Magics - Riddle Of The Seven Realms Part 13

Kestrel grimaced, expecting Phoebe's face to knot into one of displeasure. Next time, he just had to get the demon to understand and follow his lead, rather than cut in on his own. Not that there would be a next time, if Phoebe decided to rectify what had happened to her good name. He shook his head, awaiting the outburst. Why had freeing the wizard been such a good idea?

But the hard words did not come. "You need my help," Phoebe repeated, "the service of a wizard, and you have come to me."

Kestrel blinked at the unexpected tone. "Wizardry, why no," he rushed to say. "It was something rather different from that." He looked into Phoebe's eyes and found the words of deception harder and harder to get out of his throat. "We must get to the archimage," he said at last, "and for that we must first cross the border. I think that I have a means of accomplis.h.i.+ng it. We need an impersonation of a countess, one who is the seeker of100.thrills, one who can convince an alchemist to grant favors in exchange for profit to be received later." He hesitated and then added in a mumble, "The archimage will be able to set things straight between you and your council as well."

"Then it is true," Phoebe said. "I was indeed dominated by the demon. If it is skill in wizardry that you desire, elsewhere is where you should look."

"No, no, if wizardry is called for along the way, you are the one to whom we will turn," Kestrel said. "It is just that there are other requirements as well." "You need me?" Phoebe questioned again. Kestrel just nodded, trying to fathom the motivations behind the pretty smile. He was having difficulty reading the wizard, just as he did with the demon, but for a different reason. The emotions were on her face well enough; but when he looked at her, distracting thoughts warped the logical cadence of his thought.

"And it will help you with the council," he repeated weakly.

"The council." Phoebe shook her head. "I have little doubt that they have found some way to give me censure." She smoothed the folds of her robe and shrugged. "It has not been such an easy struggle. Without the largess of my father, I would never have been able to pay the triple fees the masters charged to initiate me into their art. The stocking of my larder comes less from the few payments I receive for my craft than the continued openness of his purse.

"Far better for all concerned, it has been made quite clear more than once, if Phoebe behaved more like her cousins and sisters, lounging in the dresses of brocade and attending the b.a.l.l.s of the prince."

"What do you mean?" Astron said. "I cannot yet follow when men speak in such abstraction."

"Men, indeed," Phoebe said. "I suspect the realm of daemon is much like what you see about you here." She narrowed her eyes and looked piercingly at Astron. "Tell me how it is that only the males answer the summons through the flame and grapple with the wizard's will.

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Why no females? What have you done with them?"

"Why, that is not the purpose of the broodmothers," Astron said. "They serve one function and no more. It is unthinkable for it to be any other way."

"And you, Kestrel, how many wizards of my s.e.x have you encountered in your peddling of woods?"

"Ah, you are the only one."

"Yes, the only female wizard in Brythia, perhaps in all the kingdoms that border the great sea. Despite all the regulations thrown in the way, the unapproving stares, the whispers behind my back, I became a master-an equally accredited master in a local council, whether they liked it or not."

"Then, if your council does not look with favor on you at the moment-" Kestrel began.

"It can only be an intensification of what already was felt. I am an embarra.s.sment to them because I am so different and do not a.s.sume their stately airs. But no matter, I have won the robe and they cannot take it away."

Phoebe paused and looked at Kestrel. "What is important to me now is not their thoughts, woodcutter, but yours. What do you think of a master who happens not to be a male? Would you use me when you could elect to choose a man instead?" She glanced over at Astron and her voice softened to a whisper. "Use one who has already proven that a demon such as that is her better in a battle of wills?"

Kestrel blinked again. "I have considered you a master, no different from the rest," he said. The question went deeper than that, but his answer was a truthful one. She had been chosen for the anvilwood because of her greater wealth, not anything else. As for the rest, he felt the old barriers sliding strongly into place. No good could come from raising the innermost feelings and trying to strip away the scarred layers of pain.

"Well said." Phoebe smiled faintly. "Perhaps my instincts in the matter were correct from the first. Stand in the light so I can see you better. No, not you, demon, only the man."

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Kestrel climbed back down from the wagon and into the brightness of the street.

