In the darkness and the silence of the deep forest, Coryn began to muster her defiance. Someday soon she would confront Jenna about her mysterious edict. Why did she fear the wild magic? The girl felt certain that Jenna was no stranger to magic! Jenna's lighted medallion was but one small example of things Coryn had observed. But why would one kind of magic cause her to react with such fear, when she willingly used her own powers with merely a whispered word, or the deft maneuvering of her fingers?
She knew such whispered words from Umma's books, the books that she had committed to memory years ago. One word, spoken by pure instinct, had saved her from the walrus-men as it whisked her, still wet from lying in the soggy snow, onto the floor of Umma's cottage.
She remembered the word Jenna murmured when she summoned the light from her medallion. Would that word work for her?
It was with a sense of rebellious determination that she rolled onto her side, her back toward the low fire and the sleeping woman beyond. Cory didn't have a medallion, but reaching out a hand, she felt around until she found a small stone, small enough that she could easily hold it in the palm of her hand.
As softly as she could, she whispered the remembered word, focusing the power of the magic on the stone cupped in her fingers. Immediately, to her delight, it came to light, spilling a surprising brilliance over the ground, across the clearing, and into the nearby fringe of woods. The girl listened for any disruption in Jenna's breathing. Convinced that the Red Robe still slumbered, the girl uncapped her fingers slightly and let the beams of light play across the trees, the moss-draped branches, and the trailing vines…
And then she saw the black-cloaked figure standing there at the edge of the woods, regarding her with an expression of keen interest.
Coryn gasped and sat up, raising the stone so that its full light spilled wildly into the woods. With a grimace, the stranger-he was a rather handsome man, she noticed vaguely-raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rays.
"Would you mind?" he asked, pleasantly enough, as he strolled forward into the clearing.
"I–I don't know how to stop it," Coryn admitted, though she cupped the stone tightly to cover its brightness.
"Then your mistress is doing a poor job of teaching you," the stranger remarked. He was dressed in a sleek black robe, the fabric intertwined with silvery threads that picked up and reflected the light. He had an expression of mild amusement on his face as he looked past Coryn toward the sleeping Jenna.
"Mistress?" Coryn suddenly realized she needed to raise an alarm. "Jenna-wake up!" she cried. Her eyes remained fixed upon the robed traveler, as Jenna immediately stirred herself.
"Of all people-Dalamar!" she snapped, her tone angry. "What are you doing here? Get away from her-get away from both of us!"
"Not so quickly, mistress of the Red Robe," said the man dressed in black. He walked past Coryn as if the girl didn't exist, his eyes fixed upon the woman, his face still creased by that expression of mild amusement.
He was the most magnetic person Cory had ever seen. His eyes were wide and unusually large, shaped kind of like almonds, she decided. His face was so smooth that, though he was clearly an adult, his skin showed no signs of ever having been touched by a razor. The cowl of his black hood covered much of his head, but she could see enough of him to realize that he had light-colored, beautiful hair. He walked with a sense of utter assurance, and even as he crossed the grassy ground-littered with fallen twigs, as she had noticed when gathering firewood-his steps made no sound.
"You are a difficult person to find," said the one called Dalamar. "I have been seeking you for some time, but did not expect to run into you so far from your usual haunts. What brings you here, to wild Qualinesti?"
"I needed to get out of the city," Jenna retorted, without conviction.
"I suspect there is more to it than that. I think you are here for much the same reason that I am here. What I can't figure out-at least, I couldn't figure out until tonight-is why you brought this girl."
"You've been spying on us?" blurted Coryn. "For how long have you been hiding there in the woods?"
"It is no use asking questions of one wearing the black robe," Jenna interjected sharply. "His answer will be what he wants us to hear, but it will bear no relation to the truth."
"Tsk, tsk," Dalamar chided. "Leave it to the Red Robe to lecture about self-serving behavior." He turned to regard Coryn, favoring her with just a hint of a smile. "Has she been treating you well? Teaching you things, is she?"
