by Martin Ash
Again she balked, and realized that this was in fact not half-truth at all. It was the way things were. She said, 'It has to do with many things. But I will tell you this: if I am prevented from continuing on my way, you will not survive. Nor will I. If you know anything of what you are about, you will be aware that there are immense and incalculable dangers here.'
She looked into his eyes and saw the lack of decision there.
'Do you know of Enchantment?' she asked.
'Enchantment?' A wariness. 'Of course?'
Issul nodded thoughtfully.
'Tell me more,' he said.
Issul shook her head. 'I want to speak to your leader.'
'I am leader here.'
'No you are not. I speak of he who skulks yonder in the bushes, afraid to show his face.' She raised her voice and called, 'Come out, mongrel! There are things we must discuss! Or are you too cowardly to face me?'
There was silence. Issul looked up angrily into Blackbeard's face. 'Well, understand this clearly: we are doomed. You are standing in the way of what must be done. There are factors involved which you cannot possibly comprehend, but you will bring down all the forces of Enchantment upon our heads if you do not help me. Now leave me. Begone!'
Blackbeard gave her a long appraising look, then withdrew, almost with reluctance. Issul sat alone and fumed. Perhaps it was impossible. Perhaps nothing she could say would sway these men. Why should they believe her, after all? They were treasure-seekers, nothing more. They had fought together as mercenaries in skirmishes here and there - hence their discipline and close co-ordination. They had seen that she carried a chest, and believed it held valuables that might make them rich. They had seen phantoms in the woods and suspected her of witchery. They were probably now debating the best way to kill her.
As she thought these glum thoughts there was a movement in the bushes off to one side. The blue-cloaked man stepped into the open before her. He was tall, broad of shoulder, deep-chested. Issul estimated him to be about thirty years of age. But she could not see his face, for he wore a mail coif which covered all but his eyes. Again she was struck by his familiarity, the way he moved and held himself.
He conferred briefly with Blackbeard, then strode over to her. He was swift and sure of himself. 'What is the nature of this quest you are engaged upon?'
'Why do you hide yourself?'
'Please answer my question.'
'I think you have made a mistake. I think that whoever has employed you will not be pleased to learn what has happened here.'
'I wish to know what is in the chest that you were carrying, that you guarded so closely. And where is it now? And why do you speak of Enchantment?'
'I speak of Enchantment because it is the truth. And I will take you to the chest,' Issul said. She was thinking rapidly. At all costs she had to get to Orbelon. She had somehow to continue with him to the Farplace Opening. Somehow she had to get these men to accompany her, guard her, at least as far as the former Karai camp. It was absurd, but it was the only way. She had to make it utterly clear that if they obstructed her they would die.
'You will give it up?' queried the blue-cloaked man, clearly taken by surprise.
'No. And if you attempt to take it from me you will perish. Not by my hand, but as a natural consequence. You have plainly followed me; I believe you know who I am. You know too that the chest is of incalculable value. Not monetary. It contains no treasure as such. But you will be aware from my actions back there -' she nodded in the direction from which she had ridden when she fled the grullag attack ' - just how valuable I deem it to be. Thus I am willing to take you to it.'
She felt her nerve faltering. Did she dare confide in him? By what other means was she to get to Orbelon?
The gang-leader nodded to himself and stepped back, straightening. 'Very well, take me. Is it far?'
She shook her head. He helped her to her feet. 'Let’s go now.'
She led him and his men back the way she had come, through the deepening shadows of the forest. All the way her heart was in her mouth. If she was wrong . . .
They came to the grove and the thicket where she had hidden the chest. Issul pushed her way through the bushes.
'There,' she said, nodding. 'It’s beneath that bush.'
At a nod from the leader one of the men dropped to the ground and probed beneath the bush. He withdrew, shaking his head. 'She has led us false.'
'No!' Issul felt her world dropping away. 'It’s there! I hid it there!'
