"I've heard that before," she said, folding her arms demurely, smiling, "and I didn't believe it then and I don't believe it now. Four weeks, five days, and six hours, sir."

"Good night, Your Grace. I go to lose a few hours in oblivion, counted off by the clock of my heart." He thumped his chest theatrically.

"Good night, Otto." With a last smile, Lunete closed the door, then leaned against it and sighed, pressing her hand to her breast. Four weeks, five days, six hours. There was no point even thinking about it; that only made the waiting longer, she chided herself. They would ride on toward Champlys in the morning. Then it would be four weeks, five days even, and she did not believe the time could ever pa.s.s quickly enough.

7.PROSPERO'S FOLK WERE INDIFFERENT TAILORS AND.

stresses. Their clothing, when they wore it, was loose-draped and little decorated, pieced together from sc.r.a.ps of whatever cloth was to be had. Cloth was scarce; Prospero had brought in bales of woollen and linen stuffs, but there was none woven locally, and no native material save leather, mostly used for winter boots and garments worn by those who hunted.

Freia, gowned, beribboned, and sandalled, her scorched hair sheared evenly and curling as it dried, trotted stiffly beside her father as he took her to meet one of the men. She looked at the stained and frayed wool and at the coa.r.s.e leather on the people carrying water to the irrigation trenches of the fields. "I can make better clothes than they do," she observed, almost smug, to Prospero, "and you said I'm not very good at making clothes."

"No need for thee to be so," he said. "For them, 'tis the early work of their novice hands, and I doubt not they'll 62.'Elizabeth better it in time, with experience and material. But material's in short supply. Soon I'll fare forth to the wider world for purchase of such goods as those, and other things needful to carry out my plans."

"They could make cloth from the tossflowers," Freia said.

"Tossflowers?" Prospero said.

"The tall yellow flowers on the black stalks have long threads in the stalks," Freia said. "They stick together. I made a fish-net, and ropes, and my belt, and a map when I was in the north. I showed you my belt this morning."

Prospero paused and looked at her acutely for an instant, then walked on. They met black-bearded Scudamor, and the Prince made Freia known to this man, his first-shaped and now his Seneschal. Prospero had Freia tell Scudamor of the tossflowers, and later that day the Seneschal set people to collecting the plants. Freia was shy of Scudamor, wary of all the new folk; she half-hid behind Prospero to talk to the Seneschal in a near-whisper, and the tactful Seneschal never looked at her directly, but at her feet, or the sky, or the gra.s.s.

Then Prospero took Freia in tow again, and with her hand on his arm or holding on to his pocket he led her to where his Castellan Utrachet and three others were making bows and arrows. But Freia murmured that she used a better wood than that the Castellan had, and the Castellan and his helpers trotted off into the forest to find it.

"Why are they making so many bows? Surely they do not all mean to hunt?" Freia asked, following Prospero along a muddy track between fields where trees had stood before she left. Her trees: the cultivated fields looked wrong to her eyes, and she tried to see only Prospero, narrowing her vision to his back, his hat, his broad shoulders dark -clad. "Time comes when they'll be needed," Prospero said. "I have chosen my time, and I shall strike down the usurper in Landuc. There's much work to be done here before then: we'll have fletchers and smiths, bowyers and armorers, ropemakers and weavers, sailors and carpenters, all manner of trades among us soon."

Sorcerer and a Qentieman 63."Why?"

Prospero stopped, dipped a drink of water from a bucket by a stone-sided well at the meeting of three muddy paths. He offered her the wooden cup. "Why? Why, maid, think'st thou that Avril will return my stolen patrimony for th' asking? Though I'm the rightful ruler in Landuc, he's had long years-why, longer than thy memory runs-to drive out or murder alt contrary to him: my friends, my agents, my subjects. Even Lord Gonzalo, that Panurgus consulted in any matter of law of the realm, is banished for his service to the truth, his lands baldly stol'n, little left him but his daughter fair Miranda. Avril is a fool, and a fool's a.r.s.e is ill-seated on the throne of Landuc. The realm suffers for't."

