He grinned briefly, although mostly because he could scarcely look at her and not smile. “Trying to move anything through its ground is like pushing on the short end of a long lever. It’s always easier to do it by hand. Although it’s said…’’ He hesitated again. “It’s said the old sorcerer-lords linked together in groups to do their greater magics. Like matching grounds for healing, or a lovers’ groundlock, only with some lost difference.”

“Don’t you do that now?”

“No. We are too reduced—maybe our bloodlines were adulterated in the dark times, no one knows. Anyway, it’s forbidden.”

“I mean for your pattern walking.”

“That’s just simple perception. Like the difference between feeling with your hand and pushing with your hand, perhaps.”

“Why is pushing forbidden? Or was that linking up in bunches to push that’s not allowed?”

He should have known that the last remark would elicit more questions. Throwing one fact to Fawn was like throwing one piece of meat to a pack of starving dogs; it just caused a riot. “Bad experiences,” he replied in a quelling tone. All right, by the pursing of her lips and wrinkling of her brow, quelling wasn’t going to work; try for distraction. “Let me tell you, though, not a patroller up Luthlia way survives the lake country without learning how to bounce mosquitoes through their grounds. Ferocious little pests—they’ll drain you dry, they will.”

“You use magic to repel mosquitoes?” she said, sounding as though she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or offended. “We just have recipes for horrible stuff to rub on our skins. Once you know what’s in them, you’d almost rather be bit.”

He snickered, then sighed. “They say we are a fallen folk, and I for one believe it. The ancient lords built great cities, ships, and roads, transformed their bodies, sought longevity, and brought the whole world crashing down at the last. Though I suspect it was a really good run for a while, till then. Me—I bounce mosquitoes. Oh, and I can summon and dismiss my horse, once I get him trained up to it. And help settle another’s hurting body, if I’m lucky. And see the world double, down to the ground. That’s about it for Dag magic, I’m afraid.”

Her eyes lifted to his face. “And kill malices,” she said slowly.

“Aye. That mainly.”

He reached for her, swallowing her next question with a kiss.

It took the better part of a week for Dag’s boat anchor of a conscience to drag him out of the clouds and back onto the road. He wished he could just jettison the blighted deadweight. But one morning he turned back from shaving to find Fawn, half-dressed and with her bedroll open on the bed, frowning down at the sharing knife that lay there.