Free His Majesty's Elephant by Judith Tarr Page A

ladyship, taking the Talisman away.
    When she could move again, he was gone, and Kerrec was spitting with rage. “Why in the name of every saint and angel did you tell him everything we knew?”
    â€œBecause,” said Rowan, too tired and drained to be angry, “I thought it would do some good. You didn’t get it away from him, did you?”
    â€œNo,” Kerrec snapped, clenching and unclenching his fists. One of them looked red and blistered.
    Rowan would hardly spare him any sympathy, but it did bear mentioning. “You touched it?”
    â€œI touched something,” he said. “He’s got it wrapped in sorceries already. If he hadn’t, I could have plucked it, neat as a bezant from a drunken prince’s purse.”
    Rowan got hold of his hand, though he tried to evade her. It was blistered indeed, as if he had caught it in a fire. “You’ll want a salve for this. And not a squeak out of you. It’s a wonder he didn’t see it, and understand it all.”
    â€œIt’s a wonder he didn’t catch on when you told him everything. What ever possessed you to yatter on like that?”
    â€œPrudence,” said Rowan. “Hiding in plain sight. He has us marked now. You’re my peasant paramour. I’m the princess who pries where she shouldn’t.”
    â€œSo you are,” growled Kerrec.
    â€œI had to try,” she said, stubborn. “He might have given in.”
    â€œAnd the trees might have stood up and walked.” Kerrec dropped down in a tangle of legs and arms. “He knows we know, now. And he has the Talisman.”
    â€œBut can he do anything with it?”
    â€œWould he have taken it if he couldn’t?” Kerrec worked fingers into his hair, rumpling it worse than ever. “We should both have kept quiet and watched, and then gone to find someone to help.”
    â€œWho?” Rowan demanded. “A priest? A philosopher? Old Hilde the herbwoman?”
    â€œHilde might know how to put a sorcerer to sleep and steal what he’s stolen from your sister.”
    â€œHilde has no magic in her at all.” Rowan had not known it till she said it. The magic was loose again. She did not know how to stop it. “There isn’t anyone, Kerrec. There’s only us.”
    â€œThere’s your father,” said Kerrec.
    â€œNo,” said Rowan. “When I tried to warn him, he wouldn’t listen. What makes you think he’ll pay any more attention now?”
    â€œIt might make a difference to him that your sister has lost the Talisman.”
    Rowan shook her head. “Even if he did decide to listen—what if it’s a trap? What if we’re supposed to run to him, and catch him in the Byzantine’s spell?”
    That stopped Kerrec, at least for a moment. Rowan pressed on through his silence. “Is there someone in Brittany who can help?”
    Kerrec looked as if he might have said more about the Emperor, but he answered Rowan’s question instead. “Not soon enough,” he said. “We can’t fly. We’re not that kind of witches.”
    â€œYou’re not much of any kind of witch, are you?” she said bitterly. “You can see things in pools, that’s all, and play cutpurse’s tricks.”
    â€œCan you do any more?”
    She glared at him. For some reason her eyes were full of tears. She swept her hand up, then down. Chains of magic shredded and tore. “I don’t know what I can do. I don’t want to know. But I have to, don’t I? I can’t get away from it.”
    â€œThis time I wouldn’t stop you if you ran away. The Elephant might, but if you start now, you can outrun him.”
    It was tempting. Oh, it was a beautiful thought, to saddle Galla and ride away from everything.
    Too late now for that. She had seen the Talisman in Michael Phokias’ hand. She had to get it away from him. She did not even care why. She