The Emerald Dagger (Daradawn Book 2)

by Barbara Hodges

  A young girl, the chubbiness of childhood still in her cheeks, had answered his repeated pounding on the manor door. A knowing glance, belying the innocence of her face, had swept over him before she curtsied. She hunched her shoulders forward, allowing him an ample view of the upper curves of her bosom before rising.

  "I have been instructed to see to your every comfort," she said, locking her gaze with his.

  Angus felt his face warm. "I will see your lord now."

  "Don't you first wish to get out of your wet clothes?" The girl smiled as Angus' face grew even hotter. "Perhaps a bath? I will assist you."

  "No bath. But I will have a flagon of ale."

  The girl frowned. "Yes. Ale. I will see to it. This way." She'd turned and flounced away from him.

  Now, with a shudder, Angus propped his battle axe against a wall and moved deeper into the room. His opinion of Lord Hafgan had been low to begin with but, with the sluttish behavior of the serving girl, it had plummeted to new depths. The candle wavered and flickered in a sudden draft. "Curse him. Am I now to be left in darkness to find my way within? Yon pathetic blaze does me no good."

  Lowering the candle, and holding it closer to his body, he continued on. He'd taken but three steps before sticky fibers coated his cheeks. Gripping the candle with one hand, he scrubbed at his cheeks and beard as more violent shudders shook his frame. "Spiders," he spat. "Spiders. By the Goddess, I hate spiders."

  A sudden gust plunged the room into darkness and at the same time he felt something scuttle across the back of his neck. With a curse, Angus dropped the useless candle and swatted the back of his neck with his right hand. The skin between his shoulder blades crawled, but he fought the overpowering urge to rip his tunic from his body. Lightning flashed, brightening the room for an instant. In the moment of harsh light, he spied the discarded candle. Breathing heavily, he picked it up and walked to the still struggling fire. With a trembling hand he broke a twig from a larger branch and relit the candle. A wobbly-legged table stood next to the fireplace and he set the candle on it. The damp wood at last conceded defeat and the conquering flames celebrated by leaping high and casting an orange glow around him.

  The only other furniture in the room was a bed and a basin resting on yet another rickety table.

  Angus walked to the bed and pressed his palm into its top covering. A cloud of dust rose and sent him into a spasm of sneezing. "Damnation. I would be more comfortable in the falling down stable with Jax."

  A giggle came from behind him and he whirled. The same serving maid stood in the open doorway. She clutched a flagon in her right hand. "Your ale, sir."

  Her gaze slid over the room, and then back to him. She lowered her head, but not before he saw the smirk curling her lips. He waved his hand toward the table, and the maid deposited the flagon on it.

  "Will there be anything else, sir?" she asked, already backing toward the open door.

  As she reached the doorway, he held up his hand. “Wait. When will Lord Hafgan see me?"

  "I know not. The lord is dining."

  With a grunt, he waved her away.

  Angus finished the last of the sour ale and blotted his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. The warmth of the fire had at last penetrated the small room and, despite the unease within him, he felt his spirits rise. Tomorrow he would seek the cause of his concerns and then be out of this stink hole of an estate.

  A knocked sounded.

  "Enter."

  A figure stood framed in the doorway. The man was rotund, with only a fringe of thinning pale hair circling his white pate. He wore a robe of dark fabric, perhaps black or gray. Angus could not tell in the dim light.

  "Lord Hafgan will see you now."

  The modulated, monotone voice stirred vague memories within Angus' mind. "Have we met?"

  The man lowered his head and stared at the floor, and when he spoke he whispered. "Perhaps the last time you visited. I am Healer Kerry Daemon."

  Angus nodded. "I know your name, but have not had the pleasure of meeting you."

  Healer Kerry glanced up and then quickly down again. "I hope it was not sullied?"

  I do not like a man who will not look you in the eye. "What?" Angus said.

  "My name. I hope the words concerning me were kind."

  The words were bland, but beneath them Angus heard a hunger for flattery. So be it. Let's see where a few flowery compliments will get us. "Patrick Bannion speaks highly of you."