She fell to her knees. Her wrists were still bound behind her, so she could not feel beneath the bush. But she could see the worst. The man was right. The chest containing Orbelon's blue casket had gone.
ii
'Is this a joke?' the blue-cloaked commander demanded harshly.
'It is not! Look! There are my other things, just as I left them!' Her saddle and items of equipment remained undisturbed beneath the bushes. 'Somebody has been here and taken it!'
The gang-leader stood in a moment of indecision, but must have seen by her face that she was telling the truth. He snapped an order to his men to scour the nearby area. Issul was sick, her head spinning. She struggled desperately to bring order to her thoughts, at the same time unable to confront the full horror of what the theft of the casket meant. It was the loss of all hope; her children, Leth, Enchantment's Reach. . . .
Who, or what, could have taken it?
'Are you all right?'
The words seemed to have no reference to her. Their sound enclosed her loudly, and the world had slewed, lurched. She felt her hands, disconnected, twitching and straining against some inexplicable restraint. A vast, rushing sensation, lifting her and turning her over, and a pounding, surging hiss. Everything blurred - the trees racing across the sky . . .
'Are you all right?'
She found she was staring at the sky through a black overhanging latticework of branches. She blinked, not clear on what had happened, a terrible hammering in her head. She realized she was slumped upon the earth, half on her back. One of her captors was kneeling at her side. The blue-cloaked commander towered over her.
'Are you all right?'
She nodded, and the movement of her head felt ridiculously exaggerated, as though she had no control over her movements. Abruptly she was both embarrassed and furious at herself, for she realized what had happened. She had fainted. Fainted! In front of these men! The shock of the loss of Orbelon's world, combined with everything else she had suffered today and in recent days, had been more than she could consciously stand. Issul struggled to sit up, hampered by her still-bound wrists.
'Untie me!' she demanded.
The commander bent and helped her to her feet. 'With respect, I think that would be unwise.'
'Do you know what you do here? Do you understand what has happened? If that chest is not found, we are lost! All of us!'
And it hit her just then. Who was most likely to have followed her and seen her hide the chest, if not these men?
Moscul! Grey Venger! Orbelon was in the hands of the Legendary Child.
Issul saw the blue casket shattered into a thousand fragments.
The loss of all hope.
The commander was watching her silently, his face hidden except for cool, expressionless hazel eyes. 'We will find it again.'
She made a scornful sound. 'Why did you follow me? Why do you seek the chest? Had I not stopped to investigate you, I would have been away from here, the chest safe with me.'
'What does the chest contain that is so important?'
'I have told you. It contains your future.'
'That is no kind of answer.'
'It is the only answer!'
'Then, if my men are unable to recover it?'
'Hah!' Issul's lips twisted in bitter contempt. 'Then nothing matters anymore.'
She stood rigidly, unable to find proper vent for her feelings. The commander stood in meditative silence. His gaze was unfocused as he mused upon his own thoughts. But she sens
ed that he grew uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
Who are you?
He shifted his stance slightly, angling his body away from her, his eyes studying the forest. And in that movement she was transported. . . back to the garden of a little cottage, hardly more than a hovel, in the village of Lastmeadow. Only, what, no more than three weeks ago! A soldier by the fence, turning away as she appeared, unwilling to reveal his face.
Gordallith!
The name shot through her mind; she almost spat it out.
So this was Fectur's doing!
It hardly came as a surprise.
Her thoughts raced. What would be Gordallith's mission? To shadow her, learn where she was bound. Yes, and discover by what means she hoped and intended to bring salvation to Enchantment's Reach.
And then? Was Gordallith instructed to murder her? Likely so, if her survival was found to be inessential to the task of saving Enchantment's Reach.
So, indeed, she had embarrassed Gordallith by falling into his hands. And now he did not know what to do with her.
