The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [136]
The Old One made Baruma’s head turn and look from side to side, but he could see nothing more of any interest, only the stone pillars and the rain. Slowly and carefully he made Baruma’s body stand up, stumbling a little until he gained full control. At the movement both Hawks looked up automatically, then returned to their game. Although the master never moved, not so much as a twitch, the Old One was willing to wager that he was perfectly aware of the movement. Wearing Baruma’s body like a suit of armor, he strolled down to the end of the shelter, turned back, paced a few steps and otherwise moved round to practice controlling this borrowed physical vehicle. With part of his mind he was aware of Baruma, whimpering and frightened at being so suddenly forced out into the etheric, but it was a weak distraction that he could ignore.
When he was ready, he strode back down to the fire and with a curse woven of evil names, forced the salamanders to flare up in a pillar of flame. All three Hawks leapt to their feet and swirled to face him—with sudden weapons in their hands.
“I am the Old One, not Baruma. If you kill this body, he’ll die, not me.”
The Hawkmaster flicked one hand; his confederates’ weapons disappeared into the folds of their clothing. Slowly, with an impressive disdain, the master slipped his own dagger into a hidden sheath.
“I’ve heard of such things being done. Why are you here?”
“To talk. To strike a bargain, perhaps. The Master of the Aethyr’s going to be a hard bird to net. I might be interested in hiring you again.”
“I see.” The Hawkmaster allowed himself a short bark of a laugh. “If I want to take your cursed money, anyway. Thanks to your little scheme, three of my best men are dead, and a fourth captured.”
“My scheme? Did I ask you to snatch the bait out of my trap? You were following the barbarian boy for reasons of your own. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. Don’t blame me if something went wrong with your plans.”
“Very well, then, I won’t. That ‘something’ is every bit as dangerous to you as it is to me, though.”
“If it wasn’t, would I be here bargaining with you? There’s another dweomerman involved in this, isn’t there?”
“Exactly—the man who rescued Rhodry in the first place. And I agree that we’d be better off working together. If I’m going to kill the Master of the Aethyr on the road, I’ll need the information you can give me.”
“Kill the …?” For the first time in years, the Old One laughed, a deep belly laugh that left his borrowed body shaking on the edge of his control. “You utterly arrogant idiot! You? Kill the Master of the Aethyr on the road just as if you were a common bandit and him some piddling merchant? I’m amazed. I’m stunned. It passes all description.”
The Hawkmaster’s dark face was suffused with a dangerous sort of purple.
“If I can lull an archon in the middle of his palace, when every door and window and even the god-cursed cracks in the ceiling are swarming with guards, I can cursed well …”
“You can do nothing against the Master of the Aethyr. Leave him to me. Come to my villa; Baruma knows where it is. We’ll lay a trap for him there.”
Slowly the Hawkmaster’s color returned to normal, and he smiled.
“Oh, I’ll come all right. But I’ll bring Nevyn’s head with me. I know a thing or two about traps.”
“Fool!”
The Old One slipped out of Baruma’s body and allowed its owner’s soul to rush in just as the Hawkmaster stepped forward and slapped it across the face. Whining and groveling, Baruma sank to his knees while the Old One withdrew his consciousness and returned through the mirror to his own body, propped in its chair back in his comfortable study in the villa.
As soon as he was fully awake, he laughed again. The Hawkmaster had taken the bait exactly as he’d hoped. No matter how the battle went, the Old One would profit. If, by some small miracle the Hawkmaster did indeed kill Nevyn, then the Old One could eliminate the assassin easily, any time he chose. It was much more probable, of course,