  Healer Kerry smoothed his robe across his paunch. "Oh, Patrick. A good boy with much potential. "

  "I wouldn't have thought the lad's interests to lean to the ways of healing. I was thinking he'd follow in his dad's footsteps."

  The man glanced up with a sneer on his face before lowering his head again. Angus' stomach dipped and then righted itself. A memory floated up from the depths of his mind. He sought to net it but, like a flighty seagull, it escaped him and winged away. What is it about this fellow?

  "A soldier's life is not for Patrick," the healer said. "His father does not wish it."

  Angus cocked an eyebrow. "You know Rourk?"

  Healer Kerry cringed. His shoulders rose toward his ears as if he expected a blow. "No. We have never met."

  "Then how—"

  "Patrick has said as much."

  Angus snorted. "The young pup doesn't know his own mind. How could he know his father's?"

  The healer stared into Angus' eyes. "His father's will shall be done."

  I know this man, but not as he stands before me. He has changed his looks. But why?

  He has too much padding for soldiering, and his soft hands are those of a pampered lady of the court.

  Angus frowned. No matter. It will come to me.

  Healer Kerry looked away and backed toward the door. "I will show you the way to where my lord waits."

  They stopped before a closed door carved with swirls and patterns and inlaid with pale gold. The healer knocked softly.

  "Enter," a nasally voice said.

  Lord Hafgan's slight figure stood before a roaring fire. He did not turn, but seemed to be lost among the flames. Another host of candles flickered from twelve candelabras, making the cavernous room daylight bright. Thick dark drapes were pulled against the still raging storm, and the cloying scent of musky perfume filled the too-warm air.

  Hafgan turned, waved them forward. The firelight flickered across the myriad of jeweled rings adorning his hand. "Healer, my stomach ails me. Bring me one of your potions to soothe it."

  "Yes, Lord. Right away. Perhaps something with peppermint?"

  "I care not," Hafgan snapped. "Just make it happen."

  The healer's face flushed and his lips tightened, but he simply bowed and, avoiding Angus' eyes, backed from the room with a bland. "As you command, Lord." But beneath the innocent words, Angus heard the undertone of burgeoning hate.

  Hafgan smoothed the lace ringing his cuff.

  Popinjay, Angus thought.

  "Bladeheart, champion to our dear Queen Tessa. It has been too long since you last gifted us with your presence."

  Angus nodded.

  "I am honored you have deemed to leave your battle axe in your chambers." Hafgan smiled and moved to a side table. "May I pour you a glass of wine?"

  "No, thank you, Lord Hafgan. I had an ale in my room."

  Hafgan poured wine into a jeweled goblet and sipped from it. "What is this news you so desired to relate to me?" he said. "Dire, it was, did you say?" He sipped from the goblet again. "Not so dire a flagon of ale could not be first downed, hey?" Hafgan's lips spread into a tight grin.

  Angus felt his hands curl into fists. "I did not wish to interrupt your evening meal."

  Hafgan shrugged. "Well? What is it?"

  The door behind them flew open and slammed against the wall. "I can tell you what it is," Patrick Bannion said, striding toward them. He cast a scornful glance at Angus. "The high mage and his lady have lost their brat."

  "Bannion," Hafgan said, "I did n
ot know you had returned from Raya."

  "I only just arrived." His fresh clothing proved the statement a lie. The reek of wine shrouded the boy.

  Hafgan stared at Angus over the rim of the goblet. "Lost their son?" he asked.

  Patrick poured himself a goblet of wine. "They think he's coming here."

  "Here? Why?"

  "He wishes to foster with you." Patrick gulped from his glass.

  "Foster? With me? I can ill afford another mouth to feed."

  Patrick Bannion laughed. "Perhaps you can put the boy in charge of cleaning the moat."

  Hafgan, in the process of taking a sip from his goblet, choked and spit wine. Bannion's eyes lit with spite as he watched the lord gasp for air. He turned toward Angus. "Did you see the lord's little greeter? Nasty monster, don't you think?"

  Lord Hafgan mopped his streaming eyes. "A gift from Healer Kerry. He received it from King Truthspeak of the land of fairies."

  "It's an ugly thing," Patrick said. "All scaly and with huge bugged eyes."

