Keagon of the Red Blade

By Lee Hodges

In a far away, long ago time, when magicians and strange creatures roamed the earth,Lilith, pregnant wife of Keagon Redblade, Master Archer, is kidnaped by an evil mage, Hendric.
In order to free his wife, Keagon is forced to steal the most prized possesion of another mage, runestones,and deliver them to Hendric. While Keagon is on this quest, Lilith escapes,
taking with her Hendric's most prized possession,a set of Tarot cards. With murder in his mind, Hendric follows. Keagon succeeds at his task, but us almost killed. The two mages declare a truce and join forces to recover their artifacts. Lilith and Keagon and their unborn child appear to be doomed. Then Keagon finds Ninnias and other unusual friends and Lilith finds the Fairlings and there is, once again, hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 6, 2007
• ISBN: 9781462830046

Lee Hodges

I've been trying to write all my life because I've enjoyed reading all my life. My little brother and two sisters got the benefit of first efforts, but the stories never measured up to Tom Sawyer or Winnie the Pooh, so I changed to writing advertising copy and newpaper reporting. In 1982, between jobs, I decided to take a whole year and write this book. It took that year to do the first draft and the next seventeen years to get it right. I owe many people thanks, but it was my writer's grtoup that doggedly insisted that I do it over and over until it was really a novel. I am 73 years old and have been a farmer, a soldier, a sheet metal worker, fine artist/commercial artist, copywriter and news reporter. I have also been a teacher and story teller, a husband and most important, the father of two fine children.

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Copyright © 2007 by Lee Hodges.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

Thanks to Valerie, Tom, and Pat and my sisters, Colleen, Shirley, and their kids for their interest and support while I strung all of those words together. Also to my writers’ group, sponsored by Don McRae and family in Eatonville, Washington. They insisted that I toe the mark and do my chosen craft as a professional.

CHAPTER 1

A fog of gray Chim smoke blanketed the Ramshorn’s taproom almost as thick as the chatter. They called it Chim here. His former companions in the Prime Lord’s army had called it King’s Coin, but no matter what name you used, it was still dried cow dung. Thoroughly cured it burned hot and smokeless but, be it the slightest bit green … a deep base voice on the other side of the taproom bellowed, Landlord this place stinks!

A tall stranger stood, tossed a brass farthing into his leather jack and said, Come, Otto, let’s go somewhere decent before I puke.

The two men strode to the tavern door holding their noses and slammed the door after them. A well sloshed wit called out, Who was them two old ladies?

The answering burst of laughter, was swiftly followed by calls of, More beer, more wine.

Serving wenches deftly wove through the crowd, avoiding hands eager to grab the nearest part of their bodies. Each near miss provoked comment such as, Gittin’ kinda old ‘n’ slow, aincha?

Good thing ya din’t catch that’n, brother, she’d a kilt ya with love.

Hey! That was a woman, ya scut, not yer favrit ewe!

The girls smiled nervously and scampered without spilling a drop.

Normally these were homely, comfortable events, but tonight they filled Keagon Redblade with foreboding. There seemed to be a mocking edge, an unusual shrillness to the conversations and the Chim stunk like God’s midden.

Keagon regarded the fat stranger, who sat across the game rug like a pile of camel dung. He called himself Akim and claimed to be a merchant, although Keagon suspected he had lied on both accounts. Almost all of Keagon’s possessions lay before the stranger. The pile of brass and copper coins was small, but the ruby was of good color and cut, his ring of gold with its odd setting had great value, his hat was of good quality beaver and his woolen traveling cloak brand new. All of these Akim now owned.

The man was cheating, but so subtly that Keagon couldn’t see how.

This is my last chance, he thought grimly. If I lose this time, we’ll be destitute, with only our clothing and my bronze bladed knife. That knife had gotten him the appellation Red Blade from his fellow soldiers. It was a present from his father. The aquamarine stone in the haft was reputed to glow in the presence of magic. Supposedly, the stronger the spell the brighter the glow. Keagon would part with his life before he surrendered that knife.

If he lost this last hand he and his young, pregnant wife would go hungry this night and for many nights to come. They would have to delay their journey to the bedside of his sick father while he earned money to continue their passage.

