one goes past without a welcome. Fire's always on.”
“I saw your smoke, but …”
“Gathering wood, were you? Come down out of Callahorn?” Her eyes shifted as she glanced past them to where the boat sat beached. “Come a long way, have you?” The eyes shifted back. “Running from something, maybe?”
Par went instantly still. He exchanged a quick look with Coll.
The woman approached, the walking stick probing the ground in front of her. “Lots run this way. All sorts. Come down out of the outlaw country looking for something or other.” She stopped. “That you? Oh, there's those who'd have no part of you, but I'm not one. No, not me!”
“We're not running,” Coll spoke up suddenly.
“No? That why you're so well fitted out?” She swept the air with the walking stick. “What's your names?”
“What do you want?” Par asked abruptly. He was liking this less and less.
The woodswoman edged forward another step. There was something wrong with her, something that Par hadn't seen before. She didn't seem to be quite solid, shimmering a bit as if she were walking through smoke or out of a mass of heated air. Her body didn't move right either, and it was more than her age. It was as if she were fastened together like one of the marionettes they used in shows at the fairs, pinned at the joints and pulled by strings.
The smell of the cove and the crumbling cottage clung to the woods-woman even here. She sniffed the air suddenly as if aware of it. “What's that?” She fixed her eyes on Par. “Do I smell magic?”
Par went suddenly cold. Whoever this woman was, she was no one they wanted anything to do with.
“Magic! Yes! Clean and pure and strong with life!” The woodswoman's tongue licked out at the night air experimentally. “Sweet as blood to wolves!”
That was enough for Coll. “You had better find your way back to wherever you came from,” he told her, not bothering to disguise his antagonism. “You have no business here. Move along.”
But the woodswoman stayed where she was. Her mouth curled into a snarl and her eyes suddenly turned as red as the fire's coals.
“Come over here to me!” she whispered with a hiss. “You, boy!” She pointed at Par. “Come over to me!”
She reached out with one hand. Par and Coll both moved back guardedly, away from the fire. The woman came forward several steps more, edging past the light, backing them further toward the dark.
“Sweet boy!” she muttered, half to herself. “Let me taste you, boy!”
The brothers held their ground against her now, refusing to move any further from the light. The woodswoman saw the determination in their eyes, and her smile was wicked. She came forward, one step, another step …
Coll launched himself at her while she was watching Par, trying to grasp her and pin her arms. But she was much quicker than he, the walking stick slashing at him and catching him alongside the head with a vicious whack that sent him sprawling to the earth. Instantly, she was after him, howling like a maddened beast. But Par was quicker. He used the wish-song, almost without thinking, sending forth a string of terrifying images. She fell back, surprised, trying to fend the images off with her hands and the stick. Par used the opportunity to reach Coll and haul him to his feet. Hastily he pulled his brother back from where his attacker clawed at the air.
The woodswoman stopped suddenly, letting the images play about her, turning toward Par with a smile that froze his blood. Par sent an image of a Demon wraith to frighten her, but this time the woman reached out for the image, opened her mouth and sucked in the air about her. The image evaporated. The woman licked her lips and whined.
Par sent an armored warrior. The woodswoman devoured it greedily. She was edging closer again, no longer slowed by the images, actually anxious that he send more. She seemed to relish the taste of the magic; she seemed eager to consume it. Par tried to steady
“I saw your smoke, but …”
“Gathering wood, were you? Come down out of Callahorn?” Her eyes shifted as she glanced past them to where the boat sat beached. “Come a long way, have you?” The eyes shifted back. “Running from something, maybe?”
Par went instantly still. He exchanged a quick look with Coll.
The woman approached, the walking stick probing the ground in front of her. “Lots run this way. All sorts. Come down out of the outlaw country looking for something or other.” She stopped. “That you? Oh, there's those who'd have no part of you, but I'm not one. No, not me!”
“We're not running,” Coll spoke up suddenly.
“No? That why you're so well fitted out?” She swept the air with the walking stick. “What's your names?”
“What do you want?” Par asked abruptly. He was liking this less and less.
The woodswoman edged forward another step. There was something wrong with her, something that Par hadn't seen before. She didn't seem to be quite solid, shimmering a bit as if she were walking through smoke or out of a mass of heated air. Her body didn't move right either, and it was more than her age. It was as if she were fastened together like one of the marionettes they used in shows at the fairs, pinned at the joints and pulled by strings.
The smell of the cove and the crumbling cottage clung to the woods-woman even here. She sniffed the air suddenly as if aware of it. “What's that?” She fixed her eyes on Par. “Do I smell magic?”
Par went suddenly cold. Whoever this woman was, she was no one they wanted anything to do with.
“Magic! Yes! Clean and pure and strong with life!” The woodswoman's tongue licked out at the night air experimentally. “Sweet as blood to wolves!”
That was enough for Coll. “You had better find your way back to wherever you came from,” he told her, not bothering to disguise his antagonism. “You have no business here. Move along.”
But the woodswoman stayed where she was. Her mouth curled into a snarl and her eyes suddenly turned as red as the fire's coals.
“Come over here to me!” she whispered with a hiss. “You, boy!” She pointed at Par. “Come over to me!”
She reached out with one hand. Par and Coll both moved back guardedly, away from the fire. The woman came forward several steps more, edging past the light, backing them further toward the dark.
“Sweet boy!” she muttered, half to herself. “Let me taste you, boy!”
The brothers held their ground against her now, refusing to move any further from the light. The woodswoman saw the determination in their eyes, and her smile was wicked. She came forward, one step, another step …
Coll launched himself at her while she was watching Par, trying to grasp her and pin her arms. But she was much quicker than he, the walking stick slashing at him and catching him alongside the head with a vicious whack that sent him sprawling to the earth. Instantly, she was after him, howling like a maddened beast. But Par was quicker. He used the wish-song, almost without thinking, sending forth a string of terrifying images. She fell back, surprised, trying to fend the images off with her hands and the stick. Par used the opportunity to reach Coll and haul him to his feet. Hastily he pulled his brother back from where his attacker clawed at the air.
The woodswoman stopped suddenly, letting the images play about her, turning toward Par with a smile that froze his blood. Par sent an image of a Demon wraith to frighten her, but this time the woman reached out for the image, opened her mouth and sucked in the air about her. The image evaporated. The woman licked her lips and whined.
Par sent an armored warrior. The woodswoman devoured it greedily. She was edging closer again, no longer slowed by the images, actually anxious that he send more. She seemed to relish the taste of the magic; she seemed eager to consume it. Par tried to steady
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