She pondered a brief moment. Should she let him know that she had found him out? He was the Spectre's man, and would not acknowledge her authority. Leth was gone; if Fectur could learn Issul's secret and prevent her return he would have the power he aspired to. No, Gordallith would kill her if he realized she knew him. He would not permit her to return and arraign him on a charge of high treason.
The casket was lost. Gordallith, ignorant of everything that was at stake here, would return now to Enchantment's Reach. He would not take the Queen with him.
It was the end.
But was she prepared to let herself die here, passively, in anonymity, on a traitor's blade? Was she not going to fight? Through her hopelessness her fury rose. If all was lost, her children, her husband, Orbelon. . . if Enchantment's Reach must fall, then the Spectre would pay! As long as the blood ran in her veins she would not allow him to gloat for a single minute!
She thought quickly. Gordallith and one of his men guarded her here in the grove; the others searched for the chest. If she was to do anything, it had to be now. There would be no opportunity later. Her hands were bound, yet . . .
She had been taught by an expert.
Issul twisted a little, bringing both Gordallith and the guard into her view. She settled her weight, then suddenly lifted one foot and thrust out in a vicious snap-kick. The edge of her foot slammed with all the force she could muster into the guard's unprotected face. As he fell back, before Gordallith could react, she spun and kicked again. The bony top of her foot rammed hard into Gordallith's groin. He doubled over with a groan of pain. Issul bent low and ran.
She ducked beneath the bushes, shouldering through branches and brambles. Her foot snagged, she fell to her knees, but was up again instantly, forcing through. She broke free of the thicket and raced off between the trees. She estimated she would have several seconds before either man recovered enough to give chase. And she gambled - correctly - that they would not shout out to the others, for fear of bringing the wrong kind of company down upon them.
If she could just get herself beyond their sight . . .
With her hands bound she was severely hampered, yet she made good speed. Her one hope was to outpace them, get far enough away, find a place to hide, a sharp rock on which to saw through her bindings. It was a less than slender hope, but she burned with fury, with blind hatred for Fectur and all he represented, and this kept her running, thinking only of the moment, and revenge, dodging, weaving beneath the trees with no notion of direction, thinking of getting back to Fectur.
There was crashing in the bushes somewhere behind. Issul did not risk looking back. She veered off to one side, half-tumbled down a wet, muddy bank, made off along a shallow gully. Quite suddenly she rounded the massive earthy rootstock of a fallen beech and found one of Gordallith's men before her. He was not looking her way, but he heard her and turned.
Without pausing Issul threw herself at him, head low. He was slightly downslope of her, which gave her extra momentum. Her head cannoned into his midriff. He went down, but she slipped and fell too. She rolled over and used her motion to come cleanly to her feet. The man was scrambling up, reaching for his sword. Issul arc-ed her foot around hard into the side of his head, sending him sprawling again. She ran on, leaping, veering, twisting, the breath coming harsh and painful to her lungs. She could not tell whether anyone was behind her.
Her legs were beginning to fail her. She gasped for air, her lungs burned. She scrambled up a slope, crested it. A figure loomed. A hand flew out. Before she could respond a fist caught her hard on the side of the head and sent her reeling to the floor. Her world spun with pain. She struggled to her feet. Something swished through the air, snaked around her ankles, tightened, jerked. Her feet were pulled away from beneath her and she landed hard upon her back. Dazedly she was aware of the tracker with the green fillet around his head, who she had first seen searching for her close to the grove where she had hidden the chest. His hand was upon his whip-stock, and he grinned down at her. In his other hand he held a sword.
'I think that's far enough, little lady.' He sheathed the sword, took a dagger, bent and pressed the point to her neck, then with his other hand wound the coil of his whip more tightly around her ankles. Then he straightened. Issul lay trussed and helpless.
Tracker turned to seek out his companions. There was a sudden blur of movement, a thud, a groan. Tracker fell. A shadow fell across Issul. Hands were at her ankles, uncoiling the whip. 'Majesty, roll over. Let me cut free your hands.'
'Shenwolf!'
'Quickly!'
