"I'm sorry, Rand," she said, only she made no sound, merely mouthed the words as the driver snapped the whip at the horses and the wheelhouse lumbered on.
Rand's heart was pounding in his chest. He had two impossible choices now: continue his quest for the Dragon Chalice, or find a way to free Serena from the danger that awaited her.
Nay.
There was but one choice, he realized. He gave his mount a taste of his heels, ready to chase after the cart, but the beast reared up before it could take the first step. Two other riders had moved into his path, blocking him, while still others hemmed him in from all sides. He knew the one in the lead, although he'd never seen him face to face before this moment.
"Draec les Nantres," Rand growled, shaking off his astonishment over Serena's revelation in order to meet this new threat.
The raven-haired knight smiled, and gave a courtly incline of his head. "Randwulf of Greycliff. You have part of the Chalice. My thanks for delivering it to us. My employer will be well pleased to hear you saved us the effort of hunting you down to retrieve it."
"I don't have it. If I did, don't think for an instant I'd turn it over to you."
"Nay?" Les Nantres chuckled, turning a casual look at the departing wheelhouse that held Serena captive. His gaze came back to Rand, full of arrogance. "Well, we shall see about that. Guards, take him down. Remove his weapons and search him for the cup."
"Suit yourself," Rand drawled insolently.
Trapped on all sides by unwavering steel, at least one blade held by the deadly hand of a shifter, Rand knew the futility of a struggle. He could do nothing for Serena if he were dead. The weapons urged him to cooperate, and so he surrendered to de Mortaine's smug lieutenant.
As he was dragged off his mount and harshly shoved into a march toward the castle, Rand looked down the road, to where the wheeled cage rumbled on its way to town. Serena in her pale blue bliaut grew smaller and smaller, never more out of his reach.
Chapter 28
She had been in the wheelhouse cage for several hours. It was night now, and the town square was all but empty, save a few straggling revelers who paused to leer and hurl foul epithets at the witch imprisoned behind the bars. One old woman threw a rotting head of cabbage at the makeshift cell, cackling as she vanished into the shadows of the street.
Serena cared naught for their open condemnation. It was Rand's wordless rejection of her that had put a keen ache in her heart. Not that his reaction was unreasonable. She knew how deeply he despised Silas de Mortaine; Rand reviled him as the worst manner of beast, and so de Mortaine was. Why should Rand feel any differently toward his hated enemy's progeny?
Serena could not blame him for turning his back on her. In truth, part of her was glad, for she dearly prayed he would take the opportunity to leave Egremont far behind him while Silas and his minions were distracted with her. It might be Rand's only hope of beating de Mortaine in his deadly game. Now that Serena had seen with her own eyes--with her own Knowing--all the hideous things Silas had done in his quest for the Dragon Chalice, she understood how vital it was that the man be stopped, and soon.
If her life need be spent to aid Rand now, she would give it willingly.
"You know, I have often wondered what became of Calandra these many long years."
The voice issued from out of the dark, but Serena knew it instantly, and its cultured artifice chased a shiver of revulsion up her spine. She backed farther into her barred wooden cell and watched as Silas de Mortaine came out of the night shadows, materializing almost ghostlike in his gold-embroidered, white finery.
"That gown," he said, lifting his hand to point a finger at her, "came from a place very few have been. A place I intend to rule one day. The gown is Calandra's, and you, no doubt, are something of hers as well."
He approached the cage with easy, deliberate strides, sizing her up with his gaze, which pierced even through the dark. He reached through the bars as though to touch her, and Serena dodged his grasp, revolted to be so near him now.
He smiled too becoming a smile for the demon he was, then gave a mild shrug. "What, no embrace for your dear old grandpapa?" He chuckled, amused suddenly. "Or rather, your great, great, great...ah, well, no matter. You are kin, I can see that plainly enough to look at you now."
"Would that I were not," Serena replied. "I should rather be dead than live with the smallest drop of your blood in my veins."
