"Let me go! The governor will have all your heads for this!"
"I think not," Elenya said calmly.
Alemar emerged from the kitchen. This time, Owl noted, he wore the famous gauntlet on his right hand, just as Elenya wore its mate on her left. His scabbard slapped against his leg. His presence silenced everyone. Owl had heard that the twin children of Keron Olendim were intimidating, but he had dismissed the story as rebel propaganda. Now he knew that only half the truth had been spoken. Though short, the twins seemed to be the tallest people in the room.
"Are you uncomfortable, held down, surrounded by enemies?" Alemar murmured to Claric.
"You don't dare touch me!" Claric shouted.
"I won't," Alemar said. "I'm going to leave you to my sister."
Claric shut up. Owl expected Elenya to smile. She had Milec's torturer in front of her, helpless. But not a muscle moved in her face. Her expression was a blank, everything hidden behind the skin. Yet Claric saw something. He began to squirm, trying to shake off the strong arms that pinned him to the chair.
Elenya pulled out a scarf of white quarn silk and twisted it into a cord. The veins on the backs of her hands bulged. Claric cried out. While his mouth was open, she thrust the cloth between his teeth and gagged him, tying the knot so tightly behind his skull that his lips were pressed to bloodless white contours against his teeth. Other rebels swiftly bound his limbs.
Elenya drew Claric's sword and placed the center of the blade across the palm of her gauntlet. She squeezed. The metal crumpled and, with a snap of her wrist, broke. She tossed the sections on the floor. Her expression still did not change.
Three of the attackers hefted Claric up and carried him out the kitchen exit. Elenya followed.
Alemar scanned every face in the room. He gave off none of the aura of a healer. Something brooded within his stone-cold countenance. But he was not like his sister. The customers faced him without flinching. More than that, Owl realized this was a man he wanted to follow. After the oppression of the Dragon, here was the balm to cover their wounds.
And they had done it. They had surprised Puriel's men in the very shadow of the castle. Underneath his terror, Owl felt a gut-tightening swell of excitement. He was proud that he had finally found the courage, even at a distance, to stand up to the regime that had afflicted his and his neighbors' lives. Before them was the man responsible.
"Tell Lord Puriel that he is next," Alemar said. He and Solint the Minstrel led the others out. For several seconds after they had gone no one moved or spoke.
"Well, who wants to go up to take the news to the castle?" asked Old Jom.
Omril was sitting in his sanctum when he felt the flash of magic. It was brief, almost instantaneous, then it was quelled. Had he not been meditating, deliberately searching for such signs, he would have missed it. Before the impressions could fade he lifted a vial and held it tight. He concentrated. It took a full ten minutes, but the liquid changed from clear to deep aqua. He grunted in satisfaction and strolled to the windows.
With the serum to focus his sorcery, he relocated the approximate source of the flash. He was right. The spell was still active. The weaver, or a helper, was using a lesser spell to try to conceal the greater one. Had they not been trying to thwart a wizard of the Ril, the tactic would have worked.
It might still work, to a degree. The serum, unlike a solid talisman, had been ductile enough to capture the spell's flavor on a moment's notice, but it would not hold the impression more than a few hours. Omril fetched Swiftwing from her coop. He needed to lead the bird to the exact spot where the magic was being performed before the casters finished their weaving and departed.
Omril frowned. Perhaps his prey wanted him to use that strategy. It was time-consuming. Furthermore, his attention would be completely absorbed while he looked through Swiftwing's eyes; he would not be awake to the world. He could not, for example, renew the serum. He gazed out at Rock Lake. The spell was being cast somewhere on the far side of the water, only a few leagues away.
He put Swiftwing back on her perch, dressed quickly in his riding garb, and descended into the body of the castle.
The governor's audience hall buzzed with activity. Puriel stood next to his great hearth, in a foul mood, judging by the look on his face. He was yelling at his chamberlain. Omril caught a bit of the tirade and raised an eyebrow.
Puriel turned and glared at the sorcerer. "The captain of my guard has been captured under my very nose," he snapped. "Witnesses say both the rebel leaders were there. Where were your watchful eyes?"
"When did this happen?" Omril asked the chamberlain.
"Two hours after sunset," the man replied.
"I was at supper with you, my lord," Omril told Puriel. "I can't eat and converse and search for spells at the same time. Besides, did they use magic?"
"No," the chamberlain said. "Swords and knives. They ambushed Claric at the Silver Eel. Killed all his men."
"Then I would not have known to look there," Omril said. "But I think I know where they are now." He told them what he had detected. "Give me a cohort of troops. If I go myself, I can lead them to the site in an hour or two."
"Done!" Puriel growled. "I'll not stand for this sort of humiliation. I want those king's bastards on my racks by morning. Claric, too, for making me look like a fool. Mind you don't let them slip away from you again, wizard."
Omril bowed. "As my lord commands." He suppressed a smile. Puriel had little to fear from enemies-if he continued in this fashion he would soon perish of an apoplectic fit.
The soldiers roused in short order, came out of the barracks complaining. Most had just retired for the night. Omril let a pair of lieutenants prod and bellow, while he waited sedately on his oeikani. The men glanced his way, dropped their grievances, and made themselves battle ready. They knew where the real authority lay in this castle.
While he waited, Omril stroked the vial. Eventually one end of the serum darkened nearly to blackness, while the other faded to a sky blue. As long as the wizard pointed in the direction from which the spell was coming, this stayed the case. If he pointed it another way, the liquid returned to a pure aqua. By the time they were ready to leave, he had calibrated the talisman so that he would not have to expend undue attention and energy upon it for the duration of the search.
He led the cohort around the shores of the lake. As expected, the hues of the serum became more intense. For the first time Omril's dispassionate attitude failed him; his body tingled. He felt an acid bite in his stomach, savage and appealing. This might be the night when he finally fulfilled his mission for his dread lord.
On the side of Rock Lake directly opposite Puriel's castle, the road branched. One fork continued along the shore, the other penetrated the forest. Omril halted the troops. The vial was hot in his hand. He beckoned both his lieutenants.
"The magicians are little more than a league from this spot, between the roads," he told them. "You'll each take a third of the men and follow the roads. One league along, cut into the wood. I'll go through the trees from here. We'll catch them in our pincers."
He let the flanking groups ride out of sight, then ordered his own contingent to spread into a wide column. They filtered into the trees, moving as silently as was possible for such a large group of men and oeikani. Omril cast a minor spell that would reflect the loudest noises toward the rear. The forest here was relatively open. Woodsmen often visited this land to harvest dead trees or plant new ones to accommodate the needs of Old Stump. They made good time, and seldom had to dismount to squeeze through tight places. Omril felt a tickle in his palm, where he held the vial. Soon it spread. After half a league he put away the talisman altogether. He could now directly sense the camouflage spell.