Delbridge quickly relayed what he had seen, including the earlier vision of the grief-stricken knight. "I cannot explain it further or better, but I know it to be true," he concluded.
To Delbridge's surprise, Rostrevor was the only one to scoff. "Father, this is nonsense. Abducted by a red light! I am far too strong—you've trained me yourself—to allow such a thing to happen. Besides, our family, and you in particular, are much beloved by your subjects. Who would do such a thing?"
The elder knight's face showed his concern. "There are always malcontents who might seek to hurt me through you. I have lived a long life and made more than enough enemies to disturb my rest."
Scowling, the young knight stepped around the table and took Delbridge firmly by the arm. "I think you've wasted enough of my father's time. Be off!"
"Wait," interjected Balcombe, raising a restraining hand. "What has this fellow to gain by making a fraudulent prediction of such a serious nature? I admit I have reservations, but if he's fabricated this tale, time will quickly reveal the truth." The red-robed mage turned his one eye on Delbridge. "Is this danger imminent?"
"I believe so, yes," blurted Delbridge. "That's how my power works." Feeling a bit awkward, like a bug under glass, Delbridge scratched his jowls.
"Then, my lord, I suggest we err on the side of caution," said Balcombe in his baritone, "by securing Rostrevor in his chambers and out of harm's way, for this evening at least. Station guards outside his door and windows. I will provide additional security by placing magical seals and protective wards on the doors and windows. No one will be able to enter his room, physically or otherwise, without triggering my spells, nor could Rostrevor be removed by any means. If any attempt is made, we will know immediately. In fact, if we act prudently, no one but the four of us in this room will know or suspect that my magical seals exist."
The elder knight seized on it. "An excellent idea! That will certainly thwart any kidnapping attempts, physical or magical."
"But, Father—" protested Rostrevor.
Lord Curston waved away his son's protests. "You will indulge an old man who loves his only son too well."
The young knight glowered. "But if we cut off even the possibility of an attempt, how will we know if anyone had ever even planned such a thing?"
"We will keep Omardicar here, as a guest. If nothing happens concerning this matter, he may try again to prove his claims. In the meantime, we will take no chances. Rostrevor, you are confined to your chambers until dawn tomorrow. We will go immediately with Balcombe and see you safely secured." His expression firm, the knight stood, wincing as gout sent waves of pain shooting through his legs.
"Froeder!" he shouted through gritted teeth. The wizened old retainer hastened through the curtain at the far end of the room. "Our audiences for today are at an end.
Please extend my apologies to those who wait outside and tell them they will have another opportunity, then see that this man is accommodated within the keep. With your pardon, Omardicar, until we know fully what is happening, I wish you to remain in your rooms as well. Froeder, see that it is so." With that, leaning heavily on his resigned son, the knight was helped from the room. Balcombe, with his hands tucked into the full cuffs of his robe and his expression as unreadable as ever, followed at a proper distance.
Left behind with Froeder, Delbridge shook his head in bewilderment. This was turning out well enough, but certainly different than he had planned. Still, who could argue with a sumptuous dinner served by a fireplace lit only for his comfort, followed by a sound sleep in a clean feather bed?
A slight tingling at Delbridge's wrist grabbed his attention. He clapped a hand over the copper bracelet. The metal was quite warm. Delbridge was not in the mood for any more visions that day, especially not in front of Froeder. He tried slipping the bracelet off, but the fit was too tight. After much tugging and prying that left the flesh and bones of his hand bruised, he finally wrenched it from his thick wrist and dropped it into his pouch. Feeling quite good about himself, he followed the impatient retainer from the audience hall and into the luxurious keep, anticipating the fruits of his labors.
Perhaps he had at last reached his true station in life.
* * * * *
Delbridge awoke when a rough hand shook his shoulder until his teeth rattled in his head.
"Omardicar the Omnipotent?"
"Who? Oh, yes," he mumbled, momentarily confused. Blinking against the lamplight, it took Delbridge a moment to remember where he was. He sat up slowly, and an empty wine bottle from the night before rolled off his chest and shattered on the stone floor. "Who are you, and what is it you want?"
