by Ulff Lehmann
“I’ll try,” he said.
The Cahill residence was old, yet in remarkably good repair. Unlike other villas, the place had a crenellated curtain wall and a rather stout-looking steeloak gate. Next to the entrance was a bell pull, which Drangar used at once.
After a few moments, a small window inside the door opened and a pair of grim, blue eyes scrutinized them. “It’s bloody late. The master and mistresses don’t receive visitors, beggars, or merchants at this time. Come back tomorrow.”
Drangar cleared his throat and said, “Be so kind and convey this to your masters: Drangar Ralgon, lover to the deceased Hesmera wishes to speak to the Lady Neena.”
The guard snorted. “Doubt that’ll make a difference, but I will tell them.” The window slid shut.
“Well,” said Rob, laying a hand on his shoulder, “I left the wife alone last night, can’t do so again. Wish you all the best, Drang.” The watchman saluted the Chosen. “Good night, Lord Kildanor.”
“Night, Rob, and thank you.”
They watched Rob leave, and when the chill penetrated their cloaks both Chosen and Drangar started to pace.
“I will stay outside, Ralgon.”
“I thought so,” he replied, relieved but also frightened at the prospect of facing Hesmera’s friends alone. He was about to thank Kildanor for watching his back, when the gate creaked open.
“The Lady Neena will see you, sir,” the green-clad guard said stiffly. “Please leave any weapons with me.”
“I’m unarmed,” Drangar replied.
“Very well,” the guard said, and he thought he could detect a trace of suspicion in the man’s voice. The servant locked the gate, then passed him and headed up the paved way toward the mansion. “Follow me.”
They entered through what could only be the servants’ entrance, but he didn’t mind. He had always felt more at home with villeins and hard-working freeborn than with nobility. House Cahill’s kitchen was bigger than most inns he knew. Marble-topped tables dominated the center of the room, and there were several ovens on each wall. Few cooks or scullions were busy at this time; instead a dozen armed men and women stood between him and what could only be Neena Cahill, Hesmera’s friend. Their weapons pointed his way.
She barely looked as he remembered her. No longer blushing maiden, Neena had matured. Her hair was still the long tangle of locks worn open, but in her eyes he saw bitterness. With the exception of himself, she had likely been most affected by Hesmera’s death. What little color she had drained away when she saw him. Drangar couldn’t blame her.
“So, you have returned?” Gone was the girlish laughter, her voice seemed harsher.
“Aye,” he replied. There wasn’t much else he thought of saying at this moment.
“Did you…” She was still grieving. “Did you kill her?”
“Would you believe me?”
A trace of hope crept into her eyes. “I want to.”
“Why would I want to kill the only person that made me feel loved?” he said, unwilling to say more. He couldn’t stop. “She told you I had never been in love, and that’s true. Most of my life I have never felt truly alive. Like I was going through the motions, but never really belonging. When I met her all this changed. I would’ve killed myself before I’d harm her.” He took a deep breath. “Lady…”
“Just Neena.”
“Neena, I… I… for years I lived with the knowledge she was dead, thinking it was me who killed her. Damnation, I wanted to take my own life more than once!” Drangar felt his voice rise, saw the woman and her guards tense, and calmed down immediately.
“I don’t believe you,” young Lady Cahill stated.
Only one thing could show her the truth, and so he rolled up his sleeves and held out his arms so she could inspect the scars. For a moment, the guards tensed, and Neena gasped as she saw the places he had cut himself. “I swear by all the gods, it wasn’t me who killed her. If I lie let Lliania strike me down.”
He wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to tell her what had happened two years ago, but not before all the guards. “This is a private matter, Neena. Tie my hands if you must, but I won’t bare my heart before your servants.”
She must have understood his meaning and nodded, in much the same way Hesmera had done. “Bind him, then leave,” she told the guards. “And ask my mother to join us.” To him she said, “Hesmera was her friend as well, she deserves to know.”
