On Wings of Magic (Witch World: The Turning)

by Patricia Mathews

  She paused by a booth where a farmer's wife was selling finely-made shirts. The woman had done exquisite decorative stitching at neck and cuffs, geometric patterns in dark thread on the creamy linen. Eirran, only a tolerable seamstress, fingered one of the garments to admire the work, thinking that Yareth needed some new clothes. If this had been market day in an Estcarpian town, and if she had had any money… . The woman, sensing a prospective sale, hurried over.

  “That shirt'll last you years, young sir,” she said. “Only five copper bits.”

  “A fair price,” Eirran said. “Another day, perhaps, when I get paid—”

  The woman looked her over with a knowing eye. “Come to join the Hounds, have you,” she said. “And the other blank shields with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, they're usually hiring, some times more than others.”

  “And now?”

  The woman shrugged. “Don't know. But you'll have better luck, I'll warrant, if you stay close to those fellows with the hawks. Don't know when it was I last seen one of them.”

  Eirran's blood went cold at the thought of a Falconer—any Falconer—having joined the Hounds of Alizon. “Oh?” she said carefully. “Then there've been Falconers here before?”

  “Oh, now and then, as prisoners. But never looking for work. Esguir would be tickled no end having one of them on his payroll, let alone two.”

  “Esguir?”

  “Aye. Baron Esguir, Master of Hounds.” The woman looked Eirran up and down again. “High Captain of the Estcarp Guards, where you come from.”

  “Is it that plain?”

  The woman shrugged. “No matter. A blank shield is a blank shield, wherever he hails from. Shall I save back the shirt for you, young sir?”

  “No. If you get a chance to sell it before I return for it, do,” Eirran said.

  “Next market's a sennight from today, right after the Hounds get paid.” The woman grinned. “I'll be looking for you then.”

  Another customer paused by the booth and the woman turned away. Eirran rejoined her companions just as Girvan came out of the tavern. He was surreptitiously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and the smell of ale was strong on his breath.

  “We've got throats full of road dust, too,” Hirl said reproachfully.

  “Agreed,” Girvan said, “but you also need to keep a clearer head than I do. Time for celebrating when we've gotten what we came for, if you take my meaning.”

  “We do,” Yareth said. “What did you learn? Are they hiring?”

  “Yes. We have to go to the castle, and see the Master of Hounds, Baron Esguir. He's the one to talk to about finding work. Or anything else.”

  Eirran started to speak, then thought better of it. Girvan hadn't learned a thing inside the tavern that she hadn't discovered in a few minutes’ talking with a farmer's wife. So the man wanted a drink. No harm done, really. They were in the very heart of the enemy land. Eirran felt they were so close to finding Jenys she fairly tingled with the child's nearness. Why start an argument and run the risk of calling unnecessary and unwelcome attention to themselves? She fell into place beside Dunnis as they marched toward the huge, buff-brown castle gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  V

  As befitted the highest-ranking commander of the Hounds of Alizon, the Master had his headquarters in the spot where the fiercest fighting would be expected to occur in case of attack—the gatehouse of Alizon Castle. The barracks—the Kennels—stood in the outer ward, against the south wall.

  All eight applicants entered the gatehouse tower and climbed the winding stone stairs. They were kept cooling their heels for the better part of an hour in an outer chamber, while the Hound Master attended to some business within. Through an open door, they could see into the room directly above the gate passageway below. Piles of stones cluttered the floor, ready to drop on an invader through the murder-holes that were now covered with wooden hatches. A stack of iron pots stood nearby, waiting to be filled with sand or water and heated before the contents were cast down along with the stones. But the pots were dusty and covered with cobwebs; Alizon Castle had not undergone siege in many, many years.

  Only to treachery, Eirran thought. The castle has fallen’ only from within. And what are we then, if not spies and infiltrators? Her nerves grew tighter with every passing second and she had to force herself to stay calm with every ounce of self-control she could muster.

