The Smoke-Scented Girl (22 page)

Evon realized it was Kerensa’s dress,
she’s only in her nightgown, she must be freezing,
and was
filled with unaccountable rage that anyone would handle her things
so carelessly. “You...are trying a finding spell,” he said.

“Yes, Lorantis, when someone is lost that is
indeed what we do,” Mistress Quendester said. “You can observe if
you want, but I don’t think your assistance will be needed.” She
accepted the dress from the man and swept off down the hall. Evon
hurried behind her.

“Mistress Quendester, that won’t be
necessary, I can already track Miss Haylter,” he said, but Mistress
Quendester didn’t pause. “I’d be happy to show you the spell—it’s
really quite effective—”

“Lorantis, I’m not in the mood for your
experimental spellcraft,” she said without turning her head. “I’m
sure our poor finding spell isn’t up to your high standards, but I
hope you’ll do us all the courtesy of not criticizing our work. As
if you could help yourself.”

Oh, she has most definitely not forgiven
me
. And when the finding spell failed, and he demonstrated the
scenting spell, she would look even more like a fool. Well, the
Underworld take her. He’d tried. He followed her into the taproom,
where nearly a dozen other men and women waited, some seated at the
tables, others standing. He didn’t recognize any of them, but he
estimated that his and Piercy’s entrance into the room halved the
average age of the group. None of them paid him any attention. He
went to a corner of the room and leaned against the wall. Piercy
joined him, carefully studying his fingernails in a way that told
Evon he was actually looking forward to the upcoming spectacle.
Evon’s anxiety returned. This was a waste of time. He thought, not
for the first time, of simply taking his horse and riding off to
find Kerensa, but Mrs. Petelter had a good point; his abilities and
his determination alone would not be enough to rescue her. He was
being irrational. So he stood, and stewed, and tried to run over
possibilities for the new spell in his head. It would have to
isolate the entity—wait, he could use part of Kerensa’s spell for
that,
if she were here, if she weren’t in enemy hands. Stop
thinking about it.
The spell would have to locate it—ironic,
that he was thinking of a new location spell while Mistress
Quendester and her cronies were about to fail at theirs. He
definitely needed clay, and possibly ash—

“Join hands,” Mistress Quendester said in
that pompous tone that still irritated Evon to the point of wanting
to prove her wrong even when she was right. She never failed to
make him wish he’d gone to university and earned the title of
Master, if only to force her to stop sneering at him. The group
formed a circle around Kerensa’s dress, lying on one of the small
tables like a shed skin. Mistress Quendester stood just inside the
circle, her baton raised. “All focus,” she added, and the room went
silent except for the sound of Evon’s pulse racing, so loud he was
surprised no one else could hear it.

Mistress Quendester took in a deep breath and
let it out. “
Reperto
Kerensa Haylter,” she intoned, waving
her baton in an intricate and unnecessarily detailed rune that
meant “uncover,” and a speck of light began to glow in the air just
above the dress. It grew until it was nearly the size of an apple,
spinning slowly on its horizontal axis like a roast on a spit. Then
it drifted in the direction of the eastern wall. Evon saw one of
the magicians smile. The smile faded when the glowing ball halted
just past the circle and dissolved into specks of light. There was
a moment of silence, then the magicians began arguing loudly with
each other, unclasping hands to punctuate their sentences with
broad, vehement gestures.

“
Silence
,” Mistress Quendester said,
though she had to repeat herself twice more to command everyone’s
attention. “We’ll try again. Better focus this time, everyone, and
I think we should all cast at the same time.”

Piercy poked Evon in the side. Evon said,
“Mistress Quendester, may I—”

“No one is interested in your opinion,
Lorantis,” Mistress Quendester said, not bothering to look at
him.

“Lorantis?” said one of the magicians, a
portly man with strands of hair combed over his balding head. “Not
Evon Lorantis? Aren’t you Tifana Elltis’s boy wonder?”

“I am Evon Lorantis, yes,” Evon said, fuming
over the “boy wonder,” “and I think Speculatus has cast an
obscuration on their path. However, when I found Miss Haylter
before, I used a different method they don’t know to protect
against.”

