“Ha,” Lydia said dourly,
Interlude The Third
Count Volmar sat brooding before the fireplace in his solar, chin resting on fisted hand. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly? As soon as that stupid bardling, that Kevin, was safely gone from the castle, the count had ordered the library emptied down to the bare stone walls, under the guise of giving the place a good cleaning. He had personally examined every volume, no matter how useless or bizarre the contents. By now the newly cleaned books gleamed in the newly cleaned library. But Volmar was willing to swear on every sacred relic that not one of the whole lot was the missing manuscript.
Nobody took it. It didn’t walk out of there by itself. There is no place in that library for the thing to be hiding. Then where is it?
Not that it mattered. None of his plans mattered, not now, not when Carlotta was—
“You idiot! You utter idiot!”
Count Volmar leaped back from his chair with a startled yell, flattening himself against a wall, staring in horror at this sudden apparition. “In—in the Seven Holy Names,” he began, tracing holy signs in the air with a hand that shook, “I bid you begone—”
“Oh, stop that! I’m not a ghost! You can’t exorcise me!”
“Carlotta ... ? Are you ... real?”
“Of course I’m real!” The sorceress threw herself down in a chair in a swirl of green silk, flaming red hair crackling in a cloud about her. “What nonsense are you spouting now?”
“I th-thought you were dead.” Volmar took a deep, steadying breath. “Carlotta, I really did think you were dead.” Returning to his chair, he sat, a little more abruptly than he’d intended. “When your horse returned without you, when the court sages all swore something terrible had happened, something sorcerous—”
“Bah.”
“Well, what did you expect me to think? You’re a sorceress, dammit! Anything powerful enough to overcome you wasn’t going to be content at stopping at a mere kidnapping. I was sure you’d been killed by a demon!” Struggling for control, the count continued, “If you had only deigned to share your plans with me—”
“You never would have been able to play your role so convincingly.” Carlotta’s eyes glinted with scorn. “The boy never would have believed you. This way there was genuine terror in your voice when you told him of poor little Charina’s disappearance.”
“But you were gone so long!”
“Poor frightened little boy!”
“Carlotta—”
“I didn’t have time to hold your hand! Do you imagine it was easy to leave a false track halfway to Westerin?”
“Uh, no, I would think not.”
“Ha! You don’t think, there’s the truth of it!” Carlotta sprang to her feet, green gown rippling about her as she paced. “How could you be so hopelessly, totally stupid?”
Volmar nearly choked himself in the battle to keep from shouting back at her—”What do you mean?” he managed.
“How could you choose that Arachnia!”
What Arachnia? Surely the woman couldn’t be referring to his seneschal. “D’Riksin?” the count asked warily.
Carlotta waved an impatient hand. “Whatever it calls itself. The Arachnia in Westerin!”
“Ah—Yes.” Coldness settled in Volmar’s stomach. Choosing his words very carefully, he began, “Granted, D’Riksin isn’t always the most reliable of my agents, but—”
“Reliable! D’Riksin is a drunken oaf!”
“Well, yes, the creature does drink too much. It’s a shame that alcohol affects the Arachniad system as it does our own. But D’Riksin has never failed me before. Besides, it was already in place in Westerin, it had its orders, and—”
“And it ignored them completely! Yes, yes,” Carlotta added impatiently. “I was watching the whole thing with my magic. That stupid drunken insect was supposed to lead the boy and his party away from this castle, not towards it! And it was not supposed to tell them anything about the manuscript!”
Volmar stared in disbelief. Was that a glint of uneasiness he saw in Carlotta’s eyes? Or could it possibly even be ... fear? Just what strange magic was in that manuscript? Frustrating, to have to rely only on one little scrying crystal! Oh yes, the count knew it was as potent an artifact as someone with no innate magical ability could use, but it was still such a maddeningly inferior thing! He’d only been able to guess at what D’Riksin had been babbling. Something about a spell ... a fairy—..
A fairy?
The count stiffened in sudden comprehension. Struggling to keep the shock from his face, he thought, Of course! No wonder Carlotta had been in hiding for so many years! Once she had recovered her strength after the failed attempt on Amber’s life, she would have sensed the existence of the magical manuscript. Ha, how that must have alarmed her! Volmar supposed Carlotta had been struggling to control the thing from afar, terrified that if she came too close she would spark the magic into life and end everything for her.
And then nasty old Master Aidan decided to up the stakes, as the gamblers say, and send forth manuscript. That forced you out of hiding, Carlotta, didn’t it?
Imagine that. All these years he had been wondering at Carlotta’s uncanny, precocious gift for sorcery when the answer had been so very obvious! Her mysterious, unknown mother hadn’t been human at all!
Volmar only barely stifled a triumphant laugh—If news ever got out that the high and mighty princess-sorceress wasn’t truly human, that she was half fairy .... The law stated quite firmly that no one of fairy blood could ever wear the crown. If she were unmasked, it would turn a sure thing into a very dicey proposition.
Well now, isn’t that interesting? I’ll keep your little secret, Carlotta. After all, if you fail, I fail, too.
