Byron didn’t answer. His breathing sounded even again, as if he had fallen back to sleep.
Seymour grabbed his boots. He was not going to stay here, not if there was even a slight possibility that Lord Dakin was downstairs. This time Byron could save himself from the lord. Byron sighed deeply. Then another wave of laughter rose from the room below. Byron sat up so quickly that Seymour almost dropped his boots.
“That is Dakin!”
“I know,” Seymour said.
“I’m sorry, Seymour. I should have–”
“Don’t apologize.” Seymour winced as he pulled on his boots. He grabbed his shirt and slid his arms into it. The material felt sharp and scratchy–new. “We’ve got to get out of here. I don’t want to see Lord Dakin.”
“He doesn’t know we’re here.”
“The Lady Jelwra’s bound to tell him about you, Sir Geoffry. I just want to be out of here before he decides to come up and get rid of the last Lord of Kinsmail.”
“She wouldn’t say–”
“You don’t know that. And it’s my neck you’re risking. Now get dressed and let’s go.” Seymour was amazed to hear his father’s voice come out of his mouth. He had never been commanding before. But then, he had only been this frightened one other time in his life. “I’ll go down first. Then you toss me the valise and follow.”
“What about the boys?”
“What about them?” Seymour had never seen Byron so indecisive. It irritated him.
“I promised that they could come with me.”
Seymour pushed the shutters open farther. He didn’t care about the boys. If Byron wanted to risk his life for those children, he could, but this time Seymour was going to look after himself. He straddled the windowsill. “Just toss me the valise.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He gripped the windowsill tightly and swung his legs outside. The sudden pull on his arms made his shoulders crack. He glanced down. He would have to fall about six feet. He swallowed once, took a deep breath, and let go.
The wind fluttered through his hair and past his face as he fell. His feet hit first, sending a jolt through his body that ran up his spine and caused him to lose his balance. He sat ungraciously in the dust. The cats scattered, but the drunk didn’t wake up. The valise landed beside him with a soft thud. Seymour looked up. Byron hung from the window, his cape flapping in the wind. Byron dropped to the ground like a large bird, landed on his feet, and turned to Seymour.
“We’re getting those boys,” Byron said.
Seymour stood up, wiping the dust from his new trousers. He picked up the valise. “Lord Dakin probably has a horse in the stable.”
“If he’s inside laughing, he’s not going to use it right away.”
“I don’t see why we have to risk our lives for two common street urchins.”
Byron’s body straightened and his expression grew hard. “I’m going back for the boys. You can leave without me if you like.”
“And face Lord Dakin alone? No, thank you.”
Byron nodded once, then turned, and walked toward the stable. Seymour followed. The anger and fear made him giddy, and his back ached from the fall. The valise felt heavy in his hands.
The stable stood next to the inn. The stable was an old building; it leaned slightly to one side. As Byron pushed open the door, a horse nickered. Inside, the stable was warm. The smells of hay and leather overlay the animal scents.
Seymour slipped around Byron and looked for the boys. They huddled together on a pile of hay, a stable blanket over them to keep out the night’s chill. Byron bent over them to wake them, when Afeno’s eyes snapped open.
“We’re leaving,” Byron said.
“It’s the middle of the night.” Afeno’s voice was wary.
Seymour glanced at the door. He could see nothing out there. Supposed Lord Dakin was looking for them already. He would go with the innkeeper to their rooms, find them empty, and come to the stables.
“We had some trouble,” Byron said.
“And you’re running from it?”
Seymour turned. The boy would have run, too, if he were facing a similar threat. “Look, we didn’t have to come get you, but Byron insisted. Now get up and come with us. Every minute you waste hurts us.”
Colin stirred and sat up. He brushed hay from his clothes and his hair. The fear Seymour felt was reflected in the younger boy’s face.
Afeno tossed the blanket aside. “Where are we going?”
“As far from here as possible,” Seymour said.