The message hadn’t said how ill his father was, merely that Keagon should be swift. They had been on the road for two weeks when Lilith announced that she thought she was pregnant. Keagon was immediately consumed with anxiety that she might suffer from the hardships of travel and lose the child. It would require at least six weeks of hard travel to reach his parents’ home.

He had said, I don’t know much about a woman’s needs, wife. You’ll have to tell me if our way is too hard.

She smiled and patted him on the cheek. I’m tougher than you think, husband, she said, coloring at her use of the relatively new title. Being married was still a novelty to them both. I will be all right.

But it was this anxiety that had goaded him into gambling for enough money to buy luxuries to ease her journey.

Keagon glanced quickly behind him to make sure no-one stood back there to signal Akim, then nervously passed the bones from hand to hand behind his back. Usually the bones were the polished knuckles of a pig, but Keagon had won his jade set the previous year and since then had had phenomenal luck. He privately felt that they had been ensorcled at some time, although the aquamarine on his knife didn’t indicate it was so, and he insisted on using them every time he played.

It was a simple gamble, Chuggarrut, and one that had supported Keagon before when times were hard. The game had brought them eating money and sometimes lodging during their long trip to his homeland, but tonight had been a disaster.

The Chug player held four bones behind his back. Out of his opponent’s sight, he mixed and moved them until he had a combination that seemed right. He then held his hands in front of him and the other player tapped one hand declaring, odd, even, or empty. If he guessed right he took the pot, if not, he forfeited. Simple. One had a one in three chance of winning and a two of three chance of losing, yet Akim had guessed right every time. He hadn’t made one mistake. It wasn’t natural. He had to be cheating. But how?

The fat merchant had seemed like such an easy mark. A wealthy man who wouldn’t miss the few coins that Keagon and Lilith needed. It wasn’t that Keagon was going to cheat. He felt the bones were so lucky he’d make an honest profit. But, Keagon had been dismally wrong. By the time he had caught on to the fact that the merchant was a rogue, he had gotten in too deep to quit.

He felt tears of anger and frustration gather and shook them away.

Show hands! Akim demanded.

Keagon ignored the sweat that itched between his shoulder blades. He shook his head, Not yet.

You play like weak old woman, Akim declared. Hands, or I have my guards throw you to the snakes.

The pits of Goro were famous throughout the civilized world. Their snakes were carefully chosen for their slow acting poison so the victim suffered a long, agonizing death. Keagon resisted the urge to blurt out, And you cheat. He shook his head.

Maybe the guards were an empty threat, maybe not. He hadn’t seen any that he could recognize as such, but there could be a dozen mixed in with the crowd. The demand went against Keagon’s stubborn nature. He shook his head again.

I will not be hurried, he said. When I am ready, and not before.

Akim raised his arm. Two large men, dark skinned, with curly black beards, rose from a nearby table and came to stand behind the merchant, arms folded across their chests, hands close to their sword hilts. Their somber robes made them seem like giants.

Show hands, Akim repeated in a tone that allowed no argument.

Oh, Keagon exclaimed, feigning surprise, You want to see my hands? Why didn’t you say so?

A third man rolled off of his cushion, rose and approached. His broad shoulders supported a boiled leather breastplate with numerous small plates of iron, much like Keagon’s, except Keagon’s plates were of brass. Brass was much less expensive, but it was also less protective. Like Keagon, the stranger’s skirt of leather strips came to mid-thigh. As he approached he displayed the short staff of an under officer. Such officers were called a decimar, or commander of ten. Keagon was only a common soldier.

I am called Dordic. I am the Duke’s Master-at-arms. You must show hands, he added, it is the law, here.

Keagon slowly brought them to the fore and held his breath. Akim tapped the left without even looking.

Empty, he exclaimed, and there was no misunderstanding the malicious pleasure in his smile.

Without waiting for confirmation, he added, Now we play for the bones.

Keagon opened his left hand to show that it was indeed empty. No, we don’t, he answered and leaned forward to get to his feet. Akim pushed him back. His strength was surprising.

All the blood seemed to drain from Keagon’s head. He felt dizzy. A rush of anger engulfed him. He jumped to his feet and whipped his red bladed dagger from beneath his tunic. Now, he noticed for the first time, that the stone blazed bright blue.