Silas's smile became something cruel, twisting to an ugly sneer. "In due time, child. First I need you to take me to Calandra."
"I will do nothing for you. I don't care what you intend for me."
"You should," he answered casually. "The townsmen are pressing for a hanging. Superstitious lot, these northern folk. Some hunters claim they've seen you practicing your spells in the woods a few hours south of town. They say you and a white-haired crone share a cottage near a large cascade. I realized I know the falls they speak of, and I know the woman is no crone. If Calandra lives, as I do, and if she has remained near that forest waterfall--the very one that she and I crossed long ago, when we fled Anavrin with the Chalice in my hands--then she has a reason to be there. No doubt the conniving wench has been working against me all this time."
"I've no idea what you are talking about," Serena countered, terrified that he might turn his sights on Calandra as well.
"I will find her either way, girl. But you are going to take me to her, because I'm certain you've no wish to watch me torture her. She will long for the death I intend for you, mark me."
Serena's breath stopped on his chilling words. There was no mistaking the sincerity of his threat, and although she tried to maintain her courage, she knew a real and growing fear.
"We leave within the hour. My guards will prepare you for the journey back to the grove."
* * *
The appointed time came far too quickly. Although Serena's confinement in the barred cart was a torture of its own, the idea of riding back to the cottage with de Mortaine and his retinue toward a confrontation on which she dared not speculate was far worse.
As hurt as she was that Calandra had deceived her all these years, she loved her dearly, nonetheless. That had not changed in light of Calandra's incredible revelations. Serena wished not the slightest ill or harm on the woman who had raised her, caring for her like her own child. She dreaded what Silas de Mortaine might do to Calandra if he thought she meant to thwart him from his villainous goals toward possessing the Dragon Chalice.
Serena knew she was as good as dead, whether or not she took Silas to the cottage as he had demanded. But to do so was to condemn Calandra to a similarly hideous fate--perhaps worse, given the look of loathing in de Mortaine's lifeless, ice-blue eyes when he spoke her name. She would have to defy him, or lead him in a false direction and pray that Calandra would somehow be safe.
She was contemplating that very idea when the sound of spurred boots ticked hollowly toward her in the dark. Two men approached, both garbed in dark-colored mantles and clothing, both armed with deadly, gleaming swords. As they neared, the larger of them--a shaggy-haired man with massive shoulders and a squat, bulky neck put his face close to the bars and looked her up and down.
"A witch, are ye?" He sniffed at the air, startling Serena with the abrupt, animal-like mannerism. She backed away and he smiled, baring sharp overlong teeth. "Nay, just a human, I'd say."
"Time to let you out," said his companion without preamble. He jerked his chin at the leering giant in cool command. "Open the grate."
Under the dim light of a slim crescent moon, Serena watched in anxious silence as the big soldier stuck a key in the cage's lock. It sprang open with a metallic snick. The knight in charge gave a grim nod, and the other man opened the door of the cell.
Serena retreated to the back of the cramped space, her mind working frantically on every slight possibility she might have of escape in these few crucial moments. It seemed hopeless. The man now climbing into the cage to retrieve her was as big as
an ox. The one waiting outside stared at her with cool, keen eyes that missed nothing. And both of them were outfitted for war.
"Now, where do you think you can run to in here?" chuckled the wolfish giant.
"Don't try to fight us," advised the commander. "You've nothing to fear, I promise you."
She did not believe him. The big man lunged at her, and made a swipe with his huge hand. Serena dodged, but he caught her arm and hauled her toward him with nary an effort. He pulled her out of the conveyance and set her down on the ground outside, still holding her in a bruising grip. She felt his fingers bite into her like claws.
"Easy," cautioned the knight in charge, a note of irritation hardening his previous smooth, intelligent tone.
"Let me go!"
Serena fought in earnest now, struggling with all she had to get loose. Her bare hands came down on a bristly-haired arm and as the Knowing hissed of the danger that held her, it was all she could do to bite back her scream.
"Here's a rope," the commander said, withdrawing a coiled length of cord from a loop on his weapon belt. "Bind her hands for the ride."
