“Why did you leave the pair of them on the Fringe with no protection?”
“I could not bring them here by the Wizard’s Way, so I sent them to a place of safety. Why alone? Because two can go in stealth where an army may not tread. This Moira is no woods ranger, but she grew up on the Fringe and she has the reputation for a sturdy head on her shoulders.”
“Where did you send them?”
“Heart’s Ease,” Bal-Simba told her.
Arianne looked hard at the huge map on the wall. “Lord, that is deep within the Wild Wood itself! You set them a dangerous course.”
“But the safest available under the circumstances,” Bal-Simba replied. “The League will be searching for a magician. This Sparrow has not the slightest magic. The League will expect him to come to the Capital, or at least to the civilized lands. Instead they go in the opposite direction. If we keep interfering with the League’s searchers we can further confuse the League.”
“We know the League is searching for them with every resource at their command.” She smiled thinly. “Old Toth-Set-Ra must be stirred indeed to mount such an effort.”
“When he realized Patrius had performed a Great Summoning, he decided that the Summoned was a weapon of some kind. He means to have it.” Bal-Simba smiled. “Perfectly logical if you know how Toth-Set-Ra’s mind works.”
“And we bend our efforts to frustrating him. Lord, is this Sparrow really worth so much of our effort?”
Bal-Simba considered for a moment. “Probably not. But while the League is engrossed in trying to find our Sparrow, they cannot make mischief elsewhere. That is worth some little effort on our part.”
He stroked his eagle’s skull pendant absently. “Besides, I think we owe this Sparrow something. He was snatched from his own world and dropped here by the efforts of one of the Mighty. It was no fault or choice of his own.”
The blonde woman nodded. “But still, to send two people into the heart of the Wild Wood . . .”
“Would you have me bring them here by the Wizard’s Way and all of us lost when the League saw and struck?” Bal-Simba said sharply. Arianne stiffened.
The wizard’s face softened. “Forgive me, my Lady. Your are right about the dangers and I am uneasy about our fugitives.” He heaved a great gust of a sigh. “I gave them the best chance I could, now let us hope they can make good use of it.”
She smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Apologies are not needed, Lord. I understand.” He smiled back and put his bearlike paw over her hand.
“There are so few unconstrained choices, Arianne. So very few choices left to us.”
“We do the best we can, Lord.”
Bal-Simba sighed again. “Aye. That at least we do.”
Moira allowed them a fire that night, which was a mixed blessing for Wiz. It meant warmth and hot food, but he had to gather firewood, and the sticks and branches rubbed his blistered hands raw.
“Now what’s your problem?” she asked when she saw him wince as he dropped a load of wood by the stone hearth.
“Nothing,” Wiz said, blowing on his hands.
Moira scrambled up and took one of his hands in hers. “You’re hurt,” she said with real concern. “I’ll attend to those once the food is started.”
When she had the mixture of dried meat, fruit and barley simmering in a small bronze pot, she pulled out her shoulder bag and motioned Wiz to sit down beside her in the firelight.
“You must not be used to work,” she said as she rummaged in her kit.
“You don’t get many blisters at a VT 220,” he agreed.
Moira looked blank.
“It’s a terminal. A, ah, thing that . . . oh, forget it.”
Moira produced a tiny earthenware jar and smeared the raw and blistered places on Wiz’s palms with the dark, pungent salve it contained.
“Your hands should be healed by morning,” she told him, scraping salve from her finger back into the jar. “We should cover those, but I don’t have anything to put over them.”