Castle of Deception bt-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  Tich’ki grinned, unabashed. “Now why would a fairy deign to protect someone?”

  “Why, indeed?” The Dark Elf’s voice dripped sarcasm—”Let the weak get what they deserve, eh?”

  “Ha!” the fairy exploded. “Never knew your folks to be concerned with protecting anyone, either!”

  “Point taken.”

  “Tich’ki,” Lydia cut in, “couldn’t you use fairy magic, though, against Carlotta?”

  “How? By influencing her mind, the way I did to those guards?” Tich’ki shivered, wrapping her wings about her. “Not a chance. Look you, I know my limitations—If that really is Carlotta, she’d shrivel me like a moth in a flame.”

  “Never mind.” Naitachal glanced at Kevin. “I’m sure you realize that when our White Elf friend mentioned armor, he didn’t mean armor against anything as simple as swords.”

  “Uh.-.no.”

  “I admit I’m not the most experienced of magicians when it comes to protective spells, as our dear Tich’ki so kindly reminded me.”

  She Uttered.

  “But I shall do my best,” the Dark Elf continued. “And,” he added wryly, “I promise not to damage you in the process.” Naitachal paused, then gave a heartfelt sigh. “It’s not going to be an easy thing; if I make the spells too obvious, Charina, Carlotta will be sure to sense them. Hey-ho, who needs sleep?” He glanced at the others—”But those spells are for defensive purposes. Now let’s plan what we’re going to do about fighting back.”

  “Kevin shouldn’t be left alone for a moment,” Eliathanis suggested.

  “That’s easy to say,” Lydia retorted. “I have a feeling that if Charina 01—Carlotta or whatever she wants to call herself really is worried about that manuscript, she’s some to concentrate all her attention on Kevin.”

  “All we can do is our best,” the White Elf said simply, and Tich'ki snickered.

  “Might have known you’d say something ail fine and noble and useless. Never mind the pretty words, elf! We’ve got some concrete plans to make: what we’re going to do if the ... ah ...witch tries to isolate our boy here; what we’re going to do if she asks him about the manuscript or makes him go get it—that sort of thing. All the nice, practical details.”

  Kevin nodded in fervent approval. “By all means, let’s be practical!”

  He and the others sat and plotted for some time. At last, satisfied with the results, Naitachal straightened in his chair.

  “All right, enough of this. We all know our roles. Now, I have work to do. Lydia, Eliathanis, Tich’ki, if you can’t help me cast spells, you can at least raid the kitchen and castle gardens and get me the components I’ll need.”

  The Dark Elf rattled off a list of ingredients. Some of them, like rosemary, Kevin recognized; it was a common element of the protective amulets people wore back in Bracklin. Other items bewildered him totally.

  “Naitachal? I didn’t know AAoi had any magical properties.”

  Naitachal’s smile was wry. “That’s for me, boy, not for you. This is going to be one long night’s work, and I don’t want to risk falling asleep in the middle of it Oh, and by the way,” he added sharply, catching the others in a warning stare, “once I begin that work, I do not wish to be interrupted. Understood?”

  “Totally.” Lydia grinned. “After all, some of us have to look pretty in the morning!”

  She dodged as Naitachal threw a pillow at her, and scurried out of the room, her laughter trailing behind her.

  Interlude The Fifth

  The night was late, at the very witching hour, and very dark, moonless and still, without the faintest breath of wind. Not a sound was to be heard without Count Volmar’s casde save for the faint footsteps and chinking of mail of the guards wearily trudging back and forth up on the ramparts. Their torches were small, flickering things barely cutting through the vast mass of darkness.

  Within the casde, silence reigned as well. All slept—

  Or almost all. Cloistered in Count Volmar’s solar, two people sat in secret conference, sharing a midnight flagon of mulled wine.

  Hands cupped about his warm goblet, Volmar chuckled suddenly. “Now you have to admit,” he said, glancing over at Carlotta, “that things are going nicely. Very nicely, indeed.”

