“And thanks to Welram’s work with them,” the Duke replied, nodding to the Wyrd. “I wish my grooms had your talents.”
Welram grinned, showing white, pointed teeth. “Some skills come naturally to certain people.”
“Quite so,” the Duke said dryly. “If one happens to be a Wyrd. But how much more time can we gain, and how quickly?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much you value your horses. There are limits even to the magic of the Wyrds.”
“I see.” The Duke glanced at Ryl. “I don’t suppose you could do something about the problem.”
“I fear not, but it is unimportant.”
“Unimportant?” The Duke raised an eyebrow.
“Now that we are within the forest, you can bring us to our goal. Or rather, bring our goal to us.”
Duke Dindran stared at her, for once nonplussed. “I?”
“We have passed the border of the lands that once were ruled from Castle Windsong. You are of that line of rulers; within these lands you can call it to you, if you will. And the ones we seek are there.”
“I… see.”
“Can you not feel it?”
“I believe there is something.”
“Perhaps we are still too close to the border,” Welram suggested.
“That is possible,” Ryl said, frowning. “The castle should grow easier to call as we come nearer to it. Wait, then, and try again in a little while.”
“As you request,” said the Duke.
Shalarn’s captain rode toward her through the trees and pulled his horse to a halt. “We have found them, my lady,” he said, bowing.
“Good! How many of them are there?”
“Only three. One is a minstrel, one a young woman.” He paused. “The third is the Cilhar warrior we fought at the inn.”
“Kensal Narryn! You are sure?”
“I cannot swear to his name, my lady, but I am certain it is the same man.”
“And the woman—was she his companion at the inn?”
“No. I have never seen her before.”
Shalarn frowned, wondering what this might mean. “How far away are they?”
“Just ahead, about ten minutes ride. We took care that they did not see us, as you commanded.”
“Then we will follow them. And we will continue to avoid being seen.”
“My lady, there are ten of us. Even a Cilhar cannot—”
“That is what you thought last time,” Shalarn said sharply. “Your mistake has made my task more difficult. I am sure the Cilhar will remember you. I cannot force him to help me, and after the way you treated him at the inn he is not likely to trust me.”
“But—”
“Enough! We will follow them, without being seen, while I test their abilities. Then I will decide the time and place to meet them.”
“Yes, my lady!” The captain turned and gave the orders. Shalarn smiled inwardly. He was a trifle overeager at times, and he had a regrettable tendency to think he knew more than she did. Still, he had a deep respect for her more unusual abilities; she would have no further trouble with him today.
For the rest of the morning, they followed the Cilhar, the minstrel, and the woman. Shalarn rode in a kind of half-trance, letting her body’s reflexes keep her in the saddle while her mind cast tiny, questing spells at the group ahead. The Cilhar and the woman noticed nothing, but the minstrel felt something; she could tell by his growing nervousness. She had almost decided to stop her efforts, when she felt the first glimmerings of a new spell. She called her men to a halt at once.
“We ride into magic,” she told them. “It is a spell of confusion, to make us lose our way, and it is very old and very powerful. Stay with me and follow my lead, no matter how strange it seems, or you will be lost.”
The men nodded. Shalarn turned and began the slow task of picking her way through the forest. She quickly realized that her only hope was to follow the Cilhar and his companions. She had no time to cast a proper spell; she would have to do the best she could without the benefit of her tools. She cast a tenuous linking spell, to hold her mind to their path. Twice the fragile thread fell short of its mark. When it caught hold at last, she clung tenaciously to it, tracing it slowly and carefully to avoid losing or breaking it.
The work seemed to go on for hours. Then, suddenly, it was over. Shalarn opened her eyes. Her horse stood at the top of a small rise, looking down over a wide clearing filled with shrubby blue flowers. Strange music rose from a large, walled area in the center. The whole place reeked of magic.
Shalarn smiled in satisfaction and turned to her men. The smile vanished. Only three had managed to stay with her during the long, twisting ride while she sought the path through the forest. Only three.
“What are your orders now, my lady?” the captain said.
Shalarn’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “Why, the same as before. Though now I am certain you will agree with them. Three men are not good odds against a Cilhar.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“All three of you will come with me. You will not provoke them, and you will make no threatening move unless I myself am actually attacked. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Then come.” Trying to look more confident than she felt, Shalarn rode down the hill to the gate. The massive iron door was not latched; she waited until her men caught up with her, then pushed it open. “Dismount,” she commanded. Leading their horses, they walked inside.
They stood in a garden, surrounded by music and greenery. Shalarn glanced quickly around, and her eyes found the Cilhar almost at once. He had risen at their approach, and stood watching them through narrowed eyes. Behind him, an unfamiliar girl slipped away through the trees. Of the minstrel there was no sign.
Shalarn motioned to her men to stay where they were. She stepped forward two paces and stopped, careful to keep her hands in sight. She waited, but he said nothing. Finally, she nodded. “I am the Lady Shalarn sa’Rithven, lately of Lithra. If you are Kensal Narryn, I would like to talk to you.”
Chapter 22
EMERECK WAS JUST FINISHING his third pass through the bridge of “Darneel and the Firebird” when the music of the singing statues changed dramatically. He stopped his own playing and listened carefully, wondering what had caused the change. The music still sounded like the work of a master