Standing above him, a burly man in chain mail laughed, his thick red beard and mustache dancing in the wavering light. "I'll answer no scoundrel's questions. You're under arrest." A second soldier wrenched back the curtains from across the room's window, adding thin dawn light to the scene. The red-bearded man grabbed Delbridge by the upper arm and yanked him from under the feather tick and out of bed.
"What are you talking about?" Delbridge squealed, trying to slip from the man's strong fingers. "I'm a guest of Lord Curston's! He'll be most displeased by your rude treatment of me. I demand to see him at once!"
The sergeant maintained his hold but said nothing.
Delbridge knew he'd had too much to drink the night before, but he'd been in his room the whole time and could not possibly have caused any trouble.
"Perhaps you need a little incentive," hinted Delbridge, reaching toward the table for a small stack of coins, but the guard jerked Delbridge's arm behind his back.
"Don't try any of yer magic on me, cur." The armored guard dragged Delbridge from his sleeping chamber on the second floor, down a narrow flight of stairs, and out the east entrance to the keep. Two more guards holding pikes joined them as they crossed the bailey, headed for an archway bearing the sign, "Gaol."
Delbridge laughed a bit hysterically. "Can't you see? You've confused me with someone else, an easy mistake with all of the strangers about for audience day." He tried slipping his arms from the hands of his captors. "If you'll just let me go now, I'll forget about this indignity."
Instead, the hands tightened. Delbridge instinctively dragged his heels as they crossed the threshold and entered the dark, chilly, foul-smelling recesses of the jail. Tugging the ring latch of a heavy wooden door, the red-haired guard swung it open, its hinges creaking. Sobbing his innocence to an unknown crime, Delbridge was thrust through the door and thrown to his knees in a dank, lightless cell; the door clanged shut behind the departing guards.
Rusty iron hinges echoed in the darkness.
Chapter 9
Dancing in the Woods
The young woman's slight frame was draped in a dark blue cloak of the finest weave. A silk scarf the color of cornflowers completely surrounded her face, crossed under her chin, and flowed over her shoulders to her waist. Her features were nearly perfect, her full lips unusually red against the pale, angular planes of her face.
"If I didn't know better, Master Fireforge," she said in her deep, even voice, "I might think you were trying to avoid me." Her sea-green eyes, as wide as two steel pieces, took in his downcast ones.
Flint dragged his eyes up, his cheeks blushing crimson. "Certainly not . . . Oh, Great Reorx," he swore, "I can't lie to save my soul. I was avoiding you, but not for the reasons you think."
Tanis noticed that pedestrians on the bridgewalk were stopping to stare at the exotic-looking woman and the flustered dwarf. "Let's talk in here," he said quickly, pushing Flint and Tasslehoff ahead of him through the door to his home. The woman followed, her carriage regal. Tanis's breath caught in his throat at her beauty; she reminded him of waves lapping at the shore.
Inside Tanis's house in the trees, Flint collapsed dejectedly into the bent-willow rocker Tanis had placed near the cold hearth just for him. He held his shaggy head in his hands. "I don't know where to begin . . ."
"You could start by introduci
ng us," Tasslehoff sang. Without waiting, he propped his hoopak up in a corner and thrust his delicate hand forward. "Tasslehoff Burr-foot, at your service." The woman looked at his hand as if unsure what to do, then clasped it awkwardly.
Just then Tanis came forward with four glasses and a dusty bottle of mulled ale he had been saving. He smiled at the woman and said, "Tanis Half-Elven."
She regarded his fine facial features, the slightly slanted eyes, and the suggestion of a tip to the ears beneath his thick reddish brown hair. "I thought you looked too rugged to be full elf, yet too beautiful to be human. . . ." she mused.
It was Tanis's turn to blush. "All we know is your given name from Flint," he said hastily. "Selana, isn't it?" He offered her one of the glasses. She extended a slim, almost translucent hand to accept it, which shook slightly as Tanis poured the pale-colored ale into the vessel.
"Yes, I am called Selana." She took a hasty gulp of the ale, coughing as she swallowed. Tasslehoff clapped her on the back. "I thought it was water," she gasped.
