‘Your farm is prospering, I hear. Cattle to feed the armies of the south. You must be almost wealthy by now, Huntsekker.’
‘The Moidart wants—’
‘—me to travel with you to Eldacre. I won’t do it.’
‘That is not wise, Powdermill. The Moidart is not a man to disappoint.’
‘You misunderstand me, big man. I will come – but not with you. The Moidart is watched. Not all the time. They missed his meeting with you. Which is just as well, for if they had not I would have turned you down flat, threat or no threat.’
‘No-one watches the Moidart. I would have seen them.’
Powdermill shook his head. ‘Not these you wouldn’t, big man. They float in the air, unseen by normal eyes. They have great powers.’
Huntsekker smiled. ‘I am not one of your marks. Spare me the nonsense.’
The little man shrugged. ‘The Moidart spoke to you in the uppermost room of the Winter House. He was standing by the window, facing south-east. He asked if you knew anyone with power. A seer or a mystic. You hesitated. Then you spoke my name.’
Huntsekker shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘All right, tell me the trick. How do you know this?’
‘Not through trickery, Huntsekker. The simplest way to explain is to say that a seer always hears when his name is mentioned. Now, as far as I have seen, the Moidart is watched at times during the day. But never after he has taken to his bed. When you return to Eldacre go to him after midnight. Tell him I will come to him, but that I will require ten pounds.’
‘Are you mad, Aran? This house isn’t worth ten pounds. By heaven, he’ll pluck your eyes out for your impudence.’
‘Without my skill he will not survive the winter. Neither will you, big man. You are occasionally watched too. You will be on their death list. That is why I will not travel with you. As to the ten pounds – that is the value I put on my life.’
‘Who are they?’
Aran shook his head. ‘Do you not listen? I will not speak their name. Nor should you. Nor should the Moidart. Merely say the enemy. Tell him my price. I will come to him tomorrow. After midnight.’
‘And that is all you can tell me?’
Aran Powdermill grinned. ‘I can tell you that the man you hit is now waiting in the shadows outside, seeking revenge.’
‘At last! A useful piece of mystical information.’
‘Not really. I saw him duck under my window.’
Huntsekker laughed aloud. ‘Well, it will be amusing to see you barter with the Moidart. I will see you tomorrow.’
‘If the Source is willing,’ said Aran, with no trace of a smile. Huntsekker rose and pulled on his coat. ‘You are welcome to stay the night.’
‘I have matters to attend to.’ Taking up his staff Huntsekker strode to the door. Opening it he stepped outside. Someone rushed from the shadows. Huntsekker’s staff whirled and cracked against the man’s skull. He slumped to the snow. ‘River men used to be tougher than this in my day,’ Huntsekker told the little mystic.
‘Things were always better in the old days,’ answered Aran, with a smile.
As befitted a dutiful son Gaise Macon sent a letter home once a month, informing his father of his movements, and aspects of the campaign he felt might interest him. Truth to tell Gaise had little idea of what might or might not interest the Moidart. His father had never replied – until now. Gaise sat in the main room of his house, Soldier asleep at his feet, and read the letter again.
Word has reached me of the duel with Person. The information is sketchy. Write now and inform me of all the events that led up to it – and any that have followed it. Leave nothing out. Keep Mulgrave close and avoid strict routine in your movements. When possible resign your commission and travel north.
It was signed M.
Gaise shook his head and gave a wry smile. Not a word of affectionate greeting. Not a mention of life back in Eldacre.