"Yes, it is all coming back now." Phoebe's smile broadened. "I remember why I invited you in. And as for now, wizardry or something else of equal value, it does not really matter. Just so I am a full partner, and not a tool to be manipulated like a sorcerer's slave."

"You will not try to continue our struggle for dominance?" Astron asked.

"No, why should I?" The smile vanished from Phoebe's face. "If you still desired to control my will, I do not see how I could resist a second time, knowing I had lost the first." She turned her eyes away from Astron and lowered her head. "I have already proven myself worthy to wear the logo of the master. Perhaps in the end, that will be sufficient."

"There is no more to it!" Astron exclaimed. "Kestrel, you are most remarkable. I apologize for my doubt. When there is more time, you must explain how you achieved such an agreement of wills."

Kestrel lightly touched Phoebe's arm again. Despite the inner warnings, it felt good to do so. "Things are not always what they seem, demon," he said slowly. "I have already told you that."

Astron wrinkled his nose and his membranes slid into place. For a moment he stared off into the distance and did not speak.

He suddenly burst out of his contemplation after a moment. "Then let us get on with your plan. The nickers of light that I now see at the end of this alley-I do not believe that they are the simple fireflies of your realm."

CHAPTER NINE.

The Alchemy of Air

KESTREL hit the tapper against the bra.s.s door with authority. The gong seemed to reverberate all along the high metal-plated fencing that ran around the foundry. Even though it was barely dawn, smoke was already spilling out of the stack on the other side of the enclosing barrier. The wheeze of the bellows was quite loud, like the moan of a great djinn with nothing to destroy.

Astron had not been sure how much longer it would be before the wizards became certain of their location, but they had little time for additional delay. They had to get over the border and to the archimage soon, or it would all be too late.

Kestrel cupped his hands to his mouth and spoke directly at the demon, the noises within the foundry masking his words more than a few feet away. "Now remember, Astron," he said. "You are the consulting alchemist for the countess. You will observe the process and say nothing. Occasionally shake your head slightly in disapproval after an explanation. Under no circ.u.mstances ask any of your questions. Just be on the lookout for more of your kind."

"But an alchemist I am not," Astron said. "I cannot speak that which does not reflect reality."

"That is just the point," Kestrel said. "Do not say a thing. Let those inside draw whatever conclusions they will. For what they think, you are not responsible."

"To stand and shake my head is not very interesting, Kestrel. At least I should be able to find out something to add to my catalogues."

"I will see to it that you are suitably amused," Kestrel

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said. "Just keep quiet while you are about it."

Kestrel turned his attention to Phoebe. The gown they had purchased the previous evening with eight of the dozen brandels suited her well; she carried herself as one would expect of the n.o.bility. She returned his approving look with a smile, but he pulled his eyes away. She had enthusiastically taken on the role he had outlined to her and did not even bother to ask any more about what had happened at her cabin or even the reason he was originally there.

So long as she did not ask, Kestrel decided, there was no reason for him to explain more. He darted one more furtive glance in her direction. And yet his logic did not quite ring true. For the first time in a long while, he was somehow uncomfortable about what he was hiding from someone else.

The door suddenly opened and Kestrel turned to meet the gateman. "The grand countess of Brythia, second cousin to the king, is here to discuss terms for the s.h.i.+pment," he said. "Show us to the head alchemist without delay."

The gateman puckered his prunelike face into a ma.s.s of wrinkles. With studied disapproval, he looked up and down Kestrel's own plain clothing and Astron, hooded by his side. "I have received no instructions about a visitor," he said. "You will have to wait until I check with master Celibor.'1

"Surely we can wait inside, rather than here on the street," Kestrel said. "Perhaps even a chair so that my lady can sit. The purse she carries is most heavy. And from what I hear of master Celibor, he will be most anxious to meet her."

The gateman glanced at Phoebe, hesitated a moment, then s.n.a.t.c.hed at the brandel that Kestrel waved in front of him. "You may use my stool." He waved as he headed off across the interior of the foundry yard.

Kestrel and the others stepped inside. Quickly, he surveyed the enclosure from one end to the other. The fencing formed a huge square, each side the length of a sprinter's race. In the rear corner of the left stood dumps

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