It may have been that his legs, cramped from sitting so long in a cross-legged position, betrayed him. He staggered, waving the dagger to keep his balance. The soldier drew back in surprise. It seemed that the decimar’s staff barely moved, but it struck Keagon in the chest with such force that he flew backward and clattered to the floor. His dagger flipped through the air, end for end, and landed point down to stick in the earthen floor. The guards’ weapons swept from their scabbards and hovered, ready.

Seven Hells, Keagon swore, and rubbed his aching chest as he sat up, What hit me?

Akim sat calmly, his hands on his knees. You can’t win, he said. You must be philosophical and accept what fate has in store.

The fat body shimmered at the edges and shrank. Details inside the figure smoothed and became flat and transparent. Through it, Keagon saw the customers at the next table. Gradually, the figure solidified. Akim had become an entirely different person, thin, with a pallid face and hands. From garments of somber black, the new stranger’s blazing eyes seemed to pierce Keagon’s heart.

Shape changer! Keagon gasped and made the horned sign to ward off evil. He had never been this close to a magician before. He was unprepared for the force that emanated from the man. The feeling of immense power, caged, straining to be released.

Hold your tongue, the apparition said, lest I have it ripped from your head. Regard me, Hendric. I am your fate.

Keagon regarded him with astonishment. A compulsion to vomit with fear struck and quickly passed. He had faced danger many times before and won. Keagon got to his feet and shook himself. So, the stories of shape changers are true, he said, I had never expected to see it. Are all of you cheats as well?

Tables crashed and clattered as other customers scrambled to put distance between themselves and the two men. They crowded against the dingy walls and watched in fearful silence.

The decimar’s staff struck Keagon in the face. His knees buckled, but the two guards grabbed his arms and kept him on his feet. Blood dripped from his nose to the floor. He hung limply, his mind whirling, his vision blurred.

That is twice you have used the word cheat. You would do well to speak respectfully to my Lord Hendric, the decimar said from far away. You might wind up looking like a frog, or a lizard.

The magician Hendric leaned forward and stirred the skimpy pile of his winnings with a forefinger. He picked up Keagon’s ring and held it up for everyone to see.

It was this I wanted, he said. It was the first thing I noticed about you, warrior. He examined the beetle shaped crest and the strange writing around it. "The fabled ring of Alderic. Tell me how you came by it before I have you executed!

CHAPTER 2

The drip of water from walls and ceiling sounded much worse than it was. The echo of the plink-plink off the stone walls multiplied them into thousands. It soon lost its musical quality. Each drop came to sound like a booming drumbeat. The drops poked at Keagon’s hair, tapped his shoulders and ran down his arms and legs and already he was soaked. A finger’s depth of icy water covered the floor and slimy moss on the walls indicated that it sometimes got much deeper. It wasn’t clean water, either; it had the revolting smell of sewage.

He leaned against a wall and tried to make sense of his situation, but his mind merely went in circles. What will Lilith and our unborn child do? Is my father dying? How long have I been here? He’d never much thought about prisoners, much less about being one. Rage alternated with despair and he had to fight to keep from pounding on the walls and screaming.

He wrapped his arms about himself and slid to a sitting position. He pulled his legs up to his chest to conserve warmth. It helped a little.

Far off, a door closed with a hollow, booming sound. The squishing of many feet became audible. Keagon sat up. The small window in his cell door became visible as torches approached and the light became brighter and brighter until it was so strong it hurt his eyes. He jumped to his feet and peered through. Four men approached. Were they coming to kill him?

The man in front carried a torch in each hand. The flames wavered in a breeze from the open outer door. Sparks bounced off of the tunnel ceiling. Two guards behind dragged a limp form between them. The light barely reached the man at the rear. Keagon felt relieved. Their attention was focused on their present victim. At the same time he felt a surge of newly found empathy for the unfortunate prisoner. The group reached Keagon’s door and paused. The torch carrier stood aside while one of the men, holding one arm of the prisoner, inserted a key into the lock and turned. Nothing happened.

Exasperated he called to the fourth man, Here, hold this garbage whilst I turn this. Iron locks rust quickly in this hole. Shoulda stuck to brass.

He grunted with the intensity of his effort. A grating squeal signaled the opening of the wards. The guard threw the door open.

Stand away, the guard said to Keagon and drew his sword.

Keagon stepped back, apparently not fast or far enough, for the guard poked him in the chest with the point of his weapon, until the wall of the cell struck his back.