Freia had listened to this, understanding not all, and waited when Prospero concluded for a further conclusion.

"But, why?" she asked again, when nothing further came.

Prospero dipped water, drank again. "The realm's the mirror of the king-"

"The, the sailors. The smiths. The foundries. Why those, Papa? Are they driven from Landuc?"

"Nay, miss, Avril in Landuc hath armorers and smiths aplenty. And I have none. Therefore do I prepare to arm me, to arm my men, to dispute false Avril's claim."

"With him?" Freia asked.

"In war," Prospero said, exasperated, "in battle, Freia, art wood-headed yet? In war I'll face his men with mine, and I'll conquer them by force and sorcery, drown 'em in blood if need be; possess the city, depose the usurper, and claim my throne. In war." He shook his head at her and started off again.

Freia stood, understanding at last, and then hurried after him, catching his arm. "Here-"

"There. Hast lent ear to one word of mine in a thousand, 'tis patently shown." Prospero shot her a quick grey look. "Very natural art thou indeed. Come now. I'll tell this to thee slowly once again, and this time I'll hear thee say it back to me. We go to war with Landuc, that I may be King as is right."

"But, Papa, why? Aren't you happy here? You have peo- 64 -a 'LCizaBetd 'Wifiey pie now; n.o.body is killing anybody-you told me it's wrong to kill people! Won't your people be killed too? They don't have any quarrel with these Landuc people! Won't they kill you? Please, Papa-don't go to Landuc and have war. Everything is good here. Will you not stay here and be happy?"

They had halted again amongst a terraced patch of vegetables; women and children were hoeing and weeding at the far end of it, out of earshot, peering up curiously at Freia.

"Thou hast as much sense of honor as yon cabbages," Prospero declared, scowling blackly at Freia, "and as much knowledge of policy and sorcery. Tis right that I make war 'pon Landuc, by any means to hand; I'm the King, by right of blood, for the King died without naming another heir, rather murdered himself and fouled the Well with his death. Say naught of these matters thou dost not understand! The world's wagged amiss since that Avril insinuated himself upon a throne too great for him, beneath a crown too heavy. The Orb and Scepter are idle in his hands. The Roads ravel, the Bounds unbind; the very vigor of the world spends itself, useless, in the wastes,. I, I have all the powers and every right to take it from him, to rule the place better than he, witling princeling, can. He's no scholar, no sorcerer, knoweth naught of the Well: he's unfit to rule. Now give me peace indeed: thy questions are a very battery of foolishness. Hearken to me, cease thy larking, thou'lt learn all needful to thee in good time."

Ottaviano roused Lunete and his men an hour before the spring dawn, as the sleepy folk of the inn and village were stumbling through their waking ch.o.r.es. Then he hurried back to his room and finished dressing, shaving hastily but painstakingly, re-using the basin of water he had just put to a wholly different purpose. The water glimmered faintly, but with reflected candlelight, not the trapped light of the morning star, and it showed no image of Baron Ocher of Sa.r.s.emar nor his men, only Ottaviano and his razor and soap. It was stupid to waste the time, Otto thought as he Sorcerer and a gentleman 65.shaved, but a stray piece of his father's advice had gotten stuck in his head and he'd never been able to ignore it.

a.s.sume, Sebastiano had written him, in the letter stained on one corner with his blood, [hat in any confrontation you will be killed, and, when possible, prepare yourself to present a dignified and gentlemanly front to the world in death as in life. Keep cleanliness foremost among your habits. Let your attire be neat and not ostentatious. Let your nails be clean and pared, and your boots well-soled; let your face be shaven, or, if you should wear a beard, let it be washed and trimmed neatly as your hair, without extraneous matter or perfumed oils. Let your person be as free of flaws as is in your power to a.s.sure, bathed and dressed in such a way as you would not be ashamed to lie upon your bier, and then go forth and conquer any who oppose you . . .

