Crucible

by Mercedes Lackey

  Both Companions flattened their ears. The mare snapped at the air. The stallion gave her a reproving look, but the moment her teeth clapped down, Eel’s screaming stopped. She snorted, then pointed with her nose to the stalls.

  Ystell appeared around a corner, berating Eel for his rudeness. She at least knew what riderless Companions far from Haven meant—a Choosing, most likely. The cook led the Companions to the widest stalls in the stable, talking to them as she would a paying guest. The crowd dispersed gradually, and Bree went with them.

  No Heralds doesn’t mean no hope. With every step, she could feel her bitterness fading. Companions can Mindtalk.

  Bree realized then what she must do.

  I’m going to have to have dinner with Lord Buffoon.

  • • •

  Ystell brightened when Bree stepped into the kitchen. “Bright Lady!” she exclaimed. “You’ve finally come to dinner!”

  Bree inhaled the aroma of rosemary and deeply browned onions as she hung up her cloak. Supper for the staff came after the dinner service but before the Bard’s performance. The staff filtered in by singles and pairs. Attikas arrived with his daughter, who spun a silver-and-blue top on the table while they waited for dinner. The pot-scrubbers and maids came in next, followed by Orenn and Eel.

  Last came the innkeeper, Sharlot, practically draped over Ferrin and laughing obsequiously at some joke he’d just told.

  “I’m telling you, dearest,” he said to her, continuing his jest, “you ought to send a bill to Selenay.”

  Sharlot giggled. “Oh, stop.”

  Ystell set a marvelous collection of cottage pies, bacon pies, and cheese-and-onion pies on the table. Everyone served themselves, with Ferrin pouncing first.

  “Why not?” he continued, helping himself to slabs of both cheese-and-onion and cottage pie. “They’re eating your hay, taking up your stalls. Did Selenay ask your permission to house them in your inn?”

  “I’m sure you’ll get a chit to put toward taxes,” Orenn said. “And it’s Queen Selenay, Ferrin.”

  Ferrin met Orenn’s gaze with a smile. “So it is, Orenn. Silly me. I keep forgetting she’s my Queen.”

  Eel and Sharlot snickered.

  His voice took on a treacly wickedness. “Highjorune didn’t used to be part of Valdemar. Maybe it needs to remember that. Don’t you agree, Orenn?”

  Bree felt a pressure building against her skull with his every word, as if someone were pouring honey over her head. Beside her, Orenn nodded. “I . . . I guess . . . I mean, Highjorune used to be part of Lineas . . . a long time ago . . . but. . . .”

  “See?” Ferrin said, voice a velvet purr. “It’s not such a stretch.”

  “Not a stretch,” Orenn agreed, echoing him.

  The pressure on Bree’s head receded. Orenn blinked, then picked up his fork and stared at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it. A moment later, he started eating again. Ferrin watched, smirking.

  Bree felt sick. He’s making people dance to his Gift.

  Ferrin shoveled food in his mouth, and at least some of the tension drained away while he stuffed pie into the hole in his face. Bree poked at her own serving, suddenly lacking an appetite.

  “Daddy,” Suze said, her high child’s voice cutting through the clatter of dinner, “more sheepypud?”

  “Sheepypud?” Ystell said, confused. “You mean the cottage pie?”

  Attikas flushed. “We call it ‘sheepy pudding’.”

  “Sheepypud?” Ferrin howled the words. “Gods above! What are you, Holderkin?”

  Attikas lowered his head. Ystell jumped to his aid, saying, “To be fair, it’s just lamb mince, and it’s baked, like most puddings . . . no one true way, hm?”

  “‘No one true way’,” Ferrin sneered. “Our Queen stands for everything, which means she stands for nothing.” He smirked. “At least she stopped standing long enough to make an Heir.”

  His sycophants hooted and laughed.

  “Well,” Ferrin said, “I’m off to tune my voice and my gittern. Ystell, thank you again for a marvelous . . . sheepy pudding!”

  A fresh round of chortles. Attikas’ head lowered a little more. His daughter looked up at him, confused.

