For that matter, he hadn’t expected the spell to work. Annara had been so very pessimistic about her abilities ever since he first met her that he had, he realized, given up on ever getting any use out of her.
He glanced over at her, and she looked as surprised as he felt. “Gods!” she said, “I made it as big as I could, but that must have been huge.”
Sterren had to agree with that. According to what the witches had gleaned from the minds of passing soldiers, Sterren and his band were presently almost a mile from the Ophkarite warlord’s tent, and that was where the false message had presumably gone. An explosion that could be heard for a mile would have to be much larger than what they had expected.
Ederd suddenly emerged from his trance. “I thought you’d like to know,” he said without preamble, “We just killed the general’s secretary, I mean, the warlord’s. We didn’t get the warlord himself.”
“Killed him?” Annara squeaked.
Ederd nodded. “You don’t want the details,” he said, “but I’m sure he’s dead. Didn’t hit anybody else, though, and although there were plenty of sparks, the tent didn’t catch.”
Sterren looked at Annara with new respect. “Good work,” he said.
“But the Explosive Seal isn’t supposed to kill anybody!” she protested. “At worst, it’s intended to... well, to blow their hands off. Usually it just burns them a little.”
“Well, maybe you got something wrong, then,” Sterren suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Ederd replied. “He was holding the parchment up to his face, studying the seal. I think he suspected something.”
“Oh...” Annara looked sick.
“What’s going on?” Alder asked, in Semmat.
“We just killed the... the... a helper to the Warlord of Ophkar,” Sterren told him.
“Helper?”
“The man who writes and reads for him.”
“His aide?”
“I guess so.”
Alder grinned broadly. “Well, it’s a start,” he said.
“This magic may do some good after all,” Dogal admitted grudgingly.
Sterren nodded, but he doubted that they would be able to use that particular stunt again. The enemy was warned.
Well, maybe they would find other ways to use the Explosive Seal. Could it be put on tent flaps, perhaps? Or saddles, to detonate when the cavalry unsaddled their horses?
And could the enemy really afford to ignore sealed messages?
They hadn’t ignored this one. Hamder’s witchcraft had convinced the sentries that he was telling the truth, despite the total lack of confirmation; they had accepted him as an Ophkarite courier despite his lack of uniform, his unfamiliarity with the Ophkaritic language, and the fact that he had approached, on foot, from entirely the wrong direction. Even though he had only been able to pick a dozen or so words of the language from their minds, he had managed to make them absolutely certain that the parchment they accepted was an urgent message from the King of Ophkar that must be delivered to their warlord immediately.
Not a bad stunt at all, and Sterren had made sure Hamder knew how impressed everyone was. He regretted that Hamder wasn’t in the main room to thank again.
And now Annara had come through, as well; Sterren had not expected the seal to do any real damage.
He hoped that Emner and Hamder would be equally successful.
Even as that thought crossed his mind, Shenna dropped out of her trance and announced, “Hamder’s bringing the wizard back, but I don’t know why.”
Sterren answered, “Thanks. I’ll go ask.”
He got up from the floor, brushed himself off, ambled across the room, and mounted the ladder to the hayloft.
Hamder was sitting cross-legged in the open loft door, staring fixedly out toward the castle. Sterren looked over his shoulder and saw a small black dot growing larger in the distance.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
The witch ignored him. Sterren glanced down just as Hamder’s breath came out all in a rush, and he toppled over sideways into the hay.
“I can’t do it any more,” he said in a breathy whisper.
Sterren could see, now, that Hamder had completely exhausted himself. He leaned forward and peered at the distant figure of Emner, drifting helplessly above the enemy armies.
“Maybe the warlock can fetch him back,” he said. Hamder had no breath to reply, but he managed a feeble nod.
Sterren turned and clambered back down the ladder, then headed for the corner where he had last seen the warlock.
The black-robed Ethsharite was still there, crouched down and muttering to himself. He did not glance up as Sterren approached.
“We have a problem,” Sterren said. “Emner’s drifting out there, and Hamder’s exhausted.”
The warlock shook his head, then winced; it was obvious he had another of his headaches. “Get one of the other witches,” he said. “I’ve been experimenting; I can’t move anything as massive as a person, not even when he’s levitating.”
“They’re busy; are you sure?”
The warlock looked up at Sterren, then rose to his feet. “Do you have any string?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Sterren replied. “Why?”
“Because if you did, I might be able to lift one end of it up to him, and he could just pull himself in with it. But I know what I can do and I can’t move him. You’ll need to get one of the other witches.”
Sterren sighed and went to get one of the other witches.
That trick with the string, though, that might be useful. He wanted to remember that.
He sighed again, remembering the high hopes he had first had for his warlock. The fellow was turning out to be pitifully feeble. He could levitate a few pounds at a time, light small fires, open locks, but that was about it, and he was almost constantly sick with his ferocious headaches.
The headaches worried Sterren somewhat. He had never heard of warlocks getting headaches. Ordinarily, warlocks were the epitome of health and vigor, able to heal themselves, able to obliterate any diseases that attacked them, drawing strength from the Power, at least, until the nightmares started. Even then, they stayed physically healthy, except perhaps for some minor adverse effects of not sleeping.
The nightmares had stopped for this one, but the mysterious headaches might well be worse than the nightmares. Since the headaches had started, the warlock even seemed to have more gray in his hair.
Sterren had heard of warlocks who fled south when the nightmares began, but he had never heard anything about headaches.
Shenna was back in trance, but Ederd was taking a break, leaning back against a pile of straw. After all, the excitement was over, the explosion had gone off; Shenna could keep an eye on things by herself for the moment. “Ederd,” Sterren said, “you’ll have to take over with Emner; Hamder’s worn out.”
“Is he all right?” Ederd asked, getting quickly to his feet.
Sterren was not completely sure whether Ederd meant Emner or Hamder, but it didn’t really make much difference. “I think so,” he replied.
Ederd was already at the ladder and climbing. Sterren looked around the interior of the barn. Alder and Dogal were sitting on one side, chatting quietly in Semmat. Lady Kalira and Alar were talking nearby. Shenna was sitting cross-legged in the center of the floor, and the warlock was in his corner, leaning against a wall. Annara was doing something with her belt dagger and a bucket in another corner. Ederd and Hamder were up in the loft, fetching Emner back from his scouting mission.