Sorcerer's Son (10 page)

“Wouldn’t you have felt the same, my lord, in my position? Stolen from home and friends, enslaved? I would have burned you. Truly, I would have, save for that ring on your finger.”

He faced her. “The ring, yes! Can you doubt that it must be flawless?”

“Like all sorcerers,” said Gildrum, “you know less about demons than you suppose. There are flaws and flaws. As long as the ring remains unbroken, minor imperfections are unimportant.”

He circled the stool on which she sat and then, from behind, he fingered one of her blond braids. “I think not, my Gildrum. I think these things are subtler than you know. Or than you will admit. I have never asked your advice on ring-making, though you give it freely enough. As well ask a wild beast the best sort of trap to build for its littermates.”

“Don’t you trust me, lord?” asked Gildrum; her lips quirking in a smile.

“I trust you in many things. Other things, my Gildrum. We have been together many years, and I think I know you well enough by now.”

“Do you, lord?”

“You think not? You think you can surprise me?”

She turned toward him and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. Her fingers perceived the golden shirt that lay beneath his tunic, though no human skin would have been so sensitive. “Would you be surprised to know that I wish my freedom?”

“So.” He slid his arms about her waist. “My Gildrum wishes to be free of me.”

“We have been together many years, lord. But you have better servants than I.”

“None.”

She nodded vehemently and grasped his ring-laden hands. “You have not fingers enough to wear all your servants. Where will you put this new ring? In the drawer with the others?”

“You are the first and the best,” he said, drawing her down from the stool. She stood still in his embrace, her head against his chest, and she could hear his heart beat slow and steady in his breast. “What would I do without you, my Gildrum?”

“You could give another this form.”

“But another would not be you.”

She pushed away from him gently. “After all these years, my lord, have we not, in some sense, become friends?”

“Of course we have.”

“And would you deny a friend freedom?”

Rezhyk shook his head slowly and, clasping his hands behind his back, walked a few steps away from her. “It would not surprise me, my Gildrum, if a human slave wanted freedom. Humans always want all manner of ridiculous things. But what would you do if you were free? You find the human world interesting, yet without me you would have no place in it, nothing to do, nowhere to go, no reason for being here. And if you went back to your own world, you would find it much changed, I promise you. Many of your old friends would be gone, claimed by other sorcerers, and to those who were left, you would be a stranger. You have lived long among us; you are almost human in many ways.” He looked sidelong at her. “You are neither human nor demon now, my Gildrum. What else could you be but a sorcerer’s servant? Where else would you be content?”

“I would find some place for myself, somehow, somewhere, my lord.”

He stretched his arms out to her. “Have I not been good to you, my Gildrum?”

“You have, my lord, but still

I have served your will, not my own.”

“I need you, Gildrum.”

“I think not, lord.”

“I must be judge of that.”

Gildrum looked down at the floor. “You fashioned the rings. You may dispose of me as you will.”

“Perhaps I have heaped too much upon you these last years,” he said. “Perhaps you feel you have no time to yourself.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “Perhaps you need a holiday—a return to your own world for a little time. You’d see, then, that there is nothing for you there. Would that please you—a holiday?”

She lifted her eyes to his. “How long a holiday?”

“I don’t know. A few days? A little longer, maybe.”

“When? Now?”

He frowned. “No, not now, that’s not possible. I have the ring to finish, and you must fetch me the proper gem for it from one of the deposits in the south. And then there are those books buried in the ruins of ancient Ushar—I know they must be there, even though you haven’t found them yet—”

“You have other demons that could look for them as well as I.”

“They haven’t your fine touch, my Gildrum. I couldn’t trust any of them to bring the books undamaged. And you know so well precisely, what to look for. How long would it take me to teach that ignorant rabble to tell one volume of ancient lore from another? They would have me knee deep in genealogies and herbals, wasting my time with nonsense.”

Gildrum let her shoulders slump. “I see I have served you too long. I have become

indispensable.”

He shook her gently. “You shall have your holiday, my Gildrum. You shall. But not now. Later, when I have not so many projects in need of completion.”

“That will be never,” said Gildrum.

“Don’t say that.”

