Dickon muttered a foul word that indicated his disbelief in graphic terms.
Sham’s eyebrows climbed at the vocabulary the fastidious servant had used, and she commented with interest, “I’ve never heard of it done that way before. I wouldn’t think it possible.”
Dickon looked at her with the expression of a cornered boar.
Deciding he was still too shaken for teasing, she sobered and touched his sleeve lightly. “There is sleight-of-hand, Dickon, but magic is real, too. Illusion is only part of it. Here—I’ll demonstrate.”
There was a fingerbowl full of water near her plate. She pushed the plate aside and pulled the bowl in front of her.
“Water is a common means of scrying, because it’s easy to use. The important thing to remember is that water is a liar, easily influenced by thought. If I expected the demon to look like a giant butterfly and I asked the water to show me the demon, I might see a giant butterfly, possibly I would see something really related to the demon, or I might see a kitchen maid cleaning vegetables. It isn’t illusion though, so you should be able to see something.”
Sham looked into the bowl and muttered a soft spell, waving her hand three times over the water.
When she was done, she set the fingerbowl before Kerim and said, “We’ll let Kerim try it first. I have called the water to show the person you hold most dear—probably, it will only show you the face of the person you think you care about most. Don’t take it too seriously.”
Kerim leaned forward until he looked directly into the bowl; he nodded thoughtfully and shifted it across the table to Dickon. With a doubtful look at Sham, Dickon leaned forward in his turn. He looked in the bowl, then tensed. A white line rose on his cheeks as he clenched his teeth, staring into the pool of water.
“Remember,” she cautioned him, because he seemed so distressed, “what you see is what you expect to see.”
Dickon shook his head and said softly, “It’s not that. My wife was killed in a bandit raid shortly after we were married. I haven’t seen her face for ten years; I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.” Dickon drew in a swift breath through his nose and looked away from the water as if with great effort.
“This is magic?” he questioned warily.
“Yes.” Sham pulled the table back to its original position and dipped her fingers in the water, cleaning them and dispelling the magic.
Dickon eyed her cautiously, but he seemed to be considering the matter, which was the best that she could hope for under the circumstances.
“With that done,” said Kerim, cutting the meat on his plate with his eating knife. “I need your thoughts on the wizard we met this afternoon, Shamera.”
He had plainly decided that Dickon needed some time to think about magic alone. Well, enough, she didn’t mind changing topics.
She frowned thoughtfully. “Yes, Lord Halvok. That was ... interesting.”
“Why would he work so hard to keep his identity a secret?” asked Kerim.
She raised her eyebrows. “How would the Eastern lords react if they knew they were negotiating with a wizard? It would destroy his credibility with those who do not believe in magic. Those who do believe in magic would distrust him even more, fearing his power.”
“Halvok’s personal ambitions aside,” she continued, “—I imagine it would be difficult to find another noble who was not consumed with bitterness toward you Easterners and still commanded the respect of the other Southwood nobles. It is only his single-handed defense of the northern reaches at the end of the war that allows him to negotiate at all without being named a traitor and losing the support of the Southwood factions.”
“So you think Halvok was trying to help?” Kerim sounded as if that were the answer he was hoping for.
Sham shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know him very well—I only know what I have seen and heard. Although he apparently likes you, his first loyalties seemed to be given to Southwood. I don’t think he would jeopardize his position to help you, but as long as you are no threat to his goals he shouldn’t go out of his way to harm you either.”
“So he was just trying to give us information? Couldn’t he have sent word through the Whisper?” asked Dickon.
Sham sighed and brushed her hair back from her face. “I don’t know.”
“What else would he be doing?” asked Kerim.
“I can think of one other reason Halvok could have called us there,” she said reluctantly. “The quality of Lord Halvok’s illusions make him a master sorcerer—perhaps better than I am. Black magic is proscribed and punishable by the most dire consequences if the Wizard’s Council finds out. In the last two decades I’ve heard of only three wizards discovered using it anyway.”
“Meaning?” asked Kerim when she hesitated.
“Meaning there are almost certainly more black mages,” Sham answered. “If Lord Halvok is such a one and summoned the demon himself he might have told us the story to concentrate our efforts on the demon, rather than looking for a human summoner. Lady Tirra said the men who died all opposed your protection of the native Southwood lords—certainly Lord Halvok would have seen them as a threat.”
Kerim sat for a moment, before shaking his head. “The wrong men died, Shamera. The men who died were petty lords for the most part; none of them, my brother included, had much power.”
“Maybe Halvok’s purpose was just what it appears.” said Shamera, “I’ll visit his house tonight and see what I can find.”
Kerim nodded, saying, “I’m not all that anxious to find out that one of the few Southwood lords willing to consider the good of the whole country rather than trying to recapture the past is involved with a demon—but I’d rather know as soon as possible either way.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until tomorrow, when you know he’ll be at court?” asked Dickon.
Sham shook her head. “This is the night he spends with Lady Fullbright, to get information about her husband’s business. The servants have the night off.” She grinned at them. “I see that hasn’t made it to the rumor mill yet—it’s nice to know the Shark hasn’t lost his touch.”
The night was dark, the moon hidden by drizzling clouds. Sham hoped the rain would take care of the dust that Purgatory and Kerim’s room had left on her working clothes.
Lord Halvok’s mansion was in a quiet area of town some distance from the Castle. The shortest way there brought her past the Temple of Altis. Although it was still under construction—and would be for several more decades—it was already an impressive edifice.
Dickon was not the only one finding his beliefs altered abruptly. Since she had taken up her role as the Reeve’s mistress, Sham had found herself in danger of forgetting her hatred of Easterners. It felt odd not to be angry all the time—she felt naked and defenseless. That vulnerability made her resent Altis all the more. Things were changing, and very few changes in Shamera’s life had been for the better.
“You do not belong here,” she said to the god.
Great windows on either side of the massive entrance glistened darkly against the light-colored stone like two large eyes. As she resumed walking, she could almost feel someone watching her until she was well away from the temple.
Lord Halvok’s residence was a modest manor to be the home of an influential noble, but Sham was suitably impressed by the amount of gold he must have spent to buy two hundred rods of land in the middle of the city. She had plenty of time to view the lawn as she walked completely around the building to make certain there was no light that would suggest a servant was up and about.
As she stepped onto the grass, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end: if she’d had any doubts that Halvok was a wizard they were clearly resolved. She hadn’t tripped any obvious warding, but the tingling sensation strongly suggested there was one nearby.