Afeno stood. He didn’t bother to clean the hay off his new clothes. “Should we take a horse?”
Byron shook his head. “We’ll be easier to spot on horseback. Dakin won’t think of looking for two men and two boys.”
“Lord Dakin?” Colin asked. His voice squeaked with fear.
“That’s right. He’s inside.”
A loud crash outside the stable made them freeze. Seymour thought his heart was going to jump through his chest. Dakin was out there. They wouldn’t be able to escape.
Afeno crouched and ran for the door. Byron grabbed at him but missed. Afeno slipped outside. Seymour started to follow, but Byron put a hand on his arm.
“He knows what he’s doing,” Byron whispered.
Seymour held his breath. He silently reviewed all the spells he knew. He could draw moisture from the air to make water; he could create a fire by rubbing his hands together; he could make one object appear to be another, but he couldn’t make people disappear. His father could do almost anything with his magic. He had a strong luck web and knew how to call the correct spirits. He had been able to memorize anything immediately and would use the spell perfectly each time. But Seymour only knew fifteen spells–and most of them didn’t work.
Something cracked outside, and then someone moaned. There was a loud thud. Byron took a step forward, but Seymour shook his head. They didn’t dare go out there, not if Lord Dakin was waiting.
Then Afeno peeked his head in the door and beckoned to them. Byron took Colin’s arm and led him outside. Seymour followed. The drunk Seymour had seen earlier lay next to his doorway. A stick rested by his side.
“Will he be all right?” Seymour whispered.
Afeno nodded, then turned to Byron, apparently waiting for direction.
“We need to get out of the city as fast as we can,” Byron said. “And we’re heading southeast, away from Lord Dakin’s land. You know the way?”
Afeno nodded. He looked both ways before stepping into the road, then signaled that all was clear. Seymour stepped away from the inn, glad to be moving. He could never be far enough away from Lord Dakin.
iii
The houses in the wealthy section of Nadaluci had wide, fenced-in yards. Trees, flowers, and shrubs hid the buildings from view. No one was stirring except Afeno and his three companions.
The street curved and ran uphill. The air smelled of lilacs. Afeno hated the calmness. Cities were supposed to live after dark. But he didn’t want to see anyone, and he knew no one would be on the streets in this section of town. Magic had taught him that. “You tough a rich one in the day,” he used to say, “because they disappear with the light.”
At the top of the hill, the houses grew more expansive, the lawns lush with greenery. Byron walked solemnly beside Afeno, taking in everything. Seymour stared straight ahead. And Colin kept his head down, as if he weren’t worthy of seeing such impressive homes. Their feet shuffled in the dirt, a familiar sound, but Afeno thought he heard something else.
He listened as he walked, hearing the ragged clip of another foot, the off-rhythm sound of a person walking too far away to see his quarry. Afeno touched Byron’s arm and put a finger to his lips. Byron frowned, listening too, and then he nodded.
Afeno waved Byron ahead and dropped back. The street led out of the city. If this took him longer than he expected, the others would find their way to the east gate.
Afeno half ran to the side of the road. He hid behind a large stone gate corner.
The stone was cold against his fingers and his breathing sounded rough in his ears. He took breaths shallowly and listened, hearing the shuffling of Byron and the others grow faint and the single footsteps come closer. He peered around the edge, careful to keep his head in shadow. A retainer in a brown and tan uniform–Lord Dakin’s colors–followed the path Byron had left in the road. Afeno swallowed. Retainers never traveled alone. Another had to be with him, guarding against an attack.
Afeno wiped his hands on his pants and thought for a moment. He had never done anything like this alone. Magic had always helped him, thinking up the operation and telling Afeno what to do. Afeno hadn’t done well on his own. The last person he had toughed had hit him and knocked him out.
If he and Magic were doing this, one would search for the hidden retainer, while the other attacked this retainer. But Afeno couldn’t do both. He had to find the hidden retainer, but he couldn’t let this one get away. But he wasn’t working alone. Byron had heard the footsteps too. If Afeno couldn’t take care of the first retainer, Byron would.