But once she gained the throne, once he sat beside her, why then some changes would be made. They would, indeed!
Carlotta was still pacing so restlessly Volmar ached to order her to stand still. “You still haven’t found the manuscript,” she said without warning, and he started. “Don’t look so surprised, man. I was watching you, too.”
All at once the sorceress did stop, staring into the flames, eyes fierce with impatience.” 11 has to be somewhere in the library, of course it does, even if we can’t see it There are such things as Spells of Hiding, after all. But what can be enchanted can be disenchanted. With time. And without interference. Such as that fool of a bardling will provide! Damn him! We must keep him away from the casde!”
“But he’s stuck in Westerin,” Volmar soothed. “My hirelings are hunting for him.”
“Ha! That gang of failures! If they’re anything like your Arachnia, they probably can’t find their own feet!”
“There’s no way the boy can get out of that city,” the count said flatly. “If my men don’t catch him, he’ll wind up in prison or—”
“I don’t believe that for a moment! So far the boy’s had uncanny luck, and there’s no reason for things to be different now.”
“Can’t you ... ah ... remove him—”
“Kill him, you mean? From this far away?” Carlotta gave a fierce little laugh. “I’m not a goddess, man! No mortal can throw a death-spell that far! Besides,” she added thoughtfully, “I’m not sure I want him dead ... not quite yet ... not till I have rime to lay a proper trap for him. One to catch both the boy and the manuscript ... yes!”
She whirled to stare at the count, eyes wide and radiant with a cold, alien light. “You may watch this, Volmar. But do not move from that spot. Do not utter one word. On your life, do not seek to interfere.”
Interfere with sorcery? Did she think him insane? “Of course not,” the count said fervently.
What it was Carlotta murmured, Volmar had no idea. He wasn’t even sure of the language. But each precisely uttered syllable seemed to ring in his ears long after it was spoken, seemed to prickle along his arms and ache in his bones till he longed to turn and run. But that, Volmar knew, would be the end of him, so he stood and wa
tched and endured. And just barely kept from crying out his shock when the firelight all at once went hard and slick as ice. Or a mirror.
A mirror, indeed, though what it reflected ... Not daring to move from where he stood, Volmar peered over Carlotta’s shoulder to see a the figure of a man suddenly come into sharp focus, seen as clearly as though through an open window.
Now, who ... ?
No youngster, this—He was a fully human man—or at least appeared to be—somewhere in late middle age, his thick-set, powerful form half-hidden by the folds of a black cloak. Its hood nearly hid the severe, harshly planed face and its graying beard. The stranger’s eyes were gray, too, blazing out from the hood’s shadow with sorcerous force. But an ageless weariness was there as well. As though. Volmar thought uneasily, their owner had tried and been bored by every depravity known to humanity.
Whoever, whatever he was, the man plainly knew Carlotta. No warmth lightened the terrible eyes, but he dipped his head, almost reluctantly, in reverence.
“Princess.” The words were faint but clear. “What would you?”
“You have not forgotten, have you, Alatan? You have not forgotten your debt to me?”
The gray eyes flickered angrily. “No. I have not. The fools would have burned me as a sorcerer had you not intervened. Name what you would of me, Princess Carlotta. It shall be done.”
“It shall, indeed,” the sorceress purred. “Listen, then.” She slipped back into the alien language with which she’d created the flame-mirror. The language of sorcery, Volmar thought, and wished with all his heart he was somewhere else.
But he didn’t dare be squeamish. Not if he meant to sit beside Carlotta on the throne.
As the sorceress continued to give her orders to the reluctantly obedient Alatan, Count Volmar forced himself to stand proudly as any king.
But once Carlotta had banished the mirror-spell, and the flames were nothing more than flames, he let himself sag—
“Who is this Alatan?” he dared ask.
“Anally, willy-nilly.”
“He said you saved him from burning as a sorcerer.” Volmar said it doubtfully; charity hardly seemed pan of Carlotta’s character—”Someone falsely accused him, I take it?”
Carlotta’s smile was deceptively sweet. “Oh no. Alatan is a sorcerer, indeed. A most powerful, most unpleasant one. Poor Kevin!” she added. “I Find I almost ... pity him!”
Chapter XIII
Kevin sighed. He and the rest of his group had been trying for what seemed like an age to find a gate out of Westerin: a gate that wasn’t watched over either by the gang or the guards. So far they hadn’t succeeded. After all this hunting, his feet hurt, his lute seemed to have picked up extra weight, his stomach was clamoring for food—and now the night was coming on.
“I think all we can do,” he said wearily as they regrouped in the small, ruined square, “is find a place to spend the night and try to see if we can’t figure out a way to get out of here in the morning.”
“Good idea.” Lydia grinned ruefully. “I can go all day on sea or land, but these cobblestones are cursed hard on the feet!”
“It is going to look rather suspicious if we all march into an inn together,” Naitachal pointed out. “We’re not exactly an ordinary mix of people.”