  Hafgan shrugged. "It does its job. Nothing crosses the moat when the bridge is up."

  "And it doesn't eat much," Patrick added. "Just the carrion from the kitchen, and an occasional child or two."

  Hafgan's face flushed. "Bannion, enough. I have issued a proclamation. My people have been warned."

  "But not until three were reported missing. And the one little girl? It took her leg up to her knee."

  Hafgan frowned, but Patrick went on.

  "I saw it take a seagull once. Right from the air." He raised his hand and moved it in a sweeping motion. "The gull swooped down and, in the blink of an eye, the thing’s head snapped up and grabbed it from the sky. Not even a feather remained."

  His good humor seemingly restored by the story, Hafgan laughed once again. "Perhaps Tessa would like one?"

  Not while I breathe, Angus thought, but smiled politely. "Yes, Daniel was missing, but the boy has been found." He cast a glance at Patrick. "It is not why I am here. It is funny you should mention King Truthspeak and the fairies. It is of them I wish to speak."

  "Well, then, get on with it, man," Hafgan said, his words slurred.

  Angus frowned and stared hard into the lord's face before continuing. He told Hafgan about the fairie king's visit and the death of Zara's dragonet, as well as her claims that the fairies were responsible, and her promises of revenge.

  "Interesting," Hafgan said, filling his goblet again. He raised the pitcher toward Patrick and the boy nodded and held out his own goblet. "What does it have to do with me and Cinnard?"

  Angus strove for patience. He wanted to snatch the goblets from both of them and pour the wine over their heads, and then maybe knock them together for good measure.

  "You are aligned with Tessa, elves and the fairies. If Zara and her young attack the fairies, you must join with us to defeat the dragons."

  Lord Hafgan's eyes widened. His mouth worked, seeking to find words a long moment before he sputtered. "Are you addled? To war against dragons? We would all be roasted."

  "It is your promise," Angus said. "You will be called on to bring your men and come to Raya if it happens."

  Hafgan slapped his goblet down upon the table. "I must think on this." He motioned toward the door. "Leave me."

  Angus' brow furrowed, but he turned on his heels and walked toward the door.

  "You too," Hafgan ordered Patrick.

  "But, lord, I am here to counsel you."

  "Go," Hafgan snapped. "I do not need the whining words of a child to dull my wits this night."

  Nay, your wits are dulled enough, Angus thought as he opened the door and walked from the room. I will give him his time. But tomorrow he will give me his answer and pledge, and it had better be the right one.

  *****

  Angus parted the drapes shielding the lone window in his room. Dust filled the air, causing him to sneeze. The storm had moved on and pale sunlight lit the ground below him. A figure slipped from a shadow and with shoulders hunched, hurried toward another pool of darkness. Unease curdled in the dwarf's stomach.

  This is what I seek. He looked at Xuya propped against the bed. She will hinder me among the trees, and since when cannot one dwarf handle a single puling man? Kneeling, he pushed the battle axe beneath the bed. Heeding the urge deep inside, he turned and sprinted toward the door.

  The waddling form ahead of Angus stopped and leaned against an oak.

  Even from two trees behind, the dwarf heard him gasping for air.

  Who is it? As if in response to his question, the wind swayed a branch and sun filtered through and lit the form's face.

  Ah, the healer. So where does Daemon go with such haste?

  Pressing his hand against his side, the healer stumbled on.

  He does not even glance back. He does not fear any will follow. Angus looked down. The path was well trod, and not just by forest dwellers. A branch snapped beneath his boot. The dwarf winced, but shrugged it off. The man who blundered ahead made enough noise to cover ten or more heavy-booted followers.

  Healer Daemon stopped. He tilted back his head and hooted loudly, the sound echoed in the silent forest.

  He seeks with the call of a night-dweller in the mid of day? The dwarf fought not to laugh.

  The higher tone of another owl answered. Daemon mopped his forehead and hooted again, then left the path. The other owl replied, and the healer quickened his pace. The trees thinned, then gave way to a small clearing. Angus stopped behind an oak and peered around it.