"Water?" The kender slapped his knee as he laughed. "Why, only an ogre would drink water that looked like swamp juice."
"Tasslehoff." Tanis spoke the warning low in his throat after he saw Selana's flustered expression. She took another slow swallow of the ale. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she did not cough again. Chin set determinedly, she addressed Flint in the rocker.
"Flint Fireforge, I am here for my bracelet. I am not such a fool that I can't see something is amiss. Were you unable to make it? Perhaps you will tell me now."
Flint shook his head. "No, I made it, all right, and a beautiful bracelet it was—is," he corrected himself hastily, rubbing his face in distress as he tried to think of the best way to explain the situation.
Tasslehoff dropped to the floor to sit cross-legged at her booted feet. "Look, this whole thing is my fault. Well, not entirely my fault. It was just a silly bit of strange fortune that the bracelet found its way onto my wrist in the first place. Of course I knew how much the bracelet meant to Flint, after he got so mad when he lost it the first time, that I knew he'd be furious and frantic when he discovered he'd been careless enough to lose it a second time."
"That's enough!" Flint roared at the kender. "I don't need your brand of help." The dwarf proceeded to piece together the events of the last several days, from the crafting of the bracelet, through its "pocketing" by Tasslehoff, to the robbery of the tinker's wagon.
"We were on our way to find this thieving bard and get your bracelet back, when we, uh, met you outside. I'm as sorry as I've ever been about anything," said Flint, hanging his head. "And even though I'd like to throttle this kender," the dwarf said through gritted teeth, his eyes narrow as slits, "this whole blasted mess is still my responsibility. I'd gladly return your money if I could, but I've already spent it on supplies," he admitted sheepishly.
"I don't want the money," the young woman said. "It's the bracelet I need, and I insist that you retrieve it immediately."
Her imperious tone made Flint flush further in embarrassment, but it only annoyed the half-elf. "Certainly the bracelet should not have been mislaid," Tanis said stiffly, "but it wouldn't hurt you to show some patience and understanding. Flint told you he was trying to get it back."
"You know, Flint, I've been thinking," the kender interjected. "It's a good thing I came along when I did. Reorx alone knows who could have picked it up from where you'd carelessly left it, if I hadn't taken steps to keep it safe."
"Carelessly left it?" Flint barked, jumping to his feet. "That bracelet was safely in my display box! And you weren't taking steps to do anything but steal it, you thieving little—"
"—thief!" Tas cried indignantly, his fists clenched as he faced off against the sputtering dwarf. "I am sick to death of taking the blame for other people's carelessness. Listen, you old—ouch, Tanis!" Tasslehoff glared at the half-elf, who had wedged himself between them and was pinching the muscle on the kender's right shoulder.
"Stop it, both of you," Tanis admonished them. 'This isn't helping us find the bracelet." He turned to the pale woman, who had been silently appalled during the exchange, her face now a study in vexation. "If it's the bracelet you want, why can't Flint just make another?"
"You don't understand!" Selana cried, stamping her booted foot petulantly. "Even if there were time for that, the special components were the only ones of their kind. You have no idea what I went through to get them." A sob escaped her at the memory.
"Why don't you tell us?" Tanis insisted. Her reaction confirmed his growing suspicion that there was more at stake here than a missing bracelet. "While you're at it, why don't you tell us why a slip of a girl needs a magical bracelet that divines the future?"
A slender hand flew to her mouth. "You know?"
Tanis shook his head. "Until now, we only had the ramblings of a superstitious tinker and Tas's suspicions."
Angry, her eyes flashed from sea green to storm black. "What right is it of yours to know? You tricked me!" She raised her hand to strike him.
Almond eyes narrowed, Tanis caught her by the wrist. "No more than you did when you commissioned Flint to make an 'ordinary' bracelet. You must know how much dwarves distrust magic. What right had you to conceal the bracelet's magical nature from him?"
"I never said it was ordinary," she retorted. "I sought a noted craftsman to perform a task for which he was handsomely paid. Do you tell your tailor every occasion for which you might wear the clothing he makes you?"
