Moira sobered. "I’m sorry, Wiz. I should not have said that."
"Meaning it’s all right to think it, but not to say it."
"It isn’t right to hurt another person needlessly," she said earnestly. "I spoke in anger and loss. I hope you will forgive me."
The way she said it hurt Wiz even more. She was sincerely sorry, he realized, but she was sorry for hurting his feelings, not for the thought. She was a queen, graciously asking pardon of one of her subjects.
"You know I can’t refuse you anything, Moira."
Moira closed her eyes and sighed. "I know, Wiz. And I’m sorry."
"Well, that’s the way it is. Anyway, here are your beans."
Wordlessly Moira took the basket of shelled beans and went back into the kitchen.
That day in the garden was a turning point for Wiz. From then on he largely took over the job of harvesting the rapidly ripening crops. He spent several hours a day working outdoors while Moira divided her time between the kitchen, pantry and stillroom. Most of the time Wiz picked without supervision, although Moira occasionally came out to instruct him in the finer points of gathering herbs and some of the more delicate vegetables.
A few times he went out into the Wild Wood with Ugo to gather fruits and berries. There were several ancient orchards in the quiet zone, their trees long unpruned and loaded with apples, pears and other fruits. The sight of the trees, so obviously planted and long unattended, made Wiz sad. He wondered if some long-ago Lothar had planted those saplings, full of hope for the future.
Ugo forbade Wiz to gather more than half the fruit on any tree. "Leave for forest folk," he admonished. Still they brought back basket upon basket of crisp pears and small flavorful apples which Moira set about processing in the kitchen or storing in the cellars.
Three of the four "cellars" were not under the keep or hall at all. They were root cellars, small underground rooms a few steps from the kitchen door. One day Moira asked Wiz to help her move several barrels of apples packed in oak leaves from the kitchen out to the furthest cellar.
Huffing and puffing, they tilted the heavy barrels and rolled them out to the place where they would be stored. It took both of them to carry each barrel down the steps into the cool twilight of the root cellar.
"Whoo!" Wiz gasped, standing upright after the last of the barrels had been shifted into place. "I wonder how they did this before we got here?"
"Ugo doubtless did it," panted Moira. "Wood goblins are stronger than they look and they can be very ingenious when needs be."
"Do you think we’ve got enough food here for the winter?"
Moira ran a practiced housewife’s eye over the cellar. "That and then some, if I am any judge. It is the flour, salt and other staples that are the concern. The Mighty bring those to Heart’s Ease over the Wizard’s Way and they have not increased the supply since we came."
"Why not?"
"First because the Wizard’s Way was chancy when the Dark League was in full cry for us. Secondly, because they dared not increase the amount of supplies brought through lest it reveal to the League that there are extra mouths here."
Moira looked around the cellar again and breathed deeply to take in the scent of the apples and other good things stored in the earth. Then she sighed.
"Penny," Wiz said.
"What?"
"A penny for your thoughts. I was wondering what you were thinking."
"What I was thinking was none of your concern, Sparrow," Moira said coldly. "And if you are through prying into my private thoughts, we still have work to do. Come!"
"No, I don’t think I am done," Wiz said slowly. He moved in to block her way out. "There’s still something I want to know and I think you owe it to me to tell me."
Moira stopped, suddenly unsure of herself. She’d seen Wiz bewildered, sullen, lovesick, awestruck, depressed and in the throes of a temper tantrum, but she had never seen him coldly angry as he was now.
"What is it I must tell you then?"
"Why are you so mad at me?"
"Crave pardon?" she said haughtily.
Wiz plowed ahead. "From the moment I met you you’ve disliked me. Fine, I’m not a magician, I don’t know my way around this place and I’m a first-class klutz. But why are you so bleeding mad at me?"
The question brought Moira up short. Wiz had never spoken to her like that before and she had never really examined her feelings toward him deeply.
True, he was inept and he had nearly gotten them both killed repeatedly on the journey. But it was more than that. She had disliked him from the first meeting in the clearing.
"I had to leave people who needed me to bring you here."
"Not guilty," Wiz said. "That was Bal-Simba’s idea, not mine." He paused. "Besides, I think there’s something more to it than that."
"There is," she said bitterly. "Patrius died to bring you here." Her eyes flashed. "We lost the best and most powerful of the Mighty and got you in return."
Wiz nodded. "Yeah, so you’ve told me. But I wasn’t looking to come here and I’ve suffered more from what Patrius did than you or any of the others. Again, not guilty."
Moira drew herself up. "If my feelings do not meet with your approval I am truly sorry! It is perhaps unreasonable of me, but that is the way I do feel."
"I doubt it," Wiz bit out. "Bal-Simba’s loss was greater than yours and he doesn’t hold me responsible. There’s something a whole lot more personal here. Now what?"
"I don’t…"
"Lady, I think the least, the very least, you owe me is a straight answer."
Moira didn’t reply for a long time. "I think," she said finally, "it is because you remind me of my failure."
"What failure?"
"The death of Patrius." Moira’s eyes filled with tears. "Don’t you see? I failed in my duty and Patrius died."
"What I see is you trying to take the whole bleeding world on your shoulders," Wiz snapped. "Look, I’m sorry for what happened to Patrius, all right? But I didn’t make it happen. I was kidnapped. Remember?"
"You were involved," Moira shot back. "If he hadn’t Summoned you, he wouldn’t have died."
"Wrong. If he hadn’t gotten me he would have gotten someone else—maybe the super-wizard he wanted, I don’t know. But the point is, I had nothing to do with it. He made the choice of his own free will. He knew the risks. I am not responsible."
"No," Moira admitted slowly, "you were not."
"And I’ll tell you something else, lady. You weren’t responsible either."
"Little you know about it! An acolyte’s job is to protect the master."
"You’re not an acolyte. You’re a hedge-witch Patrius stumbled across and roped into his scheme. From what you and the others tell me, there is no way you could have protected him."
"Thank you," Moira said tightly. "All I needed was to be reminded of my weakness."
"Yes, you do need to be reminded of it!" Wiz flared. "You’re not all-powerful and you cannot be held responsible for something utterly beyond your control."
"Ohhh!" Moira gasped, turning from him.
"I’ll tell you something else you’re not responsible for," he said to her back. "You’re not responsible for what happened to your family. You didn’t do it and you can’t undo it and feeling guilty about it is only going to make you miserable."
Moira spun on her heel and slapped him with all the force of her body. Wiz’s head snapped to the side and he staggered back. Their eyes locked. Then Moira’s shoulders heaved and she began to sob silently, hugging herself and rocking back and forth on her heels.
Wiz took a step toward her and stopped. "Look, I’m sorry I said that. I shouldn’t have, Okay?"