The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [81]
"Hurrrrrt."
"Go ahead, Thero."
The wizard carefully laid his hand on Sebrahn's arm, and to everyone's relief the spell took effect without incident. The faded-looking brand stood out against his brown skin. Thero placed the last one on his leg, and it was over.
"I suppose you'll need slave collars, as well."
"We'll just have to find a blacksmith who won't ask any questions," said Micum. "I know a man over in Riverton who could do the job, and he's only three days from here. It's a bit out of our way, but he's got the craft and the sense to keep his mouth shut if anyone comes asking."
"I don't like it," said Seregil. "What more obvious crumb could we leave in our trail than having someone make Plenimaran slave collars all the way over here?" He turned to Thero again. "Nysander was pretty handy with metal. Do you know any of that magic?"
"He did teach me some, as one type of the transformations. I only mastered it on gold, silver, and iron, though."
Seregil weighed his purse in one hand. "Not enough gold or silver, and Micum probably doesn't look rich enough to have slaves of that quality."
"Rather you don't look like you're good enough quality," Micum shot back with a grin.
"Indeed," Thero said with a dry smile. "As for the collars, if I'm to work metal, I'll need some rest first. You lot are very demanding!"
Seregil chuckled at that, then disappeared downstairs, returning a few minutes later with a pair of kitchen shears. With a resigned sigh, he cut Alec's braid off just below the nape of his neck, then trimmed up the ragged ends. "It's shorter than mine now. But you're right, it would have gotten you noticed." He paused and yawned. "You three get some sleep. I'll take the first watch. I have some thinking to do."
He wrapped himself in his cloak and made his way downstairs to the mostly deserted taproom. Sitting by the hearth nursing an ale, he waited until the servants and the few lingering rum pots had gone to bed, then pulled a chair over to the west-facing window. Snow was falling again, and clouds covered the moon, making it too dark to see much. He kept watch, anyway, as his thoughts turned again to the strange masked riders and that arrowhead.
I hope we did kill you, you bastards, whoever you are!
CHAPTER 19
Useful Magic
THERO WOKE at dawn to find the others already awake. A sooty fire poker and a rusty crowbar lay on the bed beside him.
Seregil was sitting near the window with his bare feet propped on the sill and his fingers laced around a steaming mug, looking pleased with himself. "These were the best I could find, unless you can work with a sack of horseshoe nails."
"I could do with some tea first," Thero grumbled, sitting up and combing his fingers back through his disheveled curls.
Micum handed him a mug and Thero gratefully inhaled the steam, which smelled of a passable quality leaf. "So, can you tell me exactly what you want them to look like?"
Seregil smoothed a square of stained blotting paper out on the bed. On it were drawn two fairly detailed collars, each open on one side, with flattened ends and rivet holes, presumably where the thing would be fastened around the unfortunate slave's neck. Seregil was a more than passable artist, and Thero could make out the simple patterns he'd decorated them with. "I didn't know they could be so fancy."
"The type of collar speaks to the owner's means and taste," Seregil explained. "A rich man's favorite could have a gold or silver collar, decorated quite nicely. You almost forget it's not just jewelry."
Setting his mug aside, Thero picked up the poker and ran his hands over it, familiarizing himself with the metal. Iron was less malleable than gold or silver, but not as resistant to magic as silver. He continued stroking the poker as he closed his eyes and began to visualize what he wanted. He imagined it becoming a long roll of beeswax, and felt the heat under his fingers as the iron responded, beginning to bend. He pulled back a