The other man caught it in one beefy fist, his other holding both of Serena's wrists immobile. "It's full of knots," he groused, his gravelly voice blowing fetid air against her neck.
"Is it?" came the mild inquiry. "Let me have a look."
Serena heard a quick hiss of metal coming out of a sheath, but she had no chance to register what was happening until it was done. As she fought to break loose, the knight with the commanding air strode forth, and in one fluid, treacherous moment, sliced a dagger across the throat of the brute who held her.
"Shifters," spat the knight as the body collapsed in a twitching, gurgling heap at their feet. He threw her a look, the thin moonlight glinting in his dragon-green eyes. "Loathsome bastards, one and all."
Confused, fearful, Serena flinched back. "Stay away from me."
The dagger dripped scarlet-black in the warrior's hand. He glanced down at it, then met her gaze once more. "There is little time, lady. And this blade is not for you."
He reached out to her, but she refused to accept his intimation of alliance so easily. "Who are you?"
"Your last hope," he replied, and there seemed no mercy in the statement, only cool opportunity and a confidence that bordered on arrogance. "We must go now. Your man awaits you with a ready mount."
"Rand?"
The dark knight nodded. "We have an agreement, Greycliff and I. Each of us holds something that the other dearly wants."
"And what have I to do with that?"
"You are the price he demanded in exchange for the cup bearing Calasaar and Vorimasaar."
"Rand would not surrender it to you. He cannot!"
"He can, and he has." The rogue's full lips lifted at the corner in a half smile. "Love makes a man do all manner of things, my lady."
"Love," Serena echoed. "Rand doesn't love me. Not after what I told him today."
"Aye, well...he wants you, and that is all that matters to me."
She glanced up at his shadowed features, the moonlight having softened the hard lines to a striking handsomeness. "Why should Rand or I trust you?"
The raven-haired knight's smile grew, a dazzling slash of white in his dark angel's face. "Because I just might be more desperate than either you or Greycliff--if not de Mortaine himself. And, dear lady, look around you. I'm all you've got."
"Silas will kill you if he finds out you have done this."
"He won't kill me," her deliverer countered without a speck of doubt. He shrugged. "I am most certainly dead already, but not by de Mortaine's hand."
His cryptic words drifting on the night wind, the mercenary hurried Serena toward a narrow corridor between two buildings and urged her to follow him into the waiting darkness.
* * *
Les Nantres was late.
Rand paced at his covert position near the bank of the River Ehen, two agile mounts gone missing from the town stables and now nickering behind him. They were itching for the road, and so was he. Rand held the horses' lines in a tight fist, cursing the fact he'd had to put his faith in a man whose only loyalty was to himself. Not two years past, Draec les Nantres had sold out a group of his closest friends, including Braedon le Chasseur, to Silas de Mortaine. Now Rand wondered if the devil intended a similar fate for Serena and him.
He wouldn't dare, Rand decided, not yet. Not so long as Rand held part of the Dragon Chalice. The cup bearing the Calasaar and Vorimasaar stones was strapped to his person in a saddle pack he had removed from one of the mounts. The treasure was all les Nantres wanted, and Rand cared not what drove him. Let him have the Chalice in full, if it meant Serena would be safe.
"Damnation, les Nantres. Where are you?"
The liquid rush of the river swallowed up his low growl, but it did not quite mask the sound of twigs snapping under heavy hooves in the brush nearby. Rand's free hand went to his sword in reflex, but then he glimpsed the horse and two riders. Seated behind Silas's lieutenant was the slender form of Serena, her long midnight-dark hair shining in the moonlight. She spied him there, and when he saw that she was hale, any anxiety he felt was swiftly washed away.
"Serena," he said, and opened his arms as she leaped off the horse's back and dashed toward him on a little cry of relief.
"Let's have done with this," les Nantres drawled with clear impatience, dismounted himself and now swaggering toward them while they embraced. "I've made good on my part of the deal. Now let us dispense with yours, Greycliff. You have the cup?"
