A Gathering Of Stones

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“The longer we hang around up here, the more certain it is the Magus will locate us and attack.” The fire threw black shadows into the lines and creases in Maks’ face, underlin-

ing the fatigue in his voice. “I have no doubt he’s probing for us right now, reading the could-be nodes over and over and plotting the changes.”

Simms was watching his face, paying little attention to what he said; he didn’t understand could-be nodes or any of that higher magic, he knew tones of voice and new lines in the face he loved. And he knew how to get into impossible places, though he’d never tried something so impossible as that snow-sealed city on the other side of the mountain. “Danny jump us over traps in the Henanolee Heart. C’d you jump us into the Zivtorony?”

“In, yes. Out, I don’t know. If we have to tear things apart searching for Shaddalakh, it gives the Magus time to throw a noose round us and squeeze.” He opened the wallet and pulled out a handful of parchment sheets, looked through them, pulled out a plan of the city, discarded that an useless, took up a sheet with diagrams of the tower. He passed it over to Simms. “Any ideas?”

Simms spread the sheet across his lap, bent over it, guessing at what the lines meant; he couldn’t read the writing, he could barely read Arsuider and this was something else. His fingertips felt itchy, tingling. “Do y’ b’lieve the Magus know it’s you coming?” He thought a minute. “Or someone like you?”

“Sorceror? Yes. He’d know that.”

“Then I tell you one thing, he got Shaddalakh where he c’n reach out an’ touch him.” He smoothed his hand across the parchment. “Gotta jump direct.” There was a vertical view, the tower sliced down the middle to show how the levels were arranged. He brushed his fingers up the center of the view, stopped where the tingling grew intense, almost painful. He closed his eyes. No image, but he smelled roast geyker and his mouth watered. He was startled. He moved his fingers on up the tower. The tingle faded, the taste went away. He looked up, frowning.

“What is it?”

“Smell anythin’, like meat cookin’?”

“No.”

Simms touched the diagram again, he didn’t close his eyes this time, but there it was, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of red meat swimming in its own gravy. “Magus eatin’ dinner,” he said.

Maks looked at Simms’ fingers resting lightly on the parchment, trembling a little. “Dowsing?”

Simms blinked. “I..” He looked down at his hand, lifted it off the drawing as if the parchment had suddenly gotten hot. “I never did that before.” He was delighted with the discovery, it was a gift he could give his lover, a wanted gift, a needed gift.

Maks smiled. “Told you, little witch, there’s Talent wasting in you; you should train it. Try for Shaddalakh.”

“Do m’ best.” He rubbed his thumb across his fingertips, he was nervous, both hands were shaking. He looked at the vertical drawing, rejected it and moved to the floor plans of the different levels. One by one he brushed his fingers across them. When he touched the third level, he smelled the roast again, located it in a long narrow wedge of a room. That was the Magus, he got no sense of Shaddalakh. He moved on, level to level until he’d touched all seven levels. Nothing more. He shook his head. “All I read is Magus.” He grinned suddenly. “Or maybe t’s m’ belly yearnin’ for roast geyker.”

Maks scowled at the fire. “I’d rather avoid a confrontation with him, but it looks like we have to remove the Magus before we start hunting.” He rubbed his hand along his thigh as if the palm were suddenly sweaty. “Tonight,” he said “I go tonight. If I wait, I get weaker while he gets stronger.”

Simms set the parchment aside, slipped a sleeve knife from its sheath and began working on the edge with a small hone. “What time?”

“Simmo…”

“No, Maks. If y’ have any feelin’ for me, no.”

“It’s because I do…”

“Turn things round an’ think ‘bout it, y’ see?”

“Ahhh! Why do I always love contrarians! Brann who never lets me get away with anything and little Kori who has to be tied down to keep her out of trouble and you, stubborn man, if something happens to you, I die a bit.”

“Do I hurt less if you go down? Am I s’ useless, all I am ‘s a bedmate?”

“Being right all the time, it’s as bad as a taste for getting up early.”

Simms smiled happily at Maks, knowing he’d won his point. “What time?”

“Two hours after midnight.”

“You get some sleep, Maksa, you the one gonna do all the work. I’ll clean up here and wake y’.”

“Simmo, don’t hobble Mule or Neddio and set out the grain we have left.”

“Yeh. Give ‘em a chance, we don’ be back. Pass me the wallet, Maksa, I’ll put this away.” He picked up the plan. “No use leavin’ it out.”

“Keep it by you, you’ll have to dowse again before we go. The Magus won’t be sitting at the dinner table then, no telling where he’ll be. Tungjii bless, Simmo, I don’ know how I ‘could have managed this without you.”

Simms’ mouth tightened as he struggled to control his surging emotions; he was afraid of scaring Maks off like he’d driven away so many others. He set the hone aside, took a bit of leather and began polishing the steel. “Maybe he don’ know ‘bout me. Think of that?” He held out the knife. “Maybe steel c’n cut spell.”

“No no, not steel. Take him out if you can, but don’t kill him, there’s no reason to kill the man, he’s only trying to protect what’s his.”

“A’ right, gimme a sock.” Simms tapped his foot. “I got no spares.” He laughed at the look on Maks’ face. “Sock an’ sand, whap, whiff ‘em, out like blowing out y’ candle.”