Soon after, Drangar sat with the Cahill women in the same chamber he had seen them in with Hesmera. The mood, however, was different; the laughter that had apparently lined Leonore’s face was a thing of the past. Like her daughter, she still grieved. Drangar knew their pain all too well, but as he told them what he had seen in the past, his sorrow was once again overshadowed by fury and determination. “I will make them pay,” he said as he finished.
Neena and Leonore Cahill sat in silence, regarding him. He saw how they digested all he had revealed. Occasionally mother would whisper to daughter, but he remained still, they too had to come to terms with what he had seen. At one point, Leonore’s gaze fixed him, her brow furrowed. “You hope Neena knows something of these false tradesmen, don’t you?”
He nodded, was about to answer when all the lamps in the room, as well as the fire, went out and they were plunged into darkness. As he rose, moving backward to reach the wall, glass splintered, and Neena cried out in alarm.
CHAPTER 63
With Culain at her side, Ealisaid felt confident like never before. Her hand in his, they entered the Baron’s office. Inside were Duasonh, seated on his chair, a younger man with short-cropped blond hair, and Paladin Nerran. Duasonh looked up when she entered and smiled.
“Have a seat, Wizardess.”
“Thank you, but I’d rather stand.”
“As you wish.”
“And?” Nerran said in his usual gruff manner. She had never really encountered this man without him being bad-tempered. Followers of Lesganagh weren’t known for their politeness, she knew, and after meeting Kildanor she had expected a Paladin was just as bad. Then again, the sun was nothing if not direct. “Can you do it?”
“Do what?” the blond man asked.
“We intend to lure the Chanastardhians into a trap,” Duasonh said. “General Kerral, how many archers are under your command?”
The warlord scratched his stubbly scalp. “About four hundred, milord.”
“And how many carry a bow, aside from these archers?”
“They should also know how to shoot,” Nerran interjected.
Duasonh glared at the Paladin, but turned it into a knowing wink. She had seen them play this sort of game before. In her time outside the dungeons, it had become apparent they were close friends. Duasonh could be as gruff as Nerran if the situation required it, but at this moment both seemed to enjoy teasing General Kerral.
“All of them, sir,” the younger man replied.
“Very well,” the Baron said. “And what are you doing here, Culain?”
“Is she really a wizard?” Kerral interrupted.
“Aye, she is, lad. Listen now, gawk later,” Nerran snapped. This time Duasonh merely nodded.
The Baron cleared his throat and repeated the question.
“My Lord Baron, I’m assisting the Lady Ealisaid, sir.” She squeezed his hand and gave a brief nod of encouragement.
“She has guards. Why are you with her?”
Ealisaid knew this was a secret council, but Duasonh had given her free hand on how to proceed. “He is my escort, and strength, my liege. Without him there won’t be much of an illusion when the time comes.”
“So, you were the chap responsible for me bumping into a cabinet that looked more like a shrub, laddie?” Nerran growled. “Had some fun, eh? Can’t say I blame you.” He laughed and muttered, “Lucky bastard.”
“Why thank you, sir,” she said with a mock bow.
“Enough of this,” Duasonh scoffed. “Lady Wizard, what do you mean when you say this man is
your strength? I’ve heard tales of people being drained of their life-force to feed a wizard’s spell, are you using him as a means to empower your magic?”
To her left, Ealisaid saw Nerran stiffen. The Paladin’s hand inched closer to his sword. “No, milord, this isn't what I meant. He is my strength, yes, but only insomuch as a husband is his wife’s strength. With him I’m confident in myself and my magic.”
“Good,” Nerran chuckled mockingly. “She may keep him.”
Even though she knew who and what she was, the Paladin’s comment hurt. Before she could snarl a reply, however, Culain spoke, “Lord Nerran, I am neither a villein, nor a slave. Your wit has a place somewhere, but here it isn't appreciated.” To Duasonh he said, “My liege, I ask permission to stay with Ealisaid for as long as need be.”
