Castle of Deception bt-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  But what a weird spell it seemed to be! Kevin, curious, showed Naitachal one elfish glyph, and wasn’t really surprised when the Dark Elf shook his head.

  “It looks something like elfish, yes, but you must have made some mistake. That odd notation just to the left of the glyph doesn’t belong to any dialect of elfish I know!”

  “That’s just the way it’s written in the manuscript!” Kevin protested. “See—Ah, never mind, I forgot I’m the only one who can see it”

  Just what he needed; another worry, this one that somehow he was copying the whole thing wrong, making the spell useless! But there wasn’t anything to do but continue.

  And at last, at their next brief sanctuary, Kevin breathed a great sigh of relief. “It’s done. I’ve got the whole spell copied out. Naitachal, now you can. Naitachal?”

  The Dark Elf was sagging against a tree, as though all at once coo weak to move. “It’s nothing ... a moment’s dizziness.”

  “Nothing, hell!” Lydia erupted. “It’s that arm of yours, isn’t k?”

  She made a move towards it, but Naitachal waved her away. “We don’t have the time for this.” He stepped away from the tree, now quite steady on his feet “Let me see the spell,” Taking the scrap of parchment from the bardling, he added, “Once I have it memorized—”

  The Dark Elf stopped dead. “What in the name of all the Powers is this thing? This matches no spell I’ve ever seen! All these weird notations ...”

  Kevin straightened so suddenly he nearly rapped his head on a low branch. “Notations,” he echoed. “Regular notations in front of every word—.. what if ...?” Suddenly wild with suspense, the bardling cried, “Let me see that again! Yes ... yes ... Dear Powers, yes! I never stopped to really think about what I was copying but: do you know what these notations are? They’re music notes’. This isn’t elfish at all. No, no, it’s Bardic Magic, and this spell is meant to be sung!”

  Naitachal’s eyes flashed with excitement. “0f course it is! I should have realized—But it’s also untried. You realize what that means, don’t you?”

  “That it’s dangerous ... ?”

  “Oh, indeed. You will have to get very close to Carlotta to even try it. And then, if it backlashes, as some spells do, it could kill you. If it doesn’t work at all, Carlotta certainly will kill you!”

  After all that had happened so far, Kevin knew he no longer thought of himself as a hero. not even as being very brave. But bravery had very little to do with this. Carlotta had killed a friend, and would surely kill many, many more people if she made her bid for power.

  “I’ll deliver the spell,” the bardling said quietly, “no matter what it costs.”

  “Sure, but how?” Lydia asked. “We’re stuck here in the forest, and even though we haven’t seen a trace of (hose damned persistent trackers—”

  “We’ve shaken them,” Tich’ki interrupted—

  “You dunk. I’m pretty sure they’re still after us.”

  “And we cannot risk letting ourselves be captured.” Naitachal’s voice was all at once so thick with strain that Kevin stared at him in alarm.

  “Are you—”

  “Yes, yes,” the Dark Elf said impatiently. “I’m fine. As fine as one can be without enough to eat or enough time to rest.” Naitachal made what was obviously a mighty effort to rouse himself. “If we are taken, there is a good chance none of us will live long enough to even see Carlotta.”

  “True.” Lydia shrugged. “What will be, as the saying goes, will be. It looks like the only thing we can do is just go on, and hope we meet up with someone along the way who can help us.”

  “Time for scouting duty!” Tich’ki said wryly, and darted ahead.

  As Kevin and Lydia followed on foot, Lydia whispered in the bardling’s ear, “I don’t like the looks of Naitachal. If he isn’t ill, I’ll trade my sword for a loom.”

  “I know,” Kevin murmured. “Even his eyes look funny.”

  “Yeah. Fever-glazed.”

  “Lydia! We’ve got to do something!”

  “Got any suggestions? He denies there’s anything wrong, and he won’t even let me look at his arm.” The woman gave a wry little shrug. “It’s that damned sorcerer’s pride.”

  And as the day progressed, it was surely only a sorcerer’s will that kept Naitachal going. But all at once a fallen branch twisted under the Dark Elf’s foot. As he struggled to catch his balance, his wounded arm struck against a tree trunk. With a choked cry, the Dark Elf collapsed to one knee.

  “Oh hell.” Lydia tore at the makeshift bandage even as Naitachal weakly tried to fend her off. “Stop fighting me! You’re burning up with fever and—Oh hell,” she repeated helplessly, staring.

  Naitachal’s dark skin hid any sign of inflammation, but the swelling around the still raw-looking gash was obvious even to the untrained Kevin.

  “Wound-fever,” Lydia murmured. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “What could I say? What could you do?”

  “I could have done something’. I knew the brandy wasn’t enough. Why didn’t I—”

  “No. This is not your fault, Lydia.” Naitachal sighed.

  “My people have somewhat more immunity to iron wounds than do the White Elves, possibly from living as close as we do to the inner Earth Dark. But such things are still perilous to us.”