  The sorceress, in her rightful form once more, red hair pouring over her shoulders and green gown like a stream of flame, stared broodingly down into her own goblet. “So far.”

  “Oh my dear princess, don’t be so wary! Kevin may bear the seeds of Bardic Magic as you say, but he is still only a boy. So far it’s been ridiculously easy for me to quite overwhelm him with riches and the trappings of power, you must admit.”

  Carlotta glanced up at that, her smile wry, “Granted. Between the two of us, he hasn’t even had a chance to think.”

  “Exactly. And I intend to go right on overwhelming him.”

  The sorceress stretched wearily, graceful as a predator. “Ay me, and I will endure being simpering little Charina a bit longer, and continue casting my beguilements and love-spells on the boy.”

  Volmar pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Now that’s something I don’t understand. Carlotta, you know there’s such a thing as too much caution. Why don’t you just enthrall the boy in one quick burst of sorcery and be done with it?”

  Her eyes flashed in sudden angry warning. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only spells I dare use are subtle ones.”

  “But why? Surely you can—”

  “Surely I can tell you not to meddle! Have you forgotten about that Dark Elf?”

  The one you thought dead? Volmar thought but didn’t dare say aloud—”No, of course not But—”

  Carlotta’s hands tightened about her goblet “Magic leaves a distinctive feel, if one has sufficient training to identify it. One magician can almost always recognize another in action, no matter which sorcerous disciplines are involved, no matter how many cloaking spells are used. I had a nervous enough moment when that elf first saw me; I swear he nearly sensed who and what I am on the spot. I only just managed to project enough girlish innocence to distract him.”

  The sorceress paused. staring at Volmar.” I don’t have to remind you that I don’t want my true identity discovered yet, not by anyone. The elf is a skillful necromancer, no doubt about it And that makes him Talented enough to detect the working of any strong magics by anyone. And so I must limit myself to subtle spells.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh, don’t misjudge me!” Carlotta smiled without humor. “The spells may be subtle, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t powerful. And their effect, I might add, is nicely accumulative.”

  “Ah, clever. Between the two of us, we should have the boy beautifully cooperative before the week is out.’’

  The woman’s smile thinned ever so slightly. “I should think so. Assuming, of course, that you don’t make some mistake.”

  “I won’t,” Volmar said as casually as he could. “And once he’s under our control, of course he’ll go fetch us his manuscript”

  “Ah, yes. That’s going to be the true test of his enthrallment Rather than doing the copying himself the boy must be persuaded to surrender the manuscript to one of your scribes, then let our messenger carry that copy off to his cursed Master”

  The count frowned. “That’s not going to be easy. He’s such a disgustingly honorable boy.” He raised a hopeful brow. “That isn’t something that’s going to change once he’s enthralled, is it?”

  “No. Such spells delude and lull the will, but they can’t change a person’s inner self.” Carlotta paused. “But the boy is, as you say, still very young. If we’re careful, we should be able to so beguile him that he forgets duty. Then hell be quite willing to let the messenger have the copy of the manuscript—so that he, himself, can continue enjoying this so very flattering noble hospitality.”

  Volmar sat bolt upright “Ha, I have it! If he seems reluctant, all we need to do is propose that he marry Charina.”

  “Hewfwtr. />
  Volmar laughed. “The poor fool is too unworldly to realize I’d never let my ward marry a mere nothing. He’ll take the whole thing quite seriously. And then, of course, there will be no way he can take the copy of the manuscript back to his Master, he’ll be too busy with wedding preparations even to consider doing the copy himself!”

  Carlotta raised her goblet in a wry toast “I like it A maximum of result from a minimum of effort Oh yes, I like it. Ah, poor Kevin,” she crooned, “poor little bardling. You don’t stand a chance!”

