“At once, Prince Boldt. But I thought she was going to do a scrying spell.”
A big man, wearing the same green homespun clothes as the group she’d seen earlier, stepped in front of Mildred. Without preamble he reached down for her and yanked her roughly upright again. He settled the chair on the floor with a thud.
Mildred spit into his face. If they hadn’t killed her yet, after she’d killed some of them, chances were they weren’t going to kill her for a while. She couldn’t get away, but she didn’t have to make it easy on them.
The big man roared in rage, swiping a big paw over his face. “You bitch! You’ll pay for that!” He drew back his hand.
“Bodb, leave her alone or suffer my wrath.” The words were delivered coldly.
Bodb hesitated, torn between the threat and his own rage. He straightened, then dropped his hand to the hilt of the broad-bladed knife sheathed at his waist. “Going to be another time, witch. And when there is, you’re going to go out cursing your mother for ever bearing you. I swear that by Lugh Silverhand’s eyes.”
“Leave us,” the other man ordered.
The big man hesitated, then turned and stamped away.
Breathing in through her nose and releasing it through her mouth, Mildred made herself remain quiet. She didn’t try to look over her shoulder to see the other man.
Clothing rustled behind her, and the light from the glowing mold changed. “What makes you so certain we won’t kill you?” the man asked.
“The hell with you,” Mildred said. “You aren’t doing me any favors.”
“No? Without my intervention, Bodb would have had the head from your shoulders.”
“You saving me for yourself, then?”
“Your speech is pathetic. I had been expecting more from someone as trained as yourself.”
Mildred made herself relax in the chair. She’d have new bruises on her arms and legs where the ropes bound her. “Must be all the inspiration I got around me at the moment.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Our buddy Bodb called you Prince, so if that isn’t your name, it must be a title. You take it for yourself, Prince? Didn’t like the idea of a barony?”
“I inherited the title,” the man said. “From my father. Along with his sacred mission.”
Mildred let that pass.
“So you don’t know who I am?”
“Let me guess,” Mildred said. “This isn’t Sherwood Forest.”
“No.”
“Means you aren’t Robin Hood or Errol Flynn.”
The man laughed sarcastically. “Nor even Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.”
That caught Mildred’s attention, causing her to fall silent. Not many would know the movie stars of the pre-dark age.
“That made you think, didn’t it, Mildred Wyeth?”
Mildred sat back in her chair, relaxing as much as she could. If the chance presented itself to take any action, she would. But until then, she needed to know where she stood in the present scheme of things.
“Yes,” Boldt said. “I know your name. And I know you were a doctor.”
The man stepped around in front of her. He was tall and lean, sallow in complexion, and looked like a poster child for a famine. His clothes were jeans and hiking boots, a sleeveless jade sweater over a yellow Oxford with the collar neatly buttoned down. His cape was a silvery material that reflected the weak light and seemed to glow from an inner source, hanging to the tops of the hiking boots. A crown wrapped around his head, gold braid intricately woven into various leaf shapes, sporting a large purple crystal that hung on his broad forehead between his eyes. He held a staff as tall as he was, the top of it forming an oval where the main body of the shaft split, then became one again, leaving an open space slightly over a foot in length and nearly that in breadth. Metal wires were worked into the polished wood, sometimes on top of the polished grain and sometimes just under it.
“You drugged me.” Mildred dragged her foot across the particles she’d spit out in the phlegm.
“There are some who call what I domagic.”
“I’m not one of them.” Mildred managed to spit out a small piece of something in her saliva. Her eyesight was better now, and she was able to see the porous cells in the piece. “Mushroom?”