She bowed her head. “Yes, my lord.”

“Come, I want you to find that gem now, that I may begin the polishing. A fine, pale yellow topaz it must be, the color of that wine we had with dinner a few nights since—you recall I remarked on the color.”

“I recall, my lord. I recall.”

Gallant trotted easily in the morning light, its hooves making a fine rhythm on the hard-packed earth, its trappings jingling as if taking joy from the sunshine. The forest lay behind, with its leaf-shaded daylight, and now horse and rider moved beneath the open sky, between fields of nodding, golden grain. The road had forked once, and they had borne left, according to the innkeeper’s directions. Ahead lay a village, a cluster of huts on the north side of the path; Cray could just make them out in the distance.

He sat straight in the saddle, even after so many days of unremitting travel, even with the weight of chain mail pulling continually at his shoulders. On his head was a wide-brimmed hat, plaited this very morning of coarse grasses that grew by the side of the road—plaited to shield his eyes from the glare of full sunlight. He thought he must look an odd sight in surcoat and mail and straw hat. Thus far, though, he had not encountered anyone on the road to tell him so.

Suddenly, not half a dozen paces ahead, a figure emerged from the grain, a small, hunched figure that stepped into the center of the road and halted there, lifting an arm toward Cray. The boy had to jerk Gallant’s reins sharply to keep from running the person down. The horse took a few uneven strides beyond the figure before turning back in response to its master’s touch.

“Don’t you know better than to jump out in front of a running horse?” Cray shouted. “You could have been killed!”

The figure was cloaked and hooded in spite of the pleasant warmth of the day. It cowered before Cray, falling to its knees in the dust of the road, and in a youthful masculine voice it begged his pardon. “I did not mean to frighten your horse, my lord! But you are the first person to come along this road today, and I am just a poor starving beggar with no one and nothing to call his own. I implore you, my lord—alms. Alms, to swell your heart and my belly. Good my lord, save me from starvation!” He looked up at last, and his hood fell back, revealing the gaunt and sun-browned face of a lad not much different in age from Cray. A length of filthy rag was tied about his head so as to cover his left eye.

Cray surveyed the youth’s torn and dirty cloak, the worn wrappings on his feet. “Is it food you want, beggar, or money?”

“Food first, good my lord, or I shall not live long enough to reach yonder village. And after

whatever small coins you might be able to spare.” He clasped his hands and raised them toward Cray. “Anything, my lord. A crust of bread. A rind of cheese. Anything.”

Cray squinted up at the sun. “It may be a little early in the day for a noon meal, but I shall eat anyway. And you shall share it.” He glanced down the road, gestured with one hand. “I see a likely shade tree; shall we sit there?”

The beggar nodded eagerly, and he ran beside Gallant as the horse took its rider to the designated place.

Cray dismounted and tied Gallant’s reins to the tree. Then he drew bread and cheese from his saddlebags, and cold rabbit and a flask of water. He laid them on the shield as on a table, to keep them from the dust of the road.

Cray had seen cripples before, in the webs of his mother’s castle, but in his brief travels away from home, he had never encountered one in the flesh. As he divided the food with his knife and watched his companion wolf that allotted him, he could not help wondering what lay under the rag bandage. At last, as they licked the last traces of grease from their fingers, he said, “How did it happen?”

The other peered at him through one narrowed brown eye. “How did what happen, my lord?”

“Your eye.”

The beggar touched the rag with one hand, protectively. “I was born this way.”

“You can’t see with it?”

“I can see

a little. But it isn’t pretty. People don’t like to look at it. So I keep it covered.”

“What’s your name?”

“Feldar Sepwin, my lord.”

Cray grinned. “I’m not your lord. I’m not anybody’s lord. My name is Cray Ormoru.”

Sepwin bobbed his head. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“And you needn’t call me sir.”

“I call everyone sir. A beggar must.”

“Ah

or there wouldn’t be any alms.”

“You have it, young sir.”

“Have you no family, Master Feldar?”

“They tossed me out, sir. Because of my eye.”

“What sort of family would do that?” Cray asked.

“Farmers, sir. Plain peasant farmers.”

