The tower room was bright and sun-washed. The batik hangings spoke of animals, birds, flowers and cheerful things. The wide windows on both sides were thrown open and a soft summer breeze wafted through the room, stirring the hangings on the walls and ruffling the parchments on the large table in its center. Arianne, a tall thin woman with ash-blonde hair caught back in a single braid, brought him a cup of wine from the sideboard.
Bal-Simba drained the cup with another sigh and handed it back for a refill.
"Well, I have done all I can to protect our visitor. The Watchers are on the alert and they are confusing the search as best they may."
"And the other matter?" she asked, handing him a second cup of wine.
"The Council has not the faintest idea why Patrius brought this Sparrow among us." He shook his great head. "I had hoped that Patrius had confided in one of the Mighty, but it appears he did not. The Sparrow is as much a mystery to us as he is to the League."
"Why do you think Patrius Summoned this one?" Arianne asked.
"Our red-headed hedge witch thinks it was a mistake, that Patrius intended to Summon some great wizard, became confused under the attack and got this Wiz instead."
"And you, Lord?"
"I do not know. Certainly the Sparrow has no skill at magic, or ought else that I can find. But yet… Did I tell you that Patrius did not mark a pentagram to enclose the Summoned? That suggests he did not expect the Summoned to defend himself with magic."
Arianne frowned. "Which means that he either was certain the Summoned would not attack him or that he knew he had no magic. Yes. What did Patrius say to the hedge witch?"
"Apparently Patrius was being oracular. He said he sought help but when she asked him what kind he talked in riddles."
"That would be like Patrius," Arianne agreed. "He loved his little surprises.’
"This surprise cost him his life, Lady."
They were silent as Bal-Simba finished the second cup of wine. Arianne moved to refill it, but Bal-Simba shook his head.
"Lord, there are certain aspects of this business I do not understand."
"You are not alone, Lady."
"I mean your actions."
"Ask then." Arianne was Bal-Simba’s apprentice not only for her skill in magic but because, like Bal-Simba, she had considerable administrative ability. One day she would sit on the Council of the North.
"Why did you leave the pair of them on the Fringe with no protection?"
"I could not bring them here by the Wizard’s Way, so I sent them to a place of safety. Why alone? Because two can go in stealth where an army may not tread. This Moira is no woods ranger, but she grew up on the Fringe and she has the reputation for a sturdy head on her shoulders."
"Where did you send them?"
"Heart’s Ease," Bal-Simba told her.
Arianne looked hard at the huge map on the wall. "Lord, that is deep within the Wild Wood itself! You set them a dangerous course."
"But the safest available under the circumstances," Bal-Simba replied. "The League will be searching for a magician. This Sparrow has not the slightest magic. The League will expect him to come to the Capital, or at least to the civilized lands. Instead they go in the opposite direction. If we keep interfering with the League’s searchers we can further confuse the League."
"We know the League is searching for them with every resource at their command." She smiled thinly. "Old Toth-Set-Ra must be stirred indeed to mount such an effort."
"When he realized Patrius had performed a Great Summoning, he decided that the Summoned was a weapon of some kind. He means to have it." Bal-Simba smiled. "Perfectly logical if you know how Toth-Set-Ra’s mind works."
"And we bend our efforts to frustrating him. Lord, is this Sparrow really worth so much of our effort?"
Bal-Simba considered for a moment. "Probably not. But while the League is engrossed in trying to find our Sparrow, they cannot make mischief elsewhere. That is worth some little effort on our part."
He stroked his eagle’s skull pendant absently. "Besides, I think we owe this Sparrow something. He was snatched from his own world and dropped here by the efforts of one of the Mighty. It was no fault or choice of his own."
The blonde woman nodded. "But still, to send two people into the heart of the Wild Wood…"
"Would you have me bring them here by the Wizard’s Way and all of us lost when the League saw and struck?" Bal-Simba said sharply. Arianne stiffened.
The wizard’s face softened. "Forgive me, my Lady. Your are right about the dangers and I am uneasy about our fugitives." He heaved a great gust of a sigh. "I gave them the best chance I could, now let us hope they can make good use of it."
She smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Apologies are not needed, Lord. I understand." He smiled back and put his bearlike paw over her hand.
"There are so few unconstrained choices, Arianne. So very few choices left to us."
"We do the best we can, Lord."
Bal-Simba sighed again. "Aye. That at least we do."
Moira allowed them a fire that night, which was a mixed blessing for Wiz. It meant warmth and hot food, but he had to gather firewood, and the sticks and branches rubbed his blistered hands raw.
"Now what’s your problem?" she asked when she saw him wince as he dropped a load of wood by the stone hearth.
"Nothing," Wiz said, blowing on his hands.
Moira scrambled up and took one of his hands in hers. "You’re hurt," she said with real concern. "I’ll attend to those once the food is started."
When she had the mixture of dried meat, fruit and barley simmering in a small bronze pot, she pulled out her shoulder bag and motioned Wiz to sit down beside her in the firelight.
"You must not be used to work," she said as she rummaged in her kit.
"You don’t get many blisters at a VT 220," he agreed.
Moira looked blank.
"It’s a terminal. A, ah, thing that… oh, forget it."
Moira produced a tiny earthenware jar and smeared the raw and blistered places on Wiz’s palms with the dark, pungent salve it contained.
"Your hands should be healed by morning," she told him, scraping salve from her finger back into the jar. "We should cover those, but I don’t have anything to put over them."
"That’s fine," Wiz said. "It doesn’t hurt anymore. Whatever that stuff is, it works like a charm."
"Oh, it’s not a charm," Moira said seriously. "Just a healing potion. With the proper charm I could heal your hands instantly, but that would take magic and it might attract attention." She moved away from him to check the contents of the pot.
"You’re a magician, right?" he asked, trying to recapture the moment.
Moira shrugged. "In a small way. I am a hedge witch."
"That’s interesting. What does a hedge witch do?"
"What do I do? Oh, herbs and simples. A little healing. Some weather magic. I try to warn of dangers, find lost objects and strayed animals." She lifted the pot off the fire and produced two wooden bowls and horn spoons from her pack.
"Eat now," she said. "You can use a spoon well enough even with your hands."
The mixture in the pot looked awful but tasted surprisingly good. The tartness of the fruit and the rich saltiness of the meat blended well with the bland barley.
"Is Bal-Simba a hedge witch too?"
Moira laughed, a delightful sound. "No, Bal-Simba is of the Mighty." Her face clouded. "Probably he is the Mightiest of the Mighty now that Patrius is dead." She returned to her eating.
"What do the Mighty do?" Wiz asked in an effort to keep the conversation going.
"They are our greatest wizards. They teach the other orders, they help wherever great magic is required, they study arcane lore and they try to protect us from the Dark League." She sighed. "These days mostly they try to protect us from the Dark League."