  In the middle of the clearing, Patrick Bannion perched upon a rotted tree trunk. Healer Daemon stopped just inside the clearing. The boy jumped up at seeing the healer. In three strides, he was before Daemon. Patrick silently stood, with head bowed.

  Healer Daemon reached out and placed his left palm on the boy's head. "The dark god, Daraodh, blesses thee."

  "Thank you, Master," Patrick said.

  Daemon circled the boy and sat upon the rotted stump. "What have you seen?"

  Patrick followed, but remained standing. "The sister has returned."

  The healer waved his hand. "We expected as much."

  The boy took a step closer. "Who, Master? Who is 'we?' I have proved myself. When will you present me to the One?"

  "Enough," Daemon snapped. "You dare make demands?"

  Patrick Bannion dropped to his knees. "Command me."

  "Rise, and sit beside me."

  The boy jumped to do as commanded.

  "You thirst for more?" There was satisfaction in the healer's voice.

  "Magic, I wish to learn magic, not just the use of herbs and flowers." Patrick leaned toward the healer. "You promised me as much."

  "You are but a babe."

  "Perhaps you know no more to teach?" Patrick said.

  Healer Daemon's hand shot out and slapped the boy across the cheek. "You ungrateful little whelp! I took you under my wing, taught you the potions for pleasing women, lifted you in the eyes of half-witted Hafgan, and this is the way you repay me?" He slapped the boy again, sent him toppling.

  Angus took a step forward.

  Patrick rose up onto his hands and knees. "Forgive me, Master, forgive me," he whined, his head hanging low.

  Angus felt shame for the boy flow through him. The boy must be under some kind of spell. Rourk could not have sired such a weak-kneed pup.

  "Rise."

  Patrick scurried to do so.

  "What of the boy?"

  "Why do you want Daniel?" Patrick's voice was sullen. "He has not the blue flame."

  Healer Daemon's hands shot out and gripped Patrick's upper arms. "Do not question. Answer."

  Angus saw Patrick wince. "I thought Daniel came to you," he said, "but the dwarf says differently."

  "You let the child journey alone?" The question was softly voiced, but Patrick backed away from the healer.

  "He slipped away without telling anyone," he said.

  "And where is he now?"

  "At Raya, according
to the dwarf." Patrick lowered his head even further.

  Healer Daemon reached into a pocket of his robe. "You have failed us." He opened his palm. Inside was a faceted crystal. For a moment, he curled his fingers around it. The healer's jaw clenched and his hand trembled. Then he opened his hand again and held the crystal out toward the boy.

  "No," Patrick said.

  "Reach out your hand," the healer commanded. "In time you will come to enjoy the crystal's inflicted pain. It is part of your training."

  The boy shook his head.

  "Do so."

  Patrick lifted his hand. He had balled it into a fist.

  "Take it." There was soft menace in Daemon's voice.

  Again the boy shook his head.

  "Take it, I say. You must be punished."

  Patrick opened his hand. Daemon dropped the crystal into it. The boy's hand closed around the stone. His body instantly began to spasm. Angus saw Patrick's teeth clench tight.

  "Don't fight it," Daemon said. "The pain always wins." The healer leaned toward the boy. "Feel how it burns." The healer's voice shook. "It is the black, cleansing fire."

  Patrick tilted his head back and screamed.

  "Yes," Daemon shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "Hold onto the crystal. Glory in your punishment."

  The crystal. The pain. Regan's tale came back to him. "Thomas," Angus whispered. "The healer is Thomas."

  "Yes, dirt-eater. It is Thomas." The words, sung into his ear, came from behind.

  Angus whirled. The renounced and exiled elven prince, Talix, hovered before him, a small blowpipe at his mouth.

  "Now you know," the fairie said, "but the knowledge will help no one." He blew into the pipe. The dart's sting was no more than the bite of a horsefly, but in an instant Angus's blood turned to molten iron. He opened his mouth to scream, but found his body no longer obeyed. Talix's mocking laughter followed him into oblivion

  Chapter Twelve

  Like a silver shadow, DaKar slipped before Rourk and Kelsey. No, not a shadow, Kelsey thought, a spirit. They followed no path, but wove in and among the trees.