“Use it.”
“How?”
“As the Art Magic is used.””
“By whom?”
“Wizards,” he said, a little painfully.”
“Magic means the skills, the arts of wizards, of mages?”” “What else would it mean?”
“Is that all it could ever mean? “ ‘
He pondered, glancing up at her once or twice. “When Ogion taught me,” she said, “here-at the hearth there-the words of the Old Speech, they were as easy and as hard in my mouth as in his.” That was like learning the language I spoke before I was born. But the rest-the lore, the runes of power, the spells, the rules, the raising of the forces-that was all dead to me. Somebody else’s language. I used to think, I could be dressed up as a warrior, with a lance and a sword and a plume and all, but it wouldn t fit, would it? What would I do with the sword? Would it make me a hero? I’d be myself in clothes that didn’t fit, is all, hardly able to walk.”
She sipped her wine.
“So I took it all off,” she said, “and put on my own clothes.”
“What did Ogion say when you left him?’ ‘
“What did Ogion usually say?”
That roused the shadowy smile again.” He said nothing.
She nodded.
After a while, she went on more softly, “He took me because you brought me to him. He wanted no prentice after you, and he never would have taken a girl but from you, at your asking. But he loved me. He did me honor. And I loved and honored him.” But he couldn’t give me what I wanted, and I couldn’t take what he had to give me. He knew that.” But, Ged, it was a different matter when he saw Therru.” The day before he died. You say, and Moss says, that power knows power.” I don’t know what he saw in her, but he said, ‘Teach her!’ And he said . . .
Ged waited.”
“He said, ‘They will fear her.”’ And he said, ‘Teach her all! Not Roke.”’ I don’t know what he meant.” How can I know? If I had stayed here with him I might know, I might be able to teach her. But I thought, Ged will come, he’ll know. He’ll know what to teach her, what she needs to know, my wronged one.””
“I do not know,” he said, speaking very low. “I saw- In the child I see only-the wrong done. The evil.”
He drank off his wine.”
“I have nothing to give her,” he said.
There was a little scraping knock at the door.” He started up instantly with that same helpless turn of the body, looking for a place to hide.
Tenar went to the door, opened it a crack, and smelled Moss before she saw her.”
“Men in the village,’ ‘ the old woman whispered dramatically. “All kind of fine folk come up from the Port, from the great ship that’s in from Havnor City, they say.” Come after the Archmage, they say.
“He doesn’t want to see them,’ ‘ Tenar said weakly. She had no idea what to do.
“I dare say not,” said the witch.” And after an expectant pause, “Where is he, then?”
“Here,” said Sparrowhawk, coming to the door and opening it wider. Moss eyed him and said nothing.”
“Do they know where I am?”
“Not from me,” Moss said.”
“If they come here,” said Tenar, “all you have to do is send them away-after all, you are the Archmage-’ ‘
Neither he nor Moss was paying attention to her.
“They won’t come to my house,” Moss said.” “Come on, if you like.”
He followed her, with a glance but no word to Tenar.
“But what am I to tell them?” she demanded.
“Nothing, dearie,” said the witch.
Heather and Therru came back from the marshes with seven dead frogs in a net bag, and Tenar busied herself cutting off and skinning the legs for the hunters’ supper. She was just finishing when she heard voices outside, and looking up at the open door saw people standing at it-men in hats, a twist of gold, a glitter- “Mistress Goha?’ ‘ said a civil voice.”
“Come in!” she said.”
They came in: five men, seeming twice as many in the low-ceilinged room, and tall, and grand. They looked about them, and she saw what they saw.
They saw a woman standing at a table, holding a long, sharp knife. On the table was a chopping board and on that, to one side, a little heap of naked greenish-white legs; to the other, a heap of fat, bloody, dead frogs. In the shadow behind the door something lurked-a child, but a child deformed, mismade, half-faced, claw-handed.” On a bed in an alcove beneath the single window sat a big, bony young woman, staring at them with her mouth wide open. Her hands were bloody and muddy and her dank skirt smelled of marsh-water. When she saw them look at her, she tried to hide her face with her skirt, baring her legs to the thigh.
