Sorcerer's Son (28 page)

Gildrum sat on her high stool, twisting one blond braid slowly in her hands. “We always assumed there would be no child,” she said softly. “We were so certain, I never thought to question that certainty.” From the corner of her eye, she watched him pace the confines of the room. Rarely had she seen him in such a rage, not since the day Delivev Ormoru spurned him. “You never sent any of us to find out if there was a child.”

He shook a finger at her, sharply., as if he could spray lightning bolts from the tip, and gems and gold flashed on his rigid hand. “This is your fault! Your advice has brought us to this pass!”

Gildrum dipped her head meekly and stared down at the pale blue fabric that covered her knees. “As you say, my lord.”

“Would that I had never listened to you!” His hand curled into a fist and then opened, to clutch at his own chest and the heavy brocade that cloaked the cloth-of-gold shirt. “A child,” he muttered. “What sane woman, sorceress or no, would want to keep a stranger’s child?” His free hand struck the workbench a resounding blow, and the brazier jumped with its force, scattering some of the coals upon the smooth work surface. Heedless of their heat, Rezhyk swept the embers to the floor with a bare palm and crushed them under his foot. “A momentary diversion—of course I can understand that, as who would not? But to keep the fruit of a few night’s pleasure, to throw away a portion of one’s life in raising the by-blow of an ordinary mortal—it is beyond belief! What can I think of a woman who would do such a thing?”

“That she is very different from yourself,” Gildrum murmured.

“Unless—she suspects!”

“Suspects what, my lord?”

“That you were something more than a mere knight.”

“I never gave cause for any such impression, my lord. I obeyed your command and used no magic near her. Nor did she ever demonstrate any suspicion

”

“Afterward, my Gildrum, when you were gone, when she had plenty of time to think, alone.”

“To think on what, my lord? There was no evidence.”

Rezhyk leaned over the brazier, where the few remaining coals barely glowed deep red. He picked up a glass rod which lay nearby and stirred the embers with it, prodding thin yellow flames from them before they crumbled to ash. “She has some motive here,” he said. “She is a wily woman. Her hand is in his request for apprenticeship, I know it. What would the boy want with another sort of magic than his mother’s, after all? He knows nothing of demons; why should he want to master them?”

“Do you find that so hard to understand, my lord?” asked Gildrum. “You chose them yourself.”

“Both my parents were demon-masters; I never thought to be anything else. But his mother has power over creatures of the earth—spiders and snakes and other such low life. She thinks that a superior form of sorcery, deluded woman; she is too proud to consider that something else might be greater. She scorned my demon mastery. Why then would she advise a child of hers to apprentice to it?”

“Perhaps she did not advise him so, my lord. Perhaps he has chosen to ignore whatever advice she gave him. I have observed, in my travels among human beings, that children do not always listen to their parents’ advice.”

“I wish I dared believe that.” He gripped the glass rod tightly, his eyes staring off into nothing.

Gildrum wound the curling end of one braid about her fingers, like ribbon around a spindle, waiting for her master’s next statement, and when some moments had passed in silence, she murmured, “What else might you believe, my lord?”

His voice was low and distant. “That she has changed her mind. That she has decided to add the powers of a demon-master to her strength.”

“But my lord, if she scorns them as inferior

?”

“She scorns them, my Gildrum, but even she could not deny that they have their uses. With two kinds of sorcery at her command, she would be a formidable power indeed among sorcerers. Her enemies would lie awake at night, wondering how they could defend themselves, while she slept easy.” He turned his head, and his eyes focused on the demon, a baleful stare. “I am her enemy, my Gildrum.” His hand, which gripped the rod so tensely that the knuckles showed white, jerked convulsively, and the glass snapped between his thumb and forefinger. The broken end struck the workbench with a high, musical sound and rolled back across the smooth surface to the edge, over the edge, and shattered on the floor.

Gildrum slid off the stool. “Are you hurt, my lord?” she asked, reaching for his hand with both of hers.

He lowered his gaze to his hand then, as if only just realizing what he had done, and he opened his fingers. A bright bead of blood was collecting on the first knuckle. “It’s nothing,” he said.

