ing to Alessan. "I'd hate to have another woman look at me the way your sister just did."
"Ignore her," Devin heard Baerd laugh as he strode back toward the fire.
"She is impossible to ignore," Erlein said in a voice pitched to carry to where the horses were tethered. He stood up and walked over to the riverbank. He sat down on the rock in front of Alessan. The sun was a red disk, westering beyond the stream.
Carrying an armful of wood, Devin looped quietly around in the growing shadows to where Catriana stood among the horses. She heard him come up but continued brushing the brown mare. Her eyes never left the two men by the river.
Neither did Devin's. Squinting into the setting sun it seemed to him as if Alessan and the troubadour had become figures in some timeless landscape. Their voices carried with an unnatural clarity in the quiet of the gathering twilight.
"When was this last done for you?" he heard Alessan ask casually, his scissors busy in the long grey tangles of Erlein's hair.
"I don't even remember," the troubadour confessed.
"Well," Alessan laughed, bending to wet his comb in the stream, "on the road we don't exactly have to keep up with court fashions. Tilt a little this way. Yes, good. Do you brush it across in front or straight back?"
"Back, by preference."
"Fine." Alessan's hands moved up to the crown of Erlein's head, the scissors flashing as they caught the last of the sun. "That's an old-fashioned look, but troubadours are supposed to look old-fashioned, aren't they? Part of the charm. You are bound by Adaon 's name and my own. I am Alessan, Prince of Tigana, and wizard you are mine!"
Devin took an involuntary step forward. He saw Erlein try, reflexively, to jerk away. But the hand of binding held his head, and the scissors, so busy a moment before, were now sharp against his throat. They froze him for an instant and an instant was enough.
"Rot your flesh!" Erlein screamed as Alessan released him and stepped back. The wizard sprang from the stone as if scalded, and wheeled to face the Prince. His face was contorted with rage.
Fearing for Alessan, Devin began moving toward the river, reaching for his blade. Then he saw that Baerd had an arrow already notched to his bow, and trained on Erlein's heart. Devin slowed his rush and then stopped. Sandre was right beside him, the curved sword drawn. He caught a glimpse of the Duke's dark face and in it, though he couldn't be absolutely sure in the uncertain light, he thought he read fear.
He turned back to the two men by the river. Alessan had laid down the scissors and comb neatly on the rock. He stood still, hands at his sides, but his breath was coming quickly.
Erlein was literally shaking with fury. Devin looked at him and it was as if a curtain had been drawn back. In the wizard's eyes hatred and terror vied for domination. His mouth worked spasmodically. He raised his left hand and pointed it at Alessan in a gesture of violent negation.⊙⊙網⊙
And Devin saw, quite clearly now, that his third and fourth fingers had indeed been chopped off. The ancient mark of a wizard's binding to his magic and the Palm.
"Alessan?" Baerd said.
"It is all right. He cannot do anything with his power now against my will." Alessan's voice was quiet, almost detached, as if this was all happening to someone else entirely. Only then did Devin realize that the wizard's gesture had been an attempt to cast a spell. Magic. He had never thought to be so near it in his life. The skin prickled at the back of his neck, and not because of the twilight breeze.
Slowly Erlein lowered his hand and slowly his trembling stopped. "Triad curse you," he said, low and cold. "And curse the bones of your ancestors and blight the lives of your children and your children's children for what you have done to me." It was the voice of someone wronged, brutally, grievously.
Alessan did not flinch or turn away. "I was cursed almost nineteen years ago, and my ancestors were, and whatever children I