Penric's Demon Read Free Page A

general exasperation.
    Lurenz cut short what promised to be a lengthy round of recriminations. “Be that as it may, the harm is done, and there is no way to undo it here in Greenwell Town. I have discussed this possibility with Learned Ruchia’s escort. The late divine’s fleshly husk must necessarily be buried here, but her escort is obliged to carry her possessions on to her destination, that her Order may dispose of them howsoever she willed. That mandate must include, I have suggested”—forcefully, his tone implied—“her greatest treasure, her demon.”
    What did Lurenz mean by a way to save him ? Just about to vent objections to being talked over when he was right here , Pen registered the drift of this, and eased back, alert. Transporting the demon must perforce mean transporting Pen to . . . somewhere beyond Greenwell Town, anyway. Freitten, even?
    “The Temple guards have agreed to escort Lord Penric to the head house of the Bastard’s Order in Martensbridge, where, I trust, they will have the scholars to . . . to decide what properly to do.”
    “Oh,” said Lady Jurald, in a dubious tone.
    Rolsch frowned. “Who shall pay for this journey? This seems a Temple matter . . .”
    Lurenz took the hint, if not cheerily. “The Temple will undertake to gift him with the rest of Divine Ruchia’s travel allowance, and the use of its remounts and hostels along the road. After he reaches Martensbridge . . . that must be for her Order to decide.”
    “Hm,” said Rolsch. It had been Rolsch, last year, who had forbade Pen’s scheme to go to the university lately founded in Freitten, on the grounds that the family could not afford it, and then stifled Pen’s protests by dragging him in mind-numbing detail through all his baronial accounts to prove it. It had been quite disheartening to find his brother not selfish, but truthful. While not Freitten, Martensbridge was even farther from Greenwell.
    Tentatively, Pen cleared his throat. It still seemed his own . . . “What about the betrothal?”
    A grim silence greeted this.
    Rolsch finally said, heavily, “Well, it didn’t happen yesterday.”
    His mother put in, “But dear Preita’s kin were kind enough to feed us anyway, as we waited here to see if . . . for you to wake up. So at least the food hasn’t gone to waste.”
    “So much cheese . . .” muttered Rolsch.
    Pen was beginning to get the picture of all that must have happened while he’d been lying here like a warmish sort of corpse in this bed, and it wasn’t merry. His body brought back in a wagon alongside that of a dead woman, Mother and Rolsch somehow found— Gans, of course —the celebration broken up just as it began, his anxious kin, quite obviously, up all night . . . “How is Preita . . . taking it?”
    “She grew quite horrified, when we saw your body,” said Rolsch.
    “Her mother has her in charge now,” said Lady Jurald.
    “Someone should send to her, and tell her I’m all right,” said Pen, dismayed at this.
    The silence following this lay a little too long.
    Lady Jurald sighed. She was not a woman to shirk a painful duty either, or she could not have stayed married to their father all those years. “I had better go to her myself. There is a great deal to explain. And discuss.”
    Pen wanted to ask if becoming a sorcerer made a man more, or less, attractive as a husband, but he had an uneasy feeling that he could guess. Cravenly, he let his mother go off without any messages from himself, necessarily under Rolsch’s escort though she plainly didn’t want to leave Pen alone.
    “Is there anything else you need right now, Lord Penric?” Learned Lurenz inquired, also preparing to take his leave.
    “I’m quite hungry,” Pen realized. And no wonder, if he hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. “May I go down to the refectory?”
    “I’ll have a dedicat bring you a meal on a tray,” the divine promised him.
    “But . . . I’m really