"My grandsire talked of this land," Lothar told them. "His father’s father lived near here. So when things got bad in our village, we came here."
"It is dangerous to lie this deep in the Wild Wood," Moira said noncommittally.
Lothar smiled. "Not if you keep your wits about you. Oh, it was hard enough at first. Our first two crops failed in a row and the cattle were stolen. Then my wife died and my daughter had to look after the little ones. But we stuck it out and here we are." His smile widened. "Secure on a farm the likes of which I could never have had back on the Fringe."
Moira smiled back tightly and the tension grew thick.
"It looks like a nice place," Wiz said.
"Wait another few years," Lothar told him. "Next year I will clear more land and erect a proper barn. Then we will expand the house and add storerooms. Oh, my grandsire did not lie when he called this land rich!"
"I wish you good fortune," Moira said neutrally.
"Thank you, Lady. But you make good fortune. It takes hard work and planning, but if you give it that, you will have all the good fortune you could desire."
Moira looked uncomfortable, but she nodded as if Lothar had said something wise.
"Well, it looks like you’ve done all right for yourself," Wiz said, trying to break the tension.
"Thank you sir. We have. It’s not easy, running a farm and raising four children without help, but it’s a good life none the less."
"Four children?" Wiz asked and then shut up when he caught Moira’s glare.
"There’s my oldest daughter, Lya," Lothar said hesitantly.
"She’s gone to nurse an elf child," the youngest child piped up. Her older brother poked her sharply in the ribs and Moira and Lothar both looked embarrassed.
"They offered us their protection," the man said simply. "Since then things have been better."
Kar-Sher, late a brown robe of the League and now the Master of the Sea of Scrying, hurried down the corridor, his sandals padding softly on the uneven floor of black basalt. At every turning and each intersection he paused to listen and peer around corners.
It had all been so easy when Xind had done it, he thought as he strained to catch a sign that he might be followed. Now the North was stirred and the Watchers of the Council were blocking him at every turn. Clear sight of the North was hard to come by these days and the Dread Master grew ever more impatient. He wondered if he had been so wise to undermine Xind when he did.
Well, that is a deed done. It raised me high in the League and with a bit of fortune I may rise higher yet.
Satisfied there was no one behind him, he continued down the corridor. I have power of my own now. I am no longer a brown robe, I am an ally to be courted. A rough hand reached out of the darkness and clasped his shoulder in an iron grip. Kar-Sher jumped and squeaked.
"Quietly, you fool!" Atros whispered, dragging him back into a shadowed alcove.
"You, you startled me," he said looking up at the hulking form of the League’s second most powerful wizard.
Atros grinned mirthlessly. "You should be more alert. Now, what have you?"
"Only this: The Dread Master…"
"The old crow," Atros interrupted.
"Eh?"
"He is an old crow. Soon to be no one’s master, dread or otherwise. You should learn to call him so."
"Yes Master," said Kar-Sher. "Ah, as I said, the—old crow—stays close to the City. There is no sign of new magic further south."
"Cloaking spells?"
"They would show."
"Like the cloaking spell this new northern wizard shows?"
Kar-Sher made an annoyed gesture. "That is different. It would take a truly mighty wizard to cast a spell that effective."
"Toth-Set-Ra has that reputation."
"You don’t think… ?"
"I think you should be very careful what you assume about the old crow. Now. Are you sure there is no sign of secret magic being made to the South?"
Kar-sher considered and then shook his head. "Nothing at all."
"Well, then. Keep your watch." He turned to go, but Kar-Sher plucked at his cloak.
"Master, will we strike soon? The old crow grows impatient. I do not know how much longer I will hold my position."
Atros regarded him coldly. "The old crow is impatient for one thing only; this strange wizard. Events are already in motion to snare him. In a day or two that will be accomplished. Meanwhile it keeps our master occupied."
"What if he finds out about us?"
"He does not even suspect. Keep your wits about you a few days longer and you are safe. Now wait here until I am out of sight." Atros stepped out into the corridor and strode on.
Kar-Sher waited until he had his nerve back and started up the corridor in the opposite direction.
Neither of them had noticed the fat black spider hanging motionless in her web above their heads.
"So," hissed Toth-Set-Ra as he broke contact with his spy. "So indeed." He leaned back and rubbed his forehead. Peering through a spider’s eyes was disorienting. His brain kept trying to merge eight images with apparatus designed for two.
A spider’s eyesight might be poor, but there was nothing wrong with a spider’s hearing. He had heard exactly what he expected to hear.
You run too fast, Atros. It is time you were taught another lesson. He extended his hand and an amethyst goblet flew to his grasp.
He expected Atros to connive against him, just as he had connived against the Council of the League to win his present power. It was his good fortune that Atros was nearly as clumsy a plotter as he was as a wizard. Powerful enough, perhaps, but lacking the finesse, the last measure of ability that raised a plotter or wizard to true greatness.
He sipped the wine and reflected on the best way to check his subordinate. Someday soon, Atros, I will send Bale-Zur to you. But not yet. One does not discard a tool merely because it is flawed. One uses it, preferably to destruction, while a new tool is forged.
Still, this tool was showing signs of blunting. In spite of all the power he had been given, Atros had still not brought him the alien wizard. Toth-Set-Ra rotated the goblet in his hand and frowned at the purple sparks that glinted off its facets. That wizard was the immediate problem, the unknown. Once he had been found and neutralized there would be time to deal with Atros.
A pity I cannot send Bale-Zur to that wizard. He could, of course. Bale-Zur could find and destroy any mortal whose true name had ever been spoken. Unlike other demons he did not need to know the true name of his quarry. It was sufficient that the true name had been spoken just once somewhere in the World.
It was that special power which had raised Toth-Set-Ra from a minor wizard to the leadership of the Dark League in a single blood-red night of slaughter. But Bale-Zur could only destroy. Toth-Set-Ra wanted to take alive this wizard whom Patrius had died for. He wanted to squeeze him, to wring the secrets of his foreign magic from him. Killing him was an option, but only a last resort.
Bale-Zur was almost as crude a tool as Atros, but both were useful. This other one now, this Kar-Sher, was much less useful. Under his mastership the Sea of Scrying had been useless in the search and all he could do was whine about Northern interference with his magic.
Yes, the wizard thought. This one is eminently dispensable. He paused to admire the play of fire in the goblet again. But not yet. Not quite yet.
In his own way Toth-Set-Ra was a frugal man. He always wanted the maximum return from his actions.