Lucy turned at the sound of the voice and saw a young woman crouched behind the spilled cart. The woman held out her hands as if making an offering. On her open palms were three large reddish potatoes. For a moment Lucy stared at them, wondering what on earth she was supposed to do with those, then the memory of her spell and an idea ignited in her thoughts at the same time. It was crazy, but it was worth a try. She snatched the potatoes like a gift from the gods.
Raising the tubers above her head, she faced the brigands and began to chant the incantations to Ulin’s spell in a loud and firm voice. With a prayer that she could force the magic to work again, she focused on the power she could feel around her and drew it carefully into her incantation. She almost completed the spell when something soft as gossamer tickled the back of her neck. Although she tried to ignore the sensation and concentrate on her spell, she felt the magic falter and fade. Several unladylike words passed through her mind, and she had to swallow hard to hide her frustrated disappointment.
“Great bullocks, Grethor!” one of the thugs shouted. “That’s the sorceress who killed those dozen draconians.”
Lucy molded her expression into a mask of stern anger. She lowered her arms, and held a potato ready to throw at the big man holding Challie. He stood stared at her, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
“Put her down this instant or die,” Lucy demanded.
Dazedly, he opened his hand and dropped the dwarf to the ground where she groaned and lay still.
Lucy wanted to run to Challie, but she dared not take her eyes off the brigand. “Now, tell your men, all of them, to put the goods down and lie on the ground, or I will burn you all.”
Such was the power of Lucy’s reputation-thanks to the storytellers in Flotsam-that the three men took one look at her face and the potatoes in her hand and obeyed instantly. All of them dropped to the ground and spread their arms and legs. One of them whimpered.
Help suddenly appeared from all directions. Booth owners, vendors, and customers crawled out of their hiding places or came hurrying back, and in short order they had all four men trussed and taken away under guard. The young woman under the vegetable cart gave Lucy some water and strips of fabric for her face and helped her revive Challie. The battered dwarf cursed intermittently then laughed at Lucy’s potato trick.
“Did the spell work this time?” she whispered to Lucy when they were alone.
Lucy gave her head a small shake. She kept the potatoes tucked in the crook of one arm. “I don’t think so. They’re not hot like the last ones, but I don’t think I’ll try them out here. I’d hate to ruin my reputation.”
Challie tried to smile through her split lip and started bleeding again. “I wish you had fried that beast,” she groaned.
Lucy put an arm around her companion as much for her own support as Challie’s. The dwarf was not seriously hurt, but she suffered several severe bruises on her legs and face, abrasions on her forehead, and a sprained ankle. All Lucy wanted to do now was go back to the Jetties and lie down.
“Young woman, you are a marvel,” she heard someone say close beside her.
Lucy glanced up with one good eye and looked into the kind, intelligent gaze of Councilwoman Saorsha, the older woman Pease thought was a retired member of the covert Legion of Steel. Looking into Saorsha’s aged face, Lucy could well believe the kender was right. This close Lucy noticed details she had not paid attention to before. Saorsha’s skin was wrinkled and spotted, but it was the toughened, weather-beaten patina caused by years of living in wind and rain and burning sun. Her eyes were bright, blue, and piercing, and her hair had been cut short into a fluffy cap of waving white. When she offered a hand to Lucy to help her stand, her grip was firm and strong. Her hands bore the old callouses of a sword-fighter.
Lucy allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Her head felt as if some evil dwarf stonecutter was trying to split her skull with a dull wedge. Slowly, so she wouldn’t lose her breakfast in front of the councilwoman, she bent over and helped Challie stand.
All at once applause and cheering burst out around them. Startled, Lucy saw dozens of people gathered, clapping and smiling and calling her “Sorceress.” She blinked and her free hand flew to her battered face.
“You’d think they’d never seen a mage before,” she muttered. A little attention was nice, but this was getting embarrassing.
“Actually we haven’t seen one in a long time,” Saorsha told her. “Malys killed all the ones she could find, and once the magic started to fail, those few that were out here left to find answers elsewhere.” She lifted a hand and indicated the people around them. “You have brought them a gleam of hope.”
Lucy watched the crowd slowly disperse. “Hope for what? Another good story?”
“Even stories can lighten fear. But enough, you’ve had quite a blow to the head. You need rest and a soothing drink. Come with me. I have my pony trap close by, and it would be a pleasure to take you back to the Jetties.”
Considering the long walk back to the inn with Challie’s sprained ankle, Lucy accepted. Between them, they supported Challie for the short walk through the market to Saorsha’s pony and cart. The cart was barely large enough for three, and the little pony hardly looked big enough to pull one old woman let alone Lucy and Challie. But as soon as they all squeezed on and Saorsha took the reins in her firm grip, the pony started forward without hesitation.
Challie sagged against Lucy and closed her eyes. Lucy wanted to lean against something, too. Now that the attack was over, the reaction and shock were settling over her in a cloak of lethargy. Unfortunately, the narrow seat had no sides or back, and she did not think it would be wise to lean against the driver, so she sat upright and tried not to concentrate on her pain.
“I was wondering,” she asked, “why does this town have no guard or law enforcement? Do you have any laws here?”
The councilwoman gave a rueful shrug. “Of course, we do. Mayor Efrim has been trying for years to clean up this town. The problem is we have very little authority. Every time we organize a guard, try to repair the city walls, build towers, or do anything that could be construed as organized resistance, either our Dragon Overlord sweeps in and incinerates the town or she sends a unit of her Dark Knights to put us in our place. That’s why the Vigilance Committee and the Force are strictly volunteer and why we keep them covert.” She sighed. “And unfortunately, that’s why brutes like those feel free to come into town to loot and assault innocent folk.”
“So why do you stay?” Lucy asked. She could not see Saorsha out of her right eye, so she turned her head to look at her with the left.
The old woman did not answer at first. She clucked to her pony, her blue eyes as hard as gemstones. “My husband is here, and my daughter. Up yonder.” She pointed toward the edge of town.
If Lucy squinted hard enough she could just make out a far hill dotted with mounds and stony cairns.
“Aye,” Saorsha said softly. “Malys killed my husband ten years ago. My girl died of a fever that swept through here. I could leave, I suppose, but I have nowhere else to go.”
Lucy’s lips curved upward in understanding. “And nowhere else where people need you.”
The councilwoman tipped her chin up to acknowledge the truth of Lucy’s statement. “Even old women like to feel they can be useful.”
The pony stopped by the stone front of the Jetties, and Pease raced out to help, effectively ending the conversation. Saorsha walked with Lucy and Challie into the inn and saw them settled with cool drinks while Bridget fussed over their injuries, but she declined Aylesworthy’s invitation to stay.
Just before she left, she touched the innkeeper’s arm and said, “We shall meet for a game of Dragon’s Bluff tonight. Downstairs.”
Aylesworthy simply nodded.
Pease bounced to his feet. “Me, too?” he yelped.