"s.h.i.t," Otto said, and emptied his basin out the window.

A moment later it flew back in and splatted him in the face.

"Hey!" Dripping, he looked out, knowing what he'd see.

A cold and disdainful face glanced up at him for an instant from beneath a grey hat.

With a sharp, tight-lipped inhalation, Otto turned red, pulled his head back in, and slammed the window shut. He was sure that this guy was working for Ocher, no matter where he claimed to be from, for his habit of following them around was disturbing and his methods of getting to their next stop before they did disconcerting. A Ley-path, Ottaviano knew, ran from Stonehill in Sa.r.s.emar to the Shrine of Stars in Lys, but it was weakened by disuse: there was a newer road, and riding on the road was easier than following the old Ley up hill and down dale. Otto supposed that old King Panurgus had probably meant to supersede the Ley with the new road, perhaps forge a new Ley; but he had died of Prospero's wound before completing the work, and 66.'EfizaBetfi Itfittey his son Emperor Avril had made small progress on any public-works projects.

Picking up his saddlebags, Otto left the spartan chamber which had fallen to his lot-a quarter the size of Lunete's, which had, gallingly, been located right next to the stranger's-and went downstairs. The men had slept above the inn's stables, and, had Lunete not been along, Otto would have been with them; but she preferred him to take an inn-room rather than a common bunk.

His men were a.s.sembled in the stable-yard. Lunete, flushed with excitement, held her horse b.u.t.terfly off to one side.

"Ocher's on our a.s.s," Otto told them. "We have two goals: delay Ocher so Lady Lunete at least gets over Lys's border, behind Champlor's city walls, and get there ourselves. We'll hurry, but I expect him to overtake us and we'll have to fight. I also expect that we can beat him. Everybody got that?"

They "Yes, sir'd." He told them to mount and they swept as a body out of the inn yard and onto the road for Lys at a gallop.

As ever, the strange sorcerer was nowhere to be seen on the road, and Otto wished he'd lose himself or get his throat slit by the bandits who worked the woods hereabouts, though such an end seemed unlikely for so able a man. Lunete rode now in the center of the line of his armed men and they were quiet and alert.

Clouds closed overhead as they arrived at a crossroads where a rutted path from the market town of Semaris joined theirs to Lys. The intersection's chipped-nosed kingstone was neglected, mossed on one side and the ground bare before it. There were no signs of pa.s.sage of any other large group, which comforted Otto somewhat: he had feared Ocher would have cut through Semaris. What Otto had seen in his scrying-bowl had not been clear as to just where Ocher was, only that he was near. Perhaps the Baron of Sa.r.s.emar had turned back, accepting inevitable defeat.

Would he turn back? Otto asked himself, and answered, fl Sorcerer and, a gentleman c- 67 No. Not with Lunete and Lys at stake. Not until he had lost everything trying.

The forest was still, without bird or animal sounds to break the murky silence. A sweet warbling birdsong was a relief. Lunete looked overhead for the brown-backed idler, but did not see it, which was not remarkable; the new-budded leaves were plumper here in the lowlands. Another sounded a few minutes later, followed by a challenging note from across the road-the idlers are territorial birds-and a fraction of a second later Lunete heard other sounds, a clink and a thud, and then Ocher's men were racing out of the wood to either side, along the cleared area toward them, and Otto was shouting commands to his men. They spurred their horses and managed to fly out from between Ocher's closing lines. Lunete crouched low against her b.u.t.terfly's neck and rehea.r.s.ed Otto's plan in the event of attack: she and four picked men who rode before, behind, and beside her were to flee onward and take refuge at a prearranged location; Otto would deal with Ocher and follow.

