And even more to slip into the tunic, healer’s gown, and slippers. Then he was
hurrying through the bright sunlight of the greenhouse. And on into the dimness
of the hallway beyond, with its solid door. Solid, that was, except for the vent
at mouth level. Stulwig placed his lips at his end of the slanted vent, and
asked,
‘Who is it?’
The answering voice was that of a woman. ‘It’s me. Illyra. Alone.’
The seeress! Stulwig’s heart quickened. His instant hope: another chance for her
favours. And alone – that was a strange admission this early in the morning.
Hastily, he unblocked the door. Swung it open, past his own gaunt form. And
there she stood in the dimness, at the top of his stairway. She was arrayed as
he remembered her, in her numerous skirts and S’danzo scarfs. But the beautiful
face above all those cloth frills was already shaded with creams and powders.
She said, ‘Alten, I dreamed of you.’ | There was something in her tone: an
implication of darkness. Stulwig felt an instant chill. She was giving him a
sorceress’s signal.
Her presence, alone, began to make sense. What she had to offer him transcended
a man’s itching for a woman. And she expected him to realize it.
Standing there, just inside his door, Stulwig grew aware that he was trembling.
A dream. The dream of a sorceress.
He swallowed. And found his voice. It was located deep in his throat, for when
he spoke it was a husky sound: ‘What do you want?’
‘I need three of your herbs.’ She named them: stypia, gernay, dalin.
This was the bargaining moment. And in the world of Sanctuary there were few