  “What’s wrong with sheepypud?” Bree heard her ask her father.

  “Nothing, honey,” he murmured.

  Ferrin didn’t bother to drop his plate or cup off in the soak-bucket when he left. Bree hated him a little more for that.

  Stay focused. Opportunity is coming.

  She offered to help with cleanup, then offered to help with wiping down the tables and putting up the chairs, then renewing the firewood. Finally no one remained but her and Ystell.

  “Quite a night,” Ystell said when they were alone, finishing up the last of her morning pies. “I truly wish that Bard could spend more time eating, and less time being a horse’s arse.”

  Bree smiled, comforted that at least one other person in the world condemned Ferrin’s actions.

  “Ah, well,” Ystell said, “Sharlot pays me to make pies, not question her choice in lovers. Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

  Bree nodded. She had a whole room of her own now, in fact. Nevermind that it was a basement under a cheesery, and it leaked sometimes, but it was hers, and being below ground meant no one heard when she screamed into her blankets.

  Ystell plucked Bree’s cloak off the peg and handed it to her. “Good night, love.”

  “Good night, Ystell.”

  She fussed over her cloak a bit outside the back door, then walked around the bake-oven to a pool of shadows within view of the stables.

  A lantern hung on a peg. Under it sat Attikas, whittling a bit of wood.

  Hellfires, Bree thought. Go away! Shoo!

  But he didn’t budge. She snuck back the way she’d come and around the back, skirting the inner wall that embraced the yard in front of the inn’s entrance, sticking to shadows and away from the clamor spilling out of the Crown. This brought her to the other side of the stables, putting her much farther away from the hostler’s range of vision and hearing. She crept through the open stable door and into the closest stall, then curled up in a far corner, making herself as invisible as possible.

  Lelia, I’m never going to forgive you for this, she thought, heart racing.

  With every passing moment, her credible reasons for being at the Crown faded. Now her most likely story would be that she’d decided to sleep in the stall. But even that would draw unwanted attention.

  Attikas got up at one point, but not to leave the stable. Metal jingled, leather sighed, and a horse snorted and stamped, then he returned to his stool. Minutes later, Ferrin passed in front of her, through a pool of light thrown by one of the stable’s lanterns. He’d changed into a fine velvet doublet and hose, both scarlet, and draped a snowy white cloak over his arm.

  He’s going to the Masque, she thought.

  “Hostler!” the Bard bellowed. “My steed!”

  Attikas mumbled something.

  “Good work,” Ferrin said. “Help me mount.”

  Attikas mumbled a question.

  “The waxing moon fans the sparks of creativity within,” the Bard replied. “I ride tonight to bask in the glow of my muse. I’ll be back in a few candlemarks. Be sure you’re up to tend to Nightmare when I return.”

  After he rode off, Attikas walked past her stall and into the night.

  She took ten even breaths, waiting. Her ears strained. She heard nothing in the stable but its four-legged occupants. She peered out to make sure no one was there.

  Now, she thought.

  She all but ran up to where the Companions stood and flung herself on one.

  “Please help,” she whispered, pulling a tightly bound scroll out and tying it into the Companion’s mane. He didn’t stop her. In fact, he leaned aga
inst her. “You’re in danger. Your Chosen are in danger! Leave! Deliver this to Haven. Find the Bard Lelia. Tell her to send Heralds. Or an army. I don’t care. Just please bring help. And please go.” She flipped his mane over, fairly certain the scroll couldn’t be seen unless he let someone search for it. “My name is Amelie.” Saying her name—her real name—caused her eyes to sting.

  Amelie, she thought. I want to be Amelie again.

  The Companion gazed at her with wide, blue eyes, full of intelligence and understanding. For the first time in a while, she felt the dim stirrings of hope.

  She forced herself to walk away calmly even though all she wanted was to sprint to the town gates, out of Highjorune, and all the way back to Haven.

  • • •

  In the quiet solace of her basement, Bree unrolled her pillow and mat, then hauled a small mountain of blankets on top. A bath would have been perfect, but no one had a bathhouse open this late. She slipped into a long-sleeved shift and wiggled under her blanket fortress.

