The Sorcerer's Widow Read online

  LEGENDS OF ETHSHAR

  The Misenchanted Sword

  With a Single Spell

  The Unwilling Warlord

  The Blood of a Dragon

  Taking Flight

  The Spell of the Black Dagger

  Night of Madness

  Ithanalin’s Restoration

  The Spriggan Mirror

  The Vondish Ambassador

  The Unwelcome Warlock

  Tales of Ethshar

  The Sorcerer’s Widow

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 2013 by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  All rights reserved.

  *

  Published by Wildside Press, LLC

  www.wildsidebooks.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kel shaded his eyes against the bright afternoon sun and gazed at the little cluster of buildings ahead. “Is that it?” he asked.

  “I suppose so,” Ezak replied, walking steadily up the path. “We followed the directions.”

  “It’s tiny,” Kel said, hurrying to catch up. “I see…” He paused and counted silently, jabbing his forefinger at the air, then said, “I see just six houses.”

  “Four,” Ezak corrected him. “One’s an inn and one’s a blacksmith’s forge.”

  “Four,” Kel said, musing. “Four? Just four houses?”

  “Just four. But there are at least thirty or forty families on the farms around it.”

  Kel glanced at the surrounding fields, and the scattered houses of the families that tended them, then turned his attention back to the village ahead—if so small a gathering could even be called a village. “This sorcerer lived in one of the four?” he asked.

  “That’s what Uncle Vezalis said.”

  “Who lives in the other three?”

  Ezak turned up an empty palm. “Who knows? Some of the farmers, I suppose.” He gestured at the fields. “Somebody must be growing those crops, after all.”

  “Oh.” Kel once again looked around at the vast expanses of knee-high green stalks. “Is that wheat?”

  “I don’t know,” Ezak said. “Do I look like a farmer to you? I haven’t been outside the city walls any more than you have. It could be wheat or beans or pumpkins, for all I know.”

  Kel frowned. “I don’t think it’s pumpkins.”

  “Neither do I. Now, smile and wave—there’s someone looking at us.” He suited his own actions to his words, and Kel, seeing the two women standing in the cleared area among the six buildings, waved vigorously.

  “Do you think one of them is the sorcerer’s widow?“ Kel asked, lowering his hand.

  “Probably,” Ezak said through his forced smile.

  The two women were definitely watching the two young men approach; one of them waved back, a single quick gesture. The women were of very different heights but appeared to be similar in age—past the flower of youth, but not yet gray and wrinkled.

  A moment later the two men marched onto the little patch of bare earth that served as the village square and the village’s only street, then stopped and stood facing the two women. Kel realized the shorter woman was no taller than he was himself.

  Ezak slid his pack from his shoulder and said, “Hai! We’re looking for the home of Nabal the Sorcerer.”

  The two women glanced at each other; then the taller, darker one said, “I’m afraid Nabal’s dead.”

  “Yes, we had heard,” Ezak said. “We came to pay our respects, and to help build the pyre.”

  “You’re too late for that,” the dark woman said. “We spread his ashes on the fields a sixnight ago.”

  “Ah, what a shame!“ Ezak slumped visibly. “He was a good man.”

  The shorter woman spoke for the first time. “You knew Nabal?”

  “We were apprenticed to the same master,” Ezak said proudly.

  The two women looked at each other. “You must have come well after him,” the tall woman said.

  “He made journeyman just as I turned twelve,” Ezak said, spreading empty hands. “He left in Rains and I started in Greengrowth of the same year, but I used to hang around and pester him when I was little.”

  “You don’t look that old,” the tall woman said.

  Kel glanced worriedly at Ezak. The story seemed to be getting out of control—how old was this Nabal? Ezak just smiled. “Well, thank you! I’ve been told I look younger than I am.”

  Kel looked at the women, unsure whether they were convinced. He could not read their expressions.

  “What did you say your name was?“ the shorter woman asked.

  “Ezak of Ethshar,” Ezak said. “Ezak the Sorcerer.”

  “Who’s he?” the taller woman asked, pointing a thumb at Kel.

  “Oh, that’s Kelder. He’s a friend of mine—it’s a long journey to make alone.”

  “Kelder. Just Kelder?”