The glare the Baron sent Nerran’s way was earnest. “If I find out this is just so you have a toy-boy, I’ll have both of your heads.” He faced her. “Well?”
“No, my liege, he isn't. Without his aid”—at this Nerran hiccupped artificially—“I would not have been able to do what I did last night.”
“Very well,” the Baron said, “stay with her, Culain. You will, however, not merely stand on the wall to stare starry-eyed at her. You will carry a bow and shoot, make yourself useful, understood?” This was not what she had hoped for, but there was nothing to be done about it.
“So, what’s the deal with this trap?” Kerral said.
“Right,” Duasonh replied. “We know High General Mireynh expects aid from a traitor inside the city. This traitor is dead…”
“Rightly so,” Nerran interrupted.
“The traitor is dead,” the Baron continued, again glaring at the Paladin. “But we know their plan. At night the South Gate should have been emptied of all guards, except those loyal to said traitor. The walls were to be manned by more collaborators, so that when the gate is opened none could raise the alarm. The Chanastardhians would have taken half the city without much resistance.”
“You want the sorceress,” Kerral pointed at her, “to make Mireynh believe this ploy is still working.”
“Smart, lad.”
Duasonh nodded. “Aye, that’s the plan. Of course, the gate will still be closed, fully manned, and the walls brimming with archers.”
“Mireynh won’t send out his full army,” Kerral pointed out. “He’ll send a strike force to secure gate and wall. When this is done he’ll send more troops.” It was apparent this man liked to boast. “So, the only thing you will achieve with this is to eliminate one of his elite warbands.”
“He’ll send in the elite?” Duasonh asked.
“To take an essential position and hold it? Fuck yes!” The warlord was as rude as Nerran.
“Then we take them down, fine by me,” the Baron said. “Are you sure you can do it?”
She nodded, this time Culain squeezed her hand. “Aye, my liege, I can do it.”
Duasonh was about to say more when the door opened, and a warden poked his head in. “Milord, one of the scouts.”
“Send him in,” Duasonh commanded.
A horseman entered. “Sir!” The man stood at attention. He was clad in leather and fur, and stank of sweat and horse. “The Chanastardhians are two miles away from the plain!”
The Baron rose. “Warden, coordinate with warleader Kaltairr, see to it that we get more wood inside, there’s still plenty to the north! Nerran, fetch Kildanor and my squires, and make sure each of them looks ready for war, we’ll see Urgraith Mireynh very soon, I think.” He turned to her. “Lady Wizard, rest, if you so require. Be ready by nightfall.”
Each of them rushed out of the office. Soon she would have her chance to prove she was valuable to the city.
In Culain’s company the day passed quickly. She could have prepared, meditated, practiced concentration exercises, but his presence was all she needed. With him, through him, Ealisaid had performed magic in a way she had never been able to do before. Even with her inner fire, she doubted she could have created the illusion that had enveloped the entire keep. The baileys and walls had remained unchanged, if the servants were right, but the bulk of the Palace, every room, had been turned into a glade.
From the reports the inhabitants had given, each area, from the smallest closet to the great audience chamber, had become part of the glade she and Culain had shared. In her mind she must have pictured their place as part of an even bigger space. Ealisaid wasn’t sure how this had happened; she wasn’t even sure if all the various rooms strung together would compose an entire valley. It might have been that she had created replicas of their vale in various sizes.
Not that it mattered. She felt confident she could mask the archers and let the enemy see what she wanted them to see. There was only the matter of figuring out if she could create an image that worked only in one direction. When she had cast her spell with Culain she had seen everything he had. Could she alter the illusion so she was unaffected while her lover saw what she wanted him to see? She had to try.
“What’re you thinking about?” he whispered in her ear.
“I want to try something.”
“What’s that, dear?”
Ealisaid sat up and looked down at him. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head, touching the wall behind the bed.
“Do you trust me?”
Culain couldn’t hide his surprise. He then rubbed his hands across his face like she had seen him done before when he was thinking. “Can I trust you?” he finally asked, humor gleaming in his eyes.
