The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [171]
“You didn’t have—”
“Lerris.” The tone was firm. “You didn’t have to do what you did. All I ask is that you do your best to keep the innocents from getting hurt too badly.”
“I’ll do what I can.” I knew exactly what he meant. Whether what he wanted was within my power was another question entirely.
I saddled Gairloch, then put the staff into the holder, and added the saddlebags.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Kyphrien first, to answer your question.”
“And then?”
“That depends on the answer. Probably into the Westhorns to find something I’ve avoided.”
Brettel pursed his lips. “Good luck.”
He walked me part way to the road. Even though she never left the porch, I could tell Deirdre was crying, and my own breath was ragged. For some reason, as I turned Gairloch onto the north road in the twilight and drew my reflective cloak around me, I thought of Justen, the gray wizard, wondering how many good-byes he had said over the years, and how many times he had returned to find only change and death waiting.
LVII
IN ADDITION TO making my way to Kyphrien, that maligned capital of Kyphros, I had one other little chore to attend to, one I wasn’t exactly thrilled about as Gairloch and I plodded back around the north road again.
This time I chose the east gate, not because east was where we were going, but because the guards there were the sloppiest. Nothing ever came from the east.
The main trade roads ran north and south, and south was the road to Kyphros, which is where I was headed and where the prefect’s troops all rode or marched. The east road, as I well knew, only straggled across broad farmlands from the Easthorns, and few traders or anyone else traveled that route.
Sloppy or not, I stopped well beyond the guards, listening behind my cloak of light, and checking the ramparts above the gate. There were no bowmen on duty. The sun had dropped behind the city, and the shadows were long.
“…Rephren should be here…”
“…bastard’s late…”
Creaakkkk…
“Another damned farm wagon.”
“It’s your turn…”
“…lazy frigger…”
As they turned to the farm wagon, I dropped the reflective cloak and let Gairloch walk toward the guards.
Click…click…click…
“Where he’d come from?”
The stouter guard turned to me. “Where to, fellow?”
I gestured vaguely. “The mountains.” With mountains in three directions, it was an honest answer, especially since it was true.
“What’s that?” He pointed at the staff, which I had purposely left unconcealed.
“That’s my staff.” I edged Gairloch practically on top of the poor man, forcing him to back up.
“I don’t know…wasn’t there something…?” He frowned, looking at the other guard, who was pawing half-heartedly through empty sacks piled around a few open sacks of potatoes in the wagon bed. A grizzled farmer, clearly waiting to head home with what he had not sold, watched silently from the wagon’s bench seat as the younger guard checked the produce.
“I’m sure there was, officer,” I said politely, “but since I’m leaving it can’t matter that much.” I flicked the reins and guided Gairloch around him.
“Wait…you!”
At that point I drew the cloak around us, and spurred Gairloch down the stone ramp.
“Wizard! That fellow was a wizard!”
“…huhh…what fellow…”
I left them to sort it out.
Cling! Clang! Cling! Clang!
By the time the alarm chimes rang, I had eased up on Gairloch and began to let him walk until we reached a narrowed lane, which would, in time, wind its way back around Fenard to meet up with the south road toward Kyphros.
Before long Antonin or Sephya, or both of them, would be back. They could not have missed the change in the city’s order-chaos balance. Even now I could feel it, and I suspected a great many illusions were wearing thin, perhaps even those cloaking the street of harlots. Then again, understanding how even I liked to deceive myself about women, perhaps not.
Gairloch walked on, his steps shorter, as they always were when