"That's not the same thing!" Tanis snapped.
It was Flint's turn to step between combatants. Tanis dropped Selana's wrist as Flint glared at him. "What's gotten into you? Whatever the bracelet is or might have been, it was my responsibility. I shouldn't have let it leave my sight. Now I just have to get it back, no matter what it takes."
His statement, meant to be reassuring, brought only a cry of alarm from Selana. "How long will it take?"
Flint looked surprised. "If this Delbridge fellow headed north, and if we can find him—" He shrugged— "three days . . . less with good luck, maybe a week with bad."
"And if you can't find him? Or if he's somehow lost the bracelet? What then?" Her usually low voice was rising in agitation.
"Why is this bracelet so important, Selana?" Tanis asked faintly. "Who are you that you must cover yourself so?" Although tears glistened in her lovely eyes, narrow with fury, she did not resist as he reached out and loosened the blue-green scarf from her face. It fluttered back and settled in soft folds to her shoulders.
"A sea elf!" Tanis gasped as shimmering silver-white hair sprang about her face in soft waves. He had but heard of the reclusive sea elves, distant cousins to his elven kin in Qualinesti. He'd been told their skin was so translucent as to be blue, yet Selana's was milky-white. Her eyes were perfectly round and very large, unlike the almond shape of land-living elves. Though possessing human form, sea elves lived underwater. Tanis had never heard of one leaving the sea to travel on land.
Unwanted tears pooled in Selana's eyes. Vexed, she brushed them away. "Yes, I am a Dargonesti elf." She snatched at the end of her scarf and twisted it anxiously as she began to pace.
Flint forgot about his own shame as fatherly concern grew for the obviously tormented girl. "Tell us what troubles you so much that you have left the sea?"
Selana stopped to examine the faces of the three in the small room, then sighed in resignation. "Forgive me, but I am not used to trusting strangers. Actually, I've led a sheltered life and have met very few."
She held her chin up high. "In the Dargonesti language, my name would sound like little more than unpronounceable squeaks to you. In your tongue, my name is Selana of the Reefs Where Sea Fronds Dance and Eels Dart, Shark Chaser, Moonbeam Laughter." She paused but received only puzzled looks. "Princess Selana Sonluanaau. My father was Solunatuaau, the Speaker of the Moons."
She gave them time to gasp in astonishment before continuing. "I say was, because he died quite suddenly at th
e time of the last full moon." She waved away their pitying glances. "Although I miss him terribly, he lived a fruitful life. It was his time. That is our way."
She dried the last of her tears on the back of her hand.
"It is also our way that the ruler of our people must possess, by nature, the ability to foresee the future. My father could. He knew of his own impending death, though he kept it a secret until it was too late."
"I get it!" cried Tasslehoff. "You need the bracelet so that you can become queen of your people!"
Selana frowned at the kender and shook her iridescent head. "No, I do not seek the crown for myself, but for my elder brother."
Tasslehoff's brow knit in deliberation. "Now I'm really confused. If he has the natural ability to see the future, why do you need a bracelet?"
A look of unbearable despair settled upon the sea elf's comely face. "My brother Semunel is good and wise and strong, but for reasons only the benevolent god Habbakuk knows," she sighed, "he has not the natural ability. Semunel will rule well and long, but only if he ascends the throne. This he cannot do unless he demonstrates to the regents of the House of Law that he possesses the ability to see what will be. Without the bracelet, he will surely fail the test."
Selana resumed her pacing. "Semunel's deficiency was a secret shared between my father, brother, and myself—secret even from my mother. There are factions that would see House Sonluanaau end."
Trying to calm the roiling emotions inside her, the princess focused her attention on a book from the carved shelf and fingered its spine. "We hoped that perhaps the skill was latent and would eventually develop, but it never did. . . . Now Father has died, and there is no more time to wait."
Tanis cleared his throat. "I don't mean to appear impertinent, but isn't it dishonest to deceive the regents— and ultimately the people—if your brother does not possess the skill your customs require? Perhaps Habbakuk had reason for not granting Semunel the ability."
[Meetings 02] - Wanderlust Page 12