One of the other guards said, One! Two! Heave! And the other two tossed the captive, who flew through the air to land with a splash. His head thudded into the wall beside Keagon’s legs. Keagon kneeled and lifted the man’s face out of the water so he wouldn’t drown. Before the light withdrew, he saw that the prisoner’s back was shredded into a bloody hash of skin and flesh. He had been brutally whipped. The new prisoner moaned, a low, hopeless sound that tore at Keagon’s heart.

Their tormentors slammed the door shut, and the lock rasped closed. The guards tramped away and their precious light faded all too fast.

Keagon did his best to make the other man comfortable. There was not much he could do with bare hands. The cold alone would probably kill him.

Thanks.

The single word, almost a whisper, gladdened his heart. The battered prisoner still lived. Keagon sat beside him and then pulled the man onto his lap. At least he would be mostly out of the water and the warmth of Keagon’s body might keep him alive for a while longer.

How came you by such gentle treatment, stranger? Keagon asked.

First a dry chuckle sounded, followed by a cough that racketed around the cell, then the man said, My name is Hans. Hendric got a new ring. I happened to be there when he tried it on for the first time.

That’s your crime?

No, but when he put it on, it flung him across the room and fell from his finger.

Keagon grinned at the picture of Hendric flying through the air. And then what happened?

I laughed.

Oops! Not wise. Not wise at all.

Hans chuckled again. Why didn’t you tell me before?

He coughed, a deep grating rasp that shook his entire body.

Well, at least I’ll know better next time.

Keagon didn’t think there would be a next time. Hendric didn’t seem that forgiving. Hans shifted and moaned slightly. From the sound, Keagon knew he had his teeth clenched.

Tell me about this Hendric, he said. Maybe talking would help Hans forget the pain. He heard only harsh, stentorian breathing. Lightly, he touched the other man’s shoulder. Hans?

Well, you poor fool, Keagon said, realizing Hans had passed out. He still breathed, but who knew for how long. At least you feel nothing now. I wish you could have told me how long I’ve been here and how Lilith is faring.

The sound of his own voice made Keagon feel better and, even though the man was unconscious, having someone or something to talk to made him feel a little less foolish.

Keagon had no idea how much time had passed when the distant boom of the outside door sounded again. Wavering torch light and loud footsteps stopped outside his door as before. The rusty lock screeched its protest at this unusual treatment. The door swung open to reveal the silhouetted figure of a soldier, bandy legs spread wide, arms akimbo. Well, this is getting to be a habit, Keagon said.

"Come out of there, filth. You’ll regret it if I have to wade in there to fetch you.

You must mean me, Keagon replied. He recognized his old acquaintance, the decimar. You didn’t leave my new friend, here, in a condition to walk.

"Yes. I mean you, slime. Lord Hendric has graciously consented to speak to you.

How about some salve for this man’s back and some blankets to keep him warm? He’ll die, lying in this sewage.

Fool! He’s supposed to die. Now get over here. This is the last time I’m going to tell you.

Keagon carefully lifted Hans off of his lap and propped him against the wall. At least half of him would be out of the wet. He approached the decimar slowly, bent, his legs cramped. All this time and no one has asked me who I am, he observed, Not very friendly.

You’re not important. You know nothing, you are nothing. A worm, a slug, a pile of stinking dung. Move!

Keagon was used to such language. It was the trade mark of sergeants everywhere. Unmoved by the threat, he approached the door slowly. Dordic grabbed the front of Keagon’s tunic and pulled. Rotting seams gave way with a ripping sound. The decimar let go, took Keagon by the arm and pulled him down the hall to the open outer door. Keagon stepped out into the cool fresh air. He shivered. His wet clothing drew the cold like a magnet. Still, it smelled clean and wholesome out here and he almost thanked his jailer for his kindness in rescuing him. He drew a deep breath, exhaled, drew another, and looked about. A three-storied manse loomed to their right. A cluster of out buildings, one obviously a blacksmith shop, occupied the other side of the court. The main castle gate, straight ahead was closed, the portcullis down. Two guards walked the fighting platform above. The silhouetted heads of other men-at-arms proved that the palisade was well guarded. To his surprise, it was still night. Maybe it was not the same night, but he wasn’t sure.

How long was I in there? Keagon asked.

Two thirds of a three part candle. Dordic replied, jerking him roughly toward the manse door. What does it matter, dog?

