Castle of Deception bt-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  Lydia was turning to Naitachal. “What about you, Dark Elf?”

  Naitachal’s eyes glinted eerily in the darkness. “My people have no need for tight-spells.”

  “Oh, great.” Lydia got to her feet. “Might as well make camp, then. We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Wait” Heart racing, Kevin took out his lute, tuning it carefully. One of the magical songs his Master had taught him was known as the Watchwood Melody, and its purpose was to create tight “I don’t know if this is going to work, but ...”

  He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

  At first nothing happened. But halfway through the melody, Kevin felt a tingle run through him, head to foot Magic, he prayed, let it be magic ...

  And it was. For the first time in all the weary years of study he felt the song, felt each syllable, each note, as a separate wonder ringing in his mind. Listening to that wonder, he slid more and more deeply into his music ... though he was vaguely aware of something outside himself being different ... the darkness ... ? Surely it wasn’t quite as dark ... ?

  Powers! He and his lute were—glowing! They were actually glowing with a pale, steady light!

  “Terrific!” Lydia yelled—”Keep it going, just like that”

  But all at once Kevin was terrified of what he had done. A childish part of his mind jibbered that he should stay what he’d been, ordinary, unimportant, safe. The bardling’s concentration slipped. His fingers stumbled on the strings, breaking the spell. As the pale light began to fade, his voice faltered to a stop. Kevin slumped, suddenly so weary from (he energy loss of a failed spell he could barely stay in the saddle.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Sorry!” Lydia echoed. “That was amazing!”

  “No, it wasn’t. If I’d done it right, the light would have lasted even after I stopped singing.”

  “Well, never mind,” the woman said cheerfully. “You’ll get it right next time.”

  Kevin clenched his jaws before he could say something he’d regret The last thing he wanted right now was to be patronized, even by someone who meant well.

  What was I trying to prove? I couldn’t hold onto even the simplest song-spell. Fin not a Bard. Maybe I never will be.

  At least the two elves weren’t trying to be kind. But it didn’t help to hear Tich’ki chortling to herself, “Just like a human! Disappointed because he’s been de-lighted!”

  Once the party had fed and watered the horses, and picketed them in a line, and eaten a dinner of cold meat and bread, there wasn’t much else to do. Kevin tried to start a conversation with the others, but nobody else seemed to want to talk. He sat back, disgruntled. This camp was hardly like those in the old songs: those songs in which a cheery group of comrades on the road gathered beneath the stars. If there were stars, they were totally hidden by the roof of leaves. And except for Lydia and Tich’ki, the comrades were strangers to each other, and not in a very cheery mood.

  Naitachal sat as silently as a black-wrapped statue, a darker part of the night just outside the ring of firelight. Eliathanis, polishing his silvery elf-sword with slow, methodical strokes, light glinting off the blade with each upstroke, was almost as silent, though he kept shooting wary, hostile glances at the Dark Elf. Kevin attempted a few practice scales on his lute, not daring to try any magic lest it fail, just keeping his fingers limber. But he gave up after Tich’ki sneered every time he missed a note. And Lydia prowled round and round their camp like some cautious wild thing until the bardling couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking,” came the short answer, “just checking. Don’t like the idea of something sneaking up on us without us having some way out”

  “Nothing lurks out there.” Naitachal’s soft voice made everyone start. “Nothing living.” With superb timing, the Dark Elf waited till the others had a chance to imagine undead horrors before adding lightly, “Except, of course, for the small, normal creatures of the forest.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Lydia muttered.

  Naitachal glanced up as the woman passed him in her circlings. “There is a rather large skeleton under the leaves just to your left. It was a wolf, I believe, and it is still in fairly good condition. If you wish, Lydia, I can summon it up to stand guard.”

  She gave him a look of sheer horror. “Uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I—”

  “We will have none of your foul sorceries!” Eliathanis’ sword glinted in his hand.

  “You melodramatic fool.” Naitachal’s voice was quietly deadly. “Don’t ever point a weapon at me. Not unless you intend to use it.”

  “Push me too far, Dark Elf, and I will.”

  “Go ahead, White Elf—Try.”

  «I_”

  “Stop that!” Kevin snapped, and both elves turned to him in surprise. “You sound like little boys daring each other to fight! Look, I know you two don’t like each other, but we’re stuck with each other. For the sake of our mission, can’t you declare a truce?”

  Eliathanis frowned sternly.’ 41 is not in elf natures to lie.”

  “Well then at least pretend! And you, Lydia, will you please stop paring? Naitachal told you there’s nothing dangerous out there. We have three Faerie-kin here and five horses; surely one of them will be able to warn us if anything’s approaching.” He glared at them all. “Is that all right with everyone? Yes? Fine! And now, goodnight!”

  There was startled silence. Amazed at his own boldness, Kevin wrapped himself in a blanket, turned away, and curled up to sleep. I didn’t mean to explode like that. But I couldn’t stand listening to that stupid bickering any longer! Charina would have laughed and said—

  Charina, who might not even still be alive. Kevin swallowed hard. You are alive. I—I know it, Charina. You are alive. And we’ll find you, I promise.