  “We call him Kel,” Ezak offered.

  Before anyone asked, Kel volunteered, “I can talk. I just don’t, much.”

  “To whom do we have the honor of speaking?” Ezak asked quickly.

  The taller woman said, “Irien the Innkeeper.” She gestured toward the nearest building. “I have a room if you need one. This is Dorna. Nabal’s widow.”

  “Ah!“ Ezak turned to the shorter woman and bowed deeply. “My sympathies on your loss.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Kel murmured.

  “Thank you,” Dorna said, with a bob of her head.

  “I’m sorry we missed the funeral,” Ezak said. “I really did want to see his soul on its way. Is there anything we can do for you, then, to make up for our tardiness?“

  “No, I don’t think—”

  “Could you perhaps use our assistance with his talismans?“

  “No, I—”

  “I mean, you’ve lived out here all your life, while we’re from Ethshar—perhaps we could give you some advice on how to get the most money for whatever trinkets he might have had.”

  “Honestly, I’m fine,” Dorna said. “I haven’t decided yet what to do with his things. There’s no hurry.”

  “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush you,” Ezak said. “You take your time, all you want, and you can find us when you’ve decided. Meanwhile, dear Irien, you said you have a room? Even if we’ve missed the funeral, we’ve no need to rush off—this is such lovely country around here! Such fresh air!” He thumped both fists on his chest as he drew a deep breath.

  Kel watched this without comment, and did not imitate his friend; he thought the air out here smelled funny.

  “I have a room, if you have money,” Irien said.

  “Of course.” Ezak jingled the purse on his belt. Kel knew half the “coins” in it were just metal scraps Ezak had picked off a tinker’s floor, but the innkeeper didn’t.

  “This way,” she said, gesturing.

  The two men picked up their packs and followed her into the inn.

  Ten minutes later they were alone in a stuffy gable room overlooking the village square, Irien having promised to bring them up a pitcher of wash water. Ezak opened the casement, then settled onto the surprisingly-generous bed.

  “I don’t think the widow recognized your name,” Kel said, as he looked out the open window at the brown dirt square, the white and brown houses, and the endless green fields beyond.

  “Of course not,” Ezak said. “I never met this Nabal. My uncle knew him because they did some trading, that’s all.”

  Kel had suspected that, and he had indeed partly meant that Nabal had apparently never mentioned Ezak, but he had also been relieved that Uncle Vezalis hadn’t, either. “You said you knew the sorcerer.”

  “I lied. I want her to trust us. It’ll make it easier to get all his magical things away fro
m her.”

  Kel had feared that it was all lies. He knew that Ezak had never been apprenticed to a sorcerer. He had hoped there might be some trace of truth in the story, but apparently there was not. “It’s funny that you lie to her to make her trust you.”

  “Well, life can be strange. It seems to work that way.”

  A bird sang outside the window. Kel spotted it on a nearby cornice, and did not recognize it as any sort he had ever seen before. Most of the birds he was familiar with were sea birds, and would not be found this far inland. “Thank you for not telling her my full name,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. What should I tell her if she asks, though? There could be half a dozen people named Kelder around here; she may want an appellation.”

  “Anything. Just not Kelder the Blabbermouth.”

  “Or Kelder the Bastard, either. We’ll just say Kelder of Ethshar, then?“

  “That’s good.” He watched as the bird flew away, then asked, “Are you going to steal the sorcerer’s things?”

  “I’m hoping I can convince her to give them to me, or maybe sell them to me cheap, but I’ll steal them if I can’t get them any other way.”

  “I don’t want another flogging.”

  “I don’t want you to get one. I don’t intend to get caught this time.”

  “You didn’t intend to get caught last time.”

  “Well, I didn’t get caught, did I?“

  “But I did.”

  “Yes, and thank you again for not telling anyone it was my idea.”

  Kel turned up a palm. “It wouldn’t have done any good. They were going to flog me anyway. I didn’t want to be a blabbermouth.”

  “Thank you, all the same. So what did you think of the sorcerer’s widow?”

  Kel considered that for a long moment before replying, “She isn’t very pretty.”

  “She isn’t ugly, either, and I suppose old Nabal didn’t have much to choose from out here in the middle of nowhere. She probably looked better when she was younger.”

