“I will leave with the morning tide,” he said. “Now, if you’d be kind enough to pass that flagon of excellent Anuirean wine?”
Numbly, it seemed, Harlmut served him.
“Very kind of you,” he said as he generously refilled his goblet. “An excellent feast, Regent Harlmut, I must say. Almost worth the trip itself.”
“Thank you.” Harlmut sank back in his chair, looking devastated.
And Leor, Duke of Drachenward, smiled in triumph.
Twenty-Five
From his tower suite, Candabraxis watched Duke Leor’s ship sail. He sighed in disappointment. They had been so close to success….
Shaking his head, he returned to his packing. He had decided to move on. The force that had drawn him to Grabentod seemed to have left him with the death of the bloodspawn, almost as if defeating it were the sole purpose of his coming here.
From his worktable, he lifted each jar and vial, carefully wrapped them in thick cloths, and stored them in his trunk. He would miss this tower. In the few weeks he’d been here, it had become home.
A knock sounded on his door.
“Come in!” he called.
Harlmut stepped in. “I’m sorry to see you go,” he said. “You are welcome to stay, Candabraxis. We do need a wizard.”
Candabraxis grinned and shook his head. “The urge is on me to travel again, to see more of the world. I think my next stop will probably be Müden.”
“Oh?” Harlmut raised his eyebrows.
The wizard laughed. “Yes, I’ll stop in and see the Erbrecht family. Perhaps I can do some good for you after all … but I would not count on it. I will, however, pass on any messages you care to give me.”
“Of course,” Harlmut said.
“I will miss this place. And you, Regent. You’re a rood man, and you deserve better than you’ve gotten. King Graben may not know how much you’ve done for him … but I intend to let him know.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Captain Evann said I could accompany him tomorrow. He’s got word of a pair of Müden merchant ships passing by tomorrow night, on their return trip. After he’s relieved them of their cargos, I’ll book passage.” He grinned. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to sail under a wizard s protection the rest of the way.”
Harlmut laughed, too. “I’ll miss you, friend.”
The next morning dawned gray. The breeze had come up, bringing a warmer southern wind, and the air tasted of rain to come.
Candabraxis watched the castle’s porters carry his trunks aboard Captain Evann’s roundboat. They took exaggerated care with them, as though they contained priceless chinaware.
Captain Evann met him at the gangplank. Evann had a haunted look and dark circles under his eyes.
“Please,” he said softly, “I have to know … on the way back, one of my men died. He was little more than a boy, really, and he’d been badly wounded. Hawk—the creature, that is—tended him that night. I… need to know. Did it kill him?”
“Would your man have died anyway?” Candabraxis asked.
“I don’t know. Probably. Maybe.”
Candabraxis sighed. “Bloodspawn don’t like to kill,” he lied. “They prefer to take the freshly dead. If the boy was destined to die, the creature would have waited for his natural passing.”
Evann looked relieved. “Thank you,” he said.
“It’s nothing.”
Candabraxis crossed to the ship and moved to the bow, staring out across the waves. He’d thought his destiny might lie in Grabentod, but no. His future lay out there, somewhere to the south. Müden … or beyond? He couldn’t say for sure. All he knew was that his wanderlust had returned, the itch that summoned him ever onward.
A soft rain began to fall. Glancing over his shoulder at the castle, Candabraxis realized that without him there to repair it, the protective rune he had drawn would, in time, be slowly washed away.
Let it go, he thought. Somehow, whatever force had steered him here, whatever force had inspired him to protect the castle, had released him from its grip. He could only assume that Grabentod no longer needed such help.
Aye, lad, ye heard right: one or two people have met the Hag and returned to tell of it. I know of fifty men who went after her gold, and only four of ’em came back. They were all strong men in their prime, and they turned up wandering the countryside, near witless for days. Seems she’d had her way with them, if ye know what I mean, and it drove ’em half crazy. Weren’t none of ’em right in the head for months afterward.
So I reckon ye can get away from her, if ye’re man enough to please her. Wouldn’t want to try it myself, no sirree, not with this bum leg and a hook for a hand.
What more do I know of the Hag? Not much more, lad, not much more. Just that it’s best to steer clear of her ports. Aye, and stick to the sea. The sea’s a tricky enough lover herself, but ye can master her, given enough years.
Now that yer thoughts are turnin’ to adventure. I’ll put in a good word for ye with a captain friend of mine—never ye mind which one—and we’ll see if we can’t get ye a berth. Won’t be much to start, but keep your head down, follow orders, fight like a devil—and ye’ll do good enough.
Now get home to your mother, lad, lest the Hag come for ye!
Epilogue
At dawn, Wren unlatched the small shed and let loose her family’s herd of seven goats. She’d take them to feed on the mountainside this morning, she decided. She knew of a small clearing where long yellow grass still stood. The goats had been there only twice so far this fall, and they would still find plenty to eat.
“Get up, there,” she said, swatting old Gray-beard with her walking stick. He had hesitated and looked like he wanted to bolt in the wrong direction. She didn’t want to spend the morning chasing him.
Bells jingling, the goats cooperated for once and set off in the right direction, across the empty fields covered with the stubble of mown hay. It was almost as if the goats smelled the grass waiting for them.
Wren followed. Her thoughts drifted to the coming harvest dance. Now that her father and brothers had brought in the last of the crops and mowed enough hay to last the winter, they could relax a little until the spring planting. Now that she was fourteen, time had come to start looking for a husband, and more and more her thoughts turned to Gunder Lann. He was fifteen, but unmarried yet, and certainly handsome enough … and he’d be at the harvest dance….
At last she reached the clearing. The goats, drifting apart, began to eat.
Wren sat on a fallen log to watch. Herding goats could be frustrating sometimes and boring other times. Boring as long as she watched them, because they knew not to try any of their tricks, and frustrating because the moment her attention drifted, they would seize the opportunity to run off. She’d lost count of how many times she’d had to chase Graybeard across fields and forest, trying to catch him. No, she’d pay attention today, she thought.
The goats continued to graze, the little copper bells around their necks jingling now and again.
Suddenly a low moan interrupted the quiet.
Wren leapt to her feet and looked around. She didn’t see anyone. Who could have made that sound?
The moan came again, louder. It seemed to be coming from the trees behind her.
“Who’s there?” she called, peering this way and that. She tightened her grip on her walking stick in case she had to defend herself. There shouldn’t be anyone here, but in the edges of civilization all sorts of dangers lurked. Her parents had warned her often enough to watch her step. Although they’d never seen one, goblins were rumored to live in the mountains.
The moan came again. It sounded like someone hurt.