Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

priestess to live in.”
    “Ah,” she said, wondering why her father was building houses for the death goddess’s priestess. Guessing why he sent his sons to do it was easier—the Lyon liked to make certain his children knew as many skills as possible. He also liked to keep them humble. “Well, in any case, you need to send someone there to take care of a rather large carcass we left. It might attract some predators, and it’s near some good winter pasture.”
    Correy nodded. “I saw that your wolf is missing some hide. Run into a bear?”
    Aralorn coughed, glanced at Kisrah, who was listening in, and said, “Something of the sort, yes.” There is nothing more disastrous than allowing your opponents to overestimate your abilities: Killing legendary monsters almost always led to that very thing.
    “I’ll see to it,” he said. “Good night, Featherweight.”
    She reached way up and managed to ruffle his hair. “Good night, Blue-eyes.”
    Correy laughed and kissed her cheek.
    “Good night, sir,” he told Kisrah with a friendly nod.
    Kisrah waited until Correy had gone. “Blue-eyes?” he asked.
    If they’d been friends, she would have laughed; she satisfied herself with lifting an eyebrow instead. “Because they are not, of course.”
    He nodded seriously. “Of course. I compliment you on your storytelling.”
    She shrugged, rubbing her fingers into the soft fur behind Wolf’s ears. “It’s a hobby of mine to collect odd tales. Some of them have even come in handy a time or two. Come, I’ll take you to the bier room.”
    She set off across the great hall, which had largely emptied of people. She didn’t look behind her, but she could hear the rustle of the Archmage’s cloak and the click of Wolf’s nails on the hard floor.
    Before they reached the curtain, Kisrah stopped walking. Aralorn stopped and looked at him inquiringly.
    “Do you think that the only reason black magic was abandoned was this beast in your story?”
    “The Dreamer? I’m not certain that the Dreamer ever existed,” replied Aralorn. “There’s a less dramatic version of the story in which Tam himself creates the Dreamer in order to stop the general use of black magic. I am a green mage, my lord ae’Magi: I don’t need to eat rotten meat to know that it is tainted. Blood magic . . . is as foul-smelling as a raw roast left out for a couple of days in the sun.”
    “Ah,” said Kisrah. He frowned at her intently and changed the subject smoothly. “Did you kill the ae’Magi?”
    “Geoffrey?” she asked, as if there had been a dozen Archmages killed in the last few years.
    “Yes.”
    Aralorn folded her arms and leaned against the cold stone wall. Wolf settled at her feet with a sigh, though he kept a steady eye on Kisrah. The Archmage ignored him.
    “The Uriah killed Geoffrey,” she said softly. “Poor tormented creatures he, himself, created.” Then she forced herself to relax and continue lightly. “At least that’s what the mercenaries who were hired to clean up the castle reported.”
    “He had no trouble controlling them before,” said Kisrah. “I’ve used the spells myself—they were neither difficult nor draining. And, Aralorn, despite what your friend, the wizard who gave you that amulet ”—not one of her better stories, she admitted—“told you, Geoffrey didn’t create the Uriah, just summoned them to do his bidding. I think that you have been misled.”
    She shrugged. She’d learned her lesson; she didn’t argue with someone who might still be under the influence of the late ae’Magi’s spells.
    “You were there that night,” he said. “I saw you.”
    “And if I say I killed him,” asked Aralorn in a reasonable tone, “what then? You will kill me as well to even the score?”
    “No,” he said hoarsely. “My word of honor that I will not. Nor will I tell anyone else what you say to me. I believe I know who did the killing, but I need . . . I need to be certain.”
    Why? she thought to herself. So you can justify the black magic used to hold my father as bait to trap Wolf?
    “How could I, a second-rate swordswoman and a third-rate green mage, do such a thing to the ae’Magi?” She indulged herself a bit more than was strictly safe, though she was careful that he would not hear the sarcasm in her voice. “Everyone knows how powerful a sorcerer he was—and a swordsman of the highest ability. Why would I want to kill him? He was the kindest, most tenderhearted—not to mention