A Wizard In Peace Read online

  "Why, the tales are somewhat alike," Ciletha said in surprise,

  "though the minstrel didn't say he'd gone into the city and seen the gh-them."

  "He couldn't very well, could he? Letting everyone know why he was really here! No, he came to give me the message in secret, and knows I've found it! I'm going to find that Lost City, Ciletha, and be with my own kind of people at last!"

  "Will the magistrate give you leave?" she asked in wonder. "Magistrate? Bah! What right has he to interfere with a prince born?"

  "Orgoru!" Ciletha gasped. "You don't mean to run away?"

  "I shall escape the prison of this village!" Orgoru shouted. "They have no right to hold me! I'll go this very night!"

  "But the punishment--" Ciletha protested.

  "Punishment? Bah! What matters their chain and labor when I've endured it all my life? Surely they can't hold a prince of the blood royal, or find him if he doesn't wish it! No, I must go now-now, for the magistrate and his hounds won't dream I'd go so quickly!"

  "Tonight?" Ciletha stood a moment in shock, then all at once threw herself upon him, clutching Orgoru's tunic and pleading, her face turned up to his. "Oh, Orgoru, take me with you! I would never have the courage to go by myself, but with you I dare! Maybe you're right, maybe you do have some charm that will keep you safe from them!"

  "You come with me?" Orgoru stared, taken aback. "But, Ciletha, this is your home, you've been happy here!"

  "Not since Father died last winter!"

  "Yes, the poor soul, pining away for your mother!" Orgoru muttered. "Why, he didn't outlive her by a year!" They'd been one of the very few couples he'd seen who were really, truly, in love.

  "But now that he's dead, the magistrate has warned me that I'm going to have to marry soon, or he'll choose a husband for me!"

  "Choose one for you!" The faces of Tan and Bork flashed before Orgoru's eyes-the ugliest boys in the village, who would surely never find wives by themselves. "No, Ciletha, that mustn't be!"

  "The magistrate says Father's house is too big for one woman alone, and that no woman can be trusted with his wealth-but I know that none of the boys are attracted to me for myself. Oh, they treat me politely, but only because Althea and Shara are my friends, and all the boys hope to win them someday,"

  "But they'd marry you if the magistrate made them, and gladly, too, since house and money would go with you." Yes, he thought, then treat you like a dog they had to keep but didn't like. Gentle Ciletha, kind Ciletha, shackled to a brute who would make her life one long torment!

  "I don't want them!" It was almost a wail-would have been if Ciletha had dared raised her voice. "I don't want any man who doesn't love me! They can have the house, they can have the money, so long as they leave me my heart!" Her hands tightened in his tunic again. "Oh, please, Orgoru, take me with you! I've been aching to leave the village-there has to be some life better than this! Ever since the magistrate told me I'd have to marry a man who despises me, I've been in a panic to escape! But I've been terrified to try-even if the bailiff and his foresters didn't catch me, there are highwaymen and forest bandits-and men who'd be honest enough at home, but who might want to take advantage of a woman traveling alone. With you beside me, though, only the outlaws would be a threat. I'd have no chance by myself, but with you I just might!"

  Well, what could Orgoru say? The one person in the village who had been willing to talk with him, to be his friend, to see some good in him? How could he leave her to misery? "Well, two might have a better chance than one."

  "Oh, thank you, Orgoru!" Ciletha threw her arms about him and hugged him close. "Oh, thank you, thank you! You won't be sorry!"

  Orgoru put an arm around her, and fervently hoped he wouldn't be sorry indeed-for two might stand a better chance than one alone, but they also might stand worse.

  The dogs bayed in Miles's dream, huge dogs with flabby dewlaps, long ears, and sad eyes, sad that they must chase the fox, though their voices rang with the delight of the hunt. The poor fox ran panting and trembling with weariness, blown and on the verge of collapse, but it didn't wear a fox's long nose, it wore Miles's face, and as he looked back at the dogs, he saw that the foremost bore the magistrate's face, contorted with anger, mouth yawning wide to show long, pointed teeth....