So, it is only the middle of the first night. It seemed like I was in there a day or more.

The decimar chuckled, the first sign of humor that he had shown. Strange, how often I’ve heard that.

They entered the Great Hall with its lofty ceiling. The trestle tables had been knocked down and laid along the walls to make beds for the guests. Men sat around the raised fire pit in the center of the hall, proposing toasts to Uglash, to the Earth Mother, and pretty maids in general. Their voices were loud and boastful with no regard for the sleepers arranged around the edges of the hall. They spat into the fire pit and bragged about their prowess in battle. They greeted the appearance of Dordic and Keagon with loud laughter and raised drinking horns in mocking salute. Dordic buried the head of his torch in a tub of sand to extinguish it, waved to the drinkers, and pulled Keagon to a wooden stair in the left corner. They turned left again to face a portal of ornately carved oak. Dordic knocked and placed an ear close to the door. At the faint, Enter, the soldier opened it and shoved Keagon through. I’ll wait out here, he said, and slammed it shut.

Keagon waited in the foyer. He scanned the room beyond while he listened for the decimar’s departing steps. No sound. That meant Dordic was just beyond, waiting for him to bolt. I think not, oh decimar, Keagon said to himself. He smiled grimly. When I escape I want to be alive long enough to enjoy it.

He cautiously entered the room beyond and stopped. The smell of unwashed clothing and burning candles hung like an invisible fog. A chaotic jumble of equipment occupied the corners and spilled from on top of and underneath tables. Scrolls littered floor to ceiling shelves along the sides, framing the windows opposite the door and the door itself. The windows had thick bars of iron wood that gave the entire setting the air of a prison.

Hendric sat in a large throne of wood and leather. Light from a cresset outside the windows shone on the carved image on the backrest that depicted Umber, ruler of the dead. Keagon stared at the underworld image and the carved snakes that writhed over every exposed surface of the vast chair.

Most people confine the use of the death symbols to the burying grounds, he said. It is bad luck to have them inside one’s dwelling.

Hendric’s attempt at a friendly smile failed. He looked more like a grinning rat. He said, lightly, I should think that you should know by now that I am not ‘most people’.

True. Keagon agreed. It has been a painful lesson, too.

Come closer, Hendric ordered and gestured toward a stool. Just throw that laundry on the floor.

Keagon approached cautiously. The magician’s pretense to being a genial host set his teeth on edge. Does he think I’m so stupid I can’t remember Hans, dying in the cell below? The oily pest wants something.

I regret our first meeting, Hendric said. Most unfortunate. I am Hendric, spell caster for Count Herman IVth of Proclavia. Please, what is your name, and from whence are you?

My use name is Redblade, Keagon replied. He knew from his wide travels that many regarded the custom of keeping one’s given name a secret a superstition. He did himself, but it was the custom in his home kingdom of Brea Ap and old habits die hard.

A use name? Do people still believe in those? Come, sir, your full name. There is no harm in my knowing.

When Keagon remained silent, Hendric’s expression conveyed amusement at such rustic behavior. He rose and walked to a lectern that supported a large black book. He patted the soft leather of its binding.

One of the two Lesser Spelling Books, He explained. Only three people in the world can read it. I am one.

His pride was obvious. He watched Keagon, seeming to gauge his reaction. Keagon remained outwardly unimpressed. Hendric walked to a table, searched beneath some parchments, and brought out a small, wooden box. It had a simple chip-carved design around the edge. Inlet in its center, a shining copper design resembled a snake swallowing its own tail. He held the box close for Keagon’s inspection. It smelled of cedar wood.

Inside this is the Great Tarota, one of the most powerful tools of magic in the civilized world. It helps me read the future.

Keagon shrank away. Don’t get it so close, he protested. I don’t like magic.

The magician smiled and carried the box back to his throne. He opened the hinged lid, pulled a small table in front of himself and brushed its litter to the floor. He tipped out a pack of beautifully decorated cards. Let’s see what they say.

He dealt four cards in a cross shape. Each time he placed a card, he grunted, as if dealing were hard labor. At the fourth card, he paused and regarded it with a pleased look. He dealt two more and chuckled.