The retainer passed the gate. He moved just quickly enough to keep the group in sight. The other retainer had to be moving too, keeping his companion in view. Afeno waited, breathing soundlessly. The retainer disappeared, and so did the sound of his footsteps. Afeno’s body began trembling from staying in the same position too long. Then he heard it, an odd rustle that didn’t fit into the hum of the quiet neighborhood. He glanced down the street, seeing nothing, then seeing a movement in the nearby shadows. The retainer stepped out and darted along the edge of the road to duck in behind Afeno’s stone post.
They stared at each other for a moment–the retainer’s face was chubby and red from too much ale consumed over too many years–and then Afeno rammed forward, shoulder first, into the retainer’s stomach. The man fell back against the road, landing with an oof. The man reached for Afeno, knocking him over. They rolled for a minute, Afeno reaching, grabbing for something. He finally found a rock and clubbed the man on the side of the head. The retainer collapsed, his bulk on top of Afeno. Afeno pushed the man away. The man was out. Afeno went through his uniform and found four gold pieces and a dagger. Afeno slid the gold into his boot. Holding the dagger, he went after the other retainer.
Afeno ducked in and out of shadows, using the same method as the man he had knocked out. Within a few minutes he saw the retainer walking steadily in the moonlight. The retainer wasn’t as big as his companion, but he moved with an ease that suggested strength. Afeno caught up, then leaped on the man’s back from the shadows, and grabbed his mouth. The retainer tried to shake Afeno off, but he held tightly and pulled up on the man’s chin. The retainer grabbed for Afeno’s wrist, holding it, pulling down. Afeno maintained his grip. He brought the dagger up with his other hand and with one swift, deep, sideways movement he slashed the man’s throat.
Warm blood gushed on Afeno’s hand as he let go and jumped away. The retainer reached for his throat, making gurgling sounds as he spun. He fell to his knees and then toppled forward, the blood leaving a shiny black pool in the dirt.
Afeno wiped the dagger on the retainer’s uniform, then searched the man. He found five gold pieces, a few rounds, a dagger, and a sheathed sword. Afeno removed the sheath and tested the sword. It was too long to wrap around his hip, so he attached it to his waist. Then he stopped.
He had nine gold pieces, more than enough to keep himself for a while, and weapons to defend himself. And he had just proven to himself that he could work alone. He didn’t need Byron, didn’t need to leave Nadaluci. He slipped the dagger in his boots. He could survive here now, maybe wait for Magic and kill him if he returned.
Afeno turned and started down the hill. The other retainer was beginning to move. Beyond him, Afeno could see the torches still burning in the poorer sections of the city. He had nothing here and no one who cared. When the nine gold pieces ran out, he had no guarantee of additional money. Byron at least would pay him and take him somewhere new, somewhere interesting. Magic would never come back, and even if he did, Afeno wouldn’t kill him. He would probably work with him again until the next time Magic cheated him, a few months down the road.
He seemed to be doing circles in the dust. He turned around again and ran past the dead retainer. The blood was running along the side of the street, leaving a black stain in the quiet neighborhood. As Afeno reached the crest of the hill, he could see the others walking slowly in the moonlight. He ran down the street, kicking up stones and dust in his haste, and stopped when he reached them.
Byron glanced over at him and nodded, taking note of the sword and the blood on Afeno’s arm.
“What happened?” Seymour asked.
“Two of Lord Dakin’s retainers were following us,” Afeno said.
“He knows about us, then.” Seymour’s voice shook. “What are we going to do, Byron?”
“Nothing.” The darkness hid Byron’s face. “They’re not following us anymore, are they?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said and continued walking. Afeno felt some of the energy leave him. Byron hadn’t even asked for details. Magic had always wanted details. Afeno followed, keeping a small distance between himself and the others. Byron had trusted him to get the job done, and he had. That was enough–for now.
iv
When they reached the gate, dawn painted itself on the horizon. Red and gold wisps of clouds decorated the pale sky. No beggars lined the walls on the east gate, and the sleepy gatekeeper seemed surprised to let through such a tired party on foot.
