The Sorcerer's Widow. Lawrence Watt-Evans

glanced at Ezak, wondering whether he knew what the two women were talking about. Why had Nabal stayed here?

      “That wasn’t just bravado? I always thought you were…well, I didn’t think you meant it. If you didn’t want to stay here, why did you?”

      Dorna turned up an empty hand. “Nabal was here,” she said. Her voice cracked. “And now he’s gone, so I’m leaving, and I’m asking if you’d like to come with me.”

      Irien looked up at the overhead beams, then back at the big stone hearth, then back at Dorna.

      “I’ll come,” she said. “I may not stay there, though. I don’t know whether I’ll like the city, but I admit I’m curious to see it.”

      “Good enough!” Dorna said with a broad smile. “We’ll leave as soon as my wagon is ready.”

      “It’s two days to the cartwright in Balgant, and two days back, assuming he has one on hand. Four days, then?”

      Ezak spoke up. “I would be happy to make that trip for you, if you like.”

      Dorna shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll send word right away. But I was thinking we might buy our wagons from farmers right here, and let them deal with the cartwright. I believe Grondar has one that would suit me.”

      “That’s a good thought,” Irien said.

      “We could load tonight, and leave tomorrow morning.”

      “You are in a hurry! What about your house?”

      “Anyone who wants it can have it.”

      Irien’s expression turned grave. “Dorna, aren’t you rushing a little? I know you’ve never been one to hesitate once your mind is made up, but are you sure you’re so eager to abandon everything you’ve known for the last thirty years or more? This isn’t your grief talking? Isn’t there anything in the house you’re sentimental about?”

      “I’m sure, Irien. These two young men have dispelled any doubts I might have had—surely, their arrival is a sign from the gods.”

      Kel shifted uncomfortably and looked at Ezak, who gestured for silence.

      “All right, then,” Irien said. “I’ll start packing, and we’ll leave whenever you’re ready.”

      “Good!” Dorna smiled. “I need to go take care of a few things.” She turned and swept past Kel, back out of the inn and headed toward her own house.

      Kel stepped aside as the widow passed, and watched her go. Now he turned back to find Ezak standing next to him. Irien was nowhere to be seen, and had presumably gone to do the packing she had mentioned.

      “Blast it,” Ezak said. “She’s coming with us.”

      Kel did not see that there was anything to be done about that, so he did not reply. Instead he said, “I don’t think we’re a sign from the gods.”

      Ezak, who had been staring at the departing Dorna, looked down at Kel. “What?”

      “I don’t think we’re a sign from the gods,” Kel repeated. “I don’t feel like a sign.”

      “Don’t be stupid,” Ezak said. “How do you know what a sign feels like? But it doesn’t matter what you think, anyway; what matters is that she thinks the gods sent us. If she does, then surely she’ll trust us.”

      That seemed like something of a leap to Kel, but she could not say exactly where the flaw in his friend’s logic was, so he did not say anything.

      “Come on,” Ezak said. “Let’s go see what we can do to help.” He marched out the door.

      Kel followed.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Some of the local farmers were not happy to learn that the sorcerer’s widow was leaving. Kel got the definite impression that while they might not have been her friends, they liked having her around. A sorcerer’s presence was a point of pride for the tiny village, and even with the sorcerer gone, his widow was better than nothing. Her departure would reduce the place’s prestige, such as it was.

      Losing the innkeeper was another blow, though the inn itself obviously wasn’t going anywhere. A few of the farm women made a point of questioning the smith to be sure he would not be following Dorna and Irien, as well.

      Despite not wanting Dorna to leave, Grondar did not refuse to sell her his wagon—she had not wasted time haggling, but had simply offered him twice what he had paid the cartwright, in hard coin, and he could hardly turn that down! She had also paid twice the going rate for four oxen to haul it.

      Another man, Hullod the Younger, had sold a wagon and a pair of oxen to Irien, though at a less generous price; Irien did haggle. Her resources, though vast compared to most of the locals, were far more limited than Dorna’s.

      But both sellers insisted on delaying delivery for a day, so that the village could give the two women a proper send-off. Other details arose, as well, and loading turned out to be a time-consuming task, as the sorcerous devices had to be handled with care, packed neatly and securely, and checked against their late owner’s catalogue. As a result, it was a good four days later, after a reasonably lavish feast and far too much time sorting and packing, that Dorna’s little caravan finally rolled out of the square, bound southeastward toward Ethshar.

      Kel had said as little as possible, and had tried to be as helpful as possible, throughout the various preparations and the farewell party. He had kept a watchful eye on Ezak, and had sometimes whispered a warning to his companion when he thought the bigger man was doing something unwise.

      That catalogue of talismans, for example—Ezak’s interest in it had been far too obvious for Kel’s liking.

      “I am supposed to be a sorcerer,” Ezak reminded him, when they were alone again. “Of course I’m interested in sorcery!”

      “You looked more interested than that,” Kel said.

      Ezak glared at him. Then he said, “It doesn’t matter anyway. I got a look at one page while she was checking it against the stuff we’d loaded, and I couldn’t make any sense of it. I don’t even know what language it’s in.”

      Kel blinked. They might be days away from the city here, but they were still well inside the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars. “It isn’t in Ethsharitic?”

      Ezak shook his head. “The runes are Ethsharitic, but the words are gibberish. Those little blue things, shiny on one side and dark on the other? They’re listed as gob opo zishin. That doesn’t sound like any language I ever heard!”

      “I guess sorcerers must have their own secret language,” Kel said, as much to himself as to Ezak.

      Other than the feast, which had been the best meal he had eaten in years, Kel’s favorite part of the preparations was that in all the confusion Irien neglected to collect what Ezak and Kel owed her for their stay at the inn. That was very welcome, since so far as Kel knew, they did not actually have the money. Ezak had spent what little coin they had when they arrived on assorted small purchases, in an attempt to make them look wealthy—after all, he was still pretending to be a sorcerer, and magicians always had money. Kel thought it would be far more convincing if he had actually demonstrated some sort of magic, but that was beyond Ezak’s ability; his very limited skills in sleight of hand might possibly pass as minor wizardry, but bore no resemblance to any sorcery Kel had ever seen.

      In the end the little company did get under way one cool still morning, with all the talismans loaded in the big open wagon Dorna had bought from Grondar, while the personal possessions of all four travelers were on the much smaller covered wagon Irien had bought from Hullod. A heavy yellow cloth was tied down over the sorcerous devices in Dorna’s wagon, to keep them from bouncing out. Ezak expressed some concern about whether that would be sufficient in the event of rain, and Dorna almost laughed at him. “Didn’t your master ever tell