  What if the Master of Hounds turned them away? What if the Hounds discovered the real reason these new “recruits” wished to join the ranks of Alizon soldiers, and killed their captives out of hand? What if the children—if Jenys—were dead already? A hiccup hovered somewhere in the middle of her stomach, threatening to escape, and she resolutely swallowed it down again.

  At last a man wearing the uniform of the Hounds appeared in the doorway. “You,” he said. “Baron Esguir will see you now.”

  “Right behind you,” Girvan said.

  The men and Eirran got to their feet and followed the soldier up another flight of stairs. They entered the large room that spanned the entire width of the gatehouse building. There were windows on either side, so none could leave or enter the castle unremarked. The room was crowded with people, soldiers coming and going. A white-blond man wearing a Hound's uniform with a gold band circling the badge on his breast sat at a table, looking over some papers. He glanced up as they entered.

  “Well?” the man said brusquely. “My man said you wanted to speak to me personally.” His manner conveyed the feeling that these new “recruits” thought over-highly of themselves to have asked for the privilege.

  “Indeed we did, my lord,” Girvan said. He moved beside the desk, turning to face the others. “Or, rather, I did. I thought you'd like to see these Estcarpian spies personally before you put them in prison, to examine at your leisure.”

  He snapped his fingers and before any of the company could move, they found themselves seized by their arms and pinned.

  “Traitor!” Weldyn shouted. “Filthy Alizon spawn! I'll have your life for this!”

  The Estcarpians were not the sort to submit meekly, once they had been found out. All of them—even Eirran—fought fiercely with the Hounds. Loric came close to breaking free, and almost got his hands on Girvan before being caught again and flung to the floor, his arms forced painfully behind his back. Newbold and Sharpclaw screamed and beat their wings against the Falconers’ captors as the men struggled. Other soldiers tried, without success, to capture the birds. Yareth screeched something in falconsong and Newbold immediately streaked for the door, evading the shouting men who clutched at him. Weldyn's order echoed Yareth's. Sharpclaw was right behind the older falcon; both birds shot through the nearest window and streaked out of arrow-range before any guard at arrow-slit or on the walls could react. Eirran's heart dropped and she sagged in the grip of the soldiers who held her.

  Oh, to have wings! she thought. To escape, go free, and attack again another time! But the birds, without their masters, could do nothing. Still, she knew, it was better they were gone. A Falconer would never yield to questioning or even to torture, but who knew what kind of torments the Hounds would devise for a bird? Far easier to unlock a Falconer's lips that way than to question him directly. And for that reason she was savagely glad the Hounds had not caught them.

  “Take them to the prison tower,” the Master of Hounds said. His voice cut clearly through the din in his chamber. “Let them cool their heels for a while. We will examine them at our leisure, tomorrow perhaps.” He turned to Girvan. “My thanks. I wondered why you had come back to Alizon with a company of seven Estcarpians. I would have kept your secret, however, and let you play out your charade.”

  Girvan shrugged. “The game was up. My usefulness is at an end, as far as Estcarp is concerned. I could never go back now, not after this adventure, so better I am thought dead with the others. I was ready to come home anyway, before I got caught. They've come after the children.”
/>   Esguir's colorless eyebrows rose. “Have they now.”

  “Aye. It was all I could do to keep them from running up against your Hounds on the road. But I figured you'd want to talk to them, wring whatever information they might have before you, er, dispose of them. And that was better done here.”

  “Indeed. You've done well, Girvan. Well, you were promised a place on my personal staff when you ceased spying. I'm happy to say you've earned it.”

  ‘"Thank you. Oh, by the way. That one—” he indicated Yareth “—he doesn't know anything of Estcarp or its doings. But he is the father of one of the Haglets.”

  “Better and better. Oh, you have done well. I must see to it that you get a more tangible reward in addition to what you have coming to you already.”

  Girvan bowed. “Sir.”

