The Sorcerer's Widow. Lawrence Watt-Evans

back onto the bed.

      That was the last thing Kel said for the next hour, as he sat by the window, staring out at the countryside as the sunlight gradually faded from the sky, and darkness crept over the fields and houses. Ezak was quickly asleep; Kel ignored his gentle snoring. For one thing, the snoring was a sign that the bed was soft and comfortable, which gave Kel something to look forward to. He knew that Ezak never snored when sleeping on hard ground.

      He awoke his friend with a single soft word when he judged the time was right, and the two of them headed downstairs.

      At supper Ezak asked Irien whether Dorna might be joining them, and was clearly disappointed when Irien said no. The sorcerer’s widow kept early hours, the innkeeper said, or at any rate did not often venture outside after dark. If the two strangers were determined to see her, Irien said, they could call on her in the morning.

      Ezak assured her that they would do just that, and thanked her for the suggestion. He was obviously eager to see more of Dorna, but Kel did not see what the hurry was about. This delay would give Ezak more time to plan, and Kel thought he could use it.

      He did not say anything at the table, of course; in fact, his dinnertime conversation was limited to asking for plates to be passed, or thanking Irien for the various foods. Back in the upstairs room afterward, though, he asked why Ezak was rushing so.

      “Two reasons,” Ezak said. “Firstly, the longer she has to think about it, the more likely she’ll settle on some way of disposing of her husband’s magic where we can’t get at it. And secondly, we just barely have enough money left to pay the bill for two nights here; if we’re still here for a third, everything gets more complicated.”

      “Oh,” Kel said. “So you want to steal the sorcery and get out quickly?”

      “Exactly.”

      Kel nodded. That made sense to him. There was only one thing more to say.

      “Good night,” he told Ezak, as he climbed into bed.

      CHAPTER TWO

      The dead sorcerer’s house was the largest of the four that surrounded the square, though still not exactly a mansion; Kel judged it to be roughly the same size as the inn. A line of black ash marked the red-painted front door, indicating that the occupants of the house were in mourning. The country around them smelled of moist earth just now, a scent that reminded Kel pleasantly of cellars, and a warm spring breeze stirred the air as he waited for Ezak to knock.

      Ezak rapped gently, careful to keep his knuckles well clear of the ash.

      “Who is it?” Dorna’s voice called.

      “Ezak of Ethshar.”

      “Just a moment.”

      Kel wished that Ezak had mentioned that he was there, too; he didn’t want to startle anyone. He didn’t want to call out himself, though, so he waited silently.

      When Dorna opened the door she didn’t seem surprised to see him there behind his friend. “Good morning! Come in, both of you,” she said, swinging the door wide and moving aside to make room.

      Ezak smiled and stepped into the house, with Kel following a step or two behind, but then he stopped so abruptly that Kel bumped into him, knocking him another step forward. Kel looked up at Ezak, startled. Ezak was staring at the room they had just entered. Kel looked around to see what had surprised him.

      The room was large, taking up perhaps half the ground floor of the house, large enough that it needed two pillars to help support the ceiling, but Kel didn’t think that was so very remarkable. There were two couches, and four armchairs, all upholstered in dark red; there were a few tables of various heights and sizes. The plank floor was mostly covered with an assortment of rugs, and the windows all had dark red drapes, which Kel supposed must be somewhat unusual out here in the country. The walls were largely hidden by shelves full of…full of things.

      That must be what Ezak was staring at, Kel realized—the things on the shelves. And standing in the corners. And hanging from the ceiling on wires. Kel had no idea what the things were, though. They were a variety of colors, and came in thousand different shapes and sizes—the ones in the corners were there because they were too big to fit on any shelf, while others were so tiny they were stored in jars. Most of them were shiny, to one degree or another. Some were completely featureless, while others were covered with peculiar decorations and protrusions. None of them were familiar. The room smelled of oil, metal, and some spice Kel could not identify.

      “Nabal…Nabal did well for himself, I see,” Ezak said, a little hoarsely.

      “Yes, he did,” Dorna said, glancing around at the mysterious objects. “There are rather a lot of them, aren’t there?”

      Kel wanted to ask what they were talking about, but he resisted. That was the sort of question that could get him in trouble. He did not want to ruin Ezak’s scheme, whatever it was.

      “Yes,” Ezak said.

      “What brings you here this morning?” Dorna asked.

      It took a moment for Ezak to tear his gaze from the shelves and reply, a delay long enough that Kel almost said something himself. He was deterred, though, by not knowing what to say—why had they come?

      “Oh, we just wanted to offer our condolences, and to ask once more whether there is anything we can do to aid you in your time of sorrow.”

      “Ah,” Dorna said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

      Ezak swallowed. “Oh?”

      “I don’t think I need any advice; I can make up my own mind on most matters. If you really just want to be helpful, though—well, as you can see, my husband had a good many talismans. With Nabal gone, I don’t think I want to stay here in the village; this was always more his home than mine, it isn’t where I grew up, and everything here reminds me of him. I don’t see any point in returning to my home village, either—my family there has all died or moved away, and after more than thirty years I doubt anyone else there even remembers me. I thought I might go to Ethshar of the Sands, instead, and buy myself a little tea shop there to keep myself busy. I’m very fond of tea. I can sell some of Nabal’s magic to other sorcerers there to pay for it—there really isn’t anyone around here who could buy them, but in Ethshar there are dozens of sorcerers. The thing is, all these talismans are a lot to move, and a woman traveling alone with valuables is at risk. If you really want to be helpful, perhaps you could assist me in transporting them, and accompany me to the city?” She smiled, and Kel reconsidered his opinion of her appearance—when she smiled, she was much prettier than he had realized.

      “We’d be delighted to give you a hand,” Ezak said, smiling back at her.

      Kel didn’t say anything. Carrying all that stuff looked like a lot of work, but at least it wasn’t something that would get him in trouble. He wished Ezak would ask about maybe getting paid for it, though.

      “How were you planning to move it all?” Ezak asked.

      “Oh, I’ll be buying a wagon,” Dorna said.

      “Ah,” Ezak said, looking around.

      “A large wagon,” Dorna added.

      “Indeed. I wonder whether perhaps dear Nabal had any sorcerous devices that might assist us in the task of moving—magical transport of some sort, or lifting devices? Perhaps I could take a look…?”

      Dorna shook her head. “I think we’ll do fine with our hands and an ordinary wagon.”

      Ezak bowed. “As you please.” He smiled. “When will the wagon be available?”

      She smiled again. “You seem very eager to get started.”

      “Ah, no! I am in no hurry, my dear. I merely wish to know how soon we must bid the delightful Irien farewell.”

      The smile vanished. “You know, she’s the one thing here I