“Excuse me, tavernkeep, I meant no offense, but such a sight is uncommon.”
“Get…out.” He looked up at her as he spoke and there was death in his eyes, death born of grief.
Jessa knew about such grief and how it ate you from the inside out until there was nothing left until you died or satisfied your vengeance. She spoke, low and clear, “Where is your wife, tavernkeep?”
He threw back his head and screamed, then flung their table to the side and advanced on Jessa. She kept out of his reach, a knife in her hand, but she did not want to harm him. The magic she had felt flared and crept along her skin: sorcery.
The old woman by the fire was standing now, leaning on her walking stick. One hand was clawlike in the air before her. “Enough of this.” Power rode her voice, a lash of obedience. The big man stood unsure, arms drooping at his sides, tears sliding down his cheeks.
Jessa sheathed her knife, unable to do anything else. Very few people could have forced an obedience spell upon Jessa.
The old woman turned angry eyes on her. “Did you have to hurt him?”
“You would not show yourself.”
“Well, I am here now, girl. What do you want? And I warn you, if it is not something worthy of the pain you have caused, you will be punished for your rudeness.”
Jessa bowed, never taking her eyes from the woman. She felt Gregoor close at her side and caught the glint of steel in his hand. So the obedience spell had affected only Jessa and the man. That was something to remember. “I seek the death of Cytherea the Mad.”
The woman stared at Jessa for the space of heartbeats. Jessa knew she was being weighed and measured, tested. The old woman laughed then, an unexpectedly young sound, but the body remained old. “An assassin. Two assassins.”
Jessa and Gregoor shifted uncomfortably, for there was nothing that should have given them away. “We are not…”
The old woman said, “Do not lie, whoever you are. I have the gift of trueseeing.”
Jessa swallowed. It was a rare talent, and one that was proof against all lies, magical or mundane. “We did not enter this town under false pretenses. If you are a truthseer, then you know I mean what I say. I am here to kill Cytherea.”
The woman’s face was solemn as she studied them. “You believe what you say, that much is true. But saying you will kill her and doing so are not the same thing.”
“That is true. We seek information to aid us in our task.”
Esteban said, “Can you kill her?”
Jessa looked at him. His eyes were grief-filled wounds. “Yes. I am Wizardsbane, and this will not be the first, or even the tenth, wizard I have slain.”
The old woman said, “And you, who follow her like a shadow, who are you?”
Gregoor sheathed his blade. “I am Gregoor Steelsinger, also known as Deathbringer.”
“Such auspicious names, young ones. But can you live up to them?”
Jessa said, “We are willing to risk our lives to prove worthy of our names. Are you willing to help us destroy the madwoman who has raped your village?”
“I will tell you what I can, Jessamine Wizardsbane, but it is precious little. I am Teodora Truthseer.”
Esteban brought food out to them, then sat to listen. Jessa would have protested, but Teodora said, “His wife and daughter hang on the gibbet outside our town. Surely he deserves a seat at this table.”
Jessa nodded.
“The first we knew of trouble was a snowstorm from a clear summer sky. It was a storm driven by an ice elemental, cold as the netherhells. Cytherea came out of that storm, an ice demon at her side. She told us her terms for saving our town.” Teodora paused and took a drink. “I fought Cytherea when she arrived at our gates. I challenged her to win safety for my town.” Teodora smiled and looked at her age-gnarled hands. “I lost. But I did not lose through sorcery. There I could have matched her. She wore a ring on her left hand, an enchanted ring. I walked out the town gates a woman of thirty and was carried back in a woman of sixty.”
Jessa and Gregoor exchanged glances. “What sort of ring could age a woman like that?” Gregoor asked.
“Cytherea did not age me, so much as curse me with old age. She wears a ring of curses.”
Gregoor gave a low whistle. “That is an expensive item.”
Jessa said, “Is that how she bound…”
Teodora interrupted her. “Esteban, could you please refill my glass?”
The man looked suspicious, but got up to do as the sorceress asked.
Teodora spoke low to them. “You were asking if the ring is how Cytherea bound the souls to the bodies.”
“Yes.”
“Esteban does not know his wife and daughter are still in torment. I think it would be unwise to mention it in front of him.”
Gregoor asked, “Is it what she used?”
“Yes.”
Esteban set the mug down and Teodora said, “Thank you, Esteban.”
Jessa asked, “How did she take the earth-witches’ magic and the land’s magic as well?”
Teodora stared at her full mug, brown-spotted hands tight gripped. “She wears a necklace, a square-cut emerald set in gold. It is a unique enchantment. It is attuned to earth-magic and steals only that.”
“So this necklace contains all the earth-magic she has stolen?”
Teodora nodded.
“You are a truthseer. Is there a way to release the magics or to destroy the enchantments?”
“The ring of curses is not unlimited in power. It has so many curses in it just like a human curse-maker. If the ring is used up, empty before being re-enchanted, then all the curses the ring caused this time will be undone.”
“You would be young again?”
“Yes.” Teodora studied the food on her plate and talked without looking at anyone. “The necklace is different. It has perhaps an unlimited ability to absorb power. The only way to release the magic is to destroy it.”
Gregoor asked, “And how do we do that?”
“You might give it back to the earth from which it came.”
“The exact earth,” Jessa asked, “or metaphysically speaking, so any earth would do?”
“Any earth will do.”
Jessa smiled.
Gregoor said, “You’ve thought of a plan, haven’t you?”
“I’ve thought of a possibility.”
Teodora asked, “How can we help?”
“Gregoor will need some herbs to make a potion. And I was wondering if your town can boast a curse-maker.”
Esteban and Teodora exchanged glances. “Why, yes, but he is old and not powerful enough to curse Cytherea.”
“I don’t want him to curse Cytherea, I want him to curse me.”
TWO days later they rode out of Titos, a new potion at their belts and a curse for each of them.
Gregoor grunted and twisted in his saddle, trying to scratch the middle of his back.
“It will only be worse if you claw at it.”
He looked at Jessa through red, inflamed eyes, nearly swollen shut. “You said pick a curse, so I did. How was I to know the Verm-cursed rash would get this bad?”
Jessa sighed. “I suggested a curse that would have been serious enough, but would not have hampered your fighting skills.”
He clawed at his hand. “You wanted me rendered impotent. No, thank you.”
She almost laughed. “I am childless until my curse is removed.”
“But that’s different. You were taking a potion to prevent children anyway. I have a use for my manhood.”
Jessa smiled, but she felt a heaviness in her stomach, an empty heaviness. She felt the loss. “If this rash grows any worse, you will be all but useless by the time we face Cytherea.”
He rode up beside her. “I am sorry, Jessa. I did not understand. If I had known, I might even have let him unman me.” He shivered in the sunlight, skin twitching. “I would not have you be killed because I was distracted by this infernal itching.” He clawed at his arms, raising welts.
“You’re going to bleed if you keep scratching. Don’t you have an ointment to help yourself?”
“Yes, but I was hoping to save it until we were nearer our destination.”
“I think we are close enough. Use the ointment before you flay yourself alive.”
Gregoor rummaged in his saddlebags and came up with a sealed pot. “This will take some time.”