  Chapter XVIX

  Something that sounded like a giant mosquito was droning away in his ears. Kevin came awake with a start, ready to swat whatever. But then he sank back in his chair, realizing it was just the residue of yet another spell.

  The bardling rubbed a tired hand over his face. Naitachal had been right: it was turning into a long, weary night’s work, even if it was the Dark Elf who had to do most of that work.

  Whatever it is that he’s doing.

  There had been a confusing barrage of spells so far, some of them briefly entangling Kevin in a whispery net of sound, some of them blanketing him in comforting warmth, some of them—the bardling shook his head. He couldn’t even interpret how some of them had felt

  “Naitachal?”

  “Stay still.” The Dark Elf’s voice was thick with fatigue. “Only a few more to go.’’

  “Can’t you stop and rest? I mean, I know I’ve been asleep half the time, but you haven’t had a chance to so much as close your eyes.”

  Naitachal smiled wryly. “Thank you for your concern, but the sooner I finish the lot, the happier I’ll fed.”

  He began murmuring incomprehensible spellwords once more, and Kevin sighed, feeling a new tingling traveling all through him, a soothing sort of sensation, odd, but not at all alarming ... not at all ...

  As the bardling relaxed, his eyes slid closed once more ....

  This time it was the total absence of strange sensations that woke him. Kevin straightened in his chair, blinking in confusion at the faint gray light of not-quite morning.

  Morning! Powers, had the Dark Elf been working through the whole night without a pause? He glanced towards where Naitachal was slumped in his own chair, eyes shut.

  Wish I could just let him sleep; he’s certainly earned it!

  But they’d both agreed it wasn’t such a good idea for anyone to think they’d been conspiring together.

  “Naitachal?” Kevin whispered, then repeated, a little more forcefully: “Naitachal!”

  The Dark Elf opened his eyes with a groan. “Yes. I’m awake.” He staggered up from the chair, straightening carefully, adding with wry humor, “So weary I could sleep on my feet like a horse, but awake,”

  “You look terrible. I wish you didn’t have to wear yourself out like this.”

  “Ae-ye, no one ever said magic was easy. At least this way the sorceress isn’t going to be able to turn you into her love slave.”

  Kevin assumed that was meant to be a joke.

  Naitachal stretched every muscle, plainly trying to force some energy back into himself, then ran his fingers through his pale, tangled mane. “Remember, though, that these are only faint copies of true protective spells I’ve cast over you. Don’t expect too much of them. I don’t dare put too blatantly powerful magics upon you. Carlotta would be sure to sense them. But what may be lacking in force, I’m making up in volume.” The weary blue eyes suddenly darkened with worry,” I hope.’’

  “I can do it,” the bardling assured him, trying to sound more certain than he felt.

  “Again, I hope.” Naitachal hit back a third yawn. “Ay me, I’d best get back to my own room before I fall over. Or before the servants start wondering what’s going on. Till later, Kevin.”

  “Till later,” the bardling echoed uneasily.

  “What’s wrong with Naitachal?” Lydia, who’d shed her finery for more comfortable tunic and breeches, whispered that to Kevin as they stood on a wide casde balcony pretending to be engrossed in an archery contest taking place in the courtyard below.

  Kevin stole a wary glance back to where the Dark Elf sat in as much concealing shadow as he could find up here on this sunny morning. Naitachal’s black cloak was wrapped tightly about his slender form, the hood pulled forward to hide his face, making him look like a truly sinister figure, a sliver of Darkness amid the Light —but Kevin suspected the Dark Elf was actually just asleep with his eyes open.

  “What do you think?” the bardling retorted softly. He applauded politely as one of the archers down in the courtyard below scored a near bull’s-eye. “He was up all night casting spells on me.”

  “Ah. Right Of course. Feel any different?”

  “No, but—”

  “Oh, nice shot!” the woman called out She added so softly only Kevin could hear, “Not a decent archer in the lot. Huh, and look at the way Charina’s eying you from the doorway, like a cat watching a tasty little fish.”

