“How about his father’s name? Or rather, the name of whoever the old Baron was?”
Savn shook his head.
Vlad said, “Does the name ‘Loraan’ sound familiar?”
“That’s it!”
Vlad chuckled softly. “That is almost amusing.”
“What is?”
“Nothing, nothing. And was Reins the man who used to make deliveries to Loraan?”
“Well, Reins drove everywhere. He made deliveries for, well, for just about everyone.”
“But did his duties take him to the Baron’s keep?”
“Well, I guess they must have.”
Vlad nodded. “I thought so.”
“Hmmm?”
“I used to know him. Only very briefly I’m afraid, but still—”
Savn shook his head. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“It wasn’t quite around here; it was at Loraan’s keep rather than his manor house. The keep, if I recall the land—
scape correctly, must be on the other side of the Brownclay.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And I didn’t spend much time there, either.” Vlad smiled as he said this, as if enjoying a private joke. Then he said, “Who is Baron now?”
“Who? Why, the Baron is the Baron, same as always.”
“But after the old Baron died, did his son inherit?”
“Oh. I guess so. That was before I was born.”
The Easterner’s eyes widened, which seemed to mean the same thing in an Easterner that it did in a human. “Didn’t the old Baron die just a few years ago?”
“Oh, no. He’s been there for years and years.”
“You mean Loraan is the Baron now?”
“Of course. Who else? I thought that’s what you meant.”
“My, my, my.” Vlad tapped the edge of his wine cup against the table. After a moment he said, “If he died, are you certain you’d know?”
“Huh? Of course I’d know. I mean, people see him, don’t they? Even if he doesn’t appear around here often, there’s still deliveries, and messengers, and—”
“I see. Well, this is all very interesting.”
“What is?”
“I had thought him dead some years ago.”
“He isn’t dead at all,” said Savn. “In fact, he just came to stay at his manor house, a league or so from town, near the place I first saw you.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes.”
“And that isn’t his son?”
“He isn’t married,” said Savn.
“How unfortunate for him,” said Vlad. “Have you ever actually seen him?”
“Certainly. Twice, in fact. He came through here with his retainers, in a big coach, with silver everywhere, and six horses, and a big Athyra embossed in—”
“Were either of these times recent?”
Savn started to speak, stopped, and considered. “What do you mean ‘recent’?”
Vlad laughed. “Well taken. Within, say, the last five years?”
“Oh. No.”
The Easterner took another sip of his wine, set the cup down, closed his eyes, and, after a long moment, said, “There is a high cliff over the Lower Brownclay. In fact, there is a valley that was probably cut by the river.”
“Yes, there is.”
“Are there caves, Savn?”
He blinked. “Many, all along the walls of the cliff. How did you know?”
“I knew about the valley because I saw it, earlier today, and the river. As for the caves, I didn’t know; I guessed. But now that I do know, I would venture a further guess that there is water to be found in those caves.”
“There’s water in at least one of them; I’ve heard it trickling.”
Vlad nodded. “It makes sense.”
“What makes sense, Vlad?”
“Loraan was—excuse me—is a wizard, and one who has studied necromancy. It would make sense that he lived near a place where Dark Water flows.”
“Dark Water? What is that?”
“Water that has never seen the light of day.”
“Oh. But what does that have to do with—what was his name?”
“Loraan. Baron Smallcliff. Such water is useful in the practice of necromancy. When stagnant and contained, it can be used to weaken and repel the undead, but when flowing free they can use it to prolong their life. It’s a bittersweet tapestry of life itself,” he added, in what Savn thought was an ironic tone of voice.
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. Would it matter to you if you were to discover that your lord is undead?”
“What?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Good. That may matter, later.”
“Vlad, I don’t understand—”
“Don’t worry about it; that isn’t the important thing.”
“You seem to be talking in riddles.”
“No, just thinking aloud. The important thing isn’t how he survived; the important thing is what he knows. Aye, what he knows, and what he’s doing about it.”
Savn struggled to make sense of this, and at last said, “What he knows about what?”
Vlad shook his head. “There are such things as coincidence, but I don’t believe one can go that far.” Savn started to say something, but Vlad raised his hand. “Think of it this way, my friend: many years ago, a man helped me to pull a nasty joke on your Baron. Now, on the very day I come walking through his fief, the man who helped me turns up mysteriously dead right in front of me. And the victim of this little prank moves to his manor house, which happens to be just outside the village I’m passing through. Would you believe that this could happen by accident?”
The implications of everything Vlad was saying were too many and far-reaching, but Savn was able to understand enough to say, “No.”
“I wouldn’t, either. And I don’t.”
“But what does it mean?”
“I’m not certain,” Vlad said. “Perhaps it was foolish of me to come this way, but I didn’t realize exactly where I was, and, in any case, I thought Loraan was ... I thought it would be safe. Speaking of safe, I guess what it means is that I’m not, very.”
Savn said, “You’re leaving, then?” He was surprised to discover how disappointed he was at the thought.
“Leaving? No. It’s probably too late for that. And besides, this fellow, Reins, helped me, and if that had anything to do with his death, that means I have matters to attend to.”
Savn struggled with this, and at last said, “What matters?”
But Vlad had fallen silent again; he stared off into space, as if taken by a sudden thought. He sat that way for nearly a minute, and from time to time his lips seemed to move. At last he grunted and nodded faintly.
Savn repeated his question. “What matters will you have to attend to?”
“Eh?” said Vlad. “Oh. Nothing important.”
Savn waited. Vlad leaned back in his chair, his eyes open but focused on the ceiling. Twice the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were smiling; once he shuddered as if something frightened him. Savn wondered what he was thinking about. He was about to ask, when Vlad’s head suddenly snapped down and he was looking directly at Savn.
“The other day, you started to ask me about witchcraft.”
“Well, yes,” said Savn. “Why—”
“How would you like to learn?”
“Learn? You mean, how to, uh-—”
“We call it casting spells, just like sorcerers do. Are you interested?”
“I’d never thought about it before.”
“Well, think about it.”
“Why would you want to teach me?”
“There are reasons.”
“I don’t know.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised at your hesitation. It would be useful to me if someone knew certain spells. It doesn’t have to be you; I just thought you’d want to. I could find someone else. Perhaps one of those young men—”
“All right.”
Vlad didn’t smile; he just nodded slightly and said, “Good.”
“When should we begin?”
“Now would be fine,” said the Easterner, and rose to his feet. “Come with me.”
She flew above and ahead of her mate, in long, wide, overlapping circles just below the overcast. He was content to follow, because her eyesight was keener.