"I-well, yes. She treats me fairly." Cory was confused, her mind whirling. She felt oddly compelled to come to Jenna's defense. "She is my mistress, and I try to serve her well. But you are wrong about one thing: She is not my teacher."
At that, Dalamar smiled broadly. "I see… you're just a humble servant girl who makes pebbles glow in the dark. Well, that certainly makes sense-can't have the servants stumbling around in the thick of the night. I don't know how many times I've heard Jenna say those very words."
"Who are you?" demanded Coryn. She was undeniably flattered when he bowed, deeply, looking out from the cowl of that dark hood to look her squarely in the eyes.
"Forgive me. I am called Dalamar the Dark, and I have long been an associate of your mistress." Startlingly, he winked. "You can tell by the warm greeting she has offered an old friend, after a long time apart."
"Get away from her-and me. I mean it, Dalamar," Jenna was saying. She stood now, wearing her red robe and glaring at the intruder. "She is the granddaughter of an old friend and has nothing for the likes of you."
Still those almond eyes lingered, making Coryn suddenly conscious that she wore only her nightshirt. She pulled the blankets up over her chest, but continued to meet Dalamar's eyes until, with visible reluctance, he turned back to Jenna.
"I have no ill designs on her, or yourself, for that matter," he said pleasantly. "But we do need to talk, and I have come a long way to find you. Perhaps your… 'servant' could add some wood to this fire, and we might make ourselves comfortable."
Coryn watched Jenna, who glared at Dalamar with an expression of furious distrust. Nevertheless, Jenna finally sighed and nodded in acquiescence. "Bring some more wood," she said to the girl. "And heat some water for tea."
Dalamar turned respectfully away as Coryn shrugged into her trousers. She looked at the dwindling pile of firewood-there was enough for breakfast tea, no more-and she knew she would have to plunge into the dark woods in search of more fuel. She looked at the pebble in her hand, which had now dimmed to nothing; and she didn't dare try the word again. She was reluctant to leave these two, and desperately curious to see what this meeting was about.
Dalamar crossed to Jenna as Coryn broke a log with a loud crack of dry wood. Placing the resulting two sticks on the fire, she picked up another branch, braced it on her knee. She listened, keenly, and from the corner of her eye she watched Jenna, who had all but forgotten her.
The woman in the red robe said one word-it sounded something like shroud-yus-and then all was utterly silent. Cory stared in surprise to see that Jenna was still talking, animated to the point of raising a hand and pointing a finger at Dalamar while she told him what she thought.
But she could hear no words, and there was no sound at all in the still forest clearing.
At length Dalamar raised his hands and Jenna's lips stopped moving. She planted her fists on her hips while the Black Robe began to-apparently-talk. More silent words; still Cory could hear nothing. Jenna glanced at her momentarily, glared, and turned back to Dalamar.
With a shrug, Coryn left the now lively fire and pushed along the little trail next to the stream, where she had gathered much of the firewood from the lower branches of a downed pine. She pulled more of the sticks, dry and brittle, off the trunk as she tried to make sense of this stranger in the forest carrying on a silent argument with Jenna. When she carried her armload of fuel back to the fire, she got another shock.
Dalamar had pulled back his hood to reve
al, as Cory has suspected, long and beautiful golden hair. But it was something else that grabbed her attention: the tip of a slender, tapered ear that extended into view through the strands of smooth yellow.
He was an elf!
Even as she absorbed this shock, the two continued to converse while making no sounds that Coryn could discern. Kneeling at the fire, the girl took a little time to tend the blaze, thinking. That one word Jenna had uttered had triggered a magic spell, obviously, some sort of silence cloak that she had drawn over both of them to keep Coryn in the dark. Not a cloak so much as an invisible cone, Cory decided, wondering how large an area it enveloped.
She wondered what they were saying and why she was excluded-how their talk must involve her.
"You're seeking the Tower, aren't you?" Dalamar noted with a triumphant sneer. "And you must think this girl will help you to get in."
Jenna snorted in contempt. "You know the Tower. It gives entry to those the Master wants to let in, and all others might seek it for a lifetime and never even see the entry into the wood. The girl is only a girl."
