It had to be Candabraxis, Bowspear thought with growing displeasure. Somehow, the two of them had forged an alliance. Nevertheless, he forced a broad smile. Alliance or not, it wouldn’t save Harlmut, he vowed.
“I’m sorry I’m late for your feast,” he said to Candabraxis. “I lost track of the hour, cataloging our cargo from the last voyage.”
“Oh, surely you have people who can do that sort of thing,” Lady Delma said dismissively.
“Of course, but I want it done right.” He bowed to her. “I must say, you’re looking even more radiant than usual, Lady Delma.”
She blushed a little. “Thank you, Parniel.”
Bowspear turned to his regular seat at Harlmut’s right hand—and found the wizard already in it. Still, that was to be expected: Candabraxis was the guest of honor. He took the seat next to the wizard, displacing fat old Lord Korgaard, and the whole side of the table shifted accordingly. They knew better than to challenge him.
Servants began pouring more goblets of wine and bringing out platters of hot roasted chicken, a whole pig with an apple in its mouth, and small loaves of crusty bread. Bowspear took a long drink of his wine, then found the wizard nodding pleasantly to him.
He nodded back. “How do you find Grabentod?” he asked, trying to be polite.
“Cold.”
A laugh went up around the table. Candabraxis grinned.
Cold. Bowspear felt like rolling his eyes.
“What other new dances do you know?” Lady Delma asked, fanning herself. She seated herself in her normal place, at Harlmut’s left hand.
“Oh, I’m sure I know three or four more that haven’t made it here yet,” the wizard said modestly. His face was a little flushed from exertion, but he seemed almost exuberant. “Perhaps, at your next formal ball…”
“Of course,” she said determinedly. “We must have a formal ball. Elastide is in ten days. We shall hold it then. With your permission, of course,” she said, looking to Harlmut.
He made a small gesture. “Whenever Lady Delma desires.”
She gave a squeal of delight, turned to Lady Jasmar, two seats to her left, and began discussing decorations. As a puddle, Bowspear thought. Now, thanks to Candabraxis, he’d have another awful social function to attend. He began to wish he’d quietly dropped the wizard overboard on the way back to Grabentod.
“Tell me,” Harlmut said loudly to the wizard, leaning forward, “what has your research turned up?”
Bowspear felt a jab of apprehension. Research— that sounded like trouble. Watching Candabraxis from the corner of his eye, he helped himself to a loaf of bread.
“Well,” Candabraxis said, between bites of a chicken leg, “according to Morweit’s Peerage, the nearest relatives of Müden’s ruling Erbrecht family are in Drachenward. Forty years ago, Barke Erbrecht married one of his daughters to a prince of Drachenward, Oluvar Hawk. Their firstborn son would be, technically, seventeenth in line for the Erbrecht family’s fortune.”
“Hawk … I know that name,” Bowspear murmured. Where had he heard it before?
Candabraxis turned to him. “Oh? And do you know if he has a son?”
He grinned inwardly, as it all came back to him. “Yes, he does,” he said. He could reveal it since it could do Harlmut no good. “His name is Orin Hawk, I believe.”
“Orin Hawk—” Harlmut said. Then his expression turned to one of dismay. “Oh.”
Candabraxis looked from Bowspear to Harlmut and back again. “Is there some problem? Is he dead?”
“Tell him,” Bowspear said.
“Orin Hawk,” Harlmut said, “is in thrall to the Hag. He led a squad of men from Drachenward on a mission to kill her or drive her from her lair some years ago. Rather than kill him, she charmed him and his men. Now they serve her utterly, guarding her border with Drachenward.”
Candabraxis laughed. “Excellent!” he cried. “This is perfect!”
“How so?” Bowspear demanded cautiously.
“What better way to win Müden’s favor? If you capture Hawk and pull him back from the Hag’s evil, then return him, fully restored, to Drachenward, it might well persuade the king of Drachenward to intercede on your behalf.”
“Impossible!” Bowspear said. “It would be a foolhardy mission. We all know what the Hag does to those who venture into her lands. She charms them. She toys with them. Then she kills them. The few who return to civilized lands have addled minds, for they have seen visions too terrible for mortals to bear.”
“Is this true?” Candabraxis asked, looking to Harlmut.
Unhappily, the regent nodded. “I fear he is beyond our reach. Who of us would dare try to retrieve him from the Hag?”
“I would!” cried a voice farther down the table.
“And who will join me?”
“I will!” answered a second, then a third, then a half dozen more men.
Shocked, Bowspear glanced to his left. Captain Evann stood there, his bearded face drawn with determination. Slowly Evann’s piercing gray eyes turned to Bowspear.
“I fear the Hag,” he said, “but I want our king back more. If we must save Orin Hawk from her, so be it. With a wizard’s help, surely we must succeed. The alternative is unacceptable.”
Bowspear swallowed. That last remark seemed to have been directed at him. Evann had long been a rival… and now it seemed Evann hoped to win especial favor by taking on the Hag and her creatures.
“I will prepare protective charms for you,” Candabraxis said firmly. “Every protection I can offer will be yours.”
“This is madness,” Bowspear scoffed. He felt a rising uneasiness. With a wizard’s help, he realized their mad plan might have a slight chance of success. Surely the Hag would never expect an attack. And if they actually succeeded in saving Hawk from her …
“Thank you,” Harlmut was saying. He stood and raised his cup. “A toast to Captain Evann!” he cried. “May he save Orin Hawk … and our king!”
Or die trying, Bowspear mentally added. He forced a smile and raised his cup.
“To Captain Evann,” he said. “May he get all that he truly deserves.”
Eh, lad? Orin Hawk? Aye, I heard of that one—one of the Hag’s minions.
As any fool knows, the Hag uses her powers to entrap anybody who ventures into her domain. Orin Hawk should have known it—he was a nobleman from Drachenward, after all—but somehow he got the notion in his head to drive her from her lands. He gathered forty men and marched them straight into the heart of her domain.
That was the last time Drachenward heard from Hawk. Aye, ye’ve guessed right. The Hag charmed them all and holds ’em in her power to this day.
Like my pappy always said, best steer clear of magic … mark that lesson well, lad.
Six
Parniel Bowspear returned to the Temple of Ela just after midnight. When he entered the front doors, he found an underpriest standing there, waiting for him. The man wore long black robes, with a black skullcap on his shaved head, and his features were gaunt and pinched, almost emaciated. His pale blue eyes missed nothing, though, as he studied Bowspear’s face.
“Is she here?” he asked.
“This way,” the underpriest said, turning toward the altar room. “Haltengabben is expecting you.”
Bowspear hesitated a moment before ducking through the doorway after him, but when he did, he found no trace of the bizarre ceremony he had witnessed earlier. The large brass braziers still smoked, but now they let off the scents of sweetly aromatic herbs, and the dancers, musicians, and giant serpent had vanished entirely.
The priest led him past the altar and through a maze of tiny corridors to Haltengabben’s overcrowded office. When he entered, she looked up from a manuscript, then quickly rolled it up and put it away.