  Baron Esguir glanced at the Hounds who were still struggling with the men from Estcarp. “Well, what are you waiting for? Knock some sense into their skulls with your sword-pommels if you have to, but get them into the prison at once.”

  The Hounds renewed their efforts, and, with considerable difficulty in spite of their superior numbers, managed to carry out their commander's orders. Eirran had a jumbled impression of the stairs they had come up, then being dragged a short distance across the outer ward, into a large room and through a door opening, oddly, from a window embrasure and hidden from casual view behind a curtain. Thence the prisoners were shoved down more stairs into the dankness of the lowest cell. Part of the dungeon had been blocked off by a thick wooden wall, pierced by a narrow, heavily barred door. One by one the prisoners were flung through the door onto a floor covered with a thin layer of sour-smelling straw. Just before it was Eirran's turn to undergo this humiliating treatment she caught an incongruous whiff of bread baking nearby. Then she went hurtling through after the others. The door clanged shut behind them with reverberating finality. Darkness settled down almost tangibly, relieved only by what light got through a single small hole high in the outer wall, the only source of ventilation for their prison. The men slowly picked themselves up, straightening their garments and rubbing bruises.

  Eirran swayed dizzily. “Hic!" A sensation as if she had walked through a veil of cobwebs made her shiver. Something shifted on her skin, but whether the sensation came from within or without she didn't know. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle another hiccup.

  A man's hands lay on her shoulders. She looked up to see Yareth staring into her face. She tried to twist away, and hiccuped again.

  “Eirran?” Yareth said hesitantly. “Eirran! By the Great Falcon, it is you!” He clasped her to him and then held her at arm's length again. Now he was scowling, uncertain. “But how—Why—What are you doing here? You stayed behind—you left Es City and didn't even say farewell to me.”

  “Only—hic!—because I rode with you.”

  “But how? Tell me that.”

  “The Guardian. She—hic!—shape-changed me. She told me to be careful and not get too close to you, that if you recognized me, my disguise would fail. I—I suppose it has. You see, Kernon had gotten ill—”

  “I thought there was something wrong,” Ranal said. Despite the puffiness of his lips where a Hound had struck him, he smiled one-sidedly. “Kernon never had such a dainty appetite as you.” He wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “Well met, lady.”

  “Oh, Yareth—hic!—I had to come. I couldn't stay tamely behind when Jenys was in danger. Please, please forgive me.”

  Yareth still held her, stiffly, at a distance. They stared at each other. There was silence in the prison cell except for Eirran's hiccups. She was acutely aware of Weldyn glowering disapprovingly to one side. Then Yareth pulled her into the circle of his embrace again, holding her tightly, stroking her hair and burying his face in it. Her arms went around his neck and they stood thus for a long while.

  “What does it matter,” Yareth said at last. “You are here, and I am here. Whatever happens now, we will be together.”

  Eight

  I

  Where are we?” Cricket said. “Besides locked up.”

  “I'll look.” Star got up, shifting Lisper's head from her lap to Cricket's, and went to the window opening, set high in the wall.

  Lisper lay watching with huge, shiny eyes. Her thumb was in her mouth again. Cricket stroked Lisper's hair.

  “Do you need any help?” Mouse said. She hurried over to the window. Star dangled, half-in and half-out of the embrasure. She clutched at a shutter, struggling to get up onto the ledge. Mouse lent a helping hand from below, and Star managed to scramble into the deep recess.

  “Thanks. Oops!” Star disappeared from sight. “Don't worry, I'm all right. The window ledge slopes down from the edge, and I wasn't expecting it. I can see now. It's just a narrow opening in the wall, and not a real window at all.” She sat back on the edge of the embrasure, studying the sliver of window, and the peculiar, slanted opening in the thickness of the wall. “I think this must be where soldiers are supposed to stand and shoot arrows down on other men.” She scooted back into the recess for another look. “You can see a lot of the wall platforms from here. We're up high. But we knew that. All those stairs. Made me dizzy. I can't tell what's below— Wait. I can just see some rocks. And water. There's land on the other side, so it must be the river.”

