Arianne turned away to execute his command. “Oh, and Lady . . .”
Arianne turned back. “Yes, Lord?”
“Find that ex-apprentice, Pryddian, and ask him what he knows about this.”
“Pryddian?”
“Just a thought. A direct attack on Wiz in the Capital would be difficult. It would be easier if he were outside our walls. Pryddian was the cause of our Sparrow’s journey.” He shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “Unlikely, but we have to start somewhere.”
Pryddian was sweating as he came over the last rise before his destination and not just from the noon sun. Before him the road curved to the left around the base of a hill, actually a large limestone outcropping. To the right, away from the road and along the outcropping, was a wild jumble of small trees, laurel bushes and boulders. The former apprentice started down the road, his feet kicking up powdery white dust fine as flour as he walked.
When he reached the place where the road curved away he paused for an instant and scanned the bushes on the roadside. The dusty weeds beside the road showed no sign of disturbance, but there was a path there, leading off the road and in among the undergrowth. Pryddian patted the breast of his tunic for reassurance and then stepped off the road and onto the little-used path.
He breasted his way through the bushes, dodged around trees and boulders and followed the meandering path deeper into the woodland. The thick brush and second-growth trees showed that once this place had been logged. But that had obviously been long ago. Getting felled trees out of such a place would be backbreaking and not worth it so close to the Fringe of the Wild Wood. It had been done once and then the wilderness had been allowed to reclaim this place.
Finally the trail took a sharp turn and a dip and Pryddian stumbled through into an opening. He was against the flank of the hill now, in a little hollow hard against sheer rock face. All around him like grotesque sentries stood boulders twice as high as he was. Directly in front of him was a single table-high stone in the midst of a patch of beaten earth. There were dark splotches on the stone, as if something had been spilled there and allowed to dry.
Pryddian walked hesitatingly into the place. Suddenly an arm like iron clamped across his windpipe and he felt cold steel against his neck.
Instinctively he twisted his head and out of the corner of his eye saw that his captor was clad in the close fitting black of the Dark League’s dread Shadow Warriors.
The Shadow Warrior pressed the edge to his throat and Pryddian ceased struggling.
“No move, no sound if you value your life,” a voice grated behind him.
Pryddian licked his lips and remained silent.
“Better,” the voice said at last. “Now, why are you here?”
“I am called Pryddian. I am . . . URK.” The Shadow Warrior’s grip tightened on his windpipe.
“I did not ask who you were, but why you had come,” his unseen questioner said sharply. “Answer only those questions I ask you, apprentice, or you will wish you had never been born.”
“I came seeking the Dark League,” Pryddian said when the pressure on his throat relaxed.
“And why should the dark League be interested in the likes of you?”
“I have talent. I desire to become a wizard and I bring you something.” He reached toward his tunic, but the Shadow Warrior drew the blade perhaps a quarter of an inch along his skin. He felt the burning sting of the cut and then the warm wetness of blood trickling down his throat.
Pryddian froze, but the Shadow Warrior, reacting to an unseen signal, slackened his grip and moved the knife away from his throat. Slowly he extended his trembling hand and reached into his tunic. Equally slowly he withdrew his hand, holding a roll of parchment.
“I give you the Sparrow’s magic,” he said.
“Lord, Moira asked again today about Sparrow,” Arianne said.
Bal-Simba turned away from his window to face his deputy.
“Today as every day, eh?” He shook his head. “The answer is still the same. We can find no trace of him, in all the World.”