“That’s no problem to me.” Tich’ki laughed, fluttering her wings. “All I need is a window, and I’m in!”
“The same is true of Naitachal and me,” Eliathanis added. “We are elves, not clumsy humans.”
“Ill remind you of that the next time you trip over something,” Lydia muttered.
“I never—”
The bardling held up a warning hand. “First we find an inn. Then we quarrel!”
That got grudging chuckles from everyone.
Well, what do you know? the pleased Kevin told himself. Maybe I am starting to get the knack of being a leader! But before he could congratulate himself too much, a shout from the far side of the square made them all start and whirl.
Oh-no, not now.
“Well, well,” murmured Lydia. “Look who found us. It’s the Gang of Things.”
“Ugly, aren’t they?” Tich’ki mocked. “Bet they make even uglier corpses.”
Kevin couldn’t be so casual about it. Somewhere along the way. Empty Eyes had picked up a few more supporters. “There are ten of them,” he pointed out to Lydia and Tich’ki, “and only five of us.”
“They are also,” the warrior woman reminded Kevin, “nicely within bowshot.” She nocked arrow to bow in one swift, fluid movement. “Come on,” Lydia taunted the enemy. “Come and die.”
“You have only the one bow, woman,” Empty Eyes purred. “And I have some tricks of my own.”
Faster than a striking snake, he thrust out his hand, shouting out a savage Word of Power. Lydia cried out in shock as her bowstring snapped in two.
“That’s better,” Empty Eyes said. “Take them!”
Kevin had barely enough time to whip out his sword before the gang was upon them. They’ve got swords! a startled part of his mind noted. What’s a street gang doing with something as expensive as swords?
They had to be in someone’s pay. Selden? No, he had the guards at his beck and call. Then who ... ?
No time to worry about it. Ten against five was terrible odds, no matter what Lydia and Tich’ki thought.
Naitachal had summoned up his sorcerous black blade again—but Empty Eyes only laughed, moving to counter its attack with a dead gray blade of his own. Naitachal’s eyes widened in surprise and the other elf laughed anew.
“That’s right. Dark Elf. Some of us have played with sorcery, too.”
Kevin lost the rest of chat conversation as a sinuous being that seemed some unholy cross of man and snake lunged at him, sword in scaly hand. The bardling parried, two-handed, just in time, the shock of impact shivering all the way up to his shoulders. He staggered back, closely followed by his foe, who moved every bit as fluidly and unpredictably as a serpent.
I don’t know what style of fencing he’s using! I—I’ve never seen it before and I don’t know how—
Kevin’s frantic thought ended in a gasp as he came up hard against the rim of the fountain. The being grinned at him, a flash of alarmingly sharp fangs, and lunged yet again. Trapped, Kevin did the only thing he could, and leaped up onto the rim, slashing down at the being, who was cutting savagely at his legs. Suddenly inspired, Kevin sprang aside and down, into (he wide basin of the fountain, just as the being lunged. The creature’s blade danged harshly against stone, and Kevin, remembering the bandit back in the rocky gorge, hastily brought his foot down on the flat of the blade as hard as he could.
There was a gratifying snap. The being hissed—his tongue narrow and forked as that of a snake—and hurled the broken sword at Kevin’s head. The bardling ducked, tripped over rubble in the basin, and went flat, narrowly missing cracking his skull against stone. Before he could catch his breath, the being came hurling down at him. The bardling grabbed a sinuous wrist, slippery with scales, and kicked upward. The being went flying over Kevin’s head, landing with a crash on the cobblestones. The bardling scrambled out of the fountain, thinking in delighted wonder. Hey, that really does work!
He wound up just behind the grim Naitachal and Empty Eyes, even as the Dark Elf countered a vicious cut at his head. As sorcerous black and gray blades clashed together, fountains of blood red sparks flew up, casting an eerie, fiery glow over the square.
“Sorcerous games,” Naitachal panted. “Some of us haven’t let those games destroy our souls.”
“Souls?” Empty Eyes taunted. “What are human things like souls for such as we?”
“You are not like me, you pathetic thing! You. who’ve forgotten your own kind!”
“No more than you, Dark Elf,” Empty Eyes retorted, and lunged.
Once more, fiery sparks lit up the square. Kevin glanced up at the surrounding houses. Didn’t anyone hear or see what was going on? Didn’t anyone care?
Someone did. From one side came the sound of running footsteps and the dashing of mail.
“Oh hell,” Lydia said. “Just what we needed: the guards. Come on, guys, no time for heroics now. Let’s get out of here!”
The gang, equally illegal, thought the same thing, scattering in all directions. Empty Eyes, panting, paused long enough to hurl his gray sword at Naitachal, but the Dark Elf struck it cleanly with his black blade. Both sorcerous things blazed up in a blinding surge of bloody light and were gone. Oh, blast, Kevin thought, why was I looking that way just then ?
Vision dazzled, afterimages dancing before his eyes, Kevin staggered away as best he could, stumbling over the broken cobblestones. He gasped when someone grabbed his arm and tried to strike out, but a familiar voice said:
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