It occurred to her that Otto might be killed. She had never thought of that before, and she was seized with panic on thinking it now. She would not leave him to face Ocher and death alone-she could fight at his side- Idiot, Lunete interrupted herself, and he'd be killed trying to protect her. Best to stick to the plan.

They were still outdistancing Ocher's men, and Otto yelled something. She tried to see ahead, but the ranks of men and horses blocked her view.

"Splitting off now, m'lady!" the man next to her shouted, and she nodded; the others were parting now before them and she and her four escorts pounded through the line that, even as they pa.s.sed, was re-forming and preparing to meet Ocher; she looked for Ottaviano but didn't see him, which lack twisted around her heart with her fear that she might never see him living again. And then what would she do?

68.'E&zabetk The sorcerer dismounted to collect a certain herb he had noticed at the roadside, which was valuable for its topical anaesthetic quality when prepared correctly. He heard the horses approaching and sighed to himself. His horse, which he'd bought this morning on seeing the excellent animal in the inn's stables (left as payment by a valet's straitened master), p.r.i.c.ked his ears and looked back toward the approaching ma.s.s of men and horses.

Five riders shot by at racecourse speed, and the sorcerer recognized them as belonging to the group whose route lately had coincided with his own. Wondering what was toward now, he rolled the leaves in his handkerchief and mounted again. The sorcerer urged his horse among the saplings that edged the forest.

The rest of the red-cloaked, belligerent captain's force came along more slowly, pa.s.sed, then wheeled about with drilled precision and took on the look of a formation.

They were about to do battle, the sorcerer realized, but with whom-brigands? And it puzzled him that he had not been attacked, for a lone rider is easy pickings. He worked a small spell to make himself less noticeable, a veil blended of air, light, and darkness, and he watched down this straight stretch of road as the red-cloaked captain's troops and the pursuing force, which bore a device of red tower, approached one another.

They were outnumbered three to one at best, thought the sorcerer, and he acted without thinking further.

Ottaviano yelped and hauled his horse up as the earth in front of him erupted. One of his men banged into him, wrangling his horse for footing and balance-on the left, luckily, his sword sliding off Otto's shield-and shouted curses came from every side. Horses whinnied shrilly, panicking. There was dirt flying up in the air, rocks, dust- Coughing, choking, Otto shouted a retreat order to his men, and they complied, disorderly but prompt.

The dust was settling, although the ground in front of them still boiled in an unnatural way. It seethed, as the surface of a stew or overheating custard does; it rumbled in A Sorcerer and a Qentleman f-- 69 many keys, the sounds of stones grinding together; it hissed and threw friction heat. The air above it shimmered as on a hot, dry summer day.

Ocher faced Ottaviano. Otto could just see his moustaches beneath his helm's nosepiece across the thirty-foot-wide breadth of this no-man's-land. They glared at one another.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d puppy!" screamed Ocher. "You birth-d.a.m.ned unclean dog . . ."

The sorcerer listened, smiling, and saw the five riders returning at a cautious pace. He nudged his nervous horse out of cover without lifting the spell that veiled them and walked the horse until he was at the verge just opposite them where they had drawn up to the rear of the others. As one of the men went up to ask his fellows what had happened, the sorcerer rode toward the small party, undoing his concealment as he went. Someone was bellowing at the unsettled edge of his earthen barrier. Occasionally, an unseen tree crashed in the forest as the disturbance lengthened.

The men with the lady drew their weapons and surrounded her as he approached, but she spoke and they reluctantly put up their blades and moved aside.

The sorcerer and the lady in riding clothes regarded one another. There was some shouted conversation going on now over the seething earth.

"What did you do?" she asked. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"I? Do?" The sorcerer blinked innocently and smiled, tipping his head to one side. His hat hung at his back, suspended on a cord.

Lunete's heart did three backflips and landed somewhere near her liver. "Uh," she said, and smiled also. He is a magician, a wizard, thought Lunete distractedly, but her smile was still there and so was his. He was so young! And so handsome. She'd thought wizards were centuries old- The sorcerer lifted an eyebrow. "Your party appears to be in disarray," he observed. "Perhaps it would be best to regroup and continue on your way, madame."

