A Sorcerer and a Gentleman by Elizabeth Willey

Author:Elizabeth Willey [WILLEY, ELIZABETH]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473224698
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2025-12-31T00:00:00+00:00

21

HURRICANE, AS SOON AS DEWAR WAS settled on his back, started toward the encamped army. Dewar had slipped Prospero’s ring on his finger, under his glove, and Hurricane walked along the line drawn by the ring. Dewar decided to let the horse pick his way as he chose, since he obviously understood, and busied himself reviewing a spell for boiling smoke from the earth, which might be useful to cover Prospero’s departure, and another for invisibility. He took out his staff, which had been inside his doublet shrunken to a spiral-carved black wand, and then put it back again.

Three times he was challenged, and each time was recognized and allowed to pass without difficulty by the patrols and then the sentries. His heart’s thumping was an annoying distraction, and so Dewar stopped Hurricane just at the perimeter of the first circle of tents and made himself breathe slowly and deeply for a few minutes.

Relaxed, under better control, he went in. Hurricane wanted to go directly to Prospero’s tent; Dewar thought it would be best if he first sought Gaston. However, Prince Josquin, also on horseback, found him before he reached the Fireduke’s quarters.

“Lord Dewar,” said Josquin.

Dewar nodded from the great height of Hurricane’s back. “Your Highness.”

“You were not at the meeting …”

Dewar shrugged and looked away.

“… and I thought perhaps you might join me for supper, very late but not, I hope, unwelcome. I have just come from seeking you at your tent.”

Dewar must look at him; he had no relish for flirtation now, nor for the honor of an intimate, personal meal with the Prince Heir. “Oh. Thank you. I’m not hungry, Your Highness. Thank you for the invitation. Later perhaps.”

“Tomorrow-later, I hope,” Josquin said, with a comical expression of mock-distress, “for it’s already the fifth hour of the night and my belly is long emptied. Very well. I’ll see you on the morrow, then, Lord Dewar.”

Dewar nodded again, and watched Josquin go along the path between the tents. He wondered why he felt no resentment at the Prince Heir for being the weapon Gaston had used to finally cut Prospero down. But Josquin was Landuc’s, and there was no reason for him to do other than he had done.

Prince Gaston’s tent was in the center of the camp; Prospero’s ring told Dewar that Prospero was somewhere east of it. He dismounted at a mounting-block (it was still a stretch) and walked Hurricane to the tent, which had two torches outside and a couple of guards. Having looped the horse’s reins loosely at the post, he started toward the entry.

One of the guards held up a hand. “Hold.”

“I’m Lord Dewar,” Dewar said, pushing his hood back.

“A moment, sir.” One guard leaned inside, just into the flap, and talked to someone; half a minute later, the flap was drawn back by one of Prince Gaston’s squires, who bowed, expressionless, to Dewar.

Dewar went in, ignored the squire’s quick protest and evaded the boy’s hand as he brushed past him, and passed into Gaston’s inner tent.

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