On this side of the city the forest was thinner. The trees were scraggly and no overgrowth covered the ground between them. Byron kept them on the road. Seymour felt more relaxed now that they were away from the city. The air smelled fresher and the only sounds were familiar–an occasional twitter of a bird, the rummaging of an animal in the trees.
Byron walked beside him, the two boys a pace or two behind. “What’s bothering you, Seymour?” Byron asked. “You haven’t been the same since we entered the city.”
“Nothing.” Seymour trudged forward. He was tired. He hadn’t slept in almost two days. He had been frightened and on the move most of the time. He had carried the valise most of the way, too, and his arm was growing tired.
“If we’re going to travel together, we need to trust each other,” Byron said.
“Trust?” Seymour let out a chuckle. He concentrated on the trees ahead and the early morning sunlight filtering through the leaves.
“Hmmm.” Byron took the valise from Seymour’s hand. Seymour felt as if he had grown ten pounds lighter. “You think I told the Lady Jelwra the truth, don’t you?”
Seymour didn’t even nod.
“Well, I didn’t. I’ve been honest with you. My name is Byron and I was Lord Dakin’s bard. Before that I was bard to Lord Lafa. A bard must learn everything there is to know about a region. And there is a beautiful song about Kinsmail. The ballad tells the story I told the lady. I was a bit worried when she said I looked familiar. I sang for her often at Lord Lafa’s manor.”
Their boots scuffled against the dirt. A bird flew above them, chittering. The sunlight had grown warmer, but the shaded road was still cool. “Did the hounds chase you off Lord Lafa’s land?” The question sounded more sarcastic than Seymour had planned.
“No.” Byron’s smile held no warmth. “Lord Lafa was more creative. He used my reputation to get rid of me.” He shifted the valise to his other hand. “I had been in Lord Lafa’s service for nearly two years and during that time had had my share of women. I was willing if they were willing, but I was also very careful, if you know what I mean, Seymour.
“One afternoon, Lord Lafa called me into his great room. He sat there with three of his retainers and accused me of impregnating a village girl. The retainers swore they had seen me in her company and they probably had. I liked her, but she wasn’t interested in me. I found out why later. She already had a lover. Lord Lafa.
“He want
ed me to marry her and claim the child. I refused. He gave me a day to get off his lands and ordered me not to return.”
Seymour glanced at Byron and then at the woods around them. “I thought this was Lord Lafa’s land.”
“If the rumors I have heard are right, this land now belongs to the Lady Jelwra.”
Seymour sighed. He wondered where Byron picked up his information. Seymour felt as if he had lived in darkness his entire life. He wasn’t sure he wanted to walk into the light. No one seemed to like Byron, and Seymour wanted to stay out of trouble. “Was your reputation the only reason Lord Lafa picked you?”
“I told you when you first met me, Seymour, that I’m a troublemaker.” Byron shook his head slightly. “I was no different then.”
The clip-clop of horses and the rumble of carriage wheels echoed behind them. The carriage was moving rapidly, and Seymour and Byron moved to the side of the road. Seymour glanced back to see if the boys had moved as well. They had.
The driver slowed the carriage as it approached. Seymour recognized the white horses and white banners flying from the carriage corners. His palms grew moist. He didn’t want the Lady Jelwra to know where they were. She might send word to Lord Dakin.
The carriage stopped when it reached Byron and Seymour. The Lady Jelwra opened the carriage door. Inside, Seymour could see plush white seats and bright blue trim.
“I’m sure you would rather ride than walk, Sir Geoffry,” the lady said. “I’ve never seen a member of the gentry walk before.”
“It’s good for the legs,” Byron said, smiling.
“There’s room for your companions.”
The White Mists of Power Page 9
