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“Why have you come here?” Steepling his fingers, he sank
deeper into the chair and braced for whatever might come next.
“I come seeking magical aid,” a cautious pause, “I heard
some of the village women say you once helped my mother, so I
believe you can help me.” Thank Abaddon, he thought, that the
flicking shadows swathed his chair and hid his relaxed exhala-
tion.
Coolly, he spoke again “My help is rarely wanted girl, for
my magic is harsh and dangerous.” Let that be a warning to her,
perhaps she would change her mind.
“I will take that risk.” She bit her lip in that way that he
remembered showed stubborn refusal to listen to reason. Better
to hear this out.
“Tell me what you want, and I will decide if I will grant it.”
Now feeling more secure in her control of events, the young
lady began. “There’s a boy in town, the blacksmith’s son. He’s
handsome, and strong, and a hard worker.” A pregnant pause. “I
want him to fall in love with me.” The bluntness of this last
statement seemed to shock even her, as she settled back into the
tasseled cushions and stared into the fire.
A blacksmith’s son. The derisive thought came. I could
make her the idol of a king. He knew the type of village lad,
ruddy looks to lure fair girls in, and strong arms to beat them
when they would not whelp like bitches. Still, that is no affaire
of mine. Arius steeled himself. She was a client. He would fill
her order. And if he treated her with somewhat less callous disre-
gard then he had others, that was the business of one man: Arius
of the Black Tower.
“I will make him love you.” Lust for you. “I will make him
worship your face and form. He will be your slave, to do with
as you please. Marry him or dandle him it makes no difference
to me.” He could not offer love; that was the providence of God.
His offer was marriage and safety; it would give her hope.
A snap of fingers and a tray of ointments entered unac-

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