They stepped into the small alley. It was empty. Alaric looked around to make certain there were no open windows.
“I would like to say that I object to this with all my heart,” Vagner said.
“Your objections are noted,” Alaric said, except it was Ronan who pushed those words off his tongue and he wanted to curse. “Now be as a riding horse.” The demon’s true name glided off his tongue.
“I’m going to make you sorry for that,” Vagner said in a vengeful way. Then he shimmered and shifted and expanded, and his dark fur took on a golden hue. Alaric stepped back as the space became cramped, and watched in wonder as Vagner transformed into a large yellow horse with a white face, mane and tail.
“That is...awfully...bright for a horse,” Alaric said.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it,” Vagner said and smiled from equine lips. However, as they curled back, they revealed fangs instead of blunted teeth.
“Change all the way,” Ronan commanded, and Vagner snorted just like an indignant horse and shook his head. The fangs became normal in appearance, much to Alaric’s relief.
“Now, all we need is some tack,” Alaric said.
“I can make those as well,” Vagner said. He trembled and the saddle and bridle appeared. Alaric reached out and touched them, and he was startled to find they felt as real as any he had ever ridden on. He quickly tied his pack to the back of the saddle.
“I assume you can ride,” Ronan said.
“Yes, I can ride,” Alaric replied. “Come on, Vagner.” He took the reins and led the large yellow horse out into the open area. There he mounted up, surprised to find the stirrups fit as though already adjusted for him.
“Well,” Ronan said.
“I don’t know if I should kick him,” Alaric said. “I mean.”
“Just say walk on,” Ronan said.
Alaric nodded. “Walk on,” he said and Vagner stepped forward at a smooth, flat-footed walk and headed for the eastern gate.
Talena waited just beyond the East Gate, using a hay wagon as cover, sitting on Kessa who insisted on tugging bits of the farmer’s hay and munching on them. Fortunately, the farmer was inside one of the small huts sleeping, or Talena would have been forced to pay for what Kessa devoured.
So she was a little startled herself when she saw the large horse the color of field daisies walk through the gate and cross the moat bridge, carrying Alaric. What? Where’s the dog? Talena pulled out her medallion. It still vibrated as though the heretic was near, but where WAS the heretic now? Blast and bother, what had Alaric done with his dog?
Talena looked around. Maybe the dog was following? Not unless it’s invisible. Otherwise, there was no sign of it. She shook her head in puzzlement and waited until the yellow horse was well down the farm road before putting heels to Kessa and urging the mare up on the road. She would have to let the bard have some distance for now or he would notice her. Once he got past the last farm and into the forest, it would be easier for her to follow. All she would have to do was ride through the trees.
She held out the medallion. The vibration indicated the heretic was still with Alaric. That was strange. Well, if the heretic is still with him, I suppose that is all that matters, she thought.
But she sure would like to know what he had done with his dog. She urged Kessa into a walk. The small mare hitched sideways in protest, then gave in to the persistent pressure of Talena’s heels.
The farms around Ravenhold ended right where the forest began. Odd, because it looked as though the stone fences were holding the trees back rather than keeping the livestock in.
“That’s quite possible,” Ronan said. “Before the Great Cataclyms, there were said to be trees that moved at will. In fact, I once knew a song about a forest going to war.”
“How did it go?” Alaric asked as the road slipped into the shadows under the trees.
“The hawthorn marched into the glen
To battle with the ash,
While willows came to wail and weep
To think the trees were rash.”
Alaric smiled. He rather liked that song. He would have to remember it for the future.
“I can teach it to you now,” Ronan said, and he continued to warble on for the next half a candlemark, encouraging Alaric to repeat certain phrases in the sweet Aelfyn tongue. At one point, they practiced in duet, and it seemed strange to Alaric to hear them singing together in his own head.
Another half a candlemark passed when Vagner suddenly spoke. “You know, I haven’t eaten in a while and I smell fresh game,” the demon interrupted. His equine head turned around wearing a hopeful look.
“Later,” Ronan insisted.
“But if I am to carry the pair of you all the way to who knows where, I must have sustenance or...”
“He’s right,” Alaric said. “He hasn’t eaten since we left Marda’s cottage. Perhaps I should get down and let him...”
“This is ridiculous,” Ronan said. “Demons do not need to eat so often. The beast just wants to try you and see if he can escape his bondage.”
“Shows how little you know of demons,” Vagner snarled.
“I know much more than you think, demon,” Ronan retorted.
“Look, I don’t see why I can’t let him...”
“We’re hardly into the forest and you want to risk letting him run loose in his own form just so he can fill his belly with rabbits?” Ronan said.
“Well, in that case,” Vagner said. “Unless I get to eat now, I am not going one step farther.”
And with that, the demon stopped and sat down on the road. Alaric yelped, barely managing to snag a handful of mane to keep from being tumbled.
“Get up, or you shall regret it!” Ronan said.
“I’m already regretting it,” Vagner said. “I’m starving!”
“Look, this is getting us nowhere fast,” Alaric said and he struggled to get out of the saddle without falling. He managed to land on his feet. “You can go, Vagner.”
