Moira glanced over to where Wiz was finishing his conversation with Juvian. It would serve him right! She thought. Then she buried the notion with a guilty start.
“I am sorry, My Lord, but I must decline.”
“Ah,” said Shamus, looking across the drill yard. “A very lucky man indeed.” He sighed. “You’ve broken my heart, you know.”
Moira followed his eyes to Wiz standing beneath the reviewing stand. “I feel it will mend by the time the next pretty face comes along.”
* * *
The object of this by-play leaned back against one of the posts, oblivious to the things being said about him.
In the rings the guardsmen whirled and dodged in mock combat.
As Wiz put his weight against the post it shifted and the entire marshal’s stand teetered.
“Look out!” Moira screamed.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The guardsmen and strollers froze. Wiz looked up, mouth open, to see the entire mass toppling down on him. He started to move out of the way, but he was obviously too late.
An armored body hurtled into him, knocking him sideways and slamming him into the earth. Behind them the stand crashed to earth, raising a cloud of dust off the practice field. A few boards fell across the pair, but the guardsman was on top and his armor protected them both.
“Are you all right, Lord?” Wiz opened his eyes and realized that the man on top of him was Donal.
“Fine,” he gasped. “I’m fine.”
Donal rolled off Wiz and climbed to his feet. Wiz started to rise and fell back, gasping in pain..
“My shoulder. I’ve done something to my shoulder.”
Moira came running across the drill yard, skirts flying.
“Are you all right?”
“I”ve hurt my shoulder.”
Moira knelt beside him and ran her fingers lightly over the injured joint. “It is separated.” She looked up at Donal. “Help me get his tunic off and I will fix it.”
“It would be better if we let the healers handle it.”
Moira’s green eyes flashed. “Are you saying I cannot heal a shoulder separation?”
Donal met her gaze levelly. “No Lady, only that Bronwyn or one of the others can do it better.”
Moira started to snap back, then with a visible effort, she relaxed. “You are right, of course. Send one of your men for her, and quickly.”
“Already done, My Lady.”
“Oh shit,” Wiz muttered, “this hurts.”
Moira rested her hand gently on the injured shoulder. “I know, my love. But Bronwyn will be here quickly enough. Try to relax and do not move.”
Behind them Shamus was examining the post where it had snapped off. “Rotten wood,” he said, wrinkling his nose. He broke a piece off and crumbled it in his fingers. “This needed replacing months ago, and probably all the rest besides.”
Arianne knelt by the post, her brown eyes fixed on the break. “Yes,” she said and reached up with slender fingers to caress the broken spot. “Yes, they should all be examined most carefully.”
Bal-Simba was in his private study when Arianne found him a few hours later.
“You heard that Wiz nearly brought the marshal’s stand down on himself on the drill field this afternoon?” she said without preamble.
Bal-Simba grunted. “I heard. Besides all else, our Sparrow is clumsy.”
“He is that,” she said tonelessly.
Bal-Simba looked up and gave his lieutenant his full attention.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I examined that post just after the accident. The wood was old and beetle-bored, waiting to fail. So I went back and looked at the place on the parapet where he slipped the other day. It was damp and somewhat slick. There was nothing obviously unusual about either the post or the place on the parapet.”
Bal-Simba waited.
“I could find no definite trace of magic about either the post or the damp spot. There seemed to be a hint of—something—about the post, but if it was indeed there it was so faint I could not be sure.”
“You obviously think there is more to this than simple accidents,” Bal-Simba said. “What?”
Arianne paused, choosing her words carefully. “Lord, I think someone is trying to kill Wiz by magic.”