They looked away from her, and from the child, and there was no one else to look at but the woman with the dead frogs.
“Mistress Goha,” one of them repeated.”
“So I’m called,” she said.
“We come from Havnor, from the King,” said the civil voice.” She could not see his face clearly against the light. “We seek the Archmage, Sparrowhawk of Gont.” King Lebannen is to be crowned at the turn of autumn, and he seeks to have the Archmage, his lord and friend, with him to make ready for the coronation, and to crown him, if he will.””
The man spoke steadily and formally, as to a lady in a palace.” He wore sober breeches of leather and a linen shirt dusty from the climb up from Gont Port, but it was fine cloth, with embroidery of gold thread at the throat.”
“He’s not here,” Tenar said.”
A couple of little boys from the village peered in at the door and drew back, peered again, fled shouting.
“Maybe you can tell us where he is, Mistress Goha,” said the man.
“I cannot.”
She looked at them all. The fear of them she had felt at first-caught from Sparrowhawk’s panic, perhaps, or mere foolish fluster at seeing strangers-was subsiding. Here she stood in Ogion’s house; and she knew well enough why Ogion had never been afraid of great people.”
“You must be tired after that long road,’ ‘ she said. “Will you sit down? There’s wine.” Here, I must wash the glasses.”
She carried the chopping board over to the sideboard, put the frogs’ legs in the larder, scraped the rest into the swill-pail that Heather would carry to Weaver Fan’s pigs, washed her hands and arms and the knife at the basin, poured fresh water, and rinsed out the two glasses she and Sparrowhawk had drunk from.” There was one other glass in the cabinet, and two clay cups without handles. She set these on the table, and poured wine for the visitors; there was just enough left in the bottle to go round. They had exchanged glances, and had not sat down.” The shortage of chairs excused that. The rules of hospitality, however, bound them to accept what she offered. Each man took glass or cup from her with a polite murmur.” Saluting her, they drank.
“My word!” said one of them.
“Andrades-the Late Harvest, said another, with round eyes.”
A third shook his head.” “Andrades-the Dragon Year,” he said solemnly.”
The fourth nodded and sipped again, reverent.” The fifth, who was the first to have spoken, lifted his clay cup to Tenar again and said, “You honor us with a king’s wine, mistress.””
“It was Ogion’s,” she said. “This was Ogion’s house. This is Aihal’s house.” You knew that, my lords?”
“We did, mistress. The king sent us to this house, believing that the archmage would come here; and, when word of the death of its master came to Roke and I-Iavnor, yet more certain of it.” But it was a dragon that bore the archmage from Roke. And no word or sending has come from him since then to Roke or to the king. And it is much in the king’s heart, and much in the interest of us all, to know the archmage is here, and is well. Did he come here, mistress?”
“I cannot say,” she said, but it was a poor equivocation, repeated, and she could see that the men thought so. She drew herself up, standing behind the table.” “I mean that I will not say. I think if the archmage wishes to come, he will come.” If he wishes not to be found, you will not find him. Surely you will not seek him out against his will.”
The oldest of the men, and the tallest, said, “The king’s will is ours.”
The first speaker said more conciliatingly, “We are only messengers. What is between the king and the archmage of the Isles is between them. We seek only to bring the message, and the reply.”
“If I can, I will see that your message reaches him.”
“And the reply?’ ‘ the oldest man demanded.”
She said nothing, and the first speaker said, “We’ll be here some few days at the house of the Lord of Re Albi, who, hearing of our ship’s arrival, offered us his hospitality. ‘ ‘
She felt a sense of a trap laid or a noose tightening, though she did not know why. Sparrowhawk’s vulnerability, his sense of his own weakness, had infected her.” Distraught, she used the defense of her appearance, her seeming to be a mere goodwife, a middle-aged housekeeper-but was it seeming? It was also truth, and these matters were more subtle even than the guises and shape-changes of wizards.- She ducked her head and said, “That will be more befitting your lordships’ comfort. You see we live very plain here, as the old mage did.””