The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

It was just before closing, on a Friday. The sunlight was slanting in through the windows on the west side, making the dust-motes dance like faerie ball. The door-bell chimed and Leo knew, without looking up, who it would be. Really, how did he do that shadow-brightening thing? He couldn't literally glow, could he? He looked up from his work, a bit of mending this time, to glower at the sun-haired no-longer-stranger. "What?" he said shortly. "Did the spell not work?" "It worked," Michael said breathlessly. "It worked." He pressed his hands together and gave an awkward half bow. "Thank you." "So then what are you doing back in my shop?" A shadow flitted across that angelic face. "Um, well, I may need some help retrieving it." Leo scowled. "No." "But that's what you do!" Michael said, clearly surprised. "You're a sorcerer." "I am not!" Leo shouted, half-panicked, half angry. "But you are!" Michael argued. "You protect caravans. You find lost things. You have access to magical artifacts. Marsha said..." "Marsha was mistaken," Leo said. "Go away." He held the door open for his unwelcome guest, and gestured at it brusquely. "At least let me explain," Michael said, and suddenly he was touching him, his hand on his shoulder, his earnest blue eyes boring into Leo's own. "At least let me buy you a drink, for your trouble. Tonight. At the Red Lion. Please. I mean you know harm." Leo glared at him, considering. "Please," Michael said again. "I need your help." It was the please that did him in, although he would never admit it. Instead, he shoved his unwelcome visitor out the door, then closed and locked it behind him. ** He wasn't going to go to the Red Lion. He wasn't. He bathed in the upstairs room and changed into a clean undershirt, still repeating it to himself. He was going to read for a bit and turn in early. That was all. He had a nice bit of leftover meat pie that Mrs. S had given him that morning for his dinner. There was no reason at all to go out. Maybe he just wanted a breath of fresh air. Yes, that was it. He would take a turn around the village square; settle his thoughts and come back rested. He wasn't going out for any particular reason. There was no reason at all he would go to the Red Lion. He wasn't considering Michael's proposal, not at all. It was too risky, too unknown. At least let me explain. There was nothing to explain. He was going for a walk, and then going to bed. He slid onto the bench across from Michael, hood pulled up, arms folded, and delivered his best menacing glare. "Fine," he said. "What is it you're looking for?" Michael started. He hadn't been expecting him to show either, evidently. He stared for a minute, then waved the barmaid over and ask for another tankard of ale. They sat in silence, staring at each other, until it arrived. Michael let out a breath, as if he'd been holding it for the past five minutes. "Are you really a sorcerer?" he asked. "No," Leo said. "What are you looking for?" "A family heirloom," Michael said. "It's...dangerous." Leo raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous how?" "It was hidden away, years ago, to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Now...now I think it might be about to fall into the wrong hands." Leo took a long, considering, drink of the ale. He waited. Michael waited. They eyed each other. "It's to the east," Michael said, breaking first. "Your spell told me that. It's in a cave in Breckinridge Forest. I need to get to it before..." He hesitated. "What exactly is this artifact?" Leo asked. "It's...well, my mother said..." he faltered, started over. "Ok, see, you need to know who I am, I guess. I'm--" He stopped again. "I can't tell you, not here. It could be, no, it is, dangerous." Leo took a long drink while he processed this. "I see." "Come with me," Michael said, reaching out impulsively to touch his wrist. "Let me show you something." Just as recklessly, Leo finished his drink and said, "Ok." ** The went to the slums on the east side of the city. Figures wrapped in dirty cloaks snored in abandoned doorways. Half-hearted shacks towards the street, and the sidewalks were little more than old stones and boards pressed into the muck. There were no lamps lit here, no windows glowing. Voices called, shrieked, bouncing off the narrow alleys and distorted by the unsettling gloom. Overhead, stars gleamed. Michael led Leo to one of the teetering structures that could barely be called a house and rapped three times on the door. It opened a crack, a hooked nose peeked out suspiciously, then widened to admit them. The room inside was cold, lit by only a single candle. The fireplace was empty. A bed was pressed up against the opposite wall, next to a table propped up on an old shingle to keep it level. The floor tilted as crazily as the outside wall, and Leo worried that he might fall through if he stepped on it wrong. The woman who opened the door was old and bent, wrapped in a gray shawl, worn nearly through. "How is she?" Michael asked. The woman shrugged, and tilted her hand. So-so. "I brought a friend to see her," Michael continued. "He's an apothecary. He might be able to help." The woman shrugged again and gestured to the bed. Be my guest. Michael stepped towards the bed, and Leo dutifully followed. Closer, he noticed there was a second figure, bundled up under a pile of old feed sacks. Another woman, even older than the first. He could barely discern her breathing. Her skin was papery, pale, and dry. At Michael's nod, he stepped closer, and laid the back of his wrist across her forehead. Feverish. Anxious, he glanced at Michael. Had he brought him to a house of disease? He was no healer. "Her name is Anna," Michael explained in a low voice. "She had some...gifts...as a healer. Two years ago, she offered aid to the wrong person. A child, in the wrong place at the wrong time, who unwittingly told her parents about the witch who had healed her broken ankle. The druidic council came after. They hauled her to the palace in chains and returned her like this." He reached out and shook the old woman's shoulder. "Aunty Anna?" he said. "Anna, can you wake up? I brought someone to meet you." The woman started, sat up, and stared. Her thin hair stood upright with static and she gazed about with wild eyes. "Nullum?" she said. "Posuere?" "It's me, Michael," Michael said patiently. "How are you today?" "Nunc vestibulum, arcu non vehicula," the old woman rattled off quickly. "dui nisi mollis ante." Michael sighed and shook his head. "Sometimes she gets like this," he said, almost apologetically. "She can only speak gibberish when she's at her worst." He waited, perhaps waiting for Leo to say "what happened to her?" or something equally naive and horrified. Instead, he merely scowled. "Did you bring me here just to impress upon me the inherent oppression of magical practitioners?" he demanded. "Because, I assure you, I am intimately aware." Michael looked surprised, then had the decency to look ashamed. "I brought you here so that you would know you could trust me," he said. "That I won't turn you in. Because I know the danger too. Because I'm not safe. I'm--" He choked on the words. Leo waited. When Michael finally spoke again, his words were a hoarse whisper. "I'm the witch-king's heir."