She scrunched up her face then leaned down to kiss him. “Aye.”
He grinned. “Then I do trust you.” Her concern must have shown, for he sat up and put his hands on her shoulders, staring at her. “What do you have in mind? Nothing that will harm Baron or city I hope.”
She managed a smile. “You just worry about Duasonh and the city?”
“Oh, and myself of course,” he added with a chuckle.
Her playful slap caused both of them to laugh. “What about me?” she pouted.
“Well, I do worry about you, too. So, what is it you want to have me for?” She made a face. “Other than that I mean.”
When was the last time she had felt so giddy around a man? “I need to try something new.” His grin broadened, and she hurriedly continued, “No, no, no, not that… well, also that, but later!” She felt the blush when Culain laughed. “I want to create an illusion you can see, but I don’t,” she added, squirming in his hands as he tickled her.
Culain dropped his hands to his side. “Go ahead,” he said, his face earnest.
In the evening they stood on the southern gatehouse. Winter’s icy grasp seemed to get a firmer grip every day, and both of them wore heavy cloaks to ward off the cold. To their left and right, all along the wall, stood archers. Many of these men and women were regular warriors who normally fought on foot; only every third was fully trained, Culain had explained. But aside from the warriors there were also citizens on the battlement, people who, at times, knew the craft of archery better than the warriors.
She appreciated his effort to explain, but didn’t really care to consider the upcoming bloodshed. She herself had killed a dozen people or so, by accident as she had to remind everybody, including her lover. Ealisaid dreaded the willful killing that would happen in the dark of night.
“Where’s Duasonh?” she muttered. After their meeting, she had, of course, been busy, yet she had expected her liege to give some last moment instructions. The plan was as good as it could be, but still…
Culain must have detected her nervousness for he pulled her into a gentle embrace, kissed her hair, and said, “Don’t worry, dear, he’ll come.”
“What if I…”
He placed two fingers on her lips. “Don't worry; you will work your spell flawlessly!”
“How do…”
Again, his digits blocked her words. “I know, all right. You are a great mage, eh?”
His encouragement relaxed he
r. She looked up into his eyes, kissed his fingers. “Aye,” she whispered. In this new world he was her mountain, her solace, her anchor who’d hold her no matter what, and she was grateful for his existence.
“Now look at those lovebirds!” Even in the relative silence of anticipation along the wall, Nerran’s voice seemed to boom across the stonework toward them.
The Paladin walked ahead of Duasonh and General Kerral, clapping the shoulders of a few archers, nodding to more. His battered surcoat bore the sun and sword crest of Lesganagh; he wore it over a chain shirt, and a sword was at his belt. Even he carried a bow; she noticed the fletching of his arrows poking up from behind his back.
Duasonh was as friendly to the assembled warriors. He stopped to talk to some, gripped their forearms in a warrior’s greeting, and shared a few laughs with his troops. His armor was caergoult, boiled and hardened leather molded to fit the wearer like a second skin. He too had a sword belted to his massive girth. Dunthiochagh’s falcon embroidered on his tabard, cloak and even etched onto his armor. Yet, while even General Kerral was holding an elegant longbow, the Baron carried no such weapon.
Duasonh walked up and greeted them with a brief nod. “At high moon the walls will clear.”
His statement surprised her, and she couldn’t guard her face quickly enough to suppress the emotion. “The walls will clear?” she echoed.
“Aye, lass,” Nerran replied in Duasonh’s stead. “They have to believe our traitor has succeeded.”
Culain gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, dear, you can do it.”
“But won’t they see that the faces are not the same?”
“No,” Duasonh said. “They won’t send anybody close enough to see individuals. They would be too close for our archers, and the surprise’d be spoiled.”
“You sure you can do that, lass?” the Paladin asked.
She gave herself the leisure of thinking it over before she nodded her assent. “Aye, the Chanastardhians will see the wall clearing.” She chanced a look left and right. There sure were a lot of people on the wall. “Won’t they worry about this many warriors?”
