and had much to do with each other, and so…'

Dyune gave him a tight smile. 'And so would never answer questions like that.'

' Very few, I see,' Isk said softly, from beside her.

'I didn't say that!' Dyune snapped.

'You didn't have to,' Isk replied, even more quietly.

Dyune turned her head away, and said not another word.

There was a tiny sound in the night right in front of Rod Everlar, and he froze and crouched down. It was followed by a thud, the briefest of thrashings in grass, and then something that might have been a sigh.

What seemed like a silent eternity later, that hand patted his arm again, and then took firm hold of his shoulder and pulled. Rod allowed himself to be led-off the trail through the grass, in a little half-circle that brought