  Bit by bit, he managed to relax. All around him was quiet, save for the peaceful chirpings and rustlings of a forest at night, soothing sounds ...

  But just as the bardling was drifting off, timed to exactly the right moment to annoy him the most, Tich’ki murmured, “Cute little puppy dog. Thinks he has fangs!”

  Kevin sat bolt upright. The fairy was watching him from beyond the banked campfire, her green eyes the eyes of a sly predator. As he stared, she smiled. “Sleep well,” Tich’ki whispered, and blew him a kiss.

  Kevin woke, disoriented, somewhere in the small hours of the night There, just barely visible in the darkness, were Naitachal and Tich’ki, talking softly together in the elvish tongue as though they were old friends.

  But as though they felt him watching them, they turned as one—Two pairs of alien eyes, glowing eerily, looked at him, sending a shiver through the bardling at the thought that the darkness was no barrier to them. Why had they been whispering together? The Dark Elf and the perilous fairy: what could they be plotting? Kevin swallowed drily, trying to find an innocuous way to ask them, but before he could open his mouth, Naitachal murmured:

  “Go back to sleep, Kevin.”

  A trace of sorcery must have hidden behind the simple words, because for all his sudden worry, Kevin found himself sliding helplessly back into slumber.

  Chapter VII

  “Oh, hell,” Lydia said.

  For two full days they had been riding through forest so dense Kevin thought that any one of them could have followed the track—The trail had been so overgrown a horse’s body could hardly have kept from breaking telltale branches; there had been no way for the kidnapper to avoid leaving a track, let alone to leave the trail. But the forest had been thinning for some time as the land grew increasingly more rocky.

  And now they had broken out of forest altogether. The trail melted into a series of paths and one true road winding their way through a limestone wilderness, a time-eroded maze of tall, gray-white stone walls.

  “Are we out of luck?” Kevin asked.

  Lydia shrugged. “Can’t follow a trace over solid rock! Still, it’s not all
rock ....”

  She dismounted, searching with her face so close to the ground that the bardling was reminded of a hunting hound searching for an elusive scent.

  “Yes ...” the woman said at last. “This way. I think.”

  They rode on, following the road, the only sounds the creak of saddle leather and the dick of their horses’ hoofs against stone. Kevin glanced at Lydia, not at all happy about the uncertainty he saw on her face.

  The walls of the gorge towered over them as they rode, weighing down his spirit. Staring up at the narrow slash of sky, Kevin couldn’t shake the sense of being a very small, insignificant creature in the middle of a very small, insignificant party—Now that he wasn’t so overwhelmed by the mere thought of adventure, he had to admit that five ... ah ... beings hardly seemed a big enough group to have any hope of success. Yet if the count had sent out any larger expeditions, the bardling hadn’t seen any sign of them.

  I don’t understand that. 1 don’t understand any of that! We don’t even know for sure that whoever we’re following actually has Charina!

  Kevin sighed. None of his doubts were going to matter if he couldn’t hold his team together long enough to accomplish something.

  Team, ha! The last thing they were was a team. Oh, everyone was nicely polite to each other—if you ignored the subtle snipings of White and Dark Elf at each other, or the jibes of Lydia at these silly males, or the nasty little jokes of the fairy.

  The bardling gritted his teeth. Tich’ki seemed to have decided he was the best butt for her humor she’d ever seen. She never said anything out-and-out hostile. Oh no, that would have been too simple! Instead, the fairy would wait till he’d finished practicing a particularly difficult melody on his lute, then ask innocently, “Are you going to actually play something now?” Or worse:

  “When are you going to work some Bardic Magic?” knowing he was too scared of failure to risk trying another spell—Or perhaps she would simply wonder aloud what it was like co be a leader when he hadn’t really had a chance to be one. Anything, Kevin thought, to undermine what little self-confidence he had left!

  The only two who did seem to be getting along were Naitachal and Tich’ki. After that first night, Kevin was still keeping a wary eye on those two, but so far they hadn’t done anything even remotely suspicious.

  Except ... last night, there had been that bizarre whatever-it-had-been. Kevin frowned, remembering how he had caught the Dark Elf and the fairy huddling together mysteriously, so involved in what they were doing they hadn’t even noticed him. The bardling had gotten close enough to hear Tich’ki urge, “Try it again.” And Naitachal had actually responded with, “Pick a card, any card.”

  At that moment, they’d spotted him. The Dark Elf had suddenly straightened, looking important and mysterious, but Kevin could have sworn Naitachal was embarrassed. And hadn’t he caught a glimpse of Tich’ki hastily hiding a fairy-size deck of cards?

  Card tricks? A necromancer learning card tricks?

  It made about as much sense as anything else so far.

  “We’re not still on Count Volmar’s lands, are we?” Kevin asked warily—

  “Hardly.” Lydia glanced up at the sky, judging direction. “I’m pretty sure we’re on the outskirts of crown lands. If we keep riding east like this, we’ll probably wind up in the city of Westerin.”

