Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

anything, paler than before. “I thought it was a dream,” he said hollowly. “It had to have been—I don’t know anything about magic or how it works. But I dreamed of lighting a fire and making a great magic. It burned until I thought the flesh was coming off my hands. I thought it was a dream, but when I awoke, the farm had been torched, and there were ashes on my boots. I . . . think”—he stopped and swallowed heavily, then said it all in a rush—“I think I must have put the spell on Father.”
    “Nonsense,” said Falhart bracingly.
    “Don’t be an idiot,” snapped Correy.
    “I think you might be right,” murmured Aralorn thoughtfully if unkindly. Then she continued quickly. “No, now don’t look at me like that. It certainly wasn’t his fault if he did. You asked me why I inquired about the Dreamer. This is the kind of thing it was supposed to be able to do. It seduced its victims into doing what it wanted, either by promising them something they wanted or by making them think they were doing something else.” She looked at their solemn faces. “It is said that the Tear of Hornsmar had a dream one night. A serpent attacked him in his bed. When he awoke, he turned to tell his mistress, Jandrethan, of his nightmare—which was still vivid in his mind. He found that she had been beheaded by his own sword, which he still clutched in his right hand.”
    “But the Dreamer is just a story,” said Gerem. “Like—like—dragons.”
    “Ah,” said Aralorn, swinging lightly back into the saddle. “But so are shapeshifters, my lad. And I am living proof that sometimes the stories have facts behind them.” She crossed her arms over the saddlebow and shook her head at him, but when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “Don’t take it to heart so, Gerem. Like enough there was nothing you could have done about it anyway.”
    Though he remounted, Correy made no move to push on. “We have two weeks before Father dies. Kisrah will try his best . . . but there has to be something we can do. Aralorn, do you know any sorcerers who might be of help? If it is black magic that holds Father, perhaps a mage who has worked with such things can help.”
    “You do know that it is a death sentence for any mage who admits to working such magic,” commented Aralorn without glancing at Wolf.
    “Yes.” Correy hesitated. “I spoke with Lord Kisrah before we left this morning. He told me to ask you . . . He said that he thought you might know Geoffrey ae’Magi’s son, Cain.”
    “He thought what?” asked Aralorn, as she damned the Archmage for voicing his suspicions out loud. If it became common knowledge she knew Wolf, they were in deep trouble.
    “He thought you might know Cain the Black,” repeated Correy obligingly. “It is well-known that Cain worked with the darker aspects of magic, as Lord Kisrah has not. He suggested that we might be well-advised to call upon someone with more experience in these matters.”
    “Been keeping bad company, little sister?” asked Falhart in deceptively gentle tones.
    “Never worse than now,” she agreed lightly. Sheen snorted, impatient with the long stop, and she patted him on the neck, giving herself some time to pick her reply. “I have been communicating with someone who knows something about the dark arts. He assures me that he is doing all that he can.”
    “Who—”
    “Well enough,” said Correy, over the top of Gerem’s impatient question. “That’s all that we can ask.”
    “Is it?” asked Gerem hotly. “I’ve been having other dreams too, dreams of Geoffrey ae’Magi’s son. Isn’t it in the least suspicious that the only mage known to work the black magic of old happens to associate with our sister when such magic strikes the Lyon of Lambshold? Doesn’t that bother anyone but me?”
    Abruptly, Aralorn kneed Sheen, and the warhorse jumped forward until she could turn him to face Gerem with only inches between them, tapping the stallion’s neck when he nipped at the sorrel’s rump. “Yes, plague it, it does. And worries me as well, if you want to know the truth of the matter. Only one man knew that . . . Cain and I know each other—and as far as I know, he died before he could tell anyone.” I hope he’s dead, thought Aralorn. I hope so. “If he’s not dead, then we have a greater evil to face than some storytime creature.”
    She drew in a deep breath, and the war stallion shifted beneath her—every muscle ready to fight at her