“To what, Cariad?” she prompted gently. “What would I say to what?”
“Lady Lona has asked me to ask you if you would be so kind as to come to the castle and teach the three little girls—”
“Teach?” Juilene sat back, feeling profoundly disappointed, for a reason she could not name. Damn this man, and the effect he had upon her. What was it about this quiet, courtly stranger that so unsettled her, as no man ever had, even Arimond?
“In the afternoons, of course, so it wouldn’t interfere with your work here. I—I would escort you—you need not travel alone.”
“I have been on rougher roads than this.”
“I know,” he answered. “Since you were cursed.” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but in the dark he didn’t see it, or chose to ignore it. He gave her a sad smile. “Lady Lona has also spoken of your coming to live at the castle, but—”
“But Thane Diago must come home eventually.”
“Yes. Exactly. But she is a kind and gracious lady, and her husband is a disgrace to both his titles.”
“Her very kindness makes her vulnerable to the curse. Surely you can see that.”
He dragged the tip of one boot through the dirt. “Lona wants to talk to you. She didn’t realize at first that the story you told that night was your own, but later—well, believe it or not, when Diago’s not around and she’s not afraid for her life, she is very perceptive. And she wanted me to bring you to the castle tomorrow, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Juilene shrugged, a little mystified. “No, of course not. But, why does she want to talk to me?”
“I think she wants to talk to you about the thurge who put the spell upon you.”
“Lindos? Why does she want to know about Lindos?”
Cariad stared at her in dismay. “Ah, by the goddess, I see the pattern unfold. It was Lindos who cursed you? Killed your betrothed?”
Juilene nodded. “Who just became Over-Thurge of Sylyria.”
“And who will be High Thurge, next, unless he is stopped—” Cariad broke off abruptly. He swore softly under his breath.
“High Thurge? What makes you think that?”
Cariad hesitated. “Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I—I suppose. But don’t all the Over-Thurges have to agree, before the High Thurge is elected?”
Cariad shook his head. “I don’t know, Juilene.” He rarely used her name, and she liked the way his accent elongated the vowels. It sounded like a caress. “Some say that just as the Incarnation of the goddess was preceded by an age of anarchy and chaos, so, too, will the end of the tenth millennium. Now that this Lindos had made himself Over-Thurge—” He shook his head again and sighed. “Will you come and talk to Lona?”
“Certainly,” Juilene answered, feeling bewildered. “But how can anything I tell her change anything?”
“It may not,” he said, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes. “But it may warn of what’s to come. And one never knows where one will find a friend.” He smiled, a little sadly, and Juilene suddenly had the urge to take him in her arms and comfort him.
The road to Diago’s keep was long and straight as an arrow, the land cleared for at least a mile in each direction. Juilene clung to the back of the little mare Cariad had brought for her. She didn’t like the idea of entering Diago’s castle, despite the fact that she knew the thurge was not in residence and that Cariad would be with her. She glanced at Cariad. He rode his gelding with practiced ease, his lean body molding itself to the motion of the horse as though he were merely an extension of the animal. In his presence, she felt safer than she had in a long time, but the thought of confronting the wizard on his home ground made her shudder.
The white walls of the keep rose sharply from a steep moat, dazzling in the light of the winter sun. Juilene felt a shiver of fear as she passed beneath the open gates. This place reminded her of Lindos. The towers spiraled to the sky, contorted and tortured, and faces leered from the stone rims of the walls, repressive and cruel. The guards and the men at arms in the inner ward greeted Cariad with respectful nods, but there was some wariness in their expressions that told her that Cariad was not quite fully accepted as one of their own.
So she was not the only one who sensed his difference. She wondered exactly what Cariad’s fellow knights thought of him. She pulled her shoulders straighter as Cariad slid off his saddle and held up his arms to help her down.
He smiled down at her as he drew her arm beneath his, tucking it close. “Shall we go in, my lady?”