“No!” Ronan said. “We need to keep going!”
“Look, he’s hungry,” Alaric said. “I free you from this form, Vagner.” Alaric sang the demon’s true name.
“That’s more like it!” Vagner said and sprang up with surprising agility, shifting from horse form to his old demon self in a matter of second. He sprang for the thicket of trees and disappeared.
“Call him back!” Ronan said.
“Don’t go too far, Vagner...and please don’t eat anything even remotely human,” Alaric said, picking up the pack that had managed to land on the soft dirt without damaging the harp within. Then he started trudging on down the road. Inside, he could feel Ronan raging.
“That was a stupid thing to do, letting him go off like that! What if someone saw him change into that form? In this land, he would be declared a heretic, and so would you for keeping his company, and they would cut off your head and...”
“Without sundering me first?” Alaric said. “I supposed that would be a lot less painful than what old Turlough has in store for me back in Caer Keltora.”
He sighed at the thought of the home he had been forced to leave against his will. Was Shona all right? Fenelon? Etienne? He wished there was a way he could find out what was happening to them. What if Turlough was making them pay some terrible price on Alaric’s behalf? What if Turlough has already sundered and executed them for conspiring to keep me out of his grasp?
“You don’t understand,” Ronan said.
“Then explain it to me,” Alaric said.
For a moment, there was hesitation. “For what I am...was...I was hunted and hounded by the Aelfyn of this land. Their Synalian king has no tolerance for my kind—or yours.”
“But why?” Alaric insisted.
“When the Great Cataclysm took place, the Dark Mother and the White One were hard at war. In the end, the Dark Mother was defeated...her physical form sundered but not destroyed. The Dragon’s Tongue would have given her new life had it reached the volcano, but onc
e she was stopped, the White One withdrew. There is a Balance that must always be maintained, and once the Dark Mother was no longer a threat, the White One could no longer assist.”
“In what way?”
“The land was torn apart by this battle,” Ronan said. “Whole towns and villages were destroyed. The White One had the power to restore all as it had been...but she refused. To do so, she said, would be just as upsetting to the Balance as the total destruction of the Dark Mother.”
“There can be no dark without light, and no light without dark,” Alaric said.
“Exactly,” Ronan said. “But the Aelfyn could not accept that. They wanted the White One to restore their homes. Instead, she withdrew and left them to rebuild by their own hands. For this, they turned against her and all who served her. Magic became forbidden by law. Mageborn—heretics—any who practiced the arts were destroyed by the order of the Synalian king. The Temple of the Triad came into being under his law, and once the Temple grew to power, there was no turning back. They not only destroyed any who proved to have magical skill, they created an order of bounty hunters to track and destroy them as well.”
Alaric frowned. While his own countrymen distrusted magic, they only believed in serving justice on those who used it for ill purpose.
“So surely you can see why caution of the utmost kind is necessary,” Ronan said. “The demon cannot be allowed to run about at whim. Its very presence could give us away. Call it back, Alaric. Make it obey.”
Alaric stopped on the road and glanced towards the trees. He concentrated on the thread that bound him life and soul to the creature. Rapid movement through the forest indicated the demon was in pursuit. Alaric tightened his focus and felt the pumping limbs and the thundering heart. He thought he heard Ronan hiss, “No, don’t go to him. Make him come to you,” but the words were faint and distant. The excitement of the hunt made Alaric salivate. Horns, he was with the demon, racing through the forest, dodging trees with lightning reflexes as he chased after a herd of deer. Hunger filled him and eagerly, he stretched a hand and snatched one of the deer by its neck just as it was about to leap to one side.
Inside his physical form, he felt Ronan stir with anger, and the bitterness of cinnamon flamed on Alaric’s tongue. His limbs began to tremble as though he no longer owned them. With a gasp, Alaric dropped to his knees. What was happening to him? Pressure grew in his head as though it were about to split open. The ring on his left hand heated as though it had been placed in a forge. He could see the demon still running, and yet he could see the road as well. He groaned and leaned forward, fighting wave upon wave of nausea as his stomach clinched.
“Make...him...come...back...” Ronan commanded.
“Vagner!” Alaric shouted and sang the demon’s true name, and was not sure if it was on his lips or in his head. His ethereal self slammed heels into the ground and slid to a halt. The demon, tethered by its true name as it was, suddenly skidded to a stop and howled with rage. The rest of the deer herd raced on. Still snarling, the demon turned back, and Alaric let go of the bond and felt himself slammed back into his own body by force.
“Ahhhh!” He bent over, forehead to the dirt, stomach and head at war. “Damn you, Ronan,” he snarled and stayed there long enough to get his body back in some semblance of order. Only when his head stopped resembling a top did he dare push upright so he rested on his knees...
...And froze.
There were half a dozen men standing around him, armed with cudgels and short swords. Their armor was much in need of repair, and most of them looked like they had not had a bath in several months. The foremost grinned and revealed a broken tooth and he tapped his cudgel in his hand.
“Well, what have we here,” he said. “Looks like our lucky day, lads. I think we just found us some coin for ale.”
