by Sanan Kolva
The man looked irritated. “Not satisfied with having the ride to torment him?”
“It’s no fun when he knows he can’t get away,” Praett purred in a tone Lyan knew all too well.
“Our lord ordered that he arrive whole and mostly unharmed,” the Tathren said sharply.
“I just want to play a little game. I won’t hurt him… much.”
The man’s mouth curled in a disgusted sneer.
Praett’s voice grew colder, still keeping the playful tone. “You wouldn’t want me to get bored.”
The man stiffened. “Fine. But it’s your head if something happens to him.”
The pooka only smirked and pulled Lyan from camp, speaking in the Trade tongue. “Let’s play, elf.”
Lyan didn’t need much acting to portray revulsion as he tried to jerk away. Praett’s tone sent shivers down his spine every time he heard it. “What makes you think I have any wish to play your twisted ‘games’?”
Praett grinned wickedly. “If you don’t play, I win.”
Once they were away from the camp, Praett’s demeanor changed. He loosed Lyan’s hands and bowed his head. “I beg your forgiveness for my behavior, master. I know it causes you distress.”
What other reaction does it expect, having heard that voice taunting me at any unexpected moment? Lyan shook his head. “You’re playing your part, and you play it well. You’re doing what you should to avoid suspicion.”
“Yes, master.” Praett didn’t sound convinced.
“If I didn’t act like it bothered me, I wouldn’t be doing my part in the ruse either,” Lyan said. “They’re watching me just as much as you.”
Praett nodded again, a little more at ease with the idea that some of Lyan’s reaction played into the deception. “Your companion awaits this way, master.”
They walked four or five yards when Shadowstar nickered and trotted up to Lyan from a shallow dip in the land. The stallion roughly shoved his nose against Lyan’s chest. Lyan laughed softly and rubbed the stallion. “I’m sorry I worried you, Shadowstar. Thank you for finding me and helping Kithr.”
Shadowstar snorted, tossed his head and stepped aside. Kithr emerged from the growing shadows, and cautiously slung a bow over his back. He eyed Praett with suspicion. The pooka remained several steps back and behind Lyan. Kithr looked from Lyan, to Praett, back to Lyan.
“You idiot mooncalf, what in rot and ash are you thinking?” Kithr demanded in a low voice.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time?” Lyan offered.
He saw the punch coming, and braced himself. Kithr swung, but Praett darted between Lyan and Kithr. Kithr’s fist hit Praett’s arms, raised to block the blow.
“What in…?” Kithr began in disbelief, shaking a stinging hand.
Lyan stepped around Praett and rested a hand on the monster’s shoulder to move it aside. “Kithr’s allowed to hit me, all right? For that matter, so is Cailean. I’m pretty sure I deserve it if either of them feels a need to knock sense into me.”
Praett scowled. “You could have said that earlier, master.” The tone implied the pooka would have been more than happy to see the blow connect.
“I didn’t think about it,” Lyan said. He looked at Kithr. “So… hello.”
Kithr looked at both Lyan and Praett, for a moment saying nothing. When he did speak, he was to the point. “Explain. Now.”
“I failed to consider the implications of calling on Nachyne when attacked by a creature of his domain,” Lyan answered. The nagging wish to have Equinox in hand tore at him again, and Lyan gave in to the impulse. The Spear suddenly appeared in Lyan’s grasp.
Kithr jerked back a step at the abrupt appearance of Equinox. His eyes narrowed then. “You bound the pooka?” He glared at Praett. “And I should trust a creature that lives to deceive?”
Praett answered before Lyan, voice flat. “My lord Nachyne took my life, bound it, and made it a gift to the Spearbearer as my final punishment for disobeying the laws of my god. I can never again make the claim of being a free creature.” He raised one arm, showing the black metal band around the wrist. “So whether or not you trust me, whether or not the Spearbearer trusts me, he is my master, and whatever he wills, I must obey.”
Kithr drew a sharp breath. “Is this creature telling the truth, Lyan?”
Lyan nodded.
“Then what in all the gods’ names are you doing surrounded by would-be warriors and useless thugs?” Kithr demanded.
