AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Lady Caris, who’d come along, lifted both eyebrows and murmured, “Duke Arthur, have you met the Storm-Wielder and the Shadow; they’ve been in my employ…”
Aric kind of wanted to argue that—technically it was true, but they weren’t part of her retinue—but did not have the time, because Drefan, in a tactically unfortunate decision, had pulled out a long knife and was waving it around.
“Put it away,” Aric said.
“Or what? Your witch will kill me?” Drefan glared at Caris. “You took everything that was meant for me. My life. You should have died on that bridge. Why couldn’t you?”
“I have friends,” Caris said. “You, it seems, do not.”
“Who is this person,” Duke Arthur said, “and why is he causing problems in my town? Do I need to call the guard?”
“No,” Aric said, “we can handle it. Em, think he’s just got the one knife? No magic, none of that?”
Em folded both arms. “Nothing else.”
“Fantastic.”
Drefan took a step forward, knife out.
Aric also took a step forward, and didn’t even bother with anything fancy, just a quick disarming and a thump across the man’s arm for good measure, with the flat of his own blade, no blood. He did let the tip of his sword linger: right under the idiot’s chin.
“Very nice,” Duke Arthur approved. “Show me that again, later, if you would? Of course you and the Shadow are welcome to stay for the party; I do know who you are, you know. And Sudgarth would very much like to be your friend. Did you really stab the Baron of Caer Paranth in the thigh, for attempting indecorous liberties with one or both of you? Please tell me that rumor’s true. It was about time someone did; he’s an awful person. I’m happy to throw this particular awful person in the cells for a while, if that suits everyone.”
Aric shrugged a shoulder. “Works for me.”
“Excellent.” The Duke’s personal guards materialized to haul Drefan away. Arthur said brightly, “Back to the feast? Caris, my dear, that cerise color is stunning, I need all of it. Gwendolyn loves it, you know, and I want her to have everything she desires.” His eyes lit up when speaking of his bride, even more so than when speaking of hideous fabrics.
“We’ll be up at the festivities in a little while,” Aric said. He glanced at Em, saw the nod: about the party, and about his own answer. “We have one more stop.”
Chapter 6
The witch’s shop was small, sun-streaked, white-painted, scented with herbs and oils and resins and old paper. It sat down a narrow side street, and had a simple sign, lavender and ivy and an ash tree. It felt clean, Aric thought, and said so.
Em, still in her new long coat, a petite shape of onyx and sapphire, nodded. “It’s warm.”
“What’re you planning to do?”
“I’m not sure yet. If—”
The witch himself emerged from the back room, saw a tall blond Northern mercenary and a short spiky-haired grey-eyed magician, and dropped his book onto the shop’s floor.
“Don’t try to run,” Aric said, cheerfully.
“No. I know who you are. It wouldn’t do me any good, would it?” The man might’ve been an owl, a scholar, a scribe: tall and thin, tufts of greying brown hair, darker brown skin, ink on his right hand. He even had on spectacles, small lenses of glass. “The Storm-Wielder and the Shadow…I’d say it’s an honor but I can only assume I’ve done something to displease you…”
“You sold a charm,” Aric said, “to a man who used it to destroy the Haver Falls bridge. Why?”
“Oh, dear, but that shouldn’t’ve worked!” The witch spread his hands, took a step, tripped over his fallen book. “Oh, drat, the Euberius…”
Em knelt, picked up the volume, dusted it off, handed it back. She wasn’t outwardly smiling, but Aric knew her expressions. “You didn’t mean it to work, did you?”
“No, I tried not to. I wouldn’t…oh, dear, can I offer you tea? Spice cake? I’ve got quite a lot…a client paid for her sleeping herbs with it, in trade, you see, she’s a lovely baker…” He flung a wide-eyed glance around the shop. “Er…would you like to sit down?”
“Not really here for cake,” Aric said.
“I like cake,” Em said. “But we do need to have a conversation.”
“Oh, dear…” The witch melted onto the stool behind the counter. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