  At least pretend to sleep, she thought, closing her eyes. At least . . . try. . . .

  And she must have done more than try, because the voice came out of nowhere, waking her up with a start.

  :Don’t scream.:

  Bree sat up, heart pounding. She was certain she was alone—the cellar only had one entrance and she’d checked it thoroughly before barring the door. She reached under her pillow and pulled out a small dagger.

  :Come outside, Amelie. It’s okay.:

  She gasped, then slapped a hand over her mouth. The voice didn’t come from someone in the room. It spoke in her head.

  She pulled on her boots and cloak, tucked the dagger into a concealed pocket, and approached the ladder leading up to the storm door.

  What if it’s a trap? a tiny voice of doubt asked.

  Then I guess I’m Ferrin’s next sacrifice, she thought, throwing the storm door wide.

  It opened up on an alley, the cobblestones half-bathed in moonlight, half-doused in moonshadow. At the end where the darkness pooled, she saw a ghostly suggestion of white. As Amelie stepped toward it a Companion stepped out of the shadows to meet her. As did a tall, hooded figure.

  He pushed back the hood of his cloak.

  “I heard,” Attikas said, “that you need some help.”

  • • •

  He’d been calling himself Attikas since he came to Highjorune a month ago. That had been easy—Wil had used the name before. The real hard part came in convincing a very young child to pretend to be Suze, not Ivy.

  Also, the beard itched. And Wil might have a permanent crick in his neck from looking down at the ground so much. At least here in Amelie’s dank, private basement he could sit up properly.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you,” she said. “Or Ivy.”

  “It’s the beard and the lack of Whites,” he replied. “And Ivy’s grown quite a bit. I’m just sorry I didn’t recognize you. I should have guessed you were near the first time I heard Ystell humming ‘Today, I Ride’.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, that was me.”

  “I read your note,” Wil said. “Murder is a strong accusation.”

  “I saw him kill someone,” she whispered.

  “Is there proof?”

  “My eyes? Truth-Spell him, or Eel, or Sharlot. They’ll spill it all.”

  He nodded. “I may have to. This happened at the castle?”

  “Yes. After everyone left. I hid in some bushes . . . I couldn’t do anything.”

  “Did you see what they did with the body?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is there any chance . . . he faked it?”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “I know what I saw.”

  “And I believe you. But remember what the Circle taught you. Memories are unreliable. And there are tricks a good performer can play on his . . . audience.”

  “I know what I saw,” she repeated.

  “Can you show me where it happened?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He stood up. “I need to go. Ferrin will want ‘Nightmare’ put away.”

  She grimaced. “That poor horse.”

  “I know.” A pause. “I could probably arrest him on that name alone.”

  That earned a laugh.

  “Meet me at the castle a few bells after noon?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Should be safe enough.”

  “Also, do me a favor—stop singing Lelia’s songs. It’s going to get you in trouble.”

  She bowed her head. “It was the only weapon I had.”

  He opened the storm door and looked back. “You have me now. Good night.”

  Aubryn had gone back to the stables by the time he climbed out of the cellar. Of the two Companions, she alone could broadcast Mindspeech, so he’d needed her to get Amelie’s “attention” in a manner that didn’t cause an excess of screaming. Vehs stayed behind, making sure Ivy slept undisturbed in the stable loft they currently called home.

  And that was a luxury Wil had not had this past month while he’d been pretending to not be a Herald: being able to leave Ivy alone and know she’d be protected. Wil had learned just how much help the Companions—especially Aubryn—had been at corralling his youngster.

  :Aubryn loves it,: Vehs said as Wil climbed the ladder to the loft. :It distracts her from the past.:

  Wil understood. Not to the depths Aubryn did, but well enough. She had lost her Chosen to a freak accident within weeks of Choosing him and had volunteered to accompany Wil so he could be both a Circuit Herald and a father. Usually, when he went into towns as a Herald, Ivy stayed back at the Waystation. Few people even knew she traveled with him, except random travelers they met on the road and the Heraldic Circle itself.

