Edmund gestured. “Marta, bring our guests supper!”
The old woman approached respectfully, carrying in her hands several dried fish. She set the fish down before them and, bowing, rose to leave.
But Haplo, watching her, saw her eyes dart jealously to the fish, then to himself and to Alfred.
“Go, old woman,” the prince said sharply. His cheeks were flushed. It seemed he had noted the look, as well.
“Wait,” Haplo called. Reaching out, he handed some of the fish back. “Take this for yourself. As we said, Your Highness,” he added, when he saw Edmund start to protest, “we can provide our own.”
“Yes.” Alfred joined in eagerly, glad to have something to do. He lifted the fish in his hands. The old woman, clasping the food dose to her bosom, hastened away.
“I am deeply shamed,” Edmund began, but his words died on his lips.
Alfred was singing the runes to himself, his voice raised in the high-pitched nasal whine that seemed to pierce right through Haplo’s head. The Sartan held one fish in his hand, then he held two, then three appeared. Ceasing the chant, Alfred handed the food to the prince, who stared at it, wide-eyed. The Sartan offered another fish, deferentially, to Haplo.
His runes glowed blue and red and where there had been one fish there were now twelve, then twenty-four. Haplo arranged the fish on the flat rock, remembered to give one to the dog, who—with an uneasy glance at the dead—dragged its dinner off to a dark recess to enjoy it in private.
“Such magic is wonderful, truly wonderful,” the prince said in awed tones.
“But .. . you can do this,” Alfred said, nibbling at the salty-tasting flesh. Hearing a sound, he looked up.
A child, a living child, was staring enviously at the dog. Alfred motioned the boy near and handed the fish to him. The boy caught hold of it, and hurried off. He presented the dried fish to an adult male, who stared at it in astonishment. The child pointed back at them. Haplo had the distinct feeling he was about to go into the seafood trade.
“It is said that in the old days we could perform such feats,” Edmund remarked, his awed gaze fixed on the meat. “But now our magic is concentrated on our survival in this world.. . .” He glanced back at the cadavers, standing patiently in the shadows. “And on theirs.”
Alfred shuddered, seemed about to say something.
Haplo gave him a swift poke in the ribs, and the Sartan fell meekly silent and began to conjure up more fish.
“You’ll find food and supplies in that town,” Haplo said, nodding back toward it. “Surely you saw that much while you were there.”
“We are not thieves!” Edmund raised his chin proudly. “We will not take what is not ours. If our brethren in the city offer it freely, that will be different. We will work, we will pay them back.”
“Some of our people think it is our ‘brethren’ who should be paying us back, My Liege.” The new voice came from Baltazar. He stared with stern eyes at the magic being performed.
Quietly and without fuss, Haplo was replicating fish with his magic and handing it to those who crept near. Alfred was doing the same. A large crowd surrounded them. The necromancer said nothing until everyone had been fed and departed. Crossing his legs beneath the black robes, he seated himself and picked up a bit of the food.
He studied it carefully, as if he expected it to disappear in his hands the moment he touched it. “So you have not yet lost the art,”
“Perhaps,” said the prince, eyeing Alfred, “your land is different from ours. Perhaps there is hope for the world, after all. I tend to judge everything by what I see. Tell me that I have judged wrongly!”
Alfred couldn’t lie, he couldn’t tell the truth. He stared at them, opening and closing his mouth.
“It’s a big universe,” Haplo said easily. “Tell us about your part of it. What he said—your necromancer—about your brethren paying you back. What does that mean?”
“Be wary, Your Majesty,” warned Baltazar. “Would you confide in strangers? We have only their own words to trust that they are not spies from Necropolis!”