Lunete couldn't stop smiling. "Is that what you advise, 70.'Llizab&th sir?" His eyes were an uncommon shade of blue. And he was quite tall, taller than Ottaviano- "My advice is always worth its price, madame."

"What price will you ask for this advice?" she asked him, collecting herself.

He shrugged, smiling still. "I do not engage in trade, and you have already returned more than its value, madame," he said, bowing from his saddle, and he flicked his left eyebrow again and turned away, nudging his horse toward the re-forming line of men.

Ocher was trying to circ.u.mvent the disturbed, moving section of ground. Otto turned his horse to prepare for the a.s.sault and saw the sorcerer.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" he exclaimed. "You!"

The other man smiled. "Is he trying to flank?"

"Looks that way," Otto replied tersely.

"Mm, he'll fail," decided the stranger, studying his handiwork. "It would be wisest for you to go on your way, Captain."

Otto stared at him and then saw Lunete, who was gesturing urgently in apparent agreement with the stranger.

"What did you do?"

The magician shrugged.

Otto stared at him again, narrowed his eyes, and then shouted an order to fall back to his men. Shouts of dismay were coming from Ocher's troops, mixed with the sounds of more crashing trees and the screaming of an injured horse. Ottaviano cleared his throat. "Thanks," he said.

The magician shrugged again.

They studied one another.

"Our paths seem to coincide," Ottaviano said after another moment. "Want to ride with us?"

The sorcerer thought about it. "I thank you for your offer," he said, inclining his head. "1 will join you after completing some business which that rude fellow's arrival interrupted."

Otto wondered what in the names of the stars it could be, but he nodded and turned his horse, shouting "Fall in!" When he glanced back half a minute later, he saw that the Sorcerer and a (jentteman 71.man had dismounted and was picking plants by the road, ignoring the simmering ground twenty steps away.

Half an hour later, the men muttered as the magician's horse overtook them and then matched their pace at the head of the troop. They were on a pleasantly wide stretch of road, its sides guarded by tall, slender straight trees just coming out in bud. Beyond the trees lay fields of turned earth, black beneath the grey sky.

"Why, h.e.l.lo," said Lunete, smiling.

"Good afternoon, madame," replied their newly-acquired companion, inclining his head.

"h.e.l.lo," Otto said, "you finished your-business?"

The corner of the other's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "For today."

"I am Lunete of Lys," said Lunete, "and this is Ottaviano, King of Ascolet."

"Countess Lunete of Lys," Ottaviano corrected her, nettled by her openness.

She shrugged. "Oh, well, yes."

The magician managed a graceful bow to her, from horseback-no mean feat. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Your Grace, Your Majesty."

Ottaviano heard mockery in his tone, but again Lunete spoke before he could.

"Please call me Lunete."

Their new companion smiled at her, bowed again, and said, "Dewar," indicating himself.

An outlandish name. "Pleased to meet you," Ottaviano said.

"For a change," Dewar said, catching his eye.

"For a change," agreed Ottaviano. "May I ask why you did that?"

"Did?"

"Blew up the road."

Dewar shrugged. "Certainly, you may ask," he invited Ottaviano, without a trace of sarcasm.

Ducks.h.i.t, thought Otto, and said, excruciatingly nicely, "Why did you blow up the road?"

72.'Elizabeth "Wittey "To get to the other side?" Lunete suggested in a light, lilting voice.

"Because it was there?" wondered Dewar, and chuckled. "I don't know, Your Majesty. It amused me to do it."

Otto inhaled, giving him a hot look that was just a degree removed from a glare. "I don't like being on the receiving end of favors from strange magicians-"

Dewar interrupted quickly, hardly thinking, "Then you are in luck. I am a sorcerer."