When Demons Walk (19 page)

“Those wizards who know of demons and such are hunted down by their own kind. I have told you what I can about the demon.” With a wave of his staff, the room filled with greasy, odoriferous smoke.

Coughing, Sham ran for the door and tugged it open, allowing the smelly fog to escape the malformed little cottage. When it had cleared, the mage was gone and illusion once more cloaked the interior of his workshop.

 

“W
ELL
,”
SAID
S
HAMERA
, as Dickon and the Shark helped Kerim onto his horse, “the good news is that we know something of the Chen Laut. Unfortunately, if the
mage was correct, it has survived at least a thousand years during times when mages of my strength were as common as church mice in Landsend. We still don't know how to find the thing—or kill it when we do.”

“Do you think he told us all he knew?” asked Kerim.

It was the Shark that answered with a wry grin. “Haven't been around Sham long, have you? Getting a straight answer out of a wizard is like waiting for a fish to blink—it won't happen. He probably knows quite a bit more that he's not telling you—but you'd need a rack to get it out of him.”

Dickon had been riding quietly behind the Reeve, staring at the ground. He cleared his throat and said, “Isn't anyone else surprised to find that Lord Halvok fancies himself a wizard?”

“What?” asked Kerim sharply.

“I said—” repeated Dickon slowly, as if to someone who was extremely slow of thought, “—don't you think it's odd that Halvok thinks he's a wizard?”

“You believe the old wizard was Halvok?” asked Shamera.

The servant frowned at her. “I admit that his impersonation of an old man was good, but under the hood of his cloak he was clearly Lord Halvok.”

Kerim looked at Sham. “I didn't see Lord Halvok.”

The Shark had begun to smile, looking at Dickon. “An Easterner? How strange, I thought that the magic had been bred out of you all.”

Sham, ignoring the Shark, muttered a few words and held out her hand, “What am I holding, Dickon?”

The servant frowned at her, but he answered. “A stone.”

She looked at the frog resting on her hand, it blinked lazily twice and then disappeared, leaving a small rounded stone in its wake.

“What does that mean?” asked Kerim thoughtfully.

Sham shrugged, putting the stone back in her pocket and urging her horse back toward the Castle. “I suppose that it means that Lord Halvok is a wizard—a clever one.”

“And?” asked Kerim, while Dickon looked uneasy.

The Shark chortled. When Sham cast a stern look at him, he straightened his face, but his shoulders still shook with mirth.

“Who would have thought it,” he said. “An Eastern-born wizard.”

“Maur,” said Sham softly, “—always maintained that Easterners or Southwoodsmen, all are the same beneath the skin. It seems he was right. Dickon is mageborn, my lord, and it seems he has a talent for illusions.”

S
ham opened the door to her room cautiously, but it was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief she stepped in and shut the door behind her; she had not been looking forward to explaining her dusty tunic and trousers to Jenli.

She stripped rapidly out of the filthy garments, stuffing them in the trunk. The ever-present ewer of water near the bedside took care of the grime on her hands and face, then she searched unsuccessfully for another dress she could don without help. After the second time through the wardrobe, she pulled one out randomly and tugged it over her head.

Struggling and contorting she managed to button all but the top few buttons. Sham surveyed the result in the polished bronze mirror dubiously. Made of pale yellow silk, the gown resembled a shift rather than a dress. Fine lace, made for a child's gown edged the neckline and shoulder straps. It wasn't the gown that bothered her, but the body it covered.

She set an illusion to cover the healing wound on her shoulder and several bruises she didn't remember receiving.
After twisting around for a minute or so, she decided she'd covered the worst of the contusions and any left were bound to be attributed to rough play rather than disassembling furniture and chasing wizards through Purgatory. Dickon had promised to bring dinner to the Reeve's room, and since she had missed breakfast and lunch, she wasn't about to miss dinner.

As she was running a brush through her hair, her gaze fell on the trunk lid, and she realized she'd forgotten to lock it. Frowning, because securing her possessions was second nature, Sham quickly took care of it before entering Kerim's room. Still puzzling over her unusual oversight, she forgot to make certain Kerim was alone.

The Reeve had also taken the time to change his garments, and he bore little resemblance to the rough warrior who dared cross the heart of Purgatory. He sat regally imprisoned in his chair, staring coldly at the Eastern nobleman who confronted him. Neither of them seemed to notice Sham's presence.

“Do you always listen to gossiping stableboys, my lord?” Kerim sounded irate.

“Of course not,” replied the noble in fussy tones, “but my man reports that there was indeed a body discovered in the stables with that weird, blind boy of yours.”