Gildrum peered close at the injured flesh, found no glass in the wound, then knelt to gather the glittering fragments that lay at her master’s feet. She swept them together as if they were crumbs of bread fallen from the dinner table, with hands that could not be cut “You have your shirt, my lord,” she said, “and your own demons. Why do you worry so?”

“I know the limits of her power now, and I am safe from them,” he replied. “But afterward, when she has control of rings

” He shook his head.

“It won’t be her control,” said Gildrum.

“No? He is her son, is he not, my Gildrum? He sees the world as she has taught him to see it. His enemies are her enemies. Will you tell me such a mother and son would not work together for their ends?”

“I don’t know, my lord. Still, they are two separate people; their desires cannot be identical.”

Rezhyk flicked the drop of blood from his finger into the embers of the brazier, where it hissed softly and was gone. “Of course she would do better to gain power by apprenticing herself,” he muttered. “But what sorcerer would be mad enough to take her on? Or even to let her step inside the confines of his home? Even the most foolish of us—even one

besotted with love of her

” He grimaced, as if something bitter had just touched his tongue. “Well, such a one might let her in, but even he would never show her the secrets of his art.” He turned his back to the workbench and leaned against it, crooking his elbows to rest them upon it. “Her unschooled child, though, is a different matter. Innocent. Unformed. There are those among us who would see no harm in his apprenticeship.”

Gildrum dusted the glass particles from her hands into the bin that normally received ashes and discarded metal fragments. “You think someone will take him on, my lord?”

“Eventually, yes.” He sighed. “And then I shall have seven years, or perhaps ten, in which to wonder what will happen when he is mature.”

“She has never tried to do you any harm, my lord, in all the years you have been proof against her.”

“It has not been so many years, my Gildrum. And perhaps she has only been waiting

until her partner was ready.” He touched his chest with both palms. “Will this be enough then? Or must I spend the next seven years finding some better protection?” He bowed his head, and his eyes closed. “What shall I do, my Gildrum? What can I do?”

The demon climbed back onto the high stool and swung her legs in the space below the seat. “My lord, you regretted taking the last advice I offered.”

He raised his head to glare at her. “Have you a suggestion? Speak!”

Gildrum shrugged. “Become her friend.”

Color rushed to Rezhyk’s cheeks. “I expect no such nonsense from you.”

“Then trust the strength you have, my lord. Ringforge is solid; I built it as well as fortress could be built. Add in the shirt you wear, and what more defense could be devised?”

Rezhyk’s lips tightened. “Well, I must know, at least, to whom he goes. You will discover that for me, my Gildrum.”

“Yes, my lord; nothing easier.”

“I must know the range available to him, how many and what sort of demons his master—when he has one—commands.”

“Such information can be obtained, my lord,” said Gildrum, “if you will give me leave to spend some time in my own world.”

“Yes. Yes, I shall. I need you for many things, but this is more important than any of them.” His hands closed into fists. “If only there were some way to steer him to a lesser sorcerer, to one whose powers were so circumscribed that I would have no need to worry. To trick him, somehow, into making a poor choice.” He frowned mightily. “No, to convince some sorcerer of little skill to ask for him before a better one does—there’s the nut. What does the boy know, after all? He’ll probably go with the first to make an offer. Who could I ask, my Gildrum? Whose powers are so insignificant that I need not fear them?”

“I can think of one or two, my lord, but they owe you no favors.”

“No one owes me favors, my Gildrum; But they fear me.”

Gildrum shrugged. “Do they fear you enough to train a person they know nothing about, that they may have to fear as well someday?”

“No sorcerer need fear his own apprentice.”

“The apprentice is usually one’s flesh and blood, my lord, and such a tie makes a good reason for that lack of fear. But in this case

”

“You think the teacher fears the pupil, my Gildrum? Hardly. Who is better suited to combat the student’s sorcery than the one who taught it to him?”

Gildrum smiled. “Just so, my lord. That leaves a clear choice. There is a person to apprentice Delivev Ormoru’s child in a way which will suit you.”

“Who?”

“Don’t you know, my lord?”

“Speak, demon!”