“I think I told you we’re not interested in
your experiments,” Mistress Quendester said.

“I’d like to hear about it, Caris,” the
balding man said. “He did find the girl, after all, and I don’t
like the idea of the weapon being in Speculatus’s hands any longer
than it has to be. Speak, Mr. Lorantis.”

Evon was suddenly the center of ten
magicians’ intense interest. “I—the spell has altered Miss
Haylter’s body in a way that gives off a particular...olfactory
residue. I isolated the scent and used it to track her.”

“Like a dog,” Mistress Quendester
scoffed.

“Yes, Mistress Quendester, if you want to put
it that way,” Evon said, feeling his irritation threatening to
spill over, “but it works. I can find Miss Haylter and I can lead
you all to her.”

“Why not simply teach us the spell?” asked
another magician, an elderly woman with a sharp-nosed face and
short white hair.

“We don’t have time for that,” Evon lied. It
probably wouldn’t take more than an hour to teach them all the
spell—longer, in Mistress Quendester’s case—but he wasn’t going to
give them any excuse to send him away. “If you’re willing to follow
me, we can leave immediately.”

“I think you should be able to prove that
your spell works,” Mistress Quendester said. “Your lack of
experience doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

Evon had to pause for a moment; it was either
that or scream obscenities at the woman. “I can’t prove it except
by finding Miss Haylter,” he said finally. “But we can either sit
here and watch your further attempts at a finding spell fail, or we
can start the search we should have started the instant she was
discovered missing.”

Mistress Quendester’s face went white with
fury, but before she could speak, the elderly woman said, “Don’t be
testy about this, young man. We got here as quickly as we could.
And now we’re going to leave as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you,” Evon said. “Ma’am, if you would
tell Mrs. Petelter your decision, and we should all meet in the
stable yard as soon as we’ve made whatever preparations you think
necessary.”

The woman’s mouth quirked into a sideways
smile. “You’re very decisive, Mr. Lorantis,” she said. “A desirable
trait in a magician, though not always a comfortable one for those
around you.” She glanced around the room. “Gather your things and
find your mounts. We leave in half an hour—if that’s sufficiently
speedy for you, Mr. Lorantis?”

Evon blushed. “Thank you, Mistress—?”

“Belitha Gavranter,” the woman said. “And I
am interested in learning your scenting spell...when we have time.”
Her tone of voice suggested that she knew what Evon was doing, and
approved. It comforted him to think that not all of these magicians
were hostile. Mistress Quendester had enough hostility seething
within her for all ten of them.

He and Piercy gathered their things, then
Evon went and packed Kerensa’s bag with what little she possessed.
On his way out, he retrieved her discarded dress from the taproom
and did his best to roll it up neatly. How women managed to pack
their clothes was a mystery to him. He loaded his bag and Kerensa’s
on his horse, then mounted and wheeled the animal in a slow circle,
trying to contain his impatience. The magicians seemed not to feel
the urgency. Only a few of them had arrived in the stable yard, and
they were standing near their horses but not mounting them. He
sniffed the air, taking in a great deep breath, and released it,
both trying to calm himself and seeking out Kerensa’s scent. There
it was, a thin line leading out of the stable yard and to the east.
Fifteen hours now, but it was still strong. He once again
controlled his impulse to simply ride off after it, Piercy no doubt
following his lead even though he would be taking them both into
disaster.

“Evon, you’re making the horse dizzy. Be
still,” Piercy said.

Evon looked over at his best friend and a
wave of misery hit him, bringing with it a simple realization. “I
love her,” he said.

“I know,” Piercy said, and put a
compassionate hand over Evon’s. “I’ve been wondering when you would
realize that.”

“I—what?”

“I love you like a brother, Evon, but you can
be remarkably dense at times,” Piercy said, “particularly in
matters of the heart. You began falling in love with Kerensa the
moment we left Inveros.”

Evon stared at his friend, dumbfounded. “I
think I would have noticed,” he began, and memories of every
interaction he’d had with Kerensa played out, all the times he’d
been mesmerized by her beauty and quick wit, how often he’d sought
her out, and he felt like an idiot. “You’re right,” he said.
“Piercy, we have to find her.”