Alaric blanched. At least they were not wearing black.
TWENTY-ONE
The call hit Vagner hard and angered him. He hated it when he was called in that fashion, and he thought it rather rude of Ronan to force Alaric to use the demon’s true name in vain—especially when he was close to capturing a second deer.
And succulent juicy things they were. Fat and sleek, and running on all fours, and not a hint of demon essence or ancient magic to them. Just plain deer. Living, breathing creatures with blood pumping through their limbs in terror.
The one he had in hand was still struggling. Snarling, Vagner tore the head off, drained the life’s blood and shoved both parts in his expandable maw. Then he turned and charged for the road where he perceived Alaric was in some sort of pain. Struggling, actually. Against whom?
The demon increased his speed, charging through the tangle of trees like a fierce wind. He reached the road and stopped.
There were men there, men in armor carrying weapons, and they had Alaric surrounded. The young mage was struggling to rise and not doing so well.
“Look,” Alaric said in the foreign tongue of his internal companion. “This is some sort of mistake. I have nothing of value.”
“Really, so what’s in the sack,” the foremost man said, and he thrust the head of his cudgel at Alaric and punched him in the chest. Alaric staggered back.
That was all the incentive the demon needed to act. With a roar, he charged into the road and seized the man. Before anyone could draw a breath, Vagner opened his mouth, jaws widening, and shoved the man down his gullet.
The other men had backed away, and as the demon turned, they were trading looks.
“Who’s next?” Vagner asked, and while they probably didn’t understand his language, his looks probably implied all they needed to know. They shouted—or rather screamed like women—and scattered into the trees.
Vagner turned back towards Alaric who was rubbing his chest.
“What did you just do?” Alaric said.
“Saved your hide,” Vagner replied.
“Yes, well, I told you not to eat anything even remotely human, didn’t I?”
Vagner snorted and crossed his arms. “And what was I supposed to do? He attacked you. They all threatened you.”
“You could have just shouted or something.”
“I think what I did was most effective,” Vagner said and sniffed. “It certainly sent them scattering like the rats they were.”
“Well, next time...”
Alaric stopped, and even Vagner turned to look. There was a rider on a bay mare charging up the road, shouting.
“Quick! Hide in the trees and be a horse!” Alaric said.
The demon cursed and disappeared in a flash.
The things I do, Vagner thought.
Talena kept her distance for nearly a candlemark. She didn’t want the bard to discover her presence too soon. Her plan was wait until he either settled into camp or found an inn, and then to try and win his trust, if possible. But now as she listened to his voice singing about trees fighting one another, she was starting to notice other things. Like a scent on the air that was not quite what one expected in a forest. A faint hint of campfire smoke wafted through the trees, and with it, the lingering scent of old leather and man’s sweat.
A hunter? That was possible since they were known to trek several leagues around the village. But hunters were careful with their fires and their odors. Smoke spooked game, as did the scent of a man. Frowning, she urged Kessa over to the side of the road. Dismounting, she hung onto the reins as she stepped off the rutted dirt and knelt to study the ground. Her father had taught her much about surviving in the forest. How to hunt and track and find food and shelter. She frowned as she noticed the impressions of boots and knees, as though someone had knelt here and watched the road. The owner of the impression had then risen and walked away into the trees, and as she led Kessa along, Talena saw that the watcher had met with several others. Many tracks pitted the ground just in the trees.
She could only think of one reason that men would congregate in the woods and watch the road.
Bandits.
By t
he Triad, she had not taken the time of year and the desperation of bandits into account. With autumn, merchants were returning home, and traveling the forest was best in the company of caravan guards if one wanted to keep ones coins in ones pocket.
It would not do well for her to lose her quarry to a bandit’s blade. She stopped and listened, noticing that the birds in the forest were quiet, and that Kessa’s ears were twitching back and forth. Maybe it would be a good idea to catch up with the bard now...especially since she did not hear him singing.
She had just dragged Kessa back up on the road and remounted when she heard the screams of terror. Drawing her sword, Talena applied hard heels to Kessa and forced the mare into a gallop. The road ahead turned and twisted into the trees like a snake. She rounded the bend only to drag Kessa to a halt.
What in the name of the Holy Three? Was she really seeing what she thought? A monstrous bat-like creature with scales and fur and wings rearing over the bard? It looked up and spied her, and vanished quickly. She spurred Kessa again and rode up to him, pulling the mare to a sliding halt and dismounting. Scanning the woods, she heard the frightened shouts of men fading in the distance. The bard struggled to his feet, hesitantly drawing his sword, peering at her with uncertainty.
“Oh...it’s you,” he said, looking only slightly relieved.
“What was that?” she said and pointed into the trees.
Lark looked at her, his face pale. He hesitated, cleared his throat. “Uh... I’m not sure. Some sort of monster, I think. It spooked my horse.”
“What were those screams?”
He looked hard pressed to answer that. “I don’t really know,” he said and scratched the side of his face in thought. “Might have been me, that fiend startled me so.”
“Well, these are dangerous woods, and there are bandits, and a traveler alone is not safe,” Talena said.
Wandering Lark Page 14
