“Ealstan didn’t much like him,” Leofsig said. “I can see why-he thinks he knows everything there is to know, and he’s one of those Kaunians who’ve never forgiven us for coming out of the west and turning Forthweg into Forthweg.”
“And now he’s got a Forthwegian in his family,” Hestan said musingly. “No, he wouldn’t much care for that, would he? No more than a lot of Forthwegians would care to have a Kaunian in theirs.” He left himself out of that group, and after a moment continued, “I’ll have to see what I can do for him, poor fellow. I’m afraid it may not be very much, though.”
“If the Algarvians put him on a caravan and send him west-” Elfryth began.
“I can’t do anything about that,” Hestan answered. “I wish I could, not just for him, but I can’t. Once I find out where he’s staying, I can send him money. If he has any sense about such things, he’ll be able to pay off the redheads. They can be bought.” He glanced over to Leofsig. Several Algarvians had been bought so they wouldn’t notice his unauthorized return to Gromheort from that captives’ camp.
“I’m just glad most of the redheads you paid off are out of Gromheort these days, Father,” Leofsig said. “But I don’t know how much sense this Briv-ibas has. Not a lot, maybe, if his own granddaughter and Ealstan both wanted to stay clear of him.”
Hestan sighed. “You may well be right, but I can hope you’re wrong.”
“I hope I’m wrong, too,” Leofsig said. “He can put us in danger, not just himself.”
Vanai sprawled across the bed in the cramped little flat she shared with Ealstan, reading. The flat, which had had only one abandoned romance-and that a piece of hate translated from Algarvian-in it when they started living there, now boasted a couple of rickety bookcases, both of them packed. Ealstan brought home several books a week. He did work hard to keep her as happy as he could.
But, trained by her grandfather, she’d cut her teeth on the subtleties of Kaunian epics and histories and poetry. Forthwegian romances struck her as spun sugar: straightforward, all bright colors, heroes and villains sharply defined. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy them; she usually did. Still, at least half the time she knew all the important things that would happen before she got a quarter of the way into a book.
The slim little volume in her hands now wasn’t a romance at all. It was called You Too Can Be a Mage. In the preface, the author-who didn’t say what rank of magecraft he held, or if he was a ranked mage at all-didn’t come right out and promise that anyone who finished the book would end up a first-rank mage, but he certainly implied it.
“A likely story,” Vanai muttered. If magecraft were so easy, everybody would have been a mage. But using sorcery and performing it on your own were two very different things.
Despite her doubts, she kept reading. The author had a sprightly style, and seemed convinced he was telling the truth, regardless of how improbable Vanai found that. You can unleash the power within yourself, he insisted.
Back in Oyngestun, she’d tried magic-a cantrip lifted from a text belonging to her grandfather that dated back to the Kaunian Empire-to try to get Major Spinello to leave her alone. A little later, Spinello got posted to Unkerlant. Vanai still didn’t know whether the spell and his departure had anything to do with each other. She didn’t know… but she hoped.
She wondered what had happened to Spinello after he got to Unkerlant. Nothing good was her dearest wish. Many, many Algarvians had met their ends in battle against King Swemmel’s men. Was one more too much to ask?
She doubted she would ever learn Spinello’s fate. She hoped with all her soul she would never see him again. If she didn’t, who would bring word of him to her? No one, if she had any luck at all.
With a deliberate effort of will, she pushed Major Spinello out of her mind and went back to You Too Can Be a Mage. The author concentrated on spells that might bring in money and on those that might lure someone good-looking of the opposite sex, neither of which areas inclined Vanai to trust him very far. But, he insisted, using these same principles can get you anything-aye, anything! — your heart desires.
“What does my heart desire?” Vanai asked, rolling over and looking up toward the poorly plastered ceiling. She’d never had a lot of money, and had got very used to doing without it. She wasn’t looking for anyone but Ealstan. What did she want, then?
If only every Algarvian would vanish off the continent of Derlavai! Now there was a nice, round wish. Regretfully, Vanai laughed at herself. It was also a wish far beyond anything she could learn in You Too Can Be a Mage. It was a wish far beyond the powers of all the non-Algarvian mages in the world put together. She knew that all too well, too.
What could she wish for that she might actually be able to get? “The chance to go out on the streets of Eoforwic if I need to?” she suggested to herself. That wouldn’t be so bad. That, in fact, would be splendid. Ealstan had brought her a Forthwegian-style long tunic. If only she looked like a Forthwegian, now.
She flipped through the pages of the book. Sure enough, there was a section called Improving Your Appearance. Vanai didn’t think looking like a Forthwegian constituted an improvement, but she was willing to settle for a change.
She studied a couple of the suggested spells. One, by its phrasing, was pretty plainly a translation from the Kaunian. She didn’t recall ever running across the original. No doubt her grandfather could have cited exactly the text from which the Forthwegian had filched it, and no doubt Brivibas would have had some pungent things to say about Forthwegians meddling with their betters’ works.
But whatever Brivibas had to say these days, he was saying it to someone else-and, if he was trying to publish it, he was saying it in Forthwegian. He wasn’t Vanai’s worry any more. She hoped the Algarvians hadn’t thrown him into a ley-line caravan and sent him west. Past that, she refused to worry about him.
Still, she intended to try the translated spell, not the other one. Maybe that was because she was a Kaunian herself. And maybe, in some measure, it was because she was her grandfather’s granddaughter.
Whichever was true, she couldn’t even think about trying the spell before Ealstan got home. Even if she’d had all it would need, she wouldn’t be able to see the change if she did it before then, neither on herself nor in a mirror. And if she turned herself into a crone, she wouldn’t want to go out on the streets, either.
When Ealstan gave his coded knock, Vanai threw the door open and let him in. “Ethelhelm and his band are back in town,” he said after he’d hugged her and kissed her. “He’s got more stories to tell than you can shake a stick at.”
“That’s nice.” Normally, Vanai would have been bubbling with eagerness to hear news of the outside world. Now, hoping to see some of it for herself, she cared much less. “Listen, Ealstan, to what I want to do….”
Listen Ealstan did. He had patience. And, as she went on, his own enthusiasm built. “That would be wonderful, sweetheart,” he said. “Do you really think you can do it?”
“I don’t know,” Vanai admitted. “But, by the powers above, I hope so. I’m so sick of being stuck here, you can’t imagine.”
She waited to hear whether Ealstan would claim he could imagine it, even if he didn’t feel it himself. To her relief, he only nodded and asked, “What will you need for the spell?”
Vanai had been pondering that herself. You Too Can Be a Mage didn’t go into a lot of detail. “Yellow yarn,” she answered. “Black yarn-dark brown would be even better. Vinegar. Honey. A lot of luck.”
Ealstan laughed. “I can bring you back everything but the luck.”
“We’ve got honey and vinegar,” Vanai answered. “All you have to buy is the yarn. And you’ve already brought me luck.”