It’s amazing what the tarot can tell you, he said. He gathered up all of the cards but one and replaced them in the box. He tossed the box on top of a pile of litter near the black book’s lectern and covered the remaining card with his left hand. He leaned back in his great chair and smiled. Then, with the air of having suddenly remembered something, he snapped his fingers. He fumbled in his belt scrip and brought out a leather pouch and Keagon’s ring. His left hand still covered the remaining card.

Here is your trinket, he said. It was wrong of me to take it. And the purse will more than replace the gold you lost gambling.

Keagon accepted the items. He examined the ring carefully. It was indeed his. He felt a surge of hope. For the first time since he’d entered on this unfortunate adventure everything was going to be all right. Lilith would have all she needed to keep her and the baby healthy and happy. Caution returned. A warning sounded at the tip of his consciousness. The magician wasn’t done with them yet.

Thank you. He hoped his voice didn’t betray his distrust. What made the ring so important to you?

I mistook it for Alderic’s Guardian, a ring almost priceless, but this one is merely a copy and unimportant.

Keagon thought, he doesn’t know that I know it rejected him. How can I use that, and why has the mage given up so easily? The answer occurred to him almost immediately. He shivered. It was all he could do to sit calmly. The rat’s not giving up, he’s taking a more underhanded approach.

So, am I free to go my way? He asked.

Hendric sighed, rubbed his long chin, and leaned forward. I need you to perform one small task, first. If you succeed I will give you more gold.

What if I fail?

If you fail you will die, but not by my hand.

And what if I refuse?

Hendric’s affable mask slipped. He leaned forward, his eyes assumed the glitter of feral beast. You will go back to that cell and stay there until you are bones.

Hendric held up the card he’d reserved from the Tarot so Keagon could see it. It depicted a bound and blindfolded woman who lifted her face as if imploring help. The position of her body, the angle of her head, and the hunching of her shoulders spoke of great fear.

Rest assured, my friend, while you are gone I will see that your good wife is fed and clothed and housed in comfort. She and the babe will be safe with me.

His dry chuckle sounded like the final slamming of a dungeon door.

Fear brought Keagon to his feet. He stood dumbly staring at the magician with growing horror. Lilith! What could he do or say? His mind was a total blank. Hendric had him fettered, body and soul!

All right, he exclaimed, angrily, What is it you want?

CHAPTER 3

Hendric the magician leaned back in his throne and smiled. Another victory. Small, but nevertheless, the successful break of another man’s resolve was always a thrill. Being a magician was such a privilege and it was so satisfying to be the object of fear and loathing to so many. The slight resistance of this fellow, Keagon, would make it easy to use him as an instrument of his will and then discard him like a broken tool.

He leaned forward and smiled. I need you to get a small, red bag from an enemy of mine who stole it from me. He is a harmless old man, another magician, but a weak, foolish one. It will be simple for you to recover my treasure and return it to me.

Then why don’t you do it?

Hendric twitched. These questions irritated him, peasants were so stupid, but he tried to keep his expression calm and his voice smooth. Professional ethics prevent me from doing it personally. I can’t send my associates because that old scoundrel, Androvan, knows them all. It has to be a stranger, like you.

Hendric watched the other man mull over this information.

I’ll think about it, Keagon murmured, Would any stranger do, or is there some reason why you decided on me?

Hendric pulled at his chin as he was wont to do when he was puzzled. The man is smart, he thought, and that angered him. People who were smart twisted and squirmed and sometimes broke free.

Impossible! Time is important. he said brusquely. Give me your answer now, or go back to the dungeon.

I am not a thief.

You wear the cuff and calluses of an archer, a soldier. Isn’t that the same?

Hendric watched Keagon’s angry flush with pleasure. This ragged warrior will submit, but, I must be careful not to goad him so much he forgets his wife’s danger and does something stupid.

He said, All you have to do is plan this like you were a heximar, a leader of a hundred, getting ready for a battle. I already know you can do this.

Keagon’s raised brow and wry mouth expressed a questioning doubt. Hendric settled back in his throne. He sighed. "All right! All right! Some time ago the tarot forecast your coming and that you would perform a great service for me.

Not you specifically, but that a yellow-haired warrior, with blue eyes and wearing a certain kind of ring would appear. You have all of those attributes, do you not?"

I also had a red blade, a bow, a quiver of arrows, a winter cloak and hat and a strong reluctance to becoming a thief.