She nodded, a little flustered. His use of that form of address made her feel more girlish than she had felt in a long time. Only a few months had passed since that terrible night, but it might have been an age. She felt a thousand times older than the girl who had fled her father’s house on that cold morning.
But there was an ease with which the title fell from Cariad’s lips, and a grace with which he guided her up the steps, and suddenly she was struck with the knowledge that he, too, was somehow more than he pretended to be. He might appear to be a mere knight in the household of this arrogant thurge-thane, but she knew with a sudden certainty there was more to Cariad, much more than he had told her.
A woman’s light step on the stones of the entryway made her look up. Cariad bowed as the slight form of Lady Lona rounded the corner. “Lady Lona.”
Juilene glanced from Cariad to the woman before her. Lona seemed much healthier than she had at their first meeting, and it struck Juilene that Diago’s absence had done her good. She was not as pale, the dark circles under her eyes not nearly as pronounced. She was still thin, though, and her hands fluttered like birds as she extended them to Juilene.
“My dear,” said Lona, “how happy I am to see you again. Will you come and sit?”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and led the way to a small room off the main corridor. Juilene peeked through the open doors on the opposite side of the entrance as Cariad drew her forward. She glimpsed the sight of a huge hall, easily twice the size of her father’s in Sylyria. The walls were whitewashed stone and rose more than two vaulted stories. Vivid colors swirled on huge tapestries, and Juilene craned her head to see more.
“Yes,” said Cariad, leaning down to speak into her ear. “Diago’s house is magnificent. If only his outer display matched his inner self, he would be a great man, indeed.”
Lona sat down in a chair beside a small fire that burned in a hearth of polished brass and shining tile. She indicated two chairs opposite. “Please, sit. Would you care for some refreshment, little sister?”
Juilene glanced around, taking in the sumptuousness of the furnishings, the obvious expense of the silver goblets, the tiny pastries piled high upon a silver platter. And yet something about this pale, slender, almost sickly looking woman seemed terribly out of place, here as well. What were they all, she wondered, a gathering of misfits?
Lona glanced up at her and flushed. She plucked at the lace that edged the sleeves of her gown and glanced at Cariad. “You are more perceptive than you realize, my dear,” she murmured.
Juilene started. Had the woman heard her thoughts?
Cariad leaned forward. “Has there been any word of Diago, Lona?”
Juilene glanced at Cariad. In the privacy of this room, he spoke to her as though he were her equal. Although he spoke gently, there was no trace of the obsequious squire. Who were these people, she wondered, and why did Lona not react to the subtle change in his tone?
“We will try to explain as much as we can to you, my dear,” said Lona. She shook her head at Cariad. “No. As far as I know, he’s still with Rihana.”
Cariad sucked in his breath. “And no word as to how much longer he intends to pleasure his sister with his company?”
Lona shook her head, her lips a thin line in her white face. “No. But for all I care he can stay with her as long as he pleases.”
Cariad sighed and got to his feet. “I know. But the trouble with that is we’ve no ide
a what mischief he may be up to while he keeps her company.”
Lona shrugged and waved her hand. “Enough about Diago. I am delighted to see you again, my dear—may I call you Juilene?”
Juilene nodded. “Of course, my lady, if it pleases you.”
“I know you have questions, child. If I had not been so wrapped up in my own grief, I would have realized that the story you told on the first night we met was indeed your own. I wonder if you would answer one or two questions for me, and then I will answer as many of yours as I can.”
Juilene glanced from Lona to Cariad. He was watching her carefully, a concerned look on his face, as though he feared she might refuse. He looked suddenly older than she had ever seen him look before, so that he seemed much older than she. Her new sense of caution tugged at her, but another sense, an instinctive trust of both of these people, told her she was among friends. “As you will it, I obey, my lady.”
Lona nodded. “Thank you. I know you’ve learned in the last months not to trust anyone. And I will tell you as much as I can, I promise. But first, what was the name of the thurge who put this spell upon you?”
