Wolfsbane. Part 19

"I was able to take control of my dreams," said Aralorn. "And Kisrah loved Geoffrey and welcomed him. I don't think Gerem has any defenses against magical attacks." Someone-Nevyn-should have seen to it that Gerem had started training a long time ago.

She looked away from the hawk as she worked out some things she'd never put together before. "The dreams I was given were true dreams, Uncle. At first, whoever sent them to me had tried to alter them, but I was able to see through to the true memories. The dreams concerned things that only the ae'Magi and Wolf knew about."

"How do you know Wolf didn't send the dreams?"

"It was not not Wolf," she said. Wolf," she said.

"Where was he when your father was enspelled?" Her uncle's voice was somber. "If his father was a dreamwalker, can you say for certain he is not? He wouldn't necessarily even know he was doing it. You've seen how his magic escapes him."

Aralorn snorted. "If you knew Wolf, you would understand just how stupid it is to accuse him."

She tried to think how to put into words something that was so clear to her that it was almost instinctive. "First, he would never involve other wizards in his spellcasting. He doesn't trust anyone except maybe me that much. He would never-not ever-voluntarily share as much of his past as I saw in that dream. I knew him for years before he would admit to being anything but a wolf."

"I think that it is a better possibility than a dead wizard," said Halven. "Humans just don't interact with the natural world well enough to do anything after they are dead."

Aralorn digested that comment for a minute. "You mean shapes.h.i.+fters do?"

The hawk gave its version of a laugh. "Not to worry. Most people who die don't linger to torment the living."

"The only other explanation that we've come up with is that the Dreamer has awakened," she told him.

Halven made a derisive sound.

"Do you have another explanation?" she asked.

"What about another dreamwalking wizard? A living dreamwalker might be able to do what you have described," he said.

"I'm told it's a rare talent," said Aralorn.

"Not rarer than a dead human mage who is making everyone tap to his tune," said Halven. "Have you figured out why someone decided to attack the Lyon?"

She shrugged. "As we discussed earlier, it is probably to get me here. There are any number of people after Wolf, and some of them know that where I go, Wolf is not far behind."

"To get Wolf here and do what?" asked Halven. "What do they want?"

She frowned at him. "To kill him."

"You don't know that," Halven said. "Maybe they only need you."

She laughed ruefully. "I don't die easily. And other than as bait for Wolf, I can't think of a reason any wizard would want me."

"If they kill you, they kill him," he reminded her.

"Only since day before yesterday," she said. "And how did you know about that?"

"After I objected to finding my niece in a man's bed, Wolf told me Ridane's priestess married you."

"You couldn't care less if I was sleeping with the sheep," she said tartly.

"He didn't know that. You didn't invite me to the wedding."

"I didn't know for certain that I was going to go through with it until we were there. I had to do something," she told him, trying to stem the defensive tone that wanted to ease into her words. She'd known that she was making him more vulnerable-she was certainly more easily killed than he. But her reasoning still stood. "You said he had a death wish, and I believe you."

"So you tricked him into the death G.o.ddess's binding?" asked her uncle. There was, she thought, a certain admiration in his tone. "That's the reason for your sudden marriage. He'll take more care of himself now."

"Uhm," she said. "I haven't told him about the side effect of being married by Ridane."

"He doesn't know?"

"He wasn't raised next to Ridane's temple," she answered. "She's not wors.h.i.+pped many places anymore. The G.o.ds have been quiet for a long time."

Two beady eyes stared at her unblinkingly. "What good is marrying him going to do if he doesn't know that his death will kill you also? You've undercut the very reason for the marriage."

She started to defend herself, but a slow smile caught her unexpectedly. "Not really."

The marriage itself, she thought, had accomplished what she had sought to enforce with the bond the priestess had set between them. From the awed tone in Wolf's voice when she'd asked him if he'd marry her to last night when, after they'd retired to this room, he'd brought his pain to her and allowed her to help him forget. She was still a little stiff from the methods they'd employed.

Her uncle waited for a moment, and when she didn't continue, he said, "Just make sure you don't die before you tell him."

She grinned. "I'll try to keep that from happening." She threw back the bedcovers, restless with prebattle nerves. She knew how to deal with those. "Rather than wait around for Wolf, I'm going to visit Falhart and persuade him to fight with me. You're welcome to come if you'd like."

She found Falhart, finally, in the accounting room, slaving over the books. As she walked into the little room, she heard him swear, and he began to scratch out what he'd written.

"Why don't you find someone who likes those things?" asked Aralorn with a certain amount of fellow feeling. Give her a scroll of stories or a five-volume history, and she'd devour them, but account books were a whole different kettle of fish. Somewhere in the volumes stacked neatly against the walls was a large number of accounting sheets in her own poorly scribed hand.

Falhart looked up and sc.r.a.ped the hair from his eyes. "No one, but no one, likes to keep the accounts. Father, Correy, and I switch off, and this is my month." He eyed the hawk on her shoulder, nodded at it, then focused on the pair of staves she carried in one hand.

She grinned. "Want to play, big brother? Bet you a copper I can take you two times out of three."

"Make it a silver, and I'll do it," he said, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair. "But I get to use my staff."

She shook her head at him. "Your staff is fine, but someone has given you an inflated idea of what they pay us mercenaries, Hart. I'll go three coppers and not a bit more."

"Three coppers isn't enough to make it worth my time," he said.

"I guess you'll just have to stay here and do the books then," replied Aralorn with a commiserating pat on his arm. "Come on, Halven, let's see who else we can find."

"All right, all right, three coppers it is," grumbled Falhart, then he brightened. "Maybe I can find someone else to lay a bet with."

Aralorn examined his bearlike form and shook her head as she started for the training grounds. "And who are you going to find who will bet on a woman against a brute like you?"