  “Maybe he didn’t worry about looks.”

  Ezak grimaced. “He was a sorcerer—the only magician in the village, maybe the only one in the entire region. He must have had his pick of all the girls here, so she must have been the best available. Which doesn’t say much for the local women, does it?”

  “Maybe she’s smart, instead of pretty.”

  Ezak snorted. “If she was smart, would she be living out here? This Nabal couldn’t have been all that bright, either, even if he was a sorcerer.”

  “Then how did he get to be a sorcerer?”

  Ezak turned up an empty palm, then fell back onto the bed, where he lay staring up at the carved beams of the ceiling. “He served an apprenticeship, like anyone else. You don’t need to be a genius to get through six years of running a master’s errands, or nine, or whatever it is for sorcerers. All you need to call yourself a sorcerer is your master’s say-so and a talisman or two.” He glanced toward the window. “But according to my uncle, this one had a lot more than one or two. Uncle Vezalis said this fellow had dozens of talismans he’d picked up somewhere. Those are what we’re after. This Nabal claimed he’d found a cache of stuff some Northerners hid during the Great War, but he was probably just trying to make it sound better than it was. I’d guess he inherited them when his master died.” He flung himself back on the bed.

  “His master died?”

  “I assume so. I don’t really know.”

  “You said you served under the same master—shouldn’t you know whether he died?”

  Ezak raised his head to glare at his friend. “Blood and death, Kel, I don’t even know his name! If anyone asks us about him, we’re just going to have to be vague, and change the subject as quickly as we can.”

  Kel considered that for a long moment, then said, “I don’t think coming here was a good idea, Ezak.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course it’s a good idea! A poor country widow with a houseful of sorcery and no children—we’ll be rich!”

  “You’re sure she has no children?”

  “Uncle Vezalis said the sorcerer was childless.”

  Kel considered this for a moment, imagining possibilities Uncle Vezalis might have missed—stepchildren, estranged children, siblings, cousins, in-laws, and so on—that could complicate matters. Then he said, “I don’t like your story, Ezak. I don’t think you know enough to fool her.”

  Ezak sat up to stare at his companion more easily. “I most certainly do,” he said. “I don’t need to know the master’s name; I can just call him ‘Master.’ And I don’t need to know whether he really died; if I get it wrong I can just say I was misinformed. My story is that I served my apprenticeship and then headed for Ethshar—I wouldn’t be up to date on the local news.”

  “Do you know where Nabal served his apprenticeship?”

  Ezak waved vaguely. “Some other village near here.”

  Kel did not reply in words, but the expression on his face made it clear he was not impressed with this answer.

  “Kel, it’ll be fine,” Ezak said. “She’s just a country bumpkin. It’ll be as easy as finding sand on a beach.”

  “I don’t want another flogging,” Kel repeated.

  “Look, even if it doesn’t work, we won’t be flogged! You think they even have a magistrate around here? Look at this place! If anything goes wrong, all we have to do is leave; no one’s going to bother coming after us. They won’t have any way to know which way we’ve gone!”

  “They could use magic to find us,” Kel said.

  “No, they can’t,” Ezak said, grinning. “The only magician this village ever had was Nabal the Sorcerer, and he’s dead.”

  “I thought…” Kel began, but then he stopped. It was obvious even to him that a village this small couldn’t support more than one magician. “I still don’t like it,” he said.

  “You don’t need to like it, you just need to do what I tell you to, and we’ll both be rich. Now, let me think just what…”

  He never said what he wanted to think about; a knock on the door interrupted him, and Kel admitted Irien with a pitcher and basin, and a few small towels. As she set the basin on the bedside table Ezak got to his feet.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Ezak said, bowing deeply. Kel said nothing, but just watched, and nodded when the innkeeper looked his way.

  “Supper’s an hour after sunset,” she said.

  Kel glanced out the window again, and saw that the sun was brushing the treetops on the western horizon.

  “Thank you,” Ezak repeated. “We’ll be down soon.”

  Irien left them, and Ezak closed the door behind her. “It was a long walk from Ethshar,” he said. “I’m going to take a nap before supper. Wake me, will you?”

  “All right,” Kel said, as Ezak climbed 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, hi
s 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.