  With a shudder, Miles came awake, thrashing about in panic for a minute, then realizing that the firm walls about him were made of hay. He went limp, burying his face in his arm, trying to put the nightmare aside, but it wouldn't rest, the dogs' howling still echoed in his head....

  And in the rest of the world too. He finally realized that he was really hearing them, though their voices were faint and distant. The hunt! He scrambled out of the haystack, heart thudding, and saw with a sinking heart that he had slept the night through, and that the sun burned on the horizon. It was dawn, very early dawn, but he was lost if he couldn't find some fortress, some safe bolt-hole for hiding. He set off down the gravel path, pulse thudding in his ears, hoping that he would come to a main road, where his scent might be lost in the thousands that lay upon the stones, where he himself might find a crowd in which to lose himself....

  He found it. Panting and disheveled but with his staff still in his hand, he hurried down the cobbles, trying to catch up with a dozen travelers ahead.

  Then he heard the voice behind him. "Slow down, lad! What's your hurry?"

  The voice sounded so friendly that Miles looked back, hope leaping high--and falling into a pit. The friendly face topped a soldier's livery, and the huge man beside him wore the same. Miles turned and ran.

  "Ho! We mean no harm!" But if they didn't, why were the heavy boots thudding closer and closer behind, why was the huge heavy hand catching Miles's shoulder, whirling him about--

  "If you're in trouble with the law, lad, you may be just what we're looking for," the giant rumbled, looking down at him with compassion. "My friend and I aren't quite what we seem-in fact, we're not soldiers at all."

  "If you're running for the right reason, we'll be your friends," the smaller man said-smaller, but a good head taller than Miles himself. "Call me Dirk. Why're you fleeing?"

  "I won't marry Salina!" Miles panted. "I'd rather hang!"

  "They're going to force you to marry a woman you don't love?" Dirk stared. "What did you do to her?"

  "Nothing! But she doesn't want me, and I don't want her!"

  "So they ordered the two of you to marry anyway?" The giant frowned. "Who ordered you?"

  "Our magistrate, of course! If he catches me, he'll drive me to hard labor until my spirit's broken and I marry Salina anyway!"

  "Even though she doesn't want it, either," Dirk said grimly. He nodded at his huge companion. "This is Gar."

  "I-I am Miles, sir," Miles stammered. "Only Miles?" Gar asked. "No last name?"

  "Of course not, sir." Miles was astounded that the man should even ask-everyone had a public name, but only magistrates and their families had private names, and only other magistrates knew them.

  "How close are the ones who are chasing you?" Dirk demanded.

  "Listen! You can hear them!"

  The two false soldiers stood still, heads cocked, eyes blank, listening.

  "Hounds," Gar pronounced, "but still far away. That gives us time. Are you sure they're after you, though, lad?"

  "Who else?" Miles asked, honestly bewildered. Gar shrugged. "Anyone breaking the law."

  "Who would be so desperate as me?"

  "You don't have to be really desperate to break the law," Dirk pointed out.

  Miles just stared at him as though he were insane. Hadn't he seen men punished, flogged to bloody meat, only for a barbed joke about the magistrate?

  "All right, so you do have to be desperate," Dirk said impatiently, "but are we really close enough to your home for those hounds to know you? Okay, their noses would, but how about their handlers?"

  "What matter? Whether they recognize me or not, I have no travel permit. They'd know me for a criminal by that alone,
and hold me while they sent messengers to all the magistrates in the county."

  "Travel permit, huh?" Dirk exchanged a glance with Gar, then turned back to Miles. "They don't exactly leave you a sporting chance, do they?"

  "Sporting?" Miles was amazed that he could still laugh, no matter how bitterly. "Yes, it's sport for the bailiff and his men, all right. Not for me."

  "Oh, I think it could be a great deal of fun, losing yourself so thoroughly that they can't find you." Gar caught Miles about the shoulders and turned him away, toward a barn a hundred feet off the road. "Come, lad."

  "A whole village uses that!" Miles protested. "They'll see us for sure!"

  "Not a soul will notice," Gar promised. "Dirk, did you bring the brandy?"