"Yes, I know the Tower," Dalamar conceded. "I think that the Tower is suffering… weakened. I think it needs help, the help of wizards from all the orders."
Again the Red Robe swatted his notion away. "What orders? Have you seen a wizard worthy of any of the robes, even since the moons have returned?"
The dark elf's expression grew grim. "I have been to see Palin. He's finished with the robe-it seemed like he'd barely noticed that his white moon was back in the skies. Tell me, Jenna-you feel Lunitari again, do you not? The pull of your red goddess, waxing and waning with that sacred circle in the sky?"
"Of course I do. And I know that Nuitari has returned as well, even though I cannot see him. Yet his presence, as it was so many years ago, is once again a thing I can feel."
"Humans are such fools," Dalamar snapped. "Do you know that they call it 'The Night of Two Moons'?"
"I should have thought such pridefulness was beyond your concern," Jenna said. "What does it matter to you, what the humans think?"
The dark elf shrugged. "You're right. It doesn't matter, not in the case of most humans, anyway." He turned his head, his eyes falling upon the dark-haired girl by the fire. She was staring at them with open curiosity, though when she noticed him looking at her, she turned and busied herself by putting another log on the fire. "She'll burn the woods down if you don't give her something else to do," he said wryly.
"Don't worry about her. I was telling the truth-she is a servant, the granddaughter of an old friend, a woman with little means. She rightly believed that coming to work for me might give her a chance at a decent life."
"Really? And what is this dear old friend's name."
Jenna hesitated. "She is Scharon Fallow of Two Forks, from the Icereach. We were friends very many years ago."
"A friend from the Icereach, met as a young woman. I don't believe you traveled that far south, not in those days. Nor would she be likely to come to Palanthas-the Icefolk are notoriously clannish barbarians, after all. So you must have met somewhere between… someplace where you spent some time as a young woman. Someplace like the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest, perhaps?"
Jenna rolled her eyes. "You always did have an active imagination. No, Dalamar, not the Tower. There is nothing magical about Scharon Fallow, I assure you. Her father worked for a trader, and she traveled by ship to the north. My family took her in when her father died before he could return home. She lived with us for a year, until I went away to the Tower, as a matter of fact."
"Very well," the elf said, with a dismissive shrug. "In any event, know that I am here to stay. I have decided we should seek the Tower together."
Her eyes narrowed. "You have decided!" She paused, thinking. "You say that Palin has renounced the robes, any part in this quest?"
"He seems content to grow fat and happy next to his hearth fire, lording it over that pathetic village and letting his wife and sister cater to his every whim."
Jenna, for the first time, smiled slightly. "He stung your pride, I take it."
"I care not," the elf said with an elaborate shrug. "Except that we are without the use of our greatest potential ally."
"I am fully prepared to do what I need to do, alone," Jenna said sharply. "I don't need you."
"And I told you that I am not prepared to let you do that."
They stared at each other for several minutes. Neither noticed that Coryn was intensely staring at them; she had been futilely trying to lip-read their stalemate.
Jenna sighed and spoke more gently. "All right. You're right-we'll have a better chance together. So let's get moving." She turned toward the fire, stepping out of the invisible cone of silence as the magic faded around her. "We're going to get the mules loaded," she informed Coryn. "Leave the fire for now-we'll put it out before we get back to the trail."
If the girl had any surprise to spare over this sudden midnight departure, her stoic face did not betray her. Instead, she quickly went to the tethered animals and lifted the harness over the head of each.
"If you help," Jenna told Dalamar, "we'll get out of here faster."
"Your servant seems quite capable," said the dark elf with that slim smile.
Muttering to herself, Jenna bundled up her own bedroll and carefully checked the saddlebags on Dora, those containing all of her spell books, as well as assorted other tools she had brought along to help with the quest. She sent Coryn to take care of the cooking kit while she called angrily to Dalamar.
"At least give me a hand with these packs!"