  “You still should have said—”

  “No.” Naitachal struggled to his feet. “To stop is to die, as simply as that Come. I will keep up.”

  “I doubt it.” Lydia muttered under her breath. “There’s a limit even to a sorcerer’s will.”

  “I will keep up,” the Dark Elf repeated flatly.

  Just then, Tich’ki came whirring back. “Strangers! A whole troop of people and wagons up ahead!”

  “Wagons!” Lydia shook her head, puzzled. “Can’t be soldiers or those cursed trackers. Tich’ki—”

  “I know. Find out more about them. I’m gone.”

  She was back within a short time. “Forget any help from them. They’re nothing but some traveling minstrels.”

  “Bah.” Lydia turned away in disgust “They’re useless.”

  But Kevin, moved by a sudden wild hope, told Tich’ki, “Go on. What else can you tell us about them?”

  The fairy shrugged in mid-air. “What can I say? They’re a colorful lot, and their leader’s a sharp-faced fellow with bright green eyes.”

  Kevin started. It couldn’t be, could it ... ?”D-did you happen to catch his name?”

  “Ber-something, I think.”

  “Berak?”

  “That’s it!” The fairy stared at him. “You know him?”

  “In a way.” Stumbling over his words in sudden ‘eagerness. Kevin stammered, “L-listen, everyone:

  Berak and his troupe is—are—friends of Master Aidan. We can hide with them for a while!”

  “Look,” Lydia said shortly, “we’ve been lied to and tricked along every step of this little adventure of ours. Do you really think we can trust them?”

  “We can! I can be fooled, even you can be fooled, but my Master’s a full Bard. No one’s going to fool him. Come on! Maybe we can actually beg a hot meal out of Berak—And he and the troupe might even have some valuable news to share!”

  Lydia shrugged. “On your head be it, kid!”

  For one brief, startling moment, Kevin could have sworn no time at all had passed since he’d first left Bracklin. There were the same gaudy red and blue wagons, the same cluster of brightly dressed men, women and children gathered around a communal campfire, and the bardling was overwhelmed by such a sudden surge of homesickness he nearly staggered. There was Berak, exuberant and arrogant as ever, pacing restlessly back and forth, as though he bore too much pent-up energy to be still.

  He stopped short, staring at Kevin. “Ha! So there you are!”

  “You ... were expecting me?”

  “Oh, eventually! At least I was hoping you’d show up! You’ve been stirring up enough excitem
ent in recent days for a dozen bardlings.” The sharp green eyes noted Naitachal—completely hidden in his by now tattered black cloak—and came to rest on Lydia. Berak swept down in a theatrical bow. “I had no idea you were traveling in the company of such a lovely lady.”

  “Ha,” Lydia said, but to Kevin’s astonishment, she reddened slightly anyhow.

  “Ah, but from the looks of the lot of you,” Berak continued without missing a beat, “you could use a good meal. Come, join us.”

  But Naitachal never moved. “Kevin,” he said faintly, “Remember when I boasted I could keep up? I can’t. In fact,” the Dark Elf added, swaying slightly, “if I don’t sit down, right now, I think I may do something foolish. Like faint.”

  Kevin and Lydia caught him just in time. In the next moment, they were surrounded by the minstrel troupe, helping hands reaching out. Berak wormed his way through the crowd and slipped a supporting arm around the Dark Elf

  “Back off!” he shouted to the others. “Give the man room to breathe! You and you, drag that bench over here. Someone go get Seritha. And you ...”

  Berak’s voice faltered for an instant as Naitachal’s hood slipped back, revealing his unmistakably Dark Elf features. But then the minstrel shrugged and shouted, “Seritha! Seritha, hurry!” He added to Naitachal, helping him to the bench, “She’s our Healer. Have you up and well in no time.”

  To Kevin’s surprise, Seritha turned out to be the plump, motherly woman he’d first seen in buttercup yellow: hardly the sort, he thought, to harbor any sort of Power. But she laid bare the arrow gash with quiet skill. And as soon as she placed her hands on the wound, Kevin saw Power well up about her, encircle her in a pale blue cloud, brightening to dazzling blue-white where her hands touched Naitachal’s arm. The bardling thought he saw unhealthy flesh slough away under that touch, and felt his too-empty stomach lurch in protest. He hastily turned away, but after a time sheer curiosity made him look once more.

  Seritha, looking worn but satisfied, was straightening—Naitachal, eyes wild with relief, was getting to his feet—and not a mark marred the smooth skin of his arm. At Seritha’s wave, a little boy brought them flagons of something that smelled sharply herbal and was presumably strength-restoring. Both Healer and Dark Elf drank thirstily then smiled at each other. Naitachal bowed.

  “I am forever in your debt, lady.”

  She beamed. “I’m hardly a lady. And I only did what any Healer should do.” Seritha made a shooing gesture with both hands. “Off with you now. Go reassure your friends.”

  Naitachal grinned. “I hear and obey!”