“They tossed out a good pair of hands. Unless

there is something else amiss with you.”

Sepwin shook his head. “Just the eye, sir. Folks don’t like to look at it. Folks don’t like to think about it.”

“Can it be so ugly?”

Sepwin looked away. “You would think so, I’m sure.”

Cray picked up his shield and hung it at its place on the saddle. “Where are you bound, Master Feldar?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere, sir. It doesn’t matter.”

“Would you care to ride behind me to the village? Gallant can easily carry both of us that far.”

“My lord, that would be more than kind.”

“Not ‘my lord’. Just Cray.” He mounted lightly. “Now up with you. Take my hand and put your foot in the stirrup there.”

Awkwardly, Sepwin clambered upon the saddle, settling himself behind Cray. He was there only a moment when he pushed away and slid over Gallant’s rump, landing heavily on the dusty road. He scrambled to his feet, one hand pressed to his right hip, which had taken the brunt of the fall. “My lord,” he said hastily, “the back of your neck is covered with spiders!”

Cray felt of his neck with gentle fingers, and the spiders crawled onto his hand and scurried up his sleeve. “They won’t hurt you,” he said.

Sepwin’s single eye was wide. “You knew they were there?”

‘They’ve been there ever since I left my home. They are my friends.“

“Strange friends you have, my lord.” Sepwin backed away, one limping step. “I was born a farmer, and I don’t fear spiders, but I have never seen so many in one place at one time. And what a place!”

“They cling wherever they can,” said Cray. “Usually, most of them are in my sleeve.” He coaxed one brown-and-white mite onto his open palm and held it out to Sepwin. “You see?”

“Do they never bite you?” Sepwin asked.

“Never.”

Slowly, Sepwin sank to his knees. “My lord,” he murmured, “are you some sort of wizard?”

Cray smiled. “I know a few things, especially about spiders. That doesn’t make me a wizard.” He leaned down and extended his hand. “If you’re not afraid of a few spiders, you can still have a ride to the village. I think after that fall you’d rather not walk.”

Sepwin looked up and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I am not afraid,” he said, and he took Cray’s hand and mounted Gallant.

“I haven’t much silver,” Cray said, kicking his horse to a slow walk, “but you’re welcome to a piece of it.”

“Where are you bound, my lord? I mean, Master Cray?”

“For Falconhill, Master Feldar.”

“Where would that be?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Well, neither do I, precisely. It’s in the west somewhere.”

“I am from the south. Somewhere. Have you some business at this Falconhill?”

“Yes, Master Feldar. I seek word of my father, who went to Falconhill once and never returned.”

“Perhaps it is a dangerous place.”

“Perhaps. Would you care to go there?”

“I, sir? Not if it is dangerous.”

“I have been traveling alone for a long time,” said Cray, “and I was thinking that it’s a dull journey without other ears than my horse’s to talk to. And you have no pressing destination.”

“True enough, Master Cray.”

“And you would never go hungry as my companion.”

“You have a compelling argument, young sir. But why would you wish to burden yourself and your horse with a cripple?”

“Are you so different from other men, Master Feldar?”

He was silent a moment, and then he said resolutely, “No, I am not.”

“Then perhaps we will find you a horse for yourself in this village. Gallant would tire carrying both of us all the time.”

“You would buy me a horse?”

“Don’t expect another like Gallant, though.”

“Master Cray, you are mad to treat a stranger so!”

“You asked for alms, did you not?” He shrugged. “Besides,we may find you some useful work at Falconhill. I have heard that it is a great holding.”

“But your father—the danger—”

“You can always tell them you met me on the road and hardly know me at all.” He kicked Gallant to a faster pace. “There is the village already. We can stop and fill our flasks at their well.”

Small, dirty children ceased their play to point and exclaim at the beautiful horse as Gallant walked slowly past the low wall that marked the village boundary. The well was in the center of the enclosed space, and when Cray and Sepwin dismounted there, the children crowded around them, stroking the horse’s legs and flanks, as high as they could reach. Although Gallant tolerated this attention quietly enough, with Cray standing at its head muttering soothing nonsense, a woman ran from one of the huts and pulled the children away one by one, scolding sharply.