“We will, Evon.”

“She’s out there, having the Gods know what
done to her—”

“You can’t help her by stewing about it, dear
fellow. She knows you’ll follow her. Be patient.”

“I’ve barely known her two weeks and already
I can’t imagine being without her.”

“It happens that way sometimes.”

“I can’t tell her. What would I say? She’s
already depending on me to break her free of this spell; learning
that I love her would just burden her further, since I know she
sees me only as a friend.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Evon finally met Piercy’s eyes. “How many
hours have we spent together in the last several days? I may be
dense, but I’m certain she’s never once looked at me that way. And
suppose I declared my love for her, and she felt she owed me
something, and...oh, Piercy, I really must have angered the Gods,
that They’re tormenting me like this.”

The white-haired Mistress Gavranter
approached, riding a horse nearly as white as her own hair. “I
believe we’re all ready, if you’d care to lead out, Mr.
Lorantis.”

Evon looked around the yard. Ten magicians,
twelve Home Defense agents, and Mrs. Petelter and Terantis, the
latter looking as if he’d rather stab Evon through the heart than
follow him anywhere. He checked the air again, not caring that he
looked like a dog casting for scent. “This way,” he called out, and
led the procession out of the stable yard and into the streets of
Belicath.

The scent led Evon eastward, through the
merchant district where every kind of religious artifact was for
sale, icons for the home, medallions and amulets for people, even
tiny charms for pets. Evon had never seen the point of outward
religious observances, reasoning that the Gods knew how devoted you
were without you rattling around weighed down by ugly necklaces,
but now he wondered if there wasn’t something to the practice.
Perhaps he needed an ugly necklace so Belia or Cath, or possibly
both, would turn Their attention elsewhere. He certainly felt like
Their fool.

He barely heard the clamor of horses’ hooves,
of people behind him talking as if nothing were wrong. If he’d
stayed just minutes longer, he’d have been with her when Speculatus
struck. Yes, and he’d still have been helpless, and they’d have cut
his throat like they had the guard’s. There was nothing he could
have done to stop them. All he could do now was reach her as fast
as he could, and be prepared to kill as many Speculatus members as
got in his way, if that became necessary. If he was capable of
killing. He let his nose find the way and set to reviewing spells
in his head, practicing gestures for spells he’d learned the theory
of in school and never cast. Defensive spells—Odelia was almost as
good as he was, good enough that the difference wouldn’t matter if
it came to a fight, and he would need to shrug off whatever she
cast without slowing down his own casting. He had a feeling he
would be facing her; it would fit the way his life was going if he
had to fight his nemesis in defense of the woman he loved. He was
certain now that the Gods were using him as entertainment, watching
from wherever They lived and possibly placing wagers on how it
would all turn out.

Kerensa’s face emerged from memory, looking
the way it had when he’d seen her last, excited and hopeful that he
might have found part of the solution. Excited, hopeful, but
nothing more, no deeper feeling that might have matched his own.
Evon closed his eyes and cursed himself. If the spell didn’t exist,
would he have been able to court her properly?
If the spell
didn’t exist, you’d never have met her
.

He let his nose lead him and made himself
focus on the new spell, the one that would prove the existence of
the entity, and was so engrossed in it that he didn’t realize
people were calling his name until Piercy said, “Dear fellow, are
you certain of the path? Because you seem to have left it behind a
quarter of a mile ago.”

Evon looked around. The last he’d been aware,
they’d passed the eastern gate of Belicath and proceeded along that
road. Now, though, he was standing in a treeless, snowblown expanse
somewhere well to the north of the road. He sniffed, then turned
his horse in a circle, and felt the beginnings of dread.

“I knew it was a mistake to trust him,”
Mistress Quendester was saying to Mistress Gavranter as both
approached him.

“We have a problem,” he said. “They’ve turned
northeast. Kerensa—Miss Haylter was being drawn south by the spell.
If she ignores the urging, the power builds until it activates on
its own. The results are devastating. The first time it happened,
Miss Haylter simply stayed in one place, only knowing that
following the urge resulted in a death. If she’s taken in a
direction opposite to the one the spell wants her to take—”