  “Is there any way out?” Bird said.

  “Only if you can fly, like your namesake.” The children smiled at Star's feeble joke. “The window opening is too narrow, even if we could climb down the walls. And there's a wind blowing even if we could take out some of the rocks. We'd never make it.”

  “Then we're stuck here.”

  “I'm afraid so.”

  The children lapsed into silence. Lisper sucked at her thumb a little harder.

  Star jumped down again. “Well,” she said decisively, “we can't just sit here. What would Bee think of us? She'd call us lazy, and good-for-nothing, and she'd be right, too.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Cricket asked.

  “We can brush ourselves, and tidy our clothing. We can set this room to rights.”

  Mouse looked around. There was very little in the room to get disarranged. A bed, without even a mattress, the rope lashings sagging with age and use. A chair with a broken leg. A bowl and a pitcher on the floor near the door, half-full of stale, tepid water. Some clothes pegs hammered into the stone wall. Marks in the straw where a clothes press had once stood. “We could sweep some of the straw together to make a bed and put a couple of our cloaks over it and use the rest for cover,” she said.

  Star smiled. “That's a start.”

  Before long, the children had pushed the useless bed to one side of the room out of the way, had scraped the cleanest of the straw into a pile, and had set the bowl and pitcher on the chair, making it serve as a bedside table as it could not be sat on without collapsing. Mouse and Bird put their cloaks over the straw and Cricket urged Lisper to lie down on it. The little girl snuggled into the makeshift bed, and Cricket spread Lisper's cloak over her.

  “I think she'll go to sleep now,” Cricket said. “She was almost nodding off before.”

  “It'll be good for her,” Star said. “She worries me,” she added in a low voice.

  The other girls glanced at Lisper, but as Cricket had predicted, the child appeared asleep already. Her thumb had fallen out of her mouth and her breathing had become deep and even. And yet her slumber was not peaceful. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and she trembled and whimpered a little as she slept.

  “She worries me, too,” Mouse said. “Do you think the Alizonders would send us a doctor for her?”

  “She's not sick,” Cricket said, “even if they would, which they won't. I couldn't feel any fever. I think she's scared. More than any of us.”

  Mouse digested this in silence. There was certainly enough for the children to be frightened of. But, vaguely, she felt it wouldn't do for them to show it as openly as Lisper did. They would just wind up scaring
each other until they were all as badly off as she was. “How can we help her?”

  Star shook her head. “I don't know. We don't know very much at all.”

  A sound at the door made them all turn their heads. The lock creaked as the key turned in it. Then a white-blond man in a Hound uniform entered, carrying Flame. Two more Hounds followed close behind. One carried a sack, which he let fall near the door.

  “Aha, I see you've been busy.” The Hound strode over and dropped Flame onto the straw bed. All three turned to leave the room again. “We'll be back later,” the Hound said, just as the door closed behind him.

  Lisper sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes. She stared at Flame's limp, white-faced body, and began to scream. “Oh, no! The'th dead the'th dead the'th dead the'th—”

  Star slapped her sharply across the face. “Shut up!” she said fiercely.

  Lisper put her hand to her cheek. Then the hurt and fear welled out of her eyes and she began to weep—not the frightened snuffling of the past few days, but open sobs, heartfelt and healing. Mouse knew instinctively that Lisper needed to be left alone for a little while to cry it out, so she joined the others clustering around Flame.

  “She's breathing,” Bird said. “Just barely.”

  “Oh, look,” Mouse said. Gently, she brushed Flame's hair back from her face. There were marks on her temples, looking something like a burn and something like a bruise, but which were neither. “What did they do to her?”

  “Nothing good,” Star said grimly. “She's got marks like that on her arms and legs, too.” She tore a strip off the bottom of her dress, dipped it in water, and began to bathe Flame's hurts. Flame stirred and moaned faintly.