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blindness and darkness, hoping he could sense the approach of twilight, and
worrying about Ludren and the other lancers. He d needed the diversion, but he
hadn t liked using them. You didn t hesitate there.
In all likelihood, many would have died in combat somewhere& Are you sure?
Or did you choose what benefited you? He nodded. He d chosen what helped him,
and nothing was going to change that. He just hoped he didn t end up like
Jeslek and Sterol.
Although the road seemed silent, Cerryl waited a time longer, conscious of
the sweat that oozed down his back. Finally, he released the shield and
quickly studied the road and the cot.
The peasant had disappeared, and smoke rose from the earthen-brick chimney
of the cot. The sun hung over the hills to the west, those low hills that led
to the Westhorns.
The road was empty, except for a cart that creaked southward, already past
Cerryl and heading toward Southbrook or Tellura or some other town that Cerryl
and the lancers had skirted on their ride toward Fenard. No lancers waited on
the hilltop.
Cerryl waited, sipping his water until the sun dropped behind the hills.
Only then did he urge his mount toward the river to drink, and then he waited
until the sky was nearly full dark before traveling the last kay or so toward
Fenard, halting in the gloom several hundred cubits from the gates.
A half-squad of armsmen or lancers stood under the torches by the gates,
waiting, their posture signifying boredom.  Someone s out there& 
Cerryl eased the light shield around him and the chestnut. Did he dare try
to walk through the gates-just shielded? Virtually half-blind? He sat on the
gelding& waiting&
 Don t see a thing. You get jumpy every time a rat climbs out of the sewer
ditches. One of the guard s voices drifted through the darkness.
 I did see something.
 Any of you others see anything? Cerryl held his breath.
 See, Nubver& there s no one out there. Overcaptain Gysto and his lancers
even chased out the rats. Laughter echoed from the walls.
The guards chatted, but no riders or wagons moved along the road. Finally,
bit by bit, Cerryl eased the chestnut, now more at ease in the darkness of the
light shield, forward along the road, moving more slowly, more deliberately,
once the gelding s hoofs clicked on the paving stones of the causeway that
began a mere hundred cubits from the guards. He tried not to think about the
madness of what he attempted. One of the guards turned.  You hear something?
Like someone walking on the causeway?
 I don t see anything. You and Pulsat want to go check& go check. Probably
a rat.
Another wave of laughter followed.  Pulsat, come on.
Cerryl swallowed, not knowing whether his shield would hold if the guards
got too close. He concentrated, then arced a fireball at what felt to be a
pile of rubbish to the west of the guards. Whhssttt! Light flared up.  See!
There was something.
Four of the guards pulled out blades and eased toward the flickering fire
that remained near the base of the walls.  Looks like rubbish& 
 Maybe a rat set it on fire& 
A step at a time, Cerryl guided the chestnut by sense and feel toward the
gates and past the remaining pair of guards, both of whom were more interested
in the fire than the seemingly empty gates.  Nothing here.
 Who set the fire?
 & someone drop a torch from the walls?
 Why?
 Who knows? Report it to Delbur in the morning.
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With the sweat seeping down his back, Cerryl guided the gelding into the
streets of Fenard, turning abruptly at the first corner into a narrower way.
Another hundred cubits onward, he released the light shields and just sat on
the chestnut, shivering. The street smelled like the sewers of Fairhaven, if
not so strongly. The only light was that of the stars and a smoky torch
perhaps fifty cubits farther along the street.
He was in Fenard, with no idea of where the palace or anything was. He wore
white garments that would make him an instant target in daylight, and he had
but two silvers and a handful of coppers in his purse.
Cerryl had few doubts that he would find any trace of Sverlik- dead or
alive. He also had strong suspicions that Jeslek had already figured that out,
well before the overmage had sent Cerryl on his  task.
 Out! Out before you wreck it all& 
The junior mage glanced up where a tall figure staggered out into the
street by the torch.
 A weighty man was he& was he& a weighty man was he& 
Thud& The sound of a door closing echoed down the street, followed by a
brief rustling that Cerryl suspected signified rats.
 & and a weighty man& am I& am I& 
The shadowy figure waddled toward Cerryl, who could see that the drunkard
was both tall and broad, twice his own bulk, and wearing a capacious cloak.
Cerryl had no weapons to speak of, save the short white-bronze knife. Should
he turn? But that might put him in view of the gate guards.
He sat on the chestnut and waited.
As the reveler staggered toward Cerryl, Cerryl drew the light shield around
himself and the chestnut-then released it when the man was less than three
cubits away.
 Weighty& man& am I-where did you come from, fellow?
Cerryl recloaked himself and his mount, easing the chestnut sideways
slightly, so that the reveler would walk by, rather than run into the horse.
He drew out his knife. The heavy man stood there for a moment, then scratched
his head.  If that s how& you want it&  He started past the concealed mage.
As he passed, Cerryl reached down and grabbed the long cloak, slicing the
ties.
The heavy man turned, coming up with a truncheonlike club, but Cerryl and
the cloak had vanished.
Cerryl rode slowly down the street, past the smoking torch, and turned left
at the next, and broader, way where he stopped and fastened the long cloak
over his white jacket. The long cloak covered his upper body and most of his
trousers.
Then he urged the chestnut on. The buildings were mostly of two stories,
with plaster and timber fronts, and the second stories protruded a cubit or
two farther into the street than the ground-floor levels. A foggy mist swirled
around the buildings, a mist that bore the odor of open sewers and fires.
Someone was ahead. Cerryl swallowed, and gathered chaos, hoping he did not
have to use it.
The small figure scurried down a side alley, and Cerryl took a deep breath.
The next block was not quite so dark, though there were no lamps or torches
hung, because blotches of light fell into the street from the windows or
shutters of the dwellings on the left.
The scrape of boots on the cobblestones brought his attention closer. Two
figures darted from the shadows of the alley on the left that he had not
really noticed.
 Fellow& you ll be surrendering that mount-and your purse.
Cerryl glanced at the pair. Both wore tattered shirts and trousers, and
wide belts with scabbards. Both bore midlength iron blades. No others were [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]