“Cailean and his men have been captured and taken to the keep by the orders of the priest who cursed Cailean, Porephyn. That same man bound the pooka. He sent it out with orders to capture me and meet with those men to take me to the keep as well.”
Kithr held up a hand to stop Lyan. “One question first.” He glared at Praett. “The last time you were near, we were close to the Shrine of Equinox. I know how we crossed moons’ worth of travel in an instant. How did you get here?”
Praett sniffed dismissively. “What you call a moon’s ride is barely a day and a night of running for me, if I wish to travel swiftly. Porephyn called me back when you entered the Shrine and I couldn’t follow.” Praett folded arms across chest. “Our time is limited, master.”
“These men think I’m the pooka’s prisoner,” Lyan said before Kithr could ask anything else.
“And this is a ‘plan’?” Kithr responded.
“As a prisoner, I can walk into Cailean’s keep and down into the dungeon. Then, I can free Cailean and his men without Porephyn or his underlings realizing I’m not their captive, and without them knowing the pooka serves me and not him.”
Kithr frowned. “You think you can free the Tathrens by yourself? Brazen. Still, given how narrow your last escape from this monster was, it’s believable that you could be caught. As long as they believe that, you shouldn’t be suspected.” For several moments, he silently searched the idea for flaws. Finally, he scowled. “Where do I fit into this plan?”
The question surprised Lyan. He’d been braced for an extended argument with Kithr rather than reluctant acceptance. “We know Cailean’s keep has hidden entrances. Porephyn’s men couldn’t have found them all, and even if they did, they aren’t likely to have heavy guards on all of them,” Lyan said.
Kithr continued to frown. “You’re thinking one elf can sneak in more easily than a company.”
Lyan smiled. “Can you get inside a mere Tathren’s stronghold unnoticed and find the dungeons?”
“Bah, is that all you want? Rot it, Lyan. If all their men are as worthless as those guarding you, I could take half the keep by myself.”
“I’m sure Cailean will want at least a little part in reclaiming his home,” Lyan said.
Kithr waved a hand in dismissal. “Fine, fine, I’ll wait for you and your pet Tathrens. We’ll meet at the dungeon entrance, and if you’re not there, I will hunt you down.”
Lyan nodded. “Understood.”
“And I will be following you. If anything happens, I won’t wait for a second explanation.”
Lyan nodded seriously. “Thank you, Kithr. Also, Cailean’s been caught, and we still don’t know who the traitor is. So be careful.”
“You do the same.” Kithr responded.
“We must return, master, before the sheep decide to come searching,” Praett said.
Lyan walked to Shadowstar and slid Equinox into the straps on the saddle designed to hold the Spear. “I’m leaving Equinox in your care until I need it, all right, Shadowstar?”
The stallion tossed his head and snorted, then nuzzled Lyan. Lyan scratched Shadowstar’s ears. He hated to leave Equinox again, but leaving it with Shadowstar eased some of his anxiety. He knew the Spear would be safe. “I’ll see you again soon, and I know you’ll be here when I need you.” Lyan looked toward the orange glow of light where the Tathrens camped, and he drew a deep breath. “All right… let’s go back.”
Kithr didn’t say anything, but Lyan felt his friend’s eyes follow him the entire walk toward
the camp, and that gaze made Lyan question again his decision, his plan, and his ability to do what he said he would do.
No, I can do this. I’m not going to be on my own. I have Praett helping me, and I can call Equinox. I won’t be alone.
Praett bound Lyan’s hands again. “They may wonder at the quiet.”
Lyan thought quickly. “The simplest explanation would be if I appeared unconscious or nearly so.”
“I can arrange that,” Praett said, a little too eager.
Lyan just gave it a withering look.
Praett huffed. “Or I can sling you over a shoulder and leave you to pretend unconsciousness.”
“Better,” Lyan said.
“But not nearly as satisfying,” Praett muttered.
Fawning obedience or sullen resentment—Lyan wasn’t sure which attitude he would rather endure. He didn’t comment. Praett picked Lyan up with little effort and walked to the Tathren camp with Lyan slung over his shoulder. Lyan kept his eyes closed and listened.
