Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

crowd. I’m clumsy with a blade and have no interest in hunting some poor fox or wolf. The only thing I can do is ride, but in this family even Freya and Lin do that well. The week . . . the week that Father was ensorcelled, he talked to me once—and that was to ask me if I had any clothes that fit.” Self-consciously, he pulled a sleeve down so it briefly covered the bones in his wrist before sliding back up.
    “One night I dreamed that I saddled my horse and rode up to the old croft. There was a rabbit hiding under a bush that I killed with an arrow. Something happened then . . . when it died I felt a rush of power that filled me until I could hold no more. I walked the fence line of the croft, chanting as the rabbit’s blood dripped to the ground.”
    There was a grim factuality to his story that Aralorn could not help but approve. To a boy who disliked hunting, the realization of what he had done must be sickening.
    “When I was through, I dipped my finger into the rabbit’s death wound, and I was thinking of Father, on how much this would impress him, how proud he would be to have a son who was a mage. I made a mark on the corner post of the fence.”
    “What did the mark look like?” asked Wolf.
    “Two half circles, one above the other—connected bottom to top.”
    Wolf frowned. “Open to the left or right or one each way?”
    “To the left.”
    Wolf closed his eyes as if it allowed him to better visualize the spell.
    Still looking at the drawings, he asked, “You said you were chanting. Do you remember what you said?”
    Gerem frowned. “No. It was in Rethian, though, because I knew what I was saying at the time. I remember thinking that it was strange. I remember that it rhymed.” He was silent for a moment. “Something about feeding, I think. Death, magic, and dreaming, but that’s all I can remember.”
    “And then you burned the croft,” said Wolf.
    Gerem nodded. “They said later there were animals in the barn.” He sounded sick.
    “Be glad there weren’t people,” commented Aralorn.
    “Thanks,” he said sourly, but with a touch of humor. “Now I can have nightmares about that every night, too.”
    “You thought this was a dream?” asked Kisrah.
    Gerem nodded. “Until we received news of the burning of the croft. Even then I didn’t really believe I’d been the one to burn the croft until Father collapsed.” He paused and looked at Aralorn. “I am really glad he isn’t dead. After he was brought back to the keep, I took out my hunting knife—there was dried blood on the blade just beneath the handle where my cleaning cloth might have missed.”
    “Gerem,” said Kisrah, “of all of us here, you hold the least guilt. Without the protection of the spells binding master to apprentice, a dreamwalker of Geoffrey’s caliber could make you do anything he wanted you to. You are no more guilty of killing that rabbit, burning the animals in the barn, or entrapping the Lyon than a sword is guilty of the wounds it opens.”
    Aralorn could have kissed him.
    Gerem’s lips twitched up just a little. “You’re saying that I was just a hatchet that happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
    The Archmage smiled and nodded. “After we free your father, I’ll speak to him about setting up a real apprenticeship.” He turned to Nevyn. “I’ll make certain he doesn’t have your experiences, Nevyn. You should have told—” He stopped when Nevyn flinched and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
    Wolf folded the drawings and put them into a pouch he carried on his belt.
    “Do you know enough to release him?” asked Aralorn.
    Wolf hesitated. “I will only get one chance at this. I’d like to think about it a little more. I know where Father kept his favorite spell books: Let me take a day or so to look through them before I try this.”
    “In my library,” said Kisrah dryly.
    “Not exactly,” said Wolf. “Remind me sometime to show you some of the secrets you ought to know about the ae’Magi’s castle. In the meantime, I need to look a few things up.”
    “That sounds like a good idea to me,” said Kisrah. “Do you need any help?”
    Wolf shook his head. “No. There are only two rune books he used—it wasn’t Father’s forte either.”
    Kisrah bit his lip. “May I talk to you in private before you go, Cain?”
    Wolf raised one eyebrow in surprise. “Certainly.” He took Aralorn’s hand and raised it to his lips. “I’ll be back this