“Look, there’s Donal,” Moira pointed to a tall dark-haired guardsman who was using a short spear—actually a padded pole—against a man with a sword and shield.
Donal was one of the guardsmen who had accompanied Wiz on his foray into the dungeons beneath the City of Night to rescue Moira. He was skillfully using the length of his weapon to keep his opponent at a distance and flicking the spear out in quick thrusts, searching for a weakness in the man’s guard. As they watched he executed a fast double thrust and parry that swept his opponent’s sword to the side and finished with a solid thrust to the face.
“Oh, well done!” Moira said, laughing and clapping.
Wiz smiled. In the back of his head a small voice was nagging him about all the work he had to do, but the evening was lovely, the place was pretty, and it was pleasant to walk with a beautiful woman, especially when she was your wife.
As they ambled along, a man stepped out from behind one of the pillars and ran into Wiz, nearly knocking him down.
“Hey, watch it.” He saw it was the apprentice who had nearly run into him in the hall the night before.
Pryddian curled his lip. “Clumsy Sparrow. Why not use your magic to fly out of the way?”
Moira gasped. Wiz wanted to smash his sneering face. Instead he stepped around Pryddian and walked toward the opposite side of the drill field.
“Wiz, you shouldn’t let him talk to you like that,” Moira hissed once they were out of earshot.
“What should I do? Turn him to stone?”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said angrily. “But at the very least you should put him in his place.”
“How?”
Moira considered. Wiz did not have the wizard’s manner that came with years of practicing magic. He could not freeze an apprentice with a look the way a real wizard could. Short of using magic on him—a thing unthinkable—there really was nothing he could do.
“I will speak to Bal-Simba about him.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. It will be all right, really.”
Moira pressed her lips together and kept walking.
“Ah, Sparrow, My Lord.” They turned and saw Juvian coming toward them, a fussy, balding little man who was always in a hurry.
Wiz nodded respectfully. “My Lord.”
“Ah yes,” Juvian came panting up. “My Lady, I wonder if you could excuse us for a moment. There is a matter of Council business we must discuss.” He took Wiz by the elbow and led him off to the reviewing stand that stood on poles at one side of the field. Wiz threw Moira a helpless look over his shoulder, but he did not try to break the Wizard’s hold on his arm.
“He’s a lucky man,” said a voice behind her.
Moira turned and saw Shamus.
“I doubt he would agree with you at this instant.”
“Nonetheless, lucky.” He smiled with an infectious warmth Moira remembered from her student days and extended his arm. “While he is occupied would you do me the honor of accompanying me?”
Moira smiled back. “Gladly.”
Shamus was a lithe, compact man whose shock of sandy hair was thinning with the approach of middle age. His face was deeply tanned and a little windburned with tiny crinkles of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Moira had had a minor crush on him when last she stayed at the Capital, but her studies left her little time to pursue such things.
“We do not see you out here often enough.”
“Wiz’s work keeps him busy,” Moira said with a trace more acid than she intended.
“True, but a wife does not have to walk only with her husband.”
“I suppose so,” Moira sighed and looked around at the strolling, chatting people. “It would be pleasant to be out more.”
“It could be pleasant indeed,” Shamus said with a smile. “I would be happy to show you.”
Moira understood exactly what he was offering. Such things were accepted in the Capital and as long as the affair was carried on discreetly no censure attached to any of the parties.