“Have your ‘fun’?” snapped the leader, irritated.
“A satisfying enough chase,” Praett answered in the taunting, honeyed tone. Lyan wondered if he got some satisfaction provoking and deceiving these men.
Praett lowered him to the ground. Feeling the fire’s warmth nearby and seeing the dancing light through closed eyes, Lyan shuddered.
Vynzent isn’t here. These men fear me. They aren’t going to torture me. He held the thought, repeating it to himself over and over. Noise in the camp grew softer as the men bedded down for the night. Lyan tried to find some rest. Kithr’s watching over me, and Praett can’t go against my will. I’m not alone.
Sleep finally came.
o0o
Morning brought a small meal of stale beer and tough jerky. The Tathrens even gave a couple strips of dried meat to Lyan, which was more than he’d expected. They broke camp with minimal talk. Praett left his thoughts unspoken.
The Tathrens set a harsh pace, pushing the horses hard. As he rolled stiff shoulders and tried to find a comfortable spot on the saddle, Lyan asked Praett, “How far are we from the keep?”
“The men would like to reach it tonight, but even at this pace, we won’t arrive until tomorrow,” Praett answered. “Barring any unexpected trouble.”
“Unexpected trouble? As opposed to what? Expected trouble?” Lyan responded.
Praett chuckled aloud, drawing sharp and wary looks from the Tathrens. He smirked at the men, not explaining the fit of humor. To Lyan he replied, “Any trouble would be unexpected. The men who hold the keep have a solid hold on the countryside. At the most, trouble would come only if Cailean’s men attempted to attack. And they are unlikely to do so, given the size of this group.”
More tidbits of information for Lyan to stash away. Cailean still had some loyal men holding out for his return.
Through the day, Lyan watched the land. They passed villages and farms, and people scrambled from the path of the horses with little more than glances at the riders. The farms looked, to Lyan’s inexperienced eye, healthy. Ripening grain filled the fields. He wondered if Ewart’s men had raided the farms and villages when they attacked, or if they had focused only on their goal.
As evening neared, the Tathrens began to grumble. The unhappiness grew when the leader finally ordered a halt for the night.
“But sir, it’s not that much further…,” one protested.
The leader glared at them all. “And how many of you forget night is the time for elves? The time when they attack? We are stopping, and we are stopping now. I am not riding on until some elven trick sends us plummeting into a chasm. We have our orders, and our orders are to deliver the prisoner alive and whole, and that will not happen if we are dead. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir.” The reluctant response lacked enthusiasm.
“Good. Make camp.” The man turned to Praett. “And as for you, I don’t care how boring it makes your night. You can and you will, survive one night without ‘playing’ with the prisoner. Is that understood?”
Praett yawned. “Fine, if you insist. But I expect to be compensated for a night of boredom.”
The man tensed and answered stiffly. “You’ll have to take that matter up with the lord, tomorrow. If you deserve any… compensation, that’s for him to decide.”
Praett smirked. “I’ll ask for the hot-headed one. He’d be an entertaining toy while he lasts.”
The Tathren’s hands clenched in fists, but he only said, “That is for our lord to decide.” Spinning sharply away, he marched across the camp and took his part in preparing for the night.
Chapter Fifteen
The die is cast,
The act is begun.
The curtain rises,
The end known to none.
Men and women in plain, rough-spun clothes scurried from the path of the horses. Lyan watched them, seeing how they cleared the village streets and ran into their houses, shutting door soundly behind them. The people barely glanced at the riders. Lyan doubted many even noticed him. The glowers on the faces of Cailean’s people showed no fondness for men in Ewart’s service. He wondered whether anyone in this village at the foot of the keep knew of Cailean’s capture.
His eyes moved to the stone fortress. It didn’t loom as Ewart’s keep had when they freed Nylas and his men, but the closer they rode, the more an unseen, undefined air made Lyan’s skin crawl. Something dark lurked within the walls, like a fat, venomous spider on its web.
