“I know you don’t want to tell Lady Shasha,” Garander said, “but shouldn’t I tell my family?”
“No,” Velnira snapped. “Sit down.” She suited her own actions to her words, slumping back against the base of a tree.
Garander hesitated, then found a spot of his own, not on the dead leaves, but nearby. He glanced up at Burz, but the soldier seemed content to stand.
“Poor Tesk,” he said, looking at his friend’s body again.
It was hard to believe that the shatra was not really dead; he looked ghastly. In addition to the slashed throat, blood ran from his mouth and nose and stained his clothing from neck to navel. Blackish rivulets had run down his side and pooled on the ground beneath him.
“Hard to believe he’s dead,” Burz said.
Velnira turned her head to stare at him. “Are you mad? Look at him!”
“Oh, I know he is dead,” Burz acknowledged. “I just don’t understand how he could be. I saw him fight; by the gods, I fought him myself. He was faster and stronger than anything I had ever seen before. If he had wanted to kill me, he could have done it at any time. But here he is, dead as a stone. If this was a mizagar’s work, then those things are even more dangerous than I thought.”
“It might have caught him off guard,” Garander suggested. “After all, he thought they were on the same side.”
“That’s true,” Velnira said, “but it might have been one of those wizards from Ethshar.”
“Why would they kill him?” Garander asked. “They were trying to hire him!”
“Maybe he told them no,” Velnira said.
“Oh,” Garander said. “You think that’s it?” He tried to decide whether he wanted the Ethsharites blamed for this. He probably did not; it might serve as a pretext for conflict.
There was something ludicrous in the idea that the barons might start a war with Ethshar to avenge the killing of a left-over Northern monster, especially when Lord Dakkar had announced last night that he would have the shatra killed if Tesk did not cooperate, but that did not mean it was impossible.
Velnira did not answer, and after a moment of awkward silence Garander asked, “Would a wizard leave his throat like that? I thought wizardry…well, that it either wouldn’t leave any marks at all, or that he’d be completely ripped to pieces.”
“I don’t know,” Velnira said, obviously nettled. “Ask the wizard when she gets here. Or he. Or they.”
Another uneasy silence settled over the threesome. Garander wished that they would get on with whatever they were going to do; he was worried that someone from Ethshar of the Sands would come looking for Tesk and stumble on the party.
He also feared that Tesk might shift position. He knew no ordinary man could stay so motionless for very long. Tesk, of course, was no ordinary man, but still, Garander could not help worrying.
It seemed like hours before the soldier returned with Sammel, Azlia, and a woman Garander did not recognize, but at last they came stomping through the forest, making what seemed to Garander like far more noise than necessary.
“There you are!” Velnira said. “What did Lord Dakkar said?”
“He won’t be coming himself,” the soldier replied. “He thought that would attract too much attention.”
“And of course, he’s worried that it might be a trap,” the unfamiliar woman said. Startled, Garander took a closer look at her.
She was short, and a bit plump, dressed in a red tunic embroidered in white, green, and gold over a respectable ankle-length green skirt. She was wearing boots-far more sensible for tramping around the forest than the shoes Velnira, Sammel, and Azlia had on. Given the soldier’s instructions and the fact that no one had remarked on her presence, Garander assumed she was a magician of some sort, but her clothes gave no indication of what kind of magician. Wizards traditionally liked hats and robes, while her head was bare and her clothes ordinary; although he had never met either one Garander had always heard that theurgists wore white and demonologists wore black. She might be another sorcerer, like Sammel or the man who had vanished after tampering with Tesk’s weapon, or she might be a witch, or something else entirely.
Whatever she was, Sammel glared at her and held two fingers to his lips in a shushing gesture. Then he lowered the fingers and looked at Tesk.
“Well, there’s not much question he’s dead,” the sorcerer said. “I don’t think even a demon could keep him alive in that condition.”
Azlia glanced at Garander and said nothing.
“Is there some way you can tell whether the demon is gone?” Velnira asked.
Sammel frowned. “I’m a sorcerer, not a demonologist.”
“Do we have a demonologist?”
“Not that I know of. Certainly not in Varag, and I don’t recall anyone in the delegation from Sardiron who looked like a demonologist.”
“Some demonologists prefer not to announce themselves,” the unknown woman said.
“Well, if someone’s keeping it secret, then we can’t invite him,” Sammel retorted.
“So we don’t have one,” Velnira said. “It’s up to you, Sammel.”
Sammel grimaced. “You saw what happened to Arnen.”
Velnira nodded. “Be careful,” she said.
Moving cautiously, Sammel approached the fallen shatra. Azlia, Velnira, and the two soldiers watched him intently.
The strange woman, though, watched Garander; he shifted uncomfortably, then glared back.
He had expected her to look away, but she did not; instead she beckoned to him, and stepped back, away from the others.
Intrigued, Garander gave the others one quick glance, then followed the stranger as she stepped behind a big oak.
The minute he joined her, she whispered, “You know he’s not dead.”
“Who are you?” Garander asked.
“My name is Zatha the Witch. You’re Garander Grondar’s son?”
“Yes.”
“You know he’s not dead. Why are you doing this?”
Garander threw a glance at Tesk. Sammel was carefully lifting one of the larger talismans from the shatra’s side.
“So they’ll leave him alone,” he said. “Lord Dakkar threatened to kill him; well, he can’t kill him if he’s already dead.”
“Where did you get the spell?”
Garander hesitated. It was none of the witch’s business. “Why do you want to know?” he asked.
“I want to know who knows he’s still alive. The more people who know a secret, the more likely it will come out.”
“A wizard from Ethshar,” Garander said. “And Azlia knows. No one else.”
“Will Sammel notice anything, do you think?”
“I don’t know. You’re the magician; I don’t know whether a sorcerer can see through a wizard’s spell. Until you called me over here, I didn’t know witches could.”
“Oh, this is exactly the sort of thing we’re good at, but sorcerers? I don’t know. If Sammel had seen anything, though, he’d have spoken up by now, so you may be safe.”
Garander looked over at the rest of the party. Sammel had retrieved several devices and passed them to the two soldiers. The Sardironese seemed more interested in looting the body than in Tesk’s condition.
“Is that stuff booby-trapped?” Zatha asked him.
His head whipped back to face her. “No! We wanted peace-that’s why we’re doing this. We were afraid those idiots would start a war over him.”
“Ah!” Zatha nodded. “And I’m sure Lord Dakkar would have tried, but the other barons aren’t all as hot-headed and stupid as he is. So those things are harmless?”
“I didn’t say that,” Garander whispered. “They’re real Northern equipment; they aren’t any safer than the one that killed Arnen. But they aren’t any less safe, either. The idea is to let the baron think he’s gotten something for his trouble.”