She laughed. “Why look in any mirror, my lord. Look to the bronze of yonder wall, and you shall see his face.”

Cray and Sepwin listened at the door, held barely ajar by a dagger’s blade. Beyond the panel lay the chamber of the pool, and the Seer, speaking softly to a great prince of the ordinary world. The youths had been in her house many days already, and this was the first visitation in that time, an old man seeking the future of his line. He wore much gold and heavy brocade, but his shoulders seemed to stoop under more than the load of garments.

“There will be sons yet, with a new wife,” the Seer was telling him “but you will see none of them grown.”

Sepwin nudged Cray. “I could have told him that,” he whispered. His eye to the aperture, he could see a sliver of the room—the Seer’s black-clad back and her questioner, seated on the rim of the pool, his eyes magnetized by her fingers trailing in the water, “You don’t need to be a Seer to know that one won’t last another ten years.”

“Hush,” said Cray. “He’ll hear you.”

“Will my nephew inherit then?” asked the prince. His voice was thin and reedy, and staccato with his anxiety.

“There will be a joint regency,” the Seer replied. “Your wife and her father, till her eldest by you comes of age. So choose her well, O prince; your people will suffer otherwise.”

“Choose her and choose her father, too, you mean,” he muttered. He shook his head. “Tell me whom it shall be!”

The Seer’s fingers splashed in the pool. “Are you no judge of women that I must select your bride? Or of men? Go home and look around you. You are no beardless boy ruled by your heart alone.”

“Tell me,” he said again. “I’ve paid you well to read my future.”

“Have you paid me also to govern your land? For that is what I do if I choose your wife for you.”

“But you know the future

”

“I do. And if I should tell you, O prince

ever after you will wonder, I promise you, if you married her because it was wise or because I told you to.”

The old man was silent for a long time, staring into the pool as if he could see more than blackness there. At last he stood up stiffly. “I thank you, lady, for your words. I must return to my country now; I have been gone too long already.”

“You will find your people safe and happy and eager to greet you.”

“And the fathers of the eligible girls the most eager of all?”

“Undoubtedly.”

He bowed. “Well, I know, at least, which ones will be disappointed.”

The Seer inclined her head. “That is the first step, O prince.”

He turned and strode down the tunnel that led to sunlight, his step firmer than his voice and bearing would have suggested. Outside, his train waited, horses and men sweating in the heat of the day; the caravan was lighter by a chest of gold than when it had arrived. The chest lay at the Seer’s feet, half buried in the sand. She had not bothered to open it and verify the contents—she needed neither sight nor smell nor touch of the coins to know they were sufficient.

“You may come out from behind the door now, lads,” she said.

Rather sheepishly, they emerged. “We meant no discourtesy,” Cray began. “We were only very curious, lady.”

“And who would not be?” she said, smiling at them. “You think I took no account of that when I offered you my hospitality? Youth is all curiosity, is it not, Cray?”

“I suppose that must be true

if I am any sample, lady.”

“And from your listening at the door, Cray—what have you learned?”

“That you are wise as well as skilled in your art. But I think I knew that already.”

One of her eyebrows arched, white against her pale flesh. “At my age, I take that as my due, not as flattery. And you, Master Feldar— what say you?”

Sepwin grinned. “That a Seer must know which questions to answer and which to turn aside with a deft hand.”

She trailed four fingers in the water, and ripples spread outward from them on the dark surface. “A Seer must know which are the true questions,” she said, “and which are those best left unanswered. I gave the prince what he needed, no more.”

“You gave him advice,” insisted Sepwin, “that he could have found closer to home, and for less gold.”

She fixed him with her eyes, a strong, steady gaze. “Do you think he would have listened, closer to home? He will choose well enough without my help. He is a lucky man, leaving his people in good hands. I have read other futures that were not so bright.”

“I wouldn’t call his future bright—to die before his children are grown.”

“But now,” said Cray, “at least he knows he’ll live to beget them.”

“Just so,” said the Seer.

Sepwin shivered suddenly. “Death,” he said. “That’s what you see in every person who comes to you. At the end of the path, after all the twists and turns, the good fortune and bad—death.”