  "On this early a world? Of course!" Dirk pulled a bottle out of his pouch and turned to walk backward after them, sprinkling the ground where they had walked.

  "The dogs..." Miles warned.

  "Believe me, once they sniff that brandy, they won't notice your spoor at all," Gar assured him.

  A breeze blew Miles a sample, and he saw the truth of what Gar said. It smelled sweet and strong, of almonds and summer. Sweaty as Miles was, he didn't think the dogs would notice anything but that lovely scent. He led the two strangers toward the barn.

  They followed Miles, having a silent conversation-for although Dirk could not read minds, he knew that Gar could. He stared at the giant and tapped the side of his head to show he was giving Gar permission to read his thoughts. Gar gave an infinitesimal nod, the silent equivalent of Receiving. Go ahead.

  Aloud, Dirk said, "I'm tired of stewed jerky. Think we can catch something fresh for dinner?" Silently, he thought, We've caught us a fish--but can we trust him?

  Gar gave another abbreviated nod while he said, "I think there's time. Of course, we don't know what's in the streams around here. You can't tell if a fish is any good until you eat it."

  You can't tell either, huh?

  "I'm willing to try a new fish," Gar said, "if it seems to have all the qualities we need. After all, if it's the same kind of fish you've caught before, it's probably just as good. Bass are bass."

  Yeah, we've teamed up with peasants on the run before, and they've proved trustworthy, Dirk thought back, and this one does seem to have the qualities we're looking for-enough courage to run away on a matter of principle, and enough intelligence to avoid capture. No way to say if he can be a good leader, of course, except by watching him. But trustworthy? We can't know until we've tried him-and after all, I suppose he's wondering the same thing about us.

  Gar smiled and nodded again. "Fish should never trust anglers."

  Right now, we're the best thing that could have happened to him, Dirk mused. Pure self-interest will keep him looking out for us.

  "Trusting or not, the fish still gives in to temptation and strikes at the bait," Gar said. "Selfishness is very predictable." But you can never be sure what an altruist will do, huh? Well, you should know. But it goes beyond that-I get the overall feeling that he's a good man, solid and dependable, and on the wrong side of the law only because his bosses pushed him too far.

  Gar's nod was emphatic.

  You thought so, too, huh? Well, I always did consider myself a good judge of character. In fact, I had a course in it-kind of necessary, when you're trained as a spy.

  "But when you're fishing, you read only physical signs,"

  Gar said, "the rock where a fish might hide, the branch shadowing a deep pool."

  Or when the fish is human, the look in the eyes, the twist of the mouth, the set of the shoulders and spine. Nonverbal language, huh? But you can read thoughts. Thought you didn't do that without permission, or a really pressing need.

  Gar only smiled at him.

  Oh, Dirk thought. Sizing up potential allies is a pressing need, huh? Of course, but how deeply do you read him?

  "I always did enjoy watching the play of the light upon the water," Gar told him, "but I like to watch the fish that move beneath the surface too. Of course, the water is rarely so clear that you can see the bottom without effort."

  So you go past the surface thoughts to what the person's really thinking, but you don't probe down to the intimate secrets and the buried memories that make them what they are? Dirk nodded. Well, I suppose that's deep enough to figure out whether or not a man's a police spy-unless he's deliberately trying to deceive you.

  "We really should stop talking and start baiting a hook," Gar told him. "Grilled trout, perhaps. Plain, simple, honest fare is sometimes best."

  Okay, I get the point, Dirk thought. Miles looks to be a plain, simple, honest farm boy. But I've known some farm boys who were very good at looking honest when they were really devious, Gar. Aloud, he said, "The only honest trout is a grilled trout."

  "They're honestly greedy," Gar pointed out. "There's something immensely honest in a fish taking the bait."

  Our protection is the bait, hm? Well, I suppose we can grill Miles slowly, over a period of days. If he's hiding something, it'll show sooner or later. He gave Gar a narrow glance. At least, if you're listening with your mind as well as your ears.

  Gar gave him a look of withering scorn.

  Oh, Dirk thought. You always do. Well, I suppose we all do, metaphorically at least.

  Gar shook his head.

