A Young Man Without Magic by Lawrence Watt-Evans

Author:Lawrence Watt-Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780765322791
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

19

In Which the Travelers Come to Certain Understandings

For a long moment no one spoke; then at last the father said, “Well, this is an interesting situation. Then you are not Lord Dyssan, but Master Adirane?”

“Master Murau, actually,” Anrel said. “I borrowed my uncle’s name a moment ago, but I think I have no further need of it.”

“And why would you do that? Why give a false name?”

“Have I not just said that I am a witch? Does that not make me an outlaw by definition? Would you really expect an outlaw to give his correct name when asked?”

“Then why do you claim to give it now?”

“Because now, sir, I know that you dare not deliver me to the authorities, since I would then denounce your daughter as a witch—and I suspect, from the looks they exchanged, that your wife is not unacquainted with the arcane arts, as well. Better that we should trust one another, as we are now in a position to give the hangman a few necks upon which to practice his art if that trust is betrayed.”

“There is some logic to your words,” the big man reluctantly admitted. He frowned. “What would you have of us, then, Master Witch?”

“For the moment, I would be content with some of that stew I smell,” Anrel replied, gesturing toward the pot on the fire. “There will be time to discuss our situation further once we have all eaten; I find negotiations always seem to go better on a full belly.”

The big man’s frown faded. “Hungry, are you? Well, even if I did sire a witch, I am not so lost to common decency to refuse a hungry man some common hospitality. Tazia, serve us out a bowl apiece, won’t you?”

One of the other daughters fetched wooden bowls and a ladle from a box nearby, and began scooping stew from the pot into the bowls, glancing occasionally at their guest. The youngest daughter then distributed the bowls. Anrel watched with interest, and eagerly accepted the bowl she proffered him. He was aware that there were still several important questions that should be asked and answered, but the yawning emptiness in his belly took priority.

“Thank you,” he said, as he set the bowl of stew on his lap. He then realized he had not been provided with a spoon; he hesitated only briefly before drawing the dagger from his boot and spearing a chunk of pinkish meat with it. He tore off a bite and chewed enthusiastically.

The meat was rabbit, and it might have been better had it stewed a little longer, but in his famished state Anrel found it quite satisfactory just as it was.

When everyone had a bowl in hand, and had taken at least a few bites, the father of the family set his bowl down for a moment and said, “Now, Reva, suppose you explain to your father why you thought our guest was a sorcerer, and why you were so open about your own unfortunate situation.”

Anrel was startled by the man’s tone, which seemed to carry an undercurrent of menace.

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