Rand gave a single nod of his head.
When he reached within his mantle to retrieve the cup from the satchel, Serena, still clinging to him, lifted her worried gaze. "Don't do this, Rand. You cannot give it to them."
"I gave my word," he answered, then withdrew the golden goblet and held it out to les Nantres.
"My God," the mercenary gasped.
He took the cup in both hands, cradling the bowl in splayed fingers and holding it before him in rapt awe. The twisting form of a scaled dragon curled round on itself to form the cup's gilded stem. In its talons, at the base of the bowl and glowing in the moonlight were two of the four sacred stones of the Dragon Chalice--Calasaar, pale as ice; Vorimasaar, like a red-gold ember.
"Well met, Greycliff," les Nantres said, finally tearing his gaze away from the splendor of his boon. "But we are even now. If our paths should cross again, expect no quarter from me."
"And to you as well," Rand returned with equal frankness.
He tossed him the satchel. With a final admiring look, Draec slipped the cup into the leather pocket and slung the long strap over his head.
"On to Scotland, then," les Nantres said with a grin. "There's but one piece left to this puzzle and I mean to have it."
Rand inclined his head in acknowledgment. "If your success means de Mortaine's defeat, then godspeed to you."
From within Rand's arms, Serena pivoted to face Draec while he stepped up into his saddle. "That is your plan? You intend to defeat Silas de Mortaine?"
"Aye, lady. That is my meaning."
"Then you should know that he does not ride for Scotland," Serena said in a rush.
Rand frowned down at the beauty in his arms. "What do you mean, love?"
"Silas plans to find Calandra instead. He told me so. He knows about the cottage in the woods, Rand. He lived there with her once--long ago. He says the cascade is the very place he and Calandra crossed when they left Anavrin with the Chalice. The cascade is a portal between our two realms."
"Jesu," Rand swore. "And Calandra?"
"I believe de Mortaine suspects she knows where the last of the Chalice stones is located."
Draec les Nantres turned a narrow look on her. "Is it possible?"
She gave a little shrug, then nodded. "I think she might know something about it, yes. And I know that if Silas finds her as he intends, he will find a way to kill her."
Rand glanced to les Nantres, whose gr
im gaze held like understanding.
"It seems our partnership is not yet ended," the mercenary remarked. "I have not come this far to gamble it all away now. Have you, Greycliff?"
Chapter 29
The trio rode like hell itself were on their heels, for once Silas de Mortaine realized where they had gone, hell would indeed be snapping at their backs.
Serena held fast to the reins of her sleek palfrey, following Rand's lead over the black shadows of hills and vales, toward the heart of her forest home. It gave her comfort to know that Rand was there, never more than a half length ahead of her in the dark, frequently looking to make sure she kept pace. She dared not fall back. Everything she cared about had been brought into clear focus: Rand, Calandra, a peaceful life with both of them. It was all she needed, and she would fight at Rand's side to keep it.
In her heart, in the depths of her Knowing, she understood that the night would not pass without a battle. It was edging in like a storm, a metallic charge in the too-still air, the crescent moon peering down like a narrowed eye, waiting for the first shattering crack of thunder.
She could almost hear Silas de Mortaine's vicious roar as he discovered les Nantres had betrayed him. She could see him rounding up his cadre of shifters and soldiers, dispatching them with orders to kill all in their path. They were coming, she knew it. They could be no more than an hour behind.
At last, she began to recognize her surroundings. Her mount was huffing, sweating as it leaped the short rock boundary of the grove line. The trees became familiar, the patterned network of their trunks, the density of the area foliage. Rand must have known it, too. He navigated the paths as Serena herself would, and ably dodged his horse around hidden briars and treacherous bramble.
They rode deeper into the forest, and finally they neared the cottage at its heart. The little abode was dark, she realized as the three of them brought their mounts to a halt in the small yard. Rand leaped down and ran to the door. He threw it open, calling for Calandra.
Heart of the Dove Page 27
