The woman clutched it tightly, though the fear did fade from her eyes.
‘Do I owe you more for this?’ she asked.
‘No, it is the least I could do for you.’
There was enough of the cylantha powder to keep the woman asleep for three days.
Perhaps Molin Torchholder would not want a sleeping virgin in his rite. If he
did not mind, the woman would not awaken to find out.
‘I can give you much gold. I could bring you to Ilsig.’
Illyra shook her head.
‘There is but one thing I wish – and you do not have it,’ she whispered,
surprised by the sudden impulsiveness of her words. ‘Nor all the gold in
Sanctuary will find another anvil for Dubro.’
‘I do not know this Dubro, but there is an anvil in my father’s stables. It will
not return to Ilsig. It can be yours, if I’m alive to tell my father to give it
to you.’
The impulsiveness cleared from Illyra’s mind. There were reasons now to soothe
the young woman’s fears.
‘It is a generous offer,’ she replied. ‘I shall see you then, three days hence
at your father’s home – if you will tell me where it is.’
And if you do, she added to herself, then it will not matter if you survive or
not.
‘It is the estate called “Land’s End”, behind the temple of Ils, Himself.’
‘Whom shall I ask for?’
‘Manila.’
They stared at each other for a few moments, then the blonde woman made her way
into the afternoon-crowded bazaar. Illyra knotted the rope across the entrance
to her chambers with distracted intensity.
How many years – five at least – she had been answering the banal questions of
city-folk who could not see anything for themselves. Never, in all that time,