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Gannon stepped close, and the sword struck at him.
Sidra held it two-handed, saying, “Behave.”
“You don’t frighten me, little knife,” the sorcerer said.
“Not afraid,” the sword whined. “No fun.” The sword turned in her hands as if looking for something. “Where is bard? Bard fears Leech. Baard,” the sword called, drawing the word out in a singsong, “Baard.”
“Silence, Leech.” Sometimes the blood blade seemed aware of everything that went on. It would spring from its sheath ready for action. At other times it acted as if it had been asleep until called. Sidra wondered what, if anything, the blood blade dreamed of. She doubted she would enjoy the answer, and she knew Leech would lie about it anyway. Blood blades were notorious liars.
She told the sword only that the bard was away. If the sword knew that Milon’s life was at stake, it would demand a larger blood price.
Sidra sheathed Leech but left its locks undone in case she needed it quickly. The blade did not fight being sheathed; it was strangely content tonight. It hummed one of Milon’s own tunes—Leech’s favorite—“Lord Isham and the Goose Girl.” There were two versions: one for the taverns and one for the prince’s halls. Leech, of course, preferred the bawdy version.
She persuaded the blade to stop humming and scouted the house. She was a flicker of shadow, gone before you could look directly at it.
She returned to Gannon. “Two doors: this one and another that leads into a small yard. Both doors are posted with warning signs. They’re both warded.”
It was the law in Selewin that you had to post signs for wardings. There had been too many innocent people killed.
“All windows are barred, no traps that I could see.”
She asked Gannon, “What kind of warding is on the front door?”
He concentrated a moment, staring at the door, and then said, “Fire, powerful enough to kill whatever touches it.”
Sidra gave a low hiss. “I thought death wards had to be marked as such?”
“By law they do.”
“Can you get us past it?”
“Yes, but stay well back while I’m testing it.”
Sidra knew what would happen if he failed to negate the warding. He would die, and he didn’t want to risk her life as well. But Gannon had risked himself before, as had they all.
Sidra nodded, and Gannon walked alone into the street. He pressed his hands wide and moved them toward the door. Leech began to hum a drum roll. “Brrrrrm, brrrrm.”
“Hush.”
The sword did not stop but only hissed an accompaniment as the sorcerer touched the door. Gannon’s back bowed outward, and the sword hissed a crescendo. Sidra slapped the sword’s sheath, and it made a muffled sound and fell silent.
Gannon was walking toward them, cape pulled close about him. The door looked just the same to Sidra. A sorcerous ward was always invisible until you tripped it, unless you had eyes that could see magic.
The sorcerer stepped into the alley, and Sidra said, “Let me see your hands.”
He hesitated only a moment, then drew them from inside his cloak. The palms were scorched and hung heavy with huge watery blisters.
Sidra drew a hissing breath. “Gannon, can you go on like that?”
He shrugged and grimaced. “There will be many sorceries I cannot do with injured hands. I can still levitate and teleport, but not much else.”
“Our luck is low tonight.” She touched his shoulder. “It is up to you, Gannon. I cannot ask you to go on.”
“No one asked me to come.”
She nodded. It was his choice, and she would not tell him to stay behind.
The door looked ordinary enough except for the sign next to it that read, “Warning. WARDINGS in place. Please ring bell.” A brass bell hung from a bracket by the door, its cord swinging uneasily in the night wind.
Sidra knelt beside the door and touched the rough wood. No fire, no warding—Gannon had done his job. The lock was cheap and easily picked. All that money on a sorcerous ward, then skimping on the lock itself. Bardolf wasn’t spending his money wisely.
She reached for Leech, and it leapt to her hand. Shield held close, she pushed open the door. They had just stepped into the inky blackness when Gannon said, “Someone teleports nearby.”
There was no time for stealth. If they hoped to trace the teleport, they had to find the point of departure quickly. Gannon said, “This way.” Against all caution, she let the wizard lead in a mad flight up the broad stairs. Two dim lanterns threw pools of shadow and light on the steps. She glimpsed her own reflection in half a dozen gilt-edged mirrors. Glass and gold were both rare and costly. Bardolf was well off indeed.
Light spilled from a room at the end of a long hallway. Dark rooms with closed doors led up to that one shining door. Sidra pushed past Gannon so she could enter the room first.
It was a bedroom. Silks and pillows were strewn over the carpet like a child’s toys, used and carelessly forgotten. A huge candelabra hung from the ceiling, and it sparkled like pure gold. A sobbing woman knelt on the carpet. Her raven-black hair was thrown over her face, and she curled naked near a pile of clothing.
Gannon strode to the middle of the room and picked up a now-blank scroll. He sniffed it as if he were a hound on the scent of a fox and said, “I have it.”
There was no time, and Sidra stood beside the sorcerer. As the woman glanced up, Sidra had a glimpse of a lovely pale face that was bruised and battered.
The world spun and Sidra caught her breath. They faced outward, back to back. Sidra crouched, sword and shield ready. Then she recognized the throne room of Duke Haydon. Bardolf had run home to his daddy. Someone shouted orders, and the room was suddenly full of the red and silver of Duke Haydon’s guards. Sidra wondered if they would have time to explain before someone died.
It was the head of the guards, Jevik, who recognized them and called, “Hold!” He strode forward through his men and stood before Sidra. He sheathed his sword, and she did likewise. Leech complained about missing such a lovely sight.
Jevik only blinked. He had fought beside her and tasted the sword’s humor before. “Why are you here like this, Sidra?”
“It is a long story, Jevik. But we give chase to an outlaw.”
“What sort of outlaw?”
“One who would kill a bard.”
“Did this bard give up his safe conduct?”
“He never had the chance. He was attacked in his room, alone.”
Jevik waved the guards back and said, “And how did you trace this outlaw here?”
“Gannon traced a teleport.”
“Come, we will talk to the duke,” Jevik said.
The guards had formed a wary but respectful line to either side of the newcomers. Lord Haydon himself sat upon his throne. His beard was still as full and gray as before. He did not shave because it was court fashion to be smooth-faced. And he did not waste sorcery on looking younger than his years. He smiled a greeting at them and extended his hands.
“Sidra Ironfist, you who saved my castle and all that I own.” She bowed and took his hands. He touched hands with Gannon and saw the sorcerer wince. The duke drew a sharp breath when he saw Gannon’s hands. “Go with one of the guards and use my own healer.”
Sidra did not like the idea of Gannon being separated from her. He looked at her a moment, smiled, and followed a guard from the room. He was right, of course. When a noble offers you hospitality, you do not refuse it.
“Now, Sidra, tell me what has brought you here so unexpectedly.”
She told the story quietly, leaving out only the name of the curse-maker.
Haydon’s eyes were a glittering icy blue when she finished. “It is against all civilized laws to harm a bard. How are we to hear of the great deeds of heroes if bards are not safe in battle?” He asked her then, “And do you have a name for this outlaw?”
“Yes, my lord. It is Bardolf the Curse-Maker.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. An angry flush crept up his neck. “These are grave accusations, Sidra. If you leave now and say no more of this, I will let it pass.”
“It pains me to have to bring you such news, Duke Haydon, but it is the truth. I swear it.”
He took a deep breath that shook with rage and perhaps a touch of apprehension. Sidra wondered if others had come before her and told tales of evil against Bardolf. If so, they had been bullied into silence. Sidra would not be bullied. She did not want to believe that Haydon would simply kill her out of hand, but if that was the case, she would not die easily.
