"I am sorry, My Lord, but I must decline."
"Ah," said Shamus, looking across the drill yard. "A very lucky man indeed." He sighed. "You’ve broken my heart, you know."
Moira followed his eyes to Wiz standing beneath the reviewing stand. "I feel it will mend by the time the next pretty face comes along."
The object of this by-play leaned back against one of the posts, oblivious to the things being said about him.
In the rings the guardsmen whirled and dodged in mock combat.
As Wiz put his weight against the post it shifted and the entire marshal’s stand teetered.
"Look out!" Moira screamed.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The guardsmen and strollers froze. Wiz looked up, mouth open, to see the entire mass toppling down on him. He started to move out of the way, but he was obviously too late.
An armored body hurtled into him, knocking him sideways and slamming him into the earth. Behind them the stand crashed to earth, raising a cloud of dust off the practice field. A few boards fell across the pair, but the guardsman was on top and his armor protected them both.
"Are you all right, Lord?" Wiz opened his eyes and realized that the man on top of him was Donal.
"Fine," he gasped. "I’m fine."
Donal rolled off Wiz and climbed to his feet. Wiz started to rise and fell back, gasping in pain..
"My shoulder. I’ve done something to my shoulder."
Moira came running across the drill yard, skirts flying.
"Are you all right?"
"I"ve hurt my shoulder."
Moira knelt beside him and ran her fingers lightly over the injured joint. "It is separated." She looked up at Donal. "Help me get his tunic off and I will fix it."
"It would be better if we let the healers handle it."
Moira’s green eyes flashed. "Are you saying I cannot heal a shoulder separation?"
Donal met her gaze levelly. "No Lady, only that Bronwyn or one of the others can do it better."
Moira started to snap back, then with a visible effort, she relaxed. "You are right, of course. Send one of your men for her, and quickly."
"Already done, My Lady."
"Oh shit," Wiz muttered, "this hurts."
Moira rested her hand gently on the injured shoulder. "I know, my love. But Bronwyn will be here quickly enough. Try to relax and do not move."
Behind them Shamus was examining the post where it had snapped off. "Rotten wood," he said, wrinkling his nose. He broke a piece off and crumbled it in his fingers. "This needed replacing months ago, and probably all the rest besides."
Arianne knelt by the post, her brown eyes fixed on the break. "Yes," she said and reached up with slender fingers to caress the broken spot. "Yes, they should all be examined most carefully."
Bal-Simba was in his private study when Arianne found him a few hours later.
"You heard that Wiz nearly brought the marshal’s stand down on himself on the drill field this afternoon?" she said without preamble.
Bal-Simba grunted. "I heard. Besides all else, our Sparrow is clumsy."
"He is that," she said tonelessly.
Bal-Simba looked up and gave his lieutenant his full attention.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I examined that post just after the accident. The wood was old and beetle-bored, waiting to fail. So I went back and looked at the place on the parapet where he slipped the other day. It was damp and somewhat slick. There was nothing obviously unusual about either the post or the place on the parapet."
Bal-Simba waited.
"I could find no definite trace of magic about either the post or the damp spot. There seemed to be a hint of—something—about the post, but if it was indeed there it was so faint I could not be sure."
"You obviously think there is more to this than simple accidents," Bal-Simba said. "What?"
Arianne paused, choosing her words carefully. "Lord, I think someone is trying to kill Wiz by magic."
When Bronwyn finally released him, Wiz went looking for Donal. He found him alone in the armory, replacing a strap on his chain mail hauberk by the light of a magic globe.
"I wanted to thank you for this evening," Wiz told him. "You saved my life, I think."
"So clumsily you needed the attention of a healer to put your shoulder right," Donal said wryly.
"I’m alive and that’s the important thing. Thank you."
Donal stared down at the new strap. "As you saved mine beneath the City of Night."
"Still…"
"Lord, if you wish think of it as payment of a debt." He turned back to the job of threading the strap into place.
"You know, I think about the time we spent at Heart’s Ease. You, I, Kenneth and Shiara." His mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Back when there was a clear, simple job to do and all we had to do was do it."
"Yes, Lord," Donal said without looking up from tying the strap into the chain mail.
"Now everything’s so complicated and there’s so much more to it." He sighed. "What do you do when you’re overwhelmed?"
"You do the best you can for as long as you can, Lord."
"And then?"
Donal jerked the strap tight and looked up. "Then, My Lord, you put your back to something and go down fighting."
"I don’t think that really applies here," Wiz said.
Donal fixed him with his icy blue eyes. "Lord, I hope you are never in a situation where it does apply."
"Subtle," Bal-Simba said at last. "Subtle indeed. But so subtle it is not sure."
Arianne smiled nervously. "If you mean to make me doubt my suspicions, Lord, you may spare yourself the effort. I do not know if I believe this or not."
"Oh, it is believable," Bal-Simba rumbled. "Overt magic in this place would be too easy to detect—and to trace back to its source. Wiz is known to be clumsy and an accident would be easy to accept. An attack using just the tiniest of magics to set up a mischance could perhaps pass unnoticed. And if the first one did not succeed, the next one might, or the next after that."
"That is my thinking, Lord."
He shook his head. "We have grown lax, Lady. With the Dark League broken we have let down our guard."
"You suspect the Dark League?"
"Who else? They are not all gone, after all, and those who are left would have ample reason for harming our Sparrow."
"There is one other thing, Lord."
"Eh?"
"I did not come by this on my own. Another first suggested the idea to me—before today."
"Who?"
"June, the orphan servant girl. She is convinced Wiz is in danger."
"How is your shoulder?" Moira asked as soon as Wiz came in.
"Fine now." He windmilled the arm. "See?"
"I am glad," she said quietly.
"What’s the mater?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Moira bit hr lip. "Wiz, we have to talk."
"All right." I’m losing her, he thought. I’m blowing it and I’m going to lose her.
"I am sorry, I cannot go on like this."
"I know. I’ve got to stop ignoring you."
"Wiz, you are killing yourself," Moira said desperately. "Your ignoring me, that I could live with—I think. It is in a good cause. But you are burning yourself out trying to do too much."
"I’ve got to do it. Bal-Simba won’t let me off the Council and we’ve got to have a version of the spell compiler anyone can use."
Moira bit her lip and considered. This wasn’t just about her needs. As a hedge witch she had been inculcated with the idea that service to the community came before personal needs. The whole World needed Wiz and what he could do. She pushed her feelings to the back and tried to look at the situation as the helper of one of the Mighty with an important task to perform.