Doran’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“No, sir, I’m not a fraud,” Sella told him. “Your son’s name is... Dumery, I think? And he ran off to find an apprenticeship, though I can’t see the details. You want someone to find out the exact truth of his situation, and to bring him safely home if possible. I can’t tell you the exact truth; no witch could, at this distance. Nor am I willing to leave the city myself and fetch him home. However, for the appropriate fee, I would be willing to send my apprentice, Teneria of Fishertown, after your boy.” She gestured toward the girl in the corner, who managed a weak smile.
Doran hesitated. This was all going too quickly; he had expected to have to explain the situation, negotiate details, wait while the witch worked her spells-and instead, they had been in the shop scarcely two minutes, and everything seemed to be all but settled.
He didn’t like that. It might be witchcraft-or it might be fraud. Sella might have had informants, or a scrying spell, watching while Doran and Faléa talked to the other magicians.
Faléa wasn’t worried about authenticity; she had another concern.
“An apprentice?” she asked. “A mere apprentice?”
“Almost a journeyman,” Sella said, dismissing that worry with a wave of her hand. “She’s ready for journeyman status; in fact, she’s as good as some master witches. We’re merely waiting for her eighteenth birthday, which is still three sixnights off.”
“But if she’s...” Doran began.
“Yes,” Sella said wearily, “she’s over fifteen, but she wasn’tready at fifteen. We witches make our journeymen at eighteen-or at least,I do. I want them to reflect well on me, not just to know a few tricks and fidgets, so I don’t let them go until they know all I can teach. And sir, I see you suspect me of some sort of trickery, and I assure you there is none. I worked a spell this morning to see who would come to me, and what they would want-it saves a great deal of time and trouble. And a witch, a good one, can read a man’s thoughts before they reach his lips.” She smiled wryly. “I’m afraid I’m too impatient to wait for your words to work their way from your tongue to my ears.”
Doran considered that, brows lowered. Faléa turned to stare at Teneria.
“He’s a little above average in height, for his age,” Teneria said, in a low, soft voice, “but thin. His hair is black and his eyes brown, like most Ethsharites; when last you saw him his hair was still fairly short, having been cut for his apprenticeship trial with Thetheran, but had gotten a little ragged. He was wearing a green cotton tunic and an expensive pair of boots, boots meant for looks, rather than hard wear. He left Westgate Market through the gate around mid-morning of the day before yesterday, passing near the south gate-tower. I can follow him from there, I think.”
“And the sooner she does, the better,” Sella said. “The trail isn’t getting any fresher. I have a pack prepared, since I knew you were coming, and Teneria can leave as soon as you pay our fee.”
Doran started to speak, but Sella cut him off. “One round of gold-yes, it’s a lot, but we will refund all but our expenses should Teneria lose his trail or should Dumery be harmed while in her company, and will swear to that before the overlord’s officers, if you insist, or register it as a geas with any competent magician. She will leave immediately, if you consent.”
Faléa and Doran looked at each other. Doran saw the look in his wife’s eyes and reached for his purse.
Teneria bent down and picked up her pack from the corner. Without a word, she left the shop and headed for Westgate.
Chapter Fifteen
Teneria was understandably nervous as she walked out the city gate, her pack on her shoulder. This expedition was, she knew, the final trial of her apprenticeship. If she succeeded, if she found the boy and either brought him home safely or saw that he reached his destination and was safe there, then she would be a real witch, entitled to call herself Teneria the Witch if she chose, free to travel when and where she pleased, no longer at Sella’s beck and call-not that Sella was a harsh mistress, or unpleasant to work for, but any sort of servitude chafed.
If she failed she would need to prove herself all over again. She would still be a mere apprentice.
And as if that weren’t enough to worry about, this was very nearly the first time she had ever left the city alone. Oh, once before she had been sent to fetch herbs from outside the walls, alone, at night-but she had always stayed in sight of the gate, Southgate it was that time, and she had known that Sella was watching over her from afar.
This time, Sella would not be watching-at least, not once she had gone a few leagues. Her range was limited.
Teneria’s own range was even more limited, of course; she could barely make out a person’s aura just a few blocks away, let alone all the way across the city. The Wizards’ Quarter-which reallyought to be called the Magicians’ Quarter, she thought for the thousandth time, and probably would have been if not for the political power of the Wizards’ Guild-was in the southeastern part of Ethshar of the Spices, a long way from Westgate.
Her native Fishertown was on the waterfront to the north, just to the east of the Grand Canal, and as a child she had roamed through Hempfield and Allston and Newmarket, but she had never been in Westgate before. Even so, she was too concerned with the task before her to pay much attention as she passed through the district and out the gate.
She did spare a glance around at the farmers’ wagons along the roadside, and the fields beyond, before she turned her attention inward, looking for the psychic trace her quarry must surely have left.
It wasn’t easy. There were somany traces here! A young woman, a farm girl about Teneria’s own age, had passed by here recently in a turmoil about an unwanted and unexpected pregnancy. An older farmer had been worried about his debts, hoping he could hold out until the harvest-and that the harvest wouldn’t fail this year, as it had last. Thoughts of money, loneliness, worry, love, greed, excitement, anticipation, despair-this was such abusy stretch of highway!
She couldn’t find Dumery’s.
She wasn’t really very surprised; after all, it had been more than two days since he had passed this way, and she had never even met the boy. She doubted even Sella could have tracked Dumery from his traces alone.
Fortunately, that wasn’t necessary. Sella had read everything she needed from the minds of Dumery’s parents or from Thetheran, or had heard it, and had passed it on to Teneria. All of them had been thinking about nothing else, which made it easy enough to see the needed information.
Teneria smiled to herself. Witchcraft had its advantages. It didn’t have the raw power thatany of the other major magicks had, only the strength of the witch’s own body, but she had never heard of any wizard or warlock who could do to people’s minds what witches could. And it was so easy, really, once one knew how.
She still remembered how, when she was thirteen and still just beginning her apprenticeship, she had first used the witch’s trick of convincing someone to do what she wanted without him even knowing that magic was in use. She had gotten credit from a notoriously-stingy candy butcher on Games Street.
She had also overdone it, not realizing how easy it was. She had exhausted herself, pushing at his mind, and had almost collapsed right there on the street. When she had finally made it back to Sella’s shop she had fallen into bed and slept for a day and a half-and only found out later that the candy-seller had been so affected that he was giving credit and free samples to every kid in sight for the next sixnight.