It wasn’t much, just a brown wool travelling cloak, frayed and slightly moth eaten. The kind of thing a wizard might wear for a disguise, or because he was too engrossed in his magic to worry about appearances. It doesn’t even look very warm, Wiz thought as he fingered the thin cloth. For the hundredth time Wiz thought of the fine gray and red cloak with the fur trim he had left in the village.
Well, anything was better than nothing and that’s what I’ve got now. He threw the cloak over his shoulders and pulled it tightly about him. He was right, it wasn’t very warm. Still it was comforting to have something to wrap around himself.
"I saw Moira today, My Lord," Arianne said as she and Bal-Simba finished the day’s business in his study. "She asked if there was any news of Wiz."
"If there was news, she would be the first to know," the giant wizard told his deputy. "No, so far our search has turned up nothing." He frowned. "We know an accident did not befall him in the Wild Wood. If he started out on the Wizard’s Way and did not return to the Capital, we may assume some magical agency intervened."
"Human?" Arianne asked.
"Perhaps. Although it appears that Sparrow has an unusual number of non-human enemies as well. Powerful ones." He paused for a second and frowned.
"And Lady…"
Arianne bent close at his gesture. "Yes, Lord?"
"Inquire—discreetly—into the activities of our own wizards over the last fourteen days. Especially any who have absented themselves from the Capital."
Arianne looked shocked. "Do you think…"
"I think," Bal-Simba said, cutting her off, "that we would be remiss if we did not explore every possibility to get our Sparrow back here as quickly as we can."
Arianne turned away to execute his command. "Oh, and Lady…"
Arianne turned back. "Yes, Lord?"
"Find that ex-apprentice, Pryddian, and ask him what he knows about this."
"Pryddian?"
"Just a thought. A direct attack on Wiz in the Capital would be difficult. It would be easier if he were outside our walls. Pryddian was the cause of our Sparrow’s journey." He shrugged his mountainous shoulders. "Unlikely, but we have to start somewhere."
Pryddian was sweating as he came over the last rise before his destination and not just from the noon sun. Before him the road curved to the left around the base of a hill, actually a large limestone outcropping. To the right, away from the road and along the outcropping, was a wild jumble of small trees, laurel bushes and boulders. The former apprentice started down the road, his feet kicking up powdery white dust fine as flour as he walked.
When he reached the place where the road curved away he paused for an instant and scanned the bushes on the roadside. The dusty weeds beside the road showed no sign of disturbance, but there was a path there, leading off the road and in among the undergrowth. Pryddian patted the breast of his tunic for reassurance and then stepped off the road and onto the little-used path.
He breasted his way through the bushes, dodged around trees and boulders and followed the meandering path deeper into the woodland. The thick brush and second-growth trees showed that once this place had been logged. But that had obviously been long ago. Getting felled trees out of such a place would be backbreaking and not worth it so close to the Fringe of the Wild Wood. It had been done once and then the wilderness had been allowed to reclaim this place.
Finally the trail took a sharp turn and a dip and Pryddian stumbled through into an opening. He was against the flank of the hill now, in a little hollow hard against sheer rock face. All around him like grotesque sentries stood boulders twice as high as he was. Directly in front of him was a single table-high stone in the midst of a patch of beaten earth. There were dark splotches on the stone, as if something had been spilled there and allowed to dry.
Pryddian walked hesitatingly into the place. Suddenly an arm like iron clamped across his windpipe and he felt cold steel against his neck.
Instinctively he twisted his head and out of the corner of his eye saw that his captor was clad in the close fitting black of the Dark League’s dread Shadow Warriors.
The Shadow Warrior pressed the edge to his throat and Pryddian ceased struggling.
"No move, no sound if you value your life," a voice grated behind him.
Pryddian licked his lips and remained silent.
"Better," the voice said at last. "Now, why are you here?"
"I am called Pryddian. I am… URK." The Shadow Warrior’s grip tightened on his windpipe.
"I did not ask who you were, but why you had come," his unseen questioner said sharply. "Answer only those questions I ask you, apprentice, or you will wish you had never been born."
"I came seeking the Dark League," Pryddian said when the pressure on his throat relaxed.
"And why should the dark League be interested in the likes of you?"
"I have talent. I desire to become a wizard and I bring you something." He reached toward his tunic, but the Shadow Warrior drew the blade perhaps a quarter of an inch along his skin. He felt the burning sting of the cut and then the warm wetness of blood trickling down his throat.
Pryddian froze, but the Shadow Warrior, reacting to an unseen signal, slackened his grip and moved the knife away from his throat. Slowly he extended his trembling hand and reached into his tunic. Equally slowly he withdrew his hand, holding a roll of parchment.
"I give you the Sparrow’s magic," he said.
"Lord, Moira asked again today about Sparrow," Arianne said.
Bal-Simba turned away from his window to face his deputy.
"Today as every day, eh?" He shook his head. "The answer is still the same. We can find no trace of him, in all the World."
"Is he dead then?" Arianne asked.
Bal-Simba shook his head. "Moira does not think so. I trust her judgment in this."
"Moira was away in his world when he left Aelric’s hold," Arianne pointed out.
"Still, I think she would know if he had died."
"Then where could he be?"
"There are many possibilities. He might be in a place where he is shielded by magic. He might have been sent beyond the World. He might be held in a state of undeath.
"One thing I think we can safely venture. He is not where he is voluntarily and wherever he is, he needs any aid we can give him." He returned to his desk an sat down again. "On that subject, have you learned more in the matter you were pursuing?"
"You mean the actions of the Mighty? There is one thing new. Ebrion is missing for near three weeks."
"Ebrion?"
Arianne nodded. "There is more. We cannot be sure, but it appears that he may well be dead."
"Dead? How?"
Arianne shrugged. "We do not know. We are not even certain that he is dead."
Bal-Simba sucked his lip against his sharpened teeth thoughtfully. "Ebrion, eh?"
He twisted in his chair to face her. "This should be explored. Investigate closely."
"But discreetly," Arianne agreed. "I am already doing so, Lord."
Just like all the rest, Wiz thought as he surveyed the room in the failing light. Nothing to eat, just more piles of junk. The wind whistled through the broken windows and he shivered as he pulled the worn brown cloak tighter around himself.
Outside the setting sun poked fitfully through the layer of lead-gray clouds. By now Wiz knew the signs of a storm moving in, perhaps with snow. It was going to be another cold, miserable night. Too cold for foraging.