Free A Flame in Hali by Marion Zimmer Bradley Page B

that did business after dark waited as long as possible, in order to save fuel. Eduin hugged the sides of the buildings. Saravio went more awkwardly, but he was learning fast.
    Even a commoner could have sensed the fear in the streets, lingering after the last of the lightnings had ceased. Fires still burned in several areas of the city, although those in the richer neighborhoods had already been extinguished. Smoke and ozone tinged the air.
    They were not the only men abroad at this hour. On their way here, they had passed several others, sometimes singly, other times in groups of two or three.
    “They are frightened,” Eduin murmured to Saravio, “although they do not know why.” He raised his voice and adopted a coarse country accent. “Aye, it’s sorcery for sure. My wife’s cousin tells of storms like this, and worse, down Arilinn way.”
    He felt the surge of interest in the group of approaching men. In a moment, they were passed, the seeds planted. As they had rehearsed, Saravio nudged the men’s minds. Fear sharpened to the edge of pain. Eduin smiled.
    ... the winter so long . . . unnatural . . . Zandru’s curse . . .
    Yes, let them think that. Let them whisper. Let the whispers grow and feed upon themselves.
    ... Tower witchery . . . can’t trust any of them . . .
    Within the inn, they found light and warmth, hard-edged merriment overlying resentment like tinder awaiting a spark. The innkeep’s wife brought watered ale and meatless stew, which was all the refugees could afford. She collected their money before she brought the drink, but she hovered just outside the door to listen.
    From the moment he threw back the hood of his cloak, Saravio burned with a fervor that drew all eyes. The dozen men already in the room fell silent, as did the handful more who entered after them.
    Saravio’s first words caught them as easily as netting fish in a stream. Understanding dawned in their faces, along with surging rage. In his speech, they saw the pattern and the reason for it all, not only the obvious horrors of clingfire and bonewater dust, of taxes and the ravages of war, but the way the very heavens had turned against them. The killing cold of this last winter, the failure of their crops, the stillborn children, and now the eerie turbulence in the heavens themselves, all had one cause, one origin.
    It was, Saravio announced as Eduin had rehearsed him, the work of the accursed leronyn in their Towers. Anger burned hot and clear, without hesitation or doubt. All the while, Saravio’s deft mental touch roused adrenaline, damped thought, heightened desperation.
    “But what can we do?” the crippled farmer was the first to speak. “We have no magical powers, not even swords if we knew how to use them. We are men of the soil—farmers, herdsmen, plain, ordinary folk.”
    “It’s easy for you to say these things,” a black-haired man with huge, callused hands confronted Saravio. “At the first hint of trouble, you’ll go running. Why should you care what happens to us?”
    Stung, Saravio started to reply, but Eduin silenced him with a gesture.
    “If my friend did not believe as he speaks, would he be here with you now?” Eduin demanded.
    “If we were to go against them,” another man muttered, “what chance would we have? No more than a beast in the fields!”
    “How do we know you’re not one of their spies?” Scowling, the black-haired man got to his feet.
    Eduin sensed the quicksilver mood of the group, how quickly their fury could be turned to an easier, more immediate target. He raised one hand to the insulated starstone at his throat, although he feared he could not control so many by himself. Yet he must protect Saravio at any cost.
    “Because I say so.” The innkeeper’s wife stepped away from the door frame, hands on her hips. “And you all know me. I’d never sell out one of my own. I tell you, this man is to be trusted. All the time Nance was dying, did any of those fancy lords lift a