  “If we get that far.” Eliathanis glanced up at the steep, brooding walls on either side, his usually unreadable eyes glittering with uneasiness.” I don’t like this place. Anyone could be lurking up there.”

  “Claustrophobic el0” Tich’ki taunted. “Scared of the shadows in his mind!”

  The White Elf glared at her. “I’m not imagining things! Westerin is an important trading city, is it not? Thanks to the rocks, this must surely be one of the only roads available for anyone who wishes to reach the city from the west. What better place for an ambush?”

  “Don’t say something like that!” Lydia snapped. “It’s bad—”

  A savage shout from overhead cut into her words.

  “—luck,” she finished ironically, whipping out her sword.

  Kevin didn’t have a chance to act, to think, before a heavy body hurtled into him, hurting him from his horse.

  My lute!

  The bardling twisted frantically sideways to save it as he fell, by luck slamming into earth rather than rock, mail shirt bruising his ribs. Aching and breathless, Kevin struggled to draw his sword, handicapped by the lute case’s strap. The bandit’s face leered into his own, foul-smelling and ugly as an ogre—and as deadly. Kevin saw the man raise the dub that was going to bash out his brains, but he couldn’t get the stupid sword free—

  So the bardling did the only thing he could, smashing his fist up into the ugly face.

  Ow!0h—damn!

  He hadn’t been able to get much force into the blow, not tying sprawled on the ground, but it was enough to send pain flaming up his arm, because he’d connected with the man’s battered helmet, not his face. The bandit grunted in surprise, falling back just enough for the bardling to wriggle free. He squirmed out of the lute case, leaving the instrument safe—please, let it be safe! —behind a rock.

  As Kevin frantically tugged at the hilt of his sword, the weapon came free of its scabbard so suddenly he nearly dropped it Hearing the bandit rushing him, the bardling whirled—and the man impaled himself on the blade.

  For what seemed like an eternity Kevin stared helplessly into his foe’s disbelieving eyes, too horrified to move. Then those eyes glazed and the bandit slowly sagged, nearly dragging the sword from Kevin’s hand. The bardling swallowed hard and pulled the blade free, trying not to look at the blood darkening it, trying not to think about how dreadfully easily metal had slid into flesh. His hand still throbbed with pain, and part of his mind was yammering, It’s broken, it has to be broken! But it wasn’t, not if he could grip the Sword hilt so tightly, and there wasn’t any time to worry about what other damage he might have done.

  Panting, Kevin glanced wildly about. For one confused moment he was reminded of a dog pack dragging down its prey. But these dogs were armed with clubs, knives, and homemade spears—and this prey was fighting back. Lydia, swearing fiercely, sword Hashing, still sat her horse, caking advantage of its greater height, or trying to: the confused, frightened animal, unused to battle, was more of a hindrance than a help. At least its frantic whirling and kicking kept anyone from closing with the woman—Tich’ki, her wings a blur, darted in and out of the battle with waspish speed, her spear jabbing savagely at bandit eyes. The two elves had given up their mounts and stood fighting back to back. White and Dark forgetting their differences for the moment—Eliathanis’ blade shone dear silver, mere human blood unable to stain it, while Naitachal—

  Kevin stared. Naitachal was wielding a night-black sword that seemed to swallow up the light and that laughed softly every time it struck a foe. After the first few blows, the bandits, understandably, cringed away, putting themselves within Lydia’s reach.

  He didn’t have that sword before, I know he didn‘t!

  But the sight of that eerie sorcery reminded the bardling that he, too, had some combat magic. Granted, the song-spell wasn’t strong enough to hurt anyone. All it could do was confuse a foe’s attack. But surely that would help—if the magic would only work for him—

  No, no, there wasn’t time to doubt! Kevin dove for his lute, for a moment terrified that his bruised hand wasn’t going to let him play. Forcing his stiff fingers over the strings, he started at full speed into the opening bars. His voice was almost too dry for song, rasping out desperately, and he knew that even if he did summon his Bardic Magic, it wasn’t going to last long. It didn’t even seem to be coming out right! But something was happening, because the whole battle was beginning to glow a faint but very real blue.

  Oh, great. All I’m doing is making pretty colors!

  “Damned sorcerer!” a voice muttered. Before Kevin could turn, a harsh arm was about his thr
oat, choking him. The bardling lost his grip on the lute, heard it hit the ground—

  Please, please, don’t let it break!

  He kicked back and felt his boot hit bone. The bandit swore, losing his strangling grip. Kevin felt a jolt against his already sore ribs as the man tried to stab him but hit the mail shirt instead. The bardling pulled free, lunging for his sword, then cried out in pain as the bandit kicked it viciously away, tearing the hilt from Kevin’s aching hand. The sword came to rest wedged between two rocks. Kevin and the bandit both scuffled after it, but the bandit got there first, stomping down hard. Tb the bardling’s horror, the sword snapped halfway up the blade.

  For a moment. Kevin and his foe stared at each other, frozen. Then the bandit slowly grinned, revealing a mouthful of ugly teeth.

  “Too bad, boy. I win, you lose!”