“His name is Lindos. Cariad was there last night when we heard that he has been made the new Over-Thurge of Sylyria.” Juilene took a deep breath. Such a development could not bode well for her family.
“I’ll send a messenger—a discreet messenger—to Sylyria this day to find out what we can about your family,” Lona said. “But tell me, if you can, what happened when Lindos laid this spell upon you? What happened—what words did he speak? Can you remember?”
Juilene closed her eyes and drew another deep breath, clenching her hands into a tight ball. There was nothing she would care to remember less.
“Try to tell us what you can,” Cariad murmured, and in the sound of his voice, Juilene found the courage to confront her memories.
“I was in his bedchamber—trying to get away from him. And I felt something—a force—like a wind, but without air—do you know what I mean?” She looked from Lona to Cariad and back. They nodded. “And I remember feeling—trapped…” Her voice trailed off.
“Was it night?” Lona leaned forward.
Juilene thought, then shook her head. “No—it was close to dawn, I think—yes, it must have been, because when I left the keep and made my way home, it was not so dark as it had been.”
Lona glanced at Cariad and the two of them nodded. “I know this is painful, my dear, but you must try to remember as much as you possibly can. Was there fire, water, crystals—anything?”
“His bed—the hangings—they were all woven with gems—beautiful stones, in truth, I have never seen the like. It was like a web of such beautiful light—there was a fire in the hearth, and the power—the magic—as it went through me—it felt piercing me—” She broke off and bit her lip.
“Was there anything or anyone else in the room?” Lona asked gently.
Juilene swallowed hard. “There were these horrible creatures—with big eyes and skinny legs and arms—”
“Thurge sprites,” Lona said, her lip curling in disgust.
“And Arimond was there. Or his body.”
“Your betrothed?”
Juilene lowered her head and stared at her hands. “I remember how the blood trickled down his face. Slow, slow drops, like tears. It was as if he wept.”
Lona made a little noise, and Juilene looked up. She glanced at Cariad. “What is it?”
His face was grim. “Corpses don’t bleed.”
Juilene stared back at him. “You mean—Arimond wasn’t dead?”
Lona rose and paced the room. She glanced up at the walls, at the ceiling, as though she feared that someone might be hiding in the recesses of the room. “Not dead then. Yet.” She paced back and forth, her hands clenching and unclenching. “But there was nothing you could have done for him. Nothing at all. You must not think you were responsible for his death.”
Juilene looked at Cariad, her eyes filling with tears. She closed her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Truly, there was nothing you could do.”
She drew a deep breath and forced herself to stay composed. She looked at Lona. “But, why?”
Lona grimaced. “Have you ever heard of wild magic, child?”
“Wild magic?” Juilene shook her head. “No. I don’t know very much about magic at all.”
“In the beginning, when the world was new, you know that the thurges who lived upon the land used the magic as they willed, that there were no restrictions upon them, and they lived as they pleased.”
“Yes, of course,” answered Juilene. Did the woman think she had never heard the legends? “And I know that that is the reason for the incarnation of the goddess—that she came to earth and lived among us, and her legacy is the Covenant.”
“The Covenant is more than simply an agreement between the goddess and the people. The Covenant binds the magic, caused it to be bound to the world, to certain restrictions. It is no simple thing to use the magic, you know that. And it is those restrictions which make the magic so difficult to use.”
“But what has this to do with me, and Lindos, and the way Arimond died?”
“Ever since the beginning of the Covenant, there have been those thurges who have sought to unbind the magic, to undo the restrictions of the goddess, to find a way to access the wild magic, the magic which some say exists just outside the material world, which others say is the same magic, only unbound by the terms of the Covenant. Whichever it is, it doesn’t matter. For if a thurge were to access such power, it would mean that he or she could use the magic as he or she wished, with no restrictions, no concern or thought for the proper order of things, no fear that anything could go wrong. In short, he or she would have all the power of those ancient thurges, before the Covenant.”
Juilene stared up at Lona. “You mean you think Lindos is one of those?”