  Not even metaphorically? Well, I have to admit I've known a lot of people who hear without listening. Aloud, Dirk said, "Okay, fish it is. But do we really have time to bait a hook and wait?"

  "We may have to use a net," Gar admitted.

  Miles wondered why the two men took so long trying to decide whether or not to go fishing. For his own part, the decision was simple-if you were hungry and had time, you fished. Of course, they didn't have time right now-unless the fish bit quickly.

  It also never occurred to him to wonder whether or not the two men were trustworthy-he knew they weren't. They were strangers, weren't they? But for some reason, they seemed to think it was in their interest to protect him, and he would have been a fool to turn down such assistance. After all, there was something in it for them-he could tell they really were foreigners by their accents, and really did need help in local customs. But he wasn't about to trust them farther than he had to-unless he happened to travel with them long enough to get to know them, which wasn't likely.

  They came into the barn, and sure enough, a villager was harnessing his ox to a plow. Miles shrank back, trying to keep Gar between himself and the peasant, but the man didn't even look up until Dirk stepped up on his far side and said, "Good morning, good man."

  The peasant looked up, surprised-and his back was to Gar and Miles. "Good morning, guardsman." His tone had so much deference as to be almost dread-no wonder, Miles thought, for reeve's guards might be sent to do anything, even to arrest innocent peasants for nothing worse than wild talk when drunk.

  "Am I on the road to Innisfree?" Dirk asked.

  "Innisfree? Never heard of it!" The peasant frowned. "Did your reeve truly tell you it lay in this direction?"

  "Down the east road, he said, but we seem to have taken a wrong turning." Dirk frowned darkly. "Are you sure you've never heard of the town?"

  "Never." The peasant's eyes widened with apprehension; he sidled around to put thq ox between them.

  "Ask among your friends, then, will you? See if any of them have any notion of the way. I'll wait here for you to send word."

  "Indeed, sir! I'll see to it straightaway!" The peasant ducked his head in a sort of bow and called to his ox, shaking the reins. It slogged into motion, ambling out of the barn. The peasant followed it, plow rolling ahead of him, with an air of relief.

  "Innisfree?" Gar asked from the shadows of the hayloft. "Why not?" Dirk shrugged and started climbing the ladder. "I heard an argument about how to get there, once. Seemed like a good place for getting someone confused."

  "I suppose it would be," Gar agreed.

  "Now what do we do, sir?" Miles asked in a half-whisper. "We wait,"
Gar told him, "and we lie quietly."

  Dirk came to lie down near them. All three lay back and rested as the day aged and the heat grew. A fly came buzzing to see what they were and, finding them unappetizing, buzzed off. After a while, they heard footsteps below, and a quavering voice called, "Guardsman?" It waited, then called again, "Sir guardsman? Reeve's man?" It waited a longer while, then sighed with relief. "He didn't wait."

  "Praise heaven," the peasant's voice replied. "I wasn't looking forward to telling him we couldn't find his precious Innisfree."

  "What do we do now?" the younger voice asked.

  "Forget about him and get back to work," the peasant said with the firmness of experience. "Don't borrow trouble, ladyou'll earn enough of it in your own time."

  "What's that?" the younger asked.

  They were both silent, and Miles could hear the dogs, much nearer now, and coming even closer quickly.

  "Hounds," the peasant said with a shudder. "Pity the poor soul they're chasing! Come, lad, let's hurry back to our field! Remember, we know nothing!"

  Their footsteps faded away. Trembling and hollow-bellied,

  Miles nonetheless couldn't help himself. He squirmed over to the wall and peeked through a gap between boards. Behind him, he heard Gar say, "Sorry, Dirk. I've developed doubts about the government here after all."

  "Oh, that's all right," Dirk answered with a martyred sigh. "So have L"

  CHAPTER 4

  The moon gave enough light for Orgoru to steal from but to but with an eye out for the Watch. Admittedly, in so small a village as this, the Watch was only one man, but he was almost as old and sour as the magistrate he served; both plainly resenting having been sent to so small a village toward the ends of their careers, and were therefore all the more likely to vent their spleens on young folk they might catch trying to slip away to a greater chance of happiness.