From the keep itself, Lyan sensed age, and he could well believe it held entrances no one knew about. From the different colors and weathering of the stone, he judged where additions had been made and walls extended. The oldest parts were gray, worn and weathered. Ancient lichen filled the crevices, as integral to the walls as the rocks and mortar. If the inner keep had been built like the outer wall, over many years by many different hands, it could hide passages long forgotten and rooms without access.
The horses clattered up the cobbled road and through the first gate. Lyan tensed. Fear closed around him as they continued through the second gate. On all sides, Tathrens turned to look at the arrivals, and some murmured in surprise.
“Hey, is that…?”
“Heard they got sent out to meet that damned monster, but I didn’t hear why. A prisoner? He doesn’t look Tathren…”
“Can’t you see those ears? That’s a damned elf!”
Lyan turned to the whispering knot of men. They instantly fell silent under his gaze. Several made signs of protection against evil.
Lyan’s eyes narrowed and he spoke in Elven. “You want protection from evil? Guard yourselves against your own leaders, not me.”
Praett smirked and spoke in the Trade tongue. “Come now, little elf, they’ll think you’re trying to curse them.”
“Rot in the Mad God’s Pits,” Lyan muttered sullenly in the same.
“An elf… here.” Someone said the words anxiously.
Praett rolled his eyes and spoke in Tathren with exaggerated boredom. “Yes, a dreadful, terrible elf. Just as your lord ordered. But don’t worry, I have him contained… for now.”
“Enough.” the leader of the escort snapped. “We have a report to make.”
“No,” purred the pooka. “You have a report to make. I have a captive to see locked away.” He cocked his head at the men. “Unless you really desire my company a little longer.”
They stiffened, and their leader answered. “You have your orders, monster. Take care of them.”
“So dull, so lacking a true spirit of adventure,” Praett sighed. “I do pity mortals sometimes.”
“We’ll do just fine without your pity or your interest,” the man snapped.
Praett laughed and jumped from the horse. The monster pulled Lyan down, looking rough and careless enough to spur a curse from Lyan. Despite the appearance, Lyan had no trouble keeping his feet. He glanced around, and Tathrens shifted back.
I almost think I should thank Nylas for keeping the
fear of elves alive among Ewart’s men.
Taking a firm hold on Lyan’s arm, Praett pulled him across the courtyard. Lyan made a show of trying to jerk away, the image of a sullen, angry captive.
Scorch marks blackened stone walls, and some walls had been destroyed, leaving rooms exposed to the elements. Canvas draped the gaps, and men carried loads of bricks and stones under the watchful eyes of soldiers. Stray chickens scratched at the dirt, scattering when someone kicked a stone at them. Lyan fought the urge to gawk at all the activity.
Praett didn’t hesitate to enter the main building, Lyan in tow. A few men scowled as the pooka chose to enter by one of the gaping holes in the wall rather than a door, taking them into a parlor, but no one objected. The few servants scrambled from Praett’s path. The pair moved into a hall.
A set of stairs led down, watched by a pair of guards. Praett ignored them as he descended. The men cast uneasy looks at pooka and prisoner both. Lyan expected to see something like the dungeon where Nylas and his men had been held, but these stairs opened into a guardroom. A fire crackled in the hearth to combat the chill, and torches burned in sconces on the walls. A weapon rack stood against one wall beside a large, scowling man wearing a leather jerkin over his shirt.
The man looked them over, then spat on the floor through stained teeth. Lyan thought he could smell the man’s breath from across the room. “You just got to be special, don’t you? Can’t catch this one along with the rest of the prisoners, have to bring him in late? Fine, you’ve delivered your prisoner. I’ll take him from here.” He stood.
Lyan tensed. If Praett left him now, it could jeopardize the whole plan.
Praett gazed at the man. “No, I think not.”
The warden glowered. “I don’t care what you think. You follow the rules as our lord’s given them, and that means I take charge of prisoners.”
“No.” Praett’s voice grew icy. “Not this one. This one is mine. A pathetic waste of fat like you is not worthy to be in the same room as this elf, much less lay a hand on him.” Praett’s gaze held the warden’s. “Give me the keys.”
