Masques (Sianim #1)(52)

The Uriah hesitated. "She is extraordinarily good with disguises. She can blend in anywhere. She is deadly with a quarter-staff or knife. The only other weapon I've seen her use is a sword. She is competent enough, but no expert. She may know a little magic, although she never said anything about it."

"Why do you think that?" The ae'Magi was starting to tense in his chair.

"I saw that wolf of hers when she first found him. He was in rough shape. He was almost healed not a week later. She always claimed that she simply had a way with herbs."

The Magician looked a lot like his son when he let the perpetual smile drop from his face. "You say that she was a healer? That she was good with disguises?" There was a thread of panic in the Magician's voice, the Uriah noted with a touch of satisfaction even as it indicated its agreement with a slight bow.

"Describe her to me."

"She is short and pale-skinned, even with a tan. Brown hair, blue-green eyes. Sturdily built. She moves fast."

The ae'Magi compared the description to the girl in the dungeon and came to an interesting conclusion. "Shapeshifter," he murmured, "You said she had a wolf?"

"Yes."

The ae'Magi remembered abruptly that he'd recently had another escape from his castle. That girl had been aided by a wolf that had killed a pack of the ae'Magi's Uriah.

While the ae'Magi was distracted the Uriah stealthily moved closer to him, hand on sword, fierce craving in its eyes.

"Leave me," the ae'Magi ordered abruptly, backing his command with magic. The Uriah skulked out, growling with frustrated hunger.

Alone, Geoffrey ae'Magi, Lord of the Magicians, set his boots on the finely polished surface of the desk and contemplated the empty fireplace.

* * *

ARALORN WAS TOO TIRED TO WAKE UP WHEN THE COVERING was pulled back, letting the cool air sweep over her warm body. She moaned when gentle hands probed her ribs, but felt no urgent need to open her eyes. She heard a soft sound of dismay as her hands were unwrapped. A touch on her forehead sent her back into sleep.

* * *

IT WAS THE SOUND OF VOICES THAT WOKE HER THE SECOND time, a few minutes later, much more alert. The nausea that was the usual companion to both beggar's-blessing use and magical travel had dissipated.

She noticed that she was in the library, covered with a brightly colored quilt. A familiar cloak, Wolf's, lay carelessly tossed over the back of the sofa. She started to sit up, only to realize that the clothing scattered on the floor was what she had been wearing. Hastily she pulled the blankets up to her neck to protect her dignity just as Myr came around a bookcase.

"So he did manage to find you," commented Myr with a wide smile. "I see that you're more or less intact after your experience with the ae'Magi's hospitality. I must say, though, that it will be a long time before I loan you any of my clothes again. I didn't bring many with me." The pleasure and relief in his voice was real; she was surprised and not a little flattered that he cared so much about someone he'd known such a short time.

Aralorn smiled back at him and started to say something, but noticed that Wolf, who had followed Myr, was focusing intently on her hands. She followed his gaze to where her hands gripped the top of the blanket. Ten healthy nails dug into the cloth. The beggar's-blessing had left her wits begging too; she hadn't even noticed that she didn't hurt at all.

Aralorn nodded and answered Myr. "Yes. Though he wasn't the best of hosts. I only saw him two or three times the whole time I was there."

Myr perched on the end of the sofa near Aralorn's feel and looked, for once, as young as he was. "And he prides himself on his treatment of guests," he said with a mournful shake of his head. "It doesn't even look like he left you any mementoes."

"Well," said Aralorn, looking at her hands again, "actually he did, but I seem to have lost them." She met Myr's interested look and waved her hands at him. "Last time I looked, my hands were missing the fingernails."

"How is your breathing?" asked Wolf.

Aralorn took a deep breath. "Fine. Is this your healer's work?"

Wolf shook his head. "No, I told you that he was not experienced enough to do more than he did." Wolf glanced at Myr. "I saw a few new people here; are any of them healers?"

"No," replied Myr, disgust rich in his voice, "nor are they hunters, tanners, or cooks. We have six more children, two nobles and a bard. The only one who is of any help is the bard, who is passably good with his knives. The two nobles sit around watching everyone else work or decide to wander out in the main cave system so that a search party has to be sent out."

"You might try just letting them wander next time," commented Wolf.

Myr smiled slowly. "Now there's an idea." Then he shook his head with mock sorrow. "No, it wouldn't work. With my luck they'd run into the dragon and lead it back here."

"Dragon?" asked Aralorn in a startled tone, almost dropping her blanket.

"Or something that looks an awful lot like one. It's been seen by two or three of the hunting parties, although it hasn't seen them yet," replied Myr.

"I guess I must have found its tracks the day I ran into the Uriah - or at least I found the tracks of something big. It was about six miles away and traveling fast. Where have you sighted it?" asked Aralorn.