  As the Dark Elf approached, Kevin asked breathlessly, “How—how do you feel?”

  “Healed. Absolutely, totally healed.”

  “Now that’s truly amazing,” Lydia said. “I never thought an ordinary human could wield that type of Power.”

  “No,” the Dark Elf murmured thoughtfully, “neither did I.” His glance locked with that of Berak. But then Naitachal shrugged. “So be it,” he said, so meaningfully Kevin could have sworn he’d meant to say, I’ll keep your secret.

  What secret? What was going on between those two?

  But then the wonderful aroma of roasting meat hit his nostrils, and Kevin forgot all about secrets for the moment

  “Don’t gobble,” Lydia warned him. “Your stomach’s shrunk. You’ll make yourself ill.”

  Oh, but it was a struggle not to wolf down the meat and bread and cheese, the wine and sweetmeats. At last, feeling alive again for the first time in he didn’t know how many days, Kevin sat back with a contented sigh.

  “My friends,” he told the minstrels, “we can’t possibly repay this.”

  They laughed. “No need! No need!”

  “But,” the bardling added, as casually as he could, “we ... ah ... separated a good many days ago.”

  “Separated!” someone teased. “You ran off, is what happened!”

  “Uh, well, yes,” Kevin admitted reluctantly, aware of Lydia’s amused glance. “But now, what have you been doing since then? Have any news?”

  Berak shrugged. “Old news by now. Count Volmar is going to be hosting a major fair at his castle shortly.”

  “And we’re to perform at it,” a boy piped up. “Before the count himself!”

  Berak grinned. “That’s right, Riki. Before the count himself.” His grin faded slightly as he turned back to Kevin—”You know, there are odd rumors these days. Rumors that Count Volmar is going to make some sort of major announcement—You know anything about that?”

  “N-no. Not really.”

  “Indeed. Well, rumor or no, the truth is that certainly every liegeman and ally the count has is streaming in for the grand event. Whatever it may be.”

  Kevin met Berak’s inquisitive stare as innocently as he could. Forcing a grin, the bardling said, “Well, it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, we’ll spend the night here with your people.”

  Berak was plainly disappointed not to have learned any deep secrets from his guests, but he bowed from the waist. “Our camp is, of course, your camp. Make yourselves at home.”

  As soon as they were alone in the shelter of a wagon, Tich’ki popped out of hiding. “You could have slipped me more food!” she complained to Lydia.

  “And have everyone wonder why I was feeding my hair?”

  Naitachal ignored them. “What of Berak’s news? That sounded truly ominous to me.”

  “Me, too,” Kevin agreed. “This isn’t just some little tourney the count decided to throw, not if he’s calling in all his allies to hear some grand declaration.”

  “Exactly.” The Dark Elf frowned. “It just might be that Volmar is gambling on Carlotta’s behalf, staking all, as the saying goes, on one throw of the dice.”

  “If that’s true,” Lydia mused, “then losing one Hole bardling—sorry, Kevin—and one spell isn’t going to stop them. They must have had this plan in motion for months.”

  “Sure,” the bardling added, “and I’m one very small fly in the ointment—One they think they can afford to remove at their leisure.” He fought down the surge of indignant pride: he was small and insignificant—so far. “This could be just the chance we need to deliver the spell.”

  “If we can take these folk into our confidence,” Naitachal said.

  “If we dare,” Lydia muttered.

  “If we can,” Kevin added quietly, “in good conscience expose them to our own danger.”

  “Ah. Well. There is that.”

  The bardling glanced at the others. “I think the best thing is for you to split up and go into hiding, first off.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lydia said. “We’re not going to—”

  “Please, let me finish. There’s no point in you going into danger because—well, even if this spell works, even if Carlotta is disabled. Count Volmar won’t be. And anyone who’s with me is going to be in big trouble.”

  “For a change,” Lydia said drily.

  “You'll be in that trouble, too,” Naitachal reminded the bardling. “I’ve already ... lost ... one friend. I don’t want to lose another.”

  “I don’t want to be lost, either’ But ...” Kevin shook his head. “To put it bluntly, I’m going to be worried enough as it is. I don’t want to have to worry about anyone else. Particularly not those I care about. Or those who’ve helped us, either.”

  “The minstrels.”

  “Exactly. I’d like to travel to the castle with them; it does seem to be the obvious way back in. But I really want to keep their involvement in all this to an absolute minimum.” Kevin gave a shaky sigh. “There’s not enough time for anything other than what I think knights call desperation moves. There won’t be any heroes coming out of this.”

  “Sounds like you’ve gained some sense at least,” said a sardonic voice. “Maybe even enough to keep you from being killed.”

  Kevin nearly sprained his neck twisting about in shock. That voice ... It was only Berak who stood there, and yet ...


  “Don’t you think the masquerade has gone far enough?” Naitachal asked the minstrel.

  Berak grinned. “You knew what I was right away, didn’t you?”

  The Dark Elf grinned in return. “Even as you recognized me.”

  Lydia looked from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”