Hendric’s fist struck the arm of his chair. Enough! Do you agree or not?

The warrior looked grim. It seems I have no choice.

Hendric’s sense of superiority intensified. This insignificant louse had crumpled as they all did, sooner or later. He said, Your possessions shall all be returned when you are released to accomplish your task. He rose and stretched. Now, let us be on our way.

Keagon was relieved to hear that he would get his valuable knife back, but he had a more urgent need. He held up a hand. Wait! I’d like to see my wife.

Hendric regarded the upstart impassively. It was highly unlikely that he would ever see his wife again after the other magician, Androvan, got done with him. After all, he had been preceded by at least a dozen others who had failed disastrously. If he should succeed at the task Hendric assigned him, his usefulness would end and by that time he’d know too much. He couldn’t be allowed to live. His wife was a pretty little thing, though. she might turn out to be very profitable if used in the proper manner. I may use her myself before I sell her to the highest bidder, he thought.

Hendric smiled, And so you shall, my friend, after you complete the geas I lay upon you.

Useful word, that. Call a man friend and he would scramble all over himself to make it so.

Switch me if I don’t feel like an urchin stealing apples, Keagon grumbled. It had been a long time since he’d last shinnied up a tree. Despite the cool shade and light breeze, he sweated and puffed. He paused to catch his breath. There is no reason that pox-ridden mage couldn’t have let me talk to Lilith.

He drew a ragged sleeve across his brow, wrinkled his nose at the stink of his own sweat and reflected on the last time he’d climbed like this. It had been in a lull during the siege of Boromir, about a year ago. He had met Lilith a month or so before and her engaging smile, more of a grin, really, had enchanted him. After each encounter the memory of her slender figure lingered until he found himself thinking of her all the time. Then, she hadn’t appeared in her usual places for a whole week. He became alarmed. Maybe her family had moved. Maybe she had succumbed to one of the dozens of mysterious diseases that lingered around army encampments. He had to see if she was all right.

That night, he climbed up an ancient apple tree outside the sleeping chamber of Lilith and her three sisters. She was there. Of course, with his luck it had been one of the younger sisters who had come to the second floor window first when he tapped on the shutter. She giggled, then turned her head into the room and brayed, Sisters! Come see the strange bear in our tree!

Keagon looked wildly about, sure he was betrayed. He put a finger to his lips. Quiet!

Lilith appeared in the window and raised her eyes to the heavens. Her glare was spoiled by the way the corners of her lips threatened to curl up.

What can you be thinking of, Master Keagon? Get down out of that tree before you fall and break your neck!

A third sister pretended horror. Maw and Paw will screech about our virtue and beat you with cudgels.

He ignored their foolery. Where have you been? he demanded. I haven’t seen you for a week!

Lilith pretended to think. Let’s see, wash day we did laundry at the river. Next day I helped shear the sheep, while my sisters folded linen and cleaned house. Next day we took the cart to the forest to gather firewood …

All right! All right! I was worried. Lilith, I have to talk to you in private.

She looked at her sisters and shrugged. I’m afraid this is as private as it will ever be. What do you want to say, Master Keagon?

Four pairs of blue eyes watched him expectantly. He took a deep breath. They were all going to laugh, he knew it. Sudden dizziness blurred his vision and he realized that he’d forgotten to exhale. He gasped, then before he realized what he was doing, he blurted, Will you marry me?

Three pairs of eyes opened wide over delighted smiles, but Lilith pretended to be puzzled. She place a hand on her chest. She frowned. ‘Are you talking to me?"

Yes! he snapped, embarrassed beyond endurance. Who’d you think? Your mother?

Well, I don’t know …

I won’t get down until you say yes!

Her grin transformed her from merely a pretty girl to a beautiful one. She pretended exasperation. All right, for Hella’s Sake, I’ll marry you! Now, get down from that ridiculous tree before my father whacks you out of it.

He chuckled at the memory. Best thing he’d ever done.

With a start, he came back to the present. For the love of the one true God, this was no place to be wool gathering! He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Anyone would think he was fresh off of the farm. He returned to his immediate problem. How does one steal from a magician?

The oak he was in grew where the edge of a vast plain of tall, multicolored grasses met an equally huge forest. To his left, grass waved for as far as he could see. To his right, across a narrow river that ran between plain and forest, huge elm and pines formed a barrier. In front of him,