Wotheng sighed, avoiding his wife's eyes. "Only that it is old Torrhyn law that pictures of living persons are forbidden, lest they be used for cursing."
"What?" said Sulun, Zeren, and Eloti together.
"'Tis true." Wotheng looked from one to the other. "An old law, and one I've never enforced. I'd not enforce it now, given choice. Still, this has happened: a picture was made of a living person, and then that person fell mysteriously ill. Do you see what may happen? This the perfect answer, should those two fool women join forces over Losh: blame his teacher."
"And through her, the school—and all of Deese House," Zeren fumed. "Now I know Yotha's priests did this!"
"What proof, lad?" Wotheng asked mildly. "Give me proof no man can ever doubt, give me what aid you can, and I'll go clean out that snakes' nest. Without such, I needs must take care."
"Gods!" Zeren slammed a fist into his palm.
"Lord Wotheng," said Eloti, "surely this law can be abolished on grounds of its illogic. Should a wizard choose to curse someone, a picture is unnecessary. A thread from the victim's garment, his footprint, knowledge of where his house lies, even a glimpse of his face seen once and remembered—any of these will do as well, or better than, a picture. Forbidding such images is senseless."
"Much like the sword law in Sabis." Zeren laughed sourly. "The city made a law forbidding common subjects to own or carry swords, blithely thinking this would end bloodshed in its streets. Robbers and bravos shed blood enough with knives, bludgeons, and common tools. For that matter, robbers could get swords anyway, law or no law. And they faced a citizenry disarmed."
"Sabis?" Wotheng arched a bushy eyebrow at him. "You've lived there?"
Sulun and Eloti held their breath. Zeren merely shrugged. "Among many others. I'm a soldier, as you know; I've been a hired sword halfway round the Midworld Sea. Many bizarre things I've seen, too—including cities full of wizards and images of the living, and no great harm done thereby."
Wotheng shrugged. "A good argument. Remember it, if this miserable business does come to a trial."
"Why not simply abolish the damned law, then?"
"'Tis a bit late for that." Wotheng looked to his wife. "Sweet cow, you'd best explain it."
Gynallea snorted and rolled her eyes heavenward. "Politics, my dears, all politics. Had we known this might happen, my lovey would surely have abolished the fool law right then. Now, what with an actual case, he dare not. 'Twould look to all folk as if 'twere done solely to protect favorites. D'ye see?"
"I think so," Sulun murmured. He looked sidelong at Wotheng. "You . . . can't afford to have your subjects in the vale too resentful, can you?"
Wotheng didn't precisely shrink in his chair, but he looked older and wearier than he had a moment before. "You've guessed, lad. Your friend Zeren can tell you how few men-at-arms I have, and how trained."
"Not many," Zeren agreed, "But well-trained enough to handle a mob of disgruntled shepherds, if not to storm Yotha house. You don't expect a revolt over this business, do you?"
"Pshaw, no." Wotheng laughed. "'Tisn't that I fear; 'tis the neighbors."
"Neighbors?" Eloti asked. "What neighbors, and what of them?"
"Good lady, I'm but a small lordling compared to others." Wotheng's eyes strayed to the fire. "Vona knows, there are other sons of war captains—aye, and some present war captains as well, fresh from taking the river cities—who have far more land, wealth, men-at-arms, and gear for them than do I. There are lords to the north, up where the trade caravans go, who might cast a coveting eye on my lands did they think the vale worth taking."
"With the wealth you've brought us," Gynallea said gloomily, "it just might be worth the taking now."
"Oh, they'll not give me trouble without cause." Wotheng shrugged. "They'll be needing some excuse. 'Come, me loyal boys, let's go rob another Ancar fellow of his land' isn't enough reason, and the troops would not marshal for that. But then, 'Come, me boys, Wotheng's own people rumble against him; let's go relieve them of a bad lord and put a better in his place'—now, that might get some fellows to assemble with sword in hand and hopes of good loot. If I can't keep on looking poor, and I can't raise a sizable armed host, I look a tempting target, tempting enough that any excuse will do. D'you see where my trouble lies?"
"Gods . . ." Zeren breathed, sagging in his chair. "How many could we levy? How soon?"
"Not enough," Wotheng said shortly. "The vale has few folk, being poor land, and most of those are needed for tending the sheep. Sheep are easily lost, strayed, stolen."
"And we thought we were safe . . ." Sulun muttered.
"Tell me," said Eloti. "How would it serve to discourage such greed if it were known that you consort with powerful wizards?"
Wotheng gave her a long, unfathomable look. "'Twould have to be proven publicly, Lady Eloti: something strong enough, and witnessed well enough, that the . . . neighbors would think it not worth their while to come troubling me."
"There was Yotha, before we came."
"Aye, and now there is Deese." Wotheng glanced into the fire again. "You've brought health, wealth, and wisdom—but that may be more bait to the greedy than cause for restraint."
There was another long silence while Sulun, Eloti, and Zeren looked at each other, considering how they might have already endangered their patron.
"What can we do?" Zeren finally asked.
"I don't know," Wotheng admitted, "but it must be something that shows strength as well as your other virtues. Think on it, my friends. Pray Deese sends you a revelatory dream."
By next morning, everyone in the vale had heard the news.
The first evidence of this was Losh himself reeling, ashen-faced, through the door of Ashkell House and demanding to know where Irga was. Gynallea got to him first, and fairly dragged him off to face Wotheng. The Lord of Ashkell only pulled out the damning pieces of parchment and shoved them under the boy's nose.
"Did you draw these?" he demanded.
"Yes, I did! Oh, I did!" Losh wailed, beating his hands together. "I swear I didn't know it would do her any harm!"
"Then you did not attempt the use of magic to . . . affect the girl's mind?" Wotheng kept his voice stern, but a smile lurked under his moustache.
"Attempt? No, never! I don't know anything about magic, and I'd never do anything like that to Irga. Oh, where is she? I have to see her!"
"In a moment, lad. First look closely at this drawing, and tell me: did you deliberately draw that smear there?"
"Smear?" Losh looked closer, frowning in puzzlement. "No, that's not my doing. It's messed my schoolwork. It must have happened after I lost it."
"Ah. And where did you lose these drawings?"
"Somewhere at home, I think. When I looked in my schoolbag at class yesterday, they weren't there. Please, please, may I see Irga?"
"Hmm, of course, lad. Come this way."
Wotheng led the dithering boy up to the tower room, then watched the reunion with a thoughtful eye. Irga was indeed much better this morning, only a little pale and weak, and looked ethereally beautiful. Losh practically fell all over her, sobbing apologies and protestations of love and more, most of it incoherent. Irga, understanding none of it, only wanted him to hold her. Wotheng shut the door and tiptoed away, wondering how soon those two would marry. He hoped this wouldn't curtail the boy's schoolwork; from what he'd seen and heard, Losh was quite a bright young fellow when not silly with love.
Certainly there'd been no sorcery, intentional or not, on Losh's part.
Wotheng went back to his morning audiences, thinking much on the incident.