  This fish has some surprises in store, Kevin thought, or at least I hope I do.

  The idea that the pretty young woman approaching him might really be a murderous sorceress seemed impossible on such a bright, sunny day. And yet ... A sudden nervous prickle racing up his spine, Kevin got courteously to his feet to bow to Charina. Or whoever she really was.

  “My lady.”

  “My! So formal!” Charina’s glance at Lydia was ever so subtly edged with contempt as she took in the woman’s warrior garb. “What’s this? I should think you would be down there, too. Lady Lydia. Are you not an archer?”

  To Kevin’s ears, she made that occupation sound as unsuitable for a lady as pig-farming. Lydia couldn’t have missed the snub, but she only laughed. “Oh, I hardly thought it fair to compete. I mean, I’m not one of the count’s people.”

  “But surely you would like a chance to demonstrate your skills.” It was a very thinly veiled command.

  Lydia only shrugged. “Nope! Much nicer just to sit and watch. Besides, at such a short distance how could I miss? Right, Kevin?”

  Thank you, Lydia! he thought gratefully. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone with Charina. “Uh, right.”

  “Ah, but I think you really should go down there,” a suave voice purred. Kevin saw Lydia tense as Count Volmar stepped forward to take her arm. “My dear young lady, you would hardly wish to deprive us of the pleasure of watching a true professional at work, now, would you?”

  She shrugged free of the count’s grip. “I’ll say the same thing I told the Lady Charina: it doesn’t seem fair. I mean, how is it going to look if a mere mercenary like myself beats your guys?”

  “That hardly seems likely,” the count muttered, miffed. “My archers are not exactly children. But please,” he added, urbane smile returning, “do give us a chance to judge your skill for ourselves.”

  It wasn’t a request. With a sigh and a glance at Kevin, Lydia shouldered her bow and went down to join the other archers. Charina moved closer to the bardling with a pleased little coo. But before she could take his arm, a cheerful voice called out:

  “How goes it, my lords, my lady?”

  “Eliathanis!” Kevin cried in relief.

  The White Elf swept down into a bow far more graceful than any human could have managed. Slanted eyes glinting with wry amusement, he said, “What a fine day for an archery contest! Ah, I see our own Lydia is among the contestants.”

  “You would have a better view of them down there,” Charina suggested, but Eliathanis only smiled.

  “Why, no, lady, if you will forgive me for correcting you. I have a much better view from up here. A better view of ... everything.” Fair face impassive, the elf crossed his arms with the air of someone who has no intention of moving or being moved.

  That’s all well and good, Kevin thought uneasily, seeing the anger flickering in Charina’s eyes. Apparently she and the count thought more forceful measures would be out of character just now. But you, and Lydia and Naitachal can’t keep
watching over me forever.

  Sooner or later, danger or no, the bardling knew he was going to have to face the sorceress all by himself.

  It was sooner. That night Kevin found a guard at his door “to protect him from unwelcome disturbances.”

  In the days that passed, the bardling caught no more than distant glimpses of his friends. But, he tried to convince himself, there was something comforting in knowing that they were taking turns watching over him, even from afar.

  Not that mere watching was going to do any good if the sorceress decided to attack.

  Ah, yes, but Charina wasn’t showing any more interest in the bardling than a properly brought-up young lady might show in a young man she fancied. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the undercurrent of uneasiness running through his mind, Kevin knew he probably would have enjoyed her attention. Or even, amazing thought, to have become a little surfeited by it Somehow Charina was managing to almost always be at his side, the very image of a slightly spoiled but charming niece to a count, cooing and fluttering until the bardling found himself wondering just why he’d been foolish enough to be attracted to her in the first place. But then, I didn’t really have a choice about it. It—wasn’t realty Charina I was attracted to after all. Or at least f don’t think it was.