"You did," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I've fought you before."

They faced off in the old practice ground. It was cold, and the sand was packed hard, though the snow had been swept away. Once they started fighting, the cold wouldn't matter. Aralorn wielded one of her staves while Falhart held a quarterstaff half again as large and twice as thick as hers. Halven had opted for a better perch on the corner of the stable roof.

"You're sure you don't want to use a quarterstaff as well?" Falhart asked, watching her warily.

"Only a brute like you gains an advantage wielding a tree," she replied. "It's all right, though; you'll need all the advantages you can find, big brother."

Falhart laughed and tossed his staff lightly in the air. "You may have learned something in the past ten years, Featherweight. But so have I. What are the rules for this bout?"

"Three points," said Aralorn. "Any hit between the shoulders and waist is good. Arms, head, and below the waist doesn't count."

"Right," said Falhart, and he struck.

His swing had more speed than a man of his size had any right to have. Aralorn stepped respectfully out of its path and tapped him gently on the temple.

"Zap," she murmured as she darted away, "you're dead."

"No point," grunted Falhart, sweeping at her knees.

Rather than avoiding the sweep, Aralorn stepped lightly on the center of the quarterstaff between his hands and vaulted over his back. She touched her staff to his back twice in rapid succession before he had time to turn, and quickly bounced away.

"Two points," called one of the onlookers in a gleeful voice.

She didn't get away free though; as she jumped back, one end of his staff caught her in the diaphragm.

"Oof." Though the blow was light, Aralorn expelled a breath of air unexpectedly.

Falhart backed away quickly, clearly worried. "Are you all right?"

She shot him a mock-disgusted look. "I said 'oaf,' you ox. You're going to lose this round if you treat me like your little sister."

"Just like to make certain my prey is feeling all right before I destroy it." Falhart gave her a gentle smile as he circled her warily. "It's more sporting that way. My point."

Aralorn shook her head. "Poor babbling fool, I think I must have hit his head harder than I meant to."

The two combatants exchanged merry grins before they went at it again. Falhart gained another point with a feint that he pulled back after she thought he was committed to the blow past the point he could alter it. In revenge she stuck her staff between his legs and toppled him to the ground.

"'Ware, down it comes," she deadpanned in the carrying cry of an axeman felling a tree.

He caught her in the ribs as he came rolling to his feet. "Too busy being funny, Featherweight. Lost you the game."

She shook her head in mock despair. "Beaten by a man . . . I'll never live it down."

Falhart patted her gently. "Poor little girl-oof."

Aralorn removed her elbow from his midsection. "Don't patronize me after you've beaten me. Losing puts me in a foul temper."

"I'll remember that," said Lord Kisrah cordially, stepping onto the training grounds, Wolf at his heels. "Lady, if you would walk with me a bit? In private?"

She'd barely had a chance to warm up and had been planning on a few more rounds with Falhart before she was done. But she preferred the real battle to sparring bouts.

"Certainly, Lord Kisrah. I will leave the scene of my defeat, and my opponent can go back to accounts."

The triumphant look faded from Falhart's face. "Thanks for the reminder-but remember, you owe me three coppers." He waited until she started fumbling with her purse, then he said, "Double or nothing this time tomorrow?"

He was planning something; she could hear it in his voice. "Five coppers altogether. No more," she said.

"You've got it, Featherweight." He gave in much too easily. He was planning some mischief or other.

She frowned at him, and he grinned unrepentantly. "I'd better get back to the accounts," he said, and took his leave.

Kisrah extended his arm, and Aralorn set her staves against the stable wall before shaking her head at him. "You don't want to touch me right now," she said, pulling on her overtunic, sweater, and cape. "Save good manners for when I'm not sweaty."

He gave a half bow, sending the long ribbons in his hair a-fluttering as he let his arm fall gracefully to his side. "As you wish, Lady Aralorn."

"We could go to the gardens," she suggested, trailing her fingers over Wolf's ears.

Kisrah and Wolf fell in step on either side of her as she led the way to Irrenna's pride and joy.

In the summer, the gardens were beautiful, but the winter left nothing more than frost-covered barren branches and gray stalks pressing up through the snow. The walks were swept, though, so they didn't have to wade through the drifts.

"I know it's chilly," apologized Aralorn, "but no one much comes here in the winter."

He raised an eyebrow. "So why didn't we come here yesterday instead of riding out in the cold?"

"Because now you know who Wolf is," she said. "I was worried how you would react. A body is much easier to hide outside the keep walls."

He stopped walking. "I'd laugh if I didn't think you were serious."

"Maybe a bit," she said. "Come, let's move while we talk; it'll keep us warm." She was aware without actually looking at him that her uncle had followed them and was making lazy circles around them.

"Did you see Falhart's face?" asked Wolf. "He thinks you threw the fight."

"What do you think?" she asked blandly.

"I think you got c.o.c.ky and lost."

"You know me so well," she admitted.

Kisrah gave Wolf a baffled frown. "Are you sure you're Cain?"

Wolf tilted his head considering, then said, "I am."

They walked for a while between sleeping flower beds. Aralorn turned her sweaty face into the cold air and paced beside the Archmage and felt grateful that there was no wind this morning.

"I have thought upon yesterday's conversation," Kisrah said finally. "In the end, there is only one answer. Black magic is evil. Good never breeds from evil-and I can see no good in this in any case. But I cannot remove the spell. If you are able to do so, I'll help in any way I can. I know that Nevyn is one of the mages who added to the spell, but there is another."

"We know the other," said Aralorn. "My brother Gerem."

"Gerem?"

"Sometimes magic ability doesn't show until adolescence," commented Wolf, answering Kisrah's surprise.

"But Nevyn would have seen it," said Kisrah. "He would have told me."