She laughed shortly. “I know Lindos is one. As is my husband. And his sister, Rihana—young as she is, the magic is even stronger in her than it is in him. Believe me, it isn’t brotherly love that keeps him dancing attendance upon her. And the fact that Lindos was able to curse you as effectively as he did—it makes me fear—” She stopped speaking abruptly, as though she could not stand to give voice to the words.
“Lindos may have discovered a way to use this power,” finished Cariad softly. “His position, his rapid rise to power in Sylyria—such signs bode ill.”
“But—but what makes you think such a thing? Lindos is known as a thurge of great promise—what makes you think that he could have this—wild magic, as you call it?”
Lona sighed and sat heavily in her chair. “There are—certain natural boundaries between things, you understand—day and night, cold and hot, wet and dry—do you understand?”
Juilene nodded.
“And the Covenant binds the magic to the natural order—makes it impossible to work the certain forms of magic except at certain times, you understand? But the Covenant is weakest when it has to deal with those places which are not quite one thing, not quite another—the time of day between day and night, for example, when the one is fading into the other, or at the changes of the moon, at the changes of the season—this happened at Festival time, did it not?”
Juilene nodded again. “At the very beginning.”
“That is what I feared. At the time of year, at the time of day, with a man who was not quite dead, though passed the point of saving—within a web of precious stones, woven into a deliberate pattern, I have no doubt—do you see, my dear? Lindos used this power most effectively—have you ever heard of such a thing being done before? Diago saw there was something about you. And I saw it, too, but I was tired, so weary, I took little notice of it. The magic binding you is tangible, visible, to the right eyes, and yet it has a different quality—” Lona paused and looked away. “And I believe Diago knew it, and that’s why he went to Rihana.” She broke off once more. “If only we were in Eld.”
“Eld?”
Juilene echoed. “I was on my way to Eld when I stopped at the inn.”
Lona and Cariad both stared at her. “Why?”
Juilene clasped her hands loosely before her. “Why do you wish us in Eld, lady?”
Lona exchanged a glance with Cariad. “She’s earned a few answers of her own, I think.” She smiled and drew a deep breath. “I am a native of that city. I came here only a few years ago, upon my marriage to Thane Diago. My father was one of the Guardians of the Ancients who sleep in that city—do you know the legend?”
Juilene shook her head. Cariad had moved so close to her she could see the pulse beat in the hollow of his throat. Her own heart beat faster. Lona seemed to take no notice.
“Eld is not like any other city in the League—it was the goddess’s own city, and there is still a certain holy sense to the city—have you ever been there?”
Juilene shook her head again.
“But it is not merely the presence of the goddess so long ago which makes Eld a holy city, a blessed place. Surely you have heard of the Twelve Sleepers?”
Juilene stole another peek at Cariad. She realized with a sinking sensation that it was the spell and her story that held his fascination. She should have know better than to think he could have been interested in her. He was absorbed in Lona’s story. And yet, the things Lona spoke of—wild magic, Twelve Sleepers, they were the stuff of legend and dreams—no one took such tales seriously. Did they? “Of-of course I have,” she stammered. “But no one thinks such things are true. Do they?”
Lona smiled, gently, pityingly. “In some places they still do. Of course. But it isn’t your fault you don’t know that, child. Our age has degenerated sadly.” She sighed, and for a long moment gazed into the fire in the hearth, as though she would find comfort in the flames. “Of course the Twelve are real. My father was one of the Guardians.”
Juilene stared at the woman. So much, so quickly. Her head was spinning with everything she had been told. The legends said that Twelve of the original Council—six thurges and six thanes—slept beneath the mountains of Eld, deep in rock caverns carved when the Covenant was new. They slept until the dawn of the New Covenant, when they would once again be needed. But they were only twelve, and fourteen were needed to make the Council complete, and so it was said that a new thane and a new thurge would complete the number, and the harp that had belonged to the goddess had to be played, in order to make the Sleepers awake. “You have seen the place where the Sleepers lie?”
The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden Page 19