She was too stunned to do anything but comply. Shenwolf cut swiftly through her bonds then helped her to her feet. 'Come on, this way!'
Tracker lay upon the ground, a bloody wound at the base of his skull. Issul bent and took his sword, then ran with Shenwolf.
'This way! There are horses!'
Where was he leading her? Was this another betrayal? She could not think, she could only run with him. A hundred paces through the trees, and at the foot of a grassy slope a pair of horses stood tethered. Issul leapt into the saddle of the first, Shenwolf the other.
'Follow me!'
Shenwolf bore off in an easterly direction. Issul glanced behind but could see no pursuers. After a distance of another hundred yards or so Shenwolf suddenly slowed. He raised a hand.
'Wait!'
He threw himself from the saddle, ran into the trees and fell to his knees at the base of a tumble of mossy limestone boulders. She saw him reach into a black gap. A moment later he stood and made his way back towards her.
'The chest!' Issul gaped in astonishment and sudden joy.
He passed it up to her, and grinned. 'Aye, the chest!'
'But what--? How--?'
'Later. For now let's get as far from here as we can while there is still a degree of daylight!'
Back in the saddle he put his heels to his horse's flanks. Together they made off at fullest speed beneath the towering trees.
NINE
i
They rode hard, deep into the forest, for the better part of two hours. At length, with only the pallid beams of a slender moon to light their way, they paused in their flight. They were at the foot of a high, wooded bluff. Their horses were weary, steam rising from their hides.
'I think we will be safe from pursuit, at least until the morning,' said Shenwolf. 'These mounts belonged to those brigands who abducted you. In stealing them I set the remaining steeds running free. The brigands may recapture them in time, but it will not be soon enough to permit them to mount a pursuit tonight.'
Issul nodded, but said nothing. Despite her rescue, she was not entirely easy with Shenwolf's company. Much explanation was demanded, and for now she found herself reticent and on edge.
Shenwolf pointed. 'I think I see a cave. Perhaps we can shelter there for the night.'
They rode forward, then dismounted and tethered the horses to a bush outs
ide what did indeed turn out to be a narrow black cavern entrance. The two mounts were well-equipped for travel, with saddle-packs stuffed with food, leather water-sacks, blankets and sundry items, including bound cloth- and pitch-drenched torches by which they might see at night. To one of these Shenwolf struck a flint, and with weapons drawn the two entered the cave. They found it to be deep, spacious and untenanted by either man or beast. Moreover, natural flues in the rock ceiling permitted the escape of smoke. So they brought the horses inside and gathered wood and tinder for a fire. As Shenwolf set the fire to blazing and prepared to toast rabbit meat with bread, then biscuits and preserved fruit from the saddle-packs, Issul retired to one side of the cave and summoned Orbelon forth. To her immense relief he had suffered no harm.
'Are you aware of what has happened?'
'To some extent. Friend Shenwolf found the chest where you had hidden it. He called me forth, then set off to discover what had become of you.'
'Do not be too ready to term him 'friend'. Did he explain himself?'
'Not entirely. There was little time for chat. Issul, before you make any judgement, hear him out. He has risked much to save you.'
'I intend to. But, no matter his actions this evening, questions still hang in the air and make me very uneasy. Will you remain here while we talk?'
'Certainly.'
The food was ready; the cave had filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat. Shenwolf handed Issul a trencher piled with meat sprinkled with fresh herbs, and bread, then seated himself cross-legged before the fire. Issul toyed abstractedly with her food and consumed little, whereas Shenwolf dug in enthusiastically.
'Shenwolf, I have not yet expressed my gratitude for your action this afternoon. Without you I would be a prisoner still, and quite possibly dead. Also, were it not for you, Orbelon would now be in the hands of dangerous and irresponsible men, and who knows what that would bring. So let me say to you, as I have said before, I thank you. At the same time a cloud hangs over us. There are questions that I am bound to ask you.'
