The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [55]
Although Baruma had yet to become a member of the Outer Circle, he was no rank beginner, and he made the contact almost at once. On the surface of the pool of ink the Old One’s face spread out, trembling a little from the palsy that afflicted him in cold weather. While Baruma told his story, the Old One listened with half-closed eyes.
“You were right to report this,” he said at last. “I’ve suspected for some time that someone else’s been tracking Rhodry down, and this confirms it.”
“Indeed?” Baruma went a little cold—he should have known that not even a Hawkmaster could hide treachery from the Old One. “Well, it’s reasonable that they’d be the same ones who sent this wolf, then.”
“It may be a wolf, but they are dogs—puppies, even.” The old man seemed to be chuckling to himself. “They misjudge me, my friend, because I look like a fat slug on a garden leaf, and they think I spend my days crawling in the slime. Huh. A man of power still lives inside this loathsome casing, as no doubt they’ll discover, soon or later.”
“Er, sir? You don’t think this wolf could come from our old enemy, our ‘no one,’ do you?”
“No, no, no, you fool! The idiots who follow the mincing dweomer of light would never do such a thing.” His mind-touch oozed contempt. “Them and their petty little strictures, fit for women and slaves and nothing more! But enough! If we have enemies, we’d better not risk being overheard. Come to me soon, but make sure nobody’s following you. I’d rather wait to see you than have the wrong people follow along after.”
“Of course. I’ll be very very discreet.”
Once he broke the vision, he allowed himself a smile. Be cautious, eh? The Old One himself had just given him a good reason to delay his trip to the villa. He was feeling splendidly smug until he turned around and saw the wolf, gnawing on one of his traveling bags. With a little hop like a skipping lamb, Baruma yelped aloud.
Jill and Salamander arrived at Wylinth late in the next afternoon, with just enough time before sunset to rent a suite in the best inn that the place could offer. That evening, when they went to the marketplace to talk with the archon’s men about setting up a show, Jill kept a constant watch for Rhodry. Although she wanted to go door-to-door and ask for him at every house in the city, Salamander insisted that she be patient.
“I have a scheme, turtledove, most subtle, recondite, and, or so I hope, foolproof.”
“Listen, elf! I’ve had some experience of your wretched schemes, and they always take forever to unwind.”
“Not forever. Merely a decent interval of time. Jill, trust me yet once again, will you? If we rush, we could ruin everything. So far we don’t have the slightest reason to think the dark dweomer is aware of our presence in this esteemed archipelago, while we’ve been warned of theirs. The longer such remains the case, the happier, indeed the healthier, we shall all be.”
“Well, true spoken. But if we haven’t found him in an eightnight, then I’m going to start asking around.”
“Fair’enough. An eightnight it is.”
At least twice a week one or another of Alaena’s women friends would invite her over to tell fortunes. Although all the women in her set dabbled in astrology, the tiles, and other forms of divination, only she had any talent for it. The women took these sessions in deadly seriousness, even though Alaena foretold mostly small events such as a letter from an old friend or a visit from a relative. They were hoping she’d see the possibility of a romance, because in Bardek wealthy married women often had sentimental love