“The stableman's body was in several pieces—not something a boy of Elsic's age would be capable of doing.” Kerim's voice lowered to a warning purr that caused the nobleman to take a step backwards. “I suggest you be careful what you repeat in public; lest you find yourself looking a fool—or worse. It might, for instance, become known that your coffers aren't as golden as they appear. Odd how tradesmen attend to such rumors so closely.”

Without looking away from the other man, Kerim held out his hand toward Sham. “Come here, my dear, Lord Arnson was just taking his leave.”

She hadn't been aware he'd noticed her, but she recovered quickly, stepping forward with a bright smile. “Kerim, would you finish buttoning this for me? Jenli wasn't there, and you ripped the shoulder of the dress I was wearing—
it's positively indecent.” She shrugged slightly so the unbuttoned gown hung even lower, giving the flustered nobleman a wide, empty smile.

She didn't bother looking at Kerim for his reaction to her lie. After the servants had discovered the mess the demon had made of her room in its first attack, Kerim had begun to enjoy his newly enhanced reputation; she had no doubt that he'd follow her lead.

“Of course,” answered Kerim in a voice that made Shamera shiver involuntarily, and not from fear. That man wielded his voice as well as he did his sword. “Come here and I'll take care of that. You
were
leaving, my lord?”

The nobleman started, and took his eyes off the neckline of Shamera's dress that was sagging even further as she knelt before the Reeve. “Yes, of course.”

Kerim finished the buttons and waited until the door shut behind the nobleman before dropping his loverlike manner.

“I cannot abide fools,” Kerim growled. “I can't fathom how an idiot like that managed to win as many battles as he did.”

“Being ruthlessly brutal can sometimes be as effective as intelligence,” commented Sham, idly staring at the closed door. She hadn't recognized his face, but Lord Arnson was well known in Southwood for ordering the slaughter of children in several northern villages. Perhaps she could arrange to meet him in a dark corner somewhere. One more victim of the demon . . .

Kerim eyed her speculatively. “I think Lord Arnson will be called back to his estates. He has a large holding in Cybelle and the return might be beneficial to his health.”

Sham wasn't used to being so easily read and found it disconcerting. She batted her eyes at him, and with artificially thick accents said, “Does the poor man find our climate unhealthy?”

Before Kerim could reply, Dickon opened the door for a pair of servants bearing a large and aromatic tray, covered to keep the food hot, as well as an assortment of dining-ware. Dickon looked around and found a table that had survived Sham's cleansing of the room. He pulled it
forward, and directed the servants to set it for dining.

Sham rose to her feet and gathered a pair of chairs while Dickon ushered the kitchen helpers out the door. She set the tray cover on the floor and snatched a thick, crusty slice of bread. She buttered it and took a large, satisfying bite, ignoring Kerim's amused glance with the same insouciance she accorded Dickon's disapproval.

Kerim pushed his chair forward to one of the place settings and cut a slice of the roast off with his eating knife and placed it on his plate opposite Sham's.

“Lady,” said Dickon hesitantly, taking a seat after he made certain all the plates were set properly.

Sham smiled at him and continued chewing as she sliced some meat.

“What did you mean when you said I was mageborn?” He spoke in Southern, and mispronounced the last word—as if that would make it mean something other than what he thought it meant.

“Well—” she said, when she was sure she wouldn't laugh, “—only a mageborn person could have broken through an illusion as strong as the old wizard had. Nine-tenths of the magic most wizards work are illusionary—like this frog.” She held out the little frog again.

“What frog?” asked Dickon.

Kerim frowned warningly. “Don't play games with him.”

Sham shook her head. “I'm not. Look at it closely, Dickon.” She muttered a few words, increasing the power of her spell. “Tell me when you see a frog instead of a rock.”

She was perspiring with the effort of her spell weaving before Dickon sat forward and drew in a swift breath. “I see it.”

Sham closed her empty hand. “Illusion—” she managed finally, with only a hint of amusement, “takes on the appearance of something that it is not. There are three ways to penetrate the spell. One is by magic. The second is by touch; there are very few mages who can create illusions that are real to more than one sense at a time. The third
method is simple disbelief. Anyone can break an illusion that way, you don't have to be a wizard to do it. But most illusions set by a wizard of any power are miserably hard to dispel by disbelief—unless you are a wizard yourself.” She glanced at Dickon's discomfited expression, feeling a surprising amount of sympathy for him; it wasn't easy to find your long-held beliefs crumpling at your feet. “Your disbelief in magic is so strong that when you walked into the magician's cottage you didn't even see the illusions. I have never heard of such a case before; the only possible explanation is that you are mageborn.”

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 singlehanded 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.”

 

T
HE 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.