He came over and helped her lift the big leather sacks over Dora's back, holding them in place while he watched Cory. With practiced gestures, the girl nested the plates and cups within the cook pot and brought them over to the mules.
Jenna was leaning over to buckle the snaps when the first arrow came out of the darkness. It thwacked loudly into the saddlebag, inches from her shoulder.
"We're under attack!" she shouted, spinning around and staring into the darkness. Light flared behind her as Dalamar barked a spell. In the surge of illumination she saw a half dozen scruffy, bearded men sprinting toward them. Others were unseen beyond them, and two more arrows came winging from the darkness.
"Deflectu-denius!" Dalamar cried, raising his clenched fists before him, crossing his arms at the wrists. One arrow struck the place where his arms were crossed and sputtered into nothingness; the other soared harmlessly over their heads.
Jenna peered into the darkness, past the men who suddenly hesitated at this clear evidence of magic. She spotted two figures in the shadows beyond, archers drawing fresh missiles into their bows.
"Braacius!" shouted the Red Robe. A crackling missile, like an arrow trailing sputtering fire, flew toward the dark stranger. She repeated the command and a second magical dart shot through the night. They struck the archers squarely and the two bowmen shrieked in pain, stumbling backward, swatting at the sparks that sputtered and flared from their clothing.
One of the bandits had a surge of boldness and came charging toward Jenna with an upraised sword. She ducked to the side, letting go of Dora's bridle as the sword whooshed through the air near her head. A bark of sound from Dalamar turned that sword into a striking viper-at least, that's how it looked to Jenna and, even more important, to the swordsman. He suddenly held a lashing snake by the tail, and-with fanged maw gaping-the serpent curled around, driving for a bite at that hand. With a shriek, the man hurled his weapon away, the writhing blade flying into the midst of the bucking mules.
Diva and Dolly pitched back, but remained tethered to the ground. Dora, her heavy saddlebags flopping, had been loosed from her hitch. With a neigh of terror she kicked up her heels. The mule surged forward and Jenna tumbled to the ground. She lay stunned, vaguely aware of the clattering hooves as Dora galloped away, following the demoralized band of thieves as they ran into the night.
"Dammit-Coryn, get the mule!" shouted th
e Red Robe. "She has my books!" Jenna pushed herself to her feet, and saw the dark elf striding into the woods, his black robe vanishing into the shadows. Jenna plunged after, listening for sounds of the mule's plunging passage through the woods.
She gave scant thought to the bandits, all of whom had run this same way along the stream bank. If any stood between her and her books she would kill them without a second thought. But the way the group had scattered, she expected they wouldn't stop running until dawn.
Branches crackled to her left, and she felt a surge of relief as she heard the nickering of a frightening mule. Dalamar was there, holding Dora and soothing the mule with gentle strokes on the long nose. The two saddlebags, still bulging with arcane treasures, remained securely in place.
Together they led the trembling animal back through the woods, to the small clearing. The fire was there, still crackling merrily.
But Coryn was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 11
Lord of the Wicked
I suppose one of you louts thinks you can do a better job of leading this outfit-is that it?"
Captain Samuval sneered at the band gathered around him, his expression daring any one of them to take up the gauntlet. He knew that he cut a dashing figure with his gloved hands planted firmly on his hips, his cloak swirling as he stalked back and forth in front of the blazing bonfire. The longsword in its plain scabbard was mostly concealed by the cloak, but his bandits knew it was there, lurking.
The men among them looked down or shook their heads or otherwise signaled their acceptance of their leader's disdain. Samuval looked beyond the men to the group of hobgoblins and draconians gathered a little farther from the fire. From this bunch came hissing and chortling, a few muttered growls, but in the face of his unwavering glare no outright rebellion.
It was those on the fringe of the group that Samuval knew presented the greatest threats. He glared out at Bloodtusk, the one-eyed ogre, and was rewarded by a bored shrug of utter indifference. His gaze swept around the circle, to Lubbar, the other ogre, and finally to Rust-Knock, the gigantic half-giant, half-ogre. Sooner or later, Samuval knew, Rust-Knock was bound to make trouble.
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