  The Companions also meant he could finally do more than just observe Ferrin. And if the worst happened, Aubryn would defend Ivy to the death, Fetching the toddler to her back if they needed to escape.

  But for now Ivy slept in the loft. He settled down, put an arm around her, and sank into sleep.

  • • •

  Sitting by the fire, Wil braided Ivy’s hair and listened to Ystell humming “Today, I Ride,” a song about Sendar’s last battle. He’d heard it in other places, too—the market, while buying soap for bathing, picking up feed for the stables. Amelie had planted her seeds well.

  Around noon Wil and Ivy left the inn to walk the muddy road to the old palace of Lineas.

  It sat at the end of a broad, abandoned avenue, a husk of its former self. The closer they got to the grounds, the greater the overgrowth of brambles, bushes, and trees became. The locals had intentionally let it go wild; it heightened the castle’s “mystique.”

  An exception to the overgrowth was a patch of tramped down grass within the three-walled courtyard, just in front of a set of steps leading up to a broad stone landing and a pair of rotting oaken doors. Two large lanterns fitted with reflectors to amplify their light flanked the doors on iron hooks, all freshly oiled and free of rust.

  Wil sat on the steps as Ivy ran about the grounds, pulling flowers off of bushes and finding sticks and rocks to play with.

  “Hello.” Amelie’s voice came from behind, giving him a start. Ivy ran over with a squeak to hug the young Bard.

  “You’ve been there the whole time?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  Amelie jerked her head toward the open doors. “There’s an old underground passage to the palace I saw Ferrin use. It’s how he orchestrates his ‘grand entrance’ to the Masque. Comes out two rooms off the entrance. I’d have told you about it—” She flashed a crooked smile. “—but it would’ve spoiled the fun.”

  Her smiled faded and her voice pitched low, so only he and Ivy could have heard. “When did Lelia pass?”

  Fresh daggers of loss pierced Wi
l’s heart. “A few weeks before Sovvan.”

  “I didn’t want to believe her when she said she wouldn’t see another one.” She ruffled Ivy’s hair. “Has anyone told you you’re crazy for traveling with a baby?”

  Ivy twisted around and frowned. “Not a baby.”

  Amelie laughed. “If you insist.” She looked at Wil. “You know why Lelia sent me here, don’t you?”

  “Maresa wasn’t sure you knew anything about Lelia’s . . . work. But I get the feeling you do.”

  Amelie released Ivy, and she ran off to chase a butterfly.

  “I know a bit about her . . . work,” Amelie said, keeping her voice pitched so that the conversation stayed between them. “Bards doing very bad things. She hoped we could fix it. But we can’t. All we have are words and songs. And Ferrin’s are far more effective than mine.”

  She looked down at a dark spot on the landing.

  “There,” she said. “That’s where he killed the Guard.”

  “Ah.” Wil sat down next to the spot. “Watch Ivy for me. I’m going to be concentrating on something.”

  :I watch as well.:

  Wil bit down on a curse. Aubryn’s Mindvoice could lure out a Bard, but it could also be like getting smacked over the head with a sackful of bricks. :Aubryn?:

  :My job is to watch her. Of course I followed.:

  :Did anyone see you?:

  She made no reply other than a snort from somewhere in the bushes.

  Wil leaned forward and put his hand on the darkened stones. “This murder happened last month?” he asked as he closed his eyes.

  “Yes,” Amelie replied.

  “Okay.” One month, he thought. I need just one month.

  His Foresight had an unusual secondary property, what he’d come to think of as “Hindsight.” It could outright bonk him over the noggin with visions and premonitions ridiculous or terrifying . . . but it could also peel back the layers of the past.

  And Lineas Castle had many, many layers to peel through.

  A dizzying blur of images whizzed past, a stew of emotions and things. He reached through the array fanning out before him, filtering out anything that didn’t feature a familiar figure in scarlet velvet, with a distinctive white cloak. He discarded any with snow—the last of the snowfall had melted two months ago. This left him with a small handful. One blazed brightly, indicating it to be the most important to his directed will, and he seized on it and cast the others aside.