The King's Justice by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

is running, though his stride is unhurried. He is sure ofhis ability to locate Haul Varder, but there are questions to which he desires answers before he approaches the wheelwright.
    Among them is this. What use can a shaper make of lungs and livers? However, he does not expect to find an explanation in Settle’s Crossways, or from any caravaner. Instead he hopes to understand a more practical matter.
    How had one shaper attracted enough followers to kill so many brigands and suffer no losses without some rumor of those followers finding its way to the priests, or attaching itself to Haul Varder?
    If the wheelwright is innocent, the shaper and his followers must have come to this region from a considerable distance—and must have contrived to remain entirely secret for an unlikely number of days.

    B lack means to go directly to the inn Father Whorry named. As he skirts the edges of the crowded square, however, he encounters the mother and daughter who addressed him when he first entered Settle’s Crossways.
    The mother’s name is Rose, and she was widowed by the same plague that claimed Annwin Marker. For that reason, her anxiety for her fey daughter, Arbor, is greater than it was. And it has grown still greater since her meeting with the stranger. Her good husband had the gift of calming her. He saw no harm inlittle Arbor’s real or imagined sight, and his unconcern eased Rose’s heart. Without him, she has been troubled daily by the fear that her daughter’s wits have strayed. But now she has a new fear. The stranger’s belief that Arbor’s sight is real is beyond her comprehension.
    In Settle’s Crossways, a town remote from the larger world, and ignorant apart from the gossip of wagoneers and caravaners, the gift of unnatural sight is not preferable to an unbalanced mind.
    But Arbor is not afraid. During the past day, she has spoken often of the stranger with the holes in his soul, and of her desire to help him. She has insisted that she can heal his holes, one or more of them. Seeing him again excites her. While Rose flinches in alarm, Arbor succeeds in pulling free of her mother’s hand. She runs toward the stranger as though she means to leap into his arms.
    Black sees her. He sees her desire to touch him. But he also sees her mother’s fear. And he has his own reasons for caution. He knows what may become of the girl if she aids him while she is too young to understand what she does. He holds up one hand while the other secretly invokes a sigil of command.
    Surprised by herself, the girl stops.
    Rose hastens closer. “Arbor!” she cries in a voice that trembles too much to sound stern. “He is a stranger. Leave him alone.”
    â€œBut, Ma—” Arbor protests.
    Still asserting his command, Black asks, “Your name is Arbor?” His tone is quiet reassurance.
    The girl nods. She does not resist as her mother reclaims her hand.
    Black meets the mother’s wide stare. “And your name, madam?”
    His command reaches her. Unwillingly, she replies, “Rose.” But then she musters her resolve. “What have you to do with us, sir?” She aches for her husband’s presence at her side. He would speak more confidently. “You called my daughter precious. I do not understand you. She is precious only to me.”
    Black nods. Soothing as water, he says, “Then hear me, Rose. Arbor has a gift for which I have no name. It is clear in her, though I cannot account for it. I am certain only that it is not ripe. When she is older, it will manifest more strongly, and more safely. For the present, it must not be spent on a stranger”—he gazes at Arbor ruefully—“even a stranger with holes in his soul.” Then he faces Rose again. “But you are precious also. You have your own gift. You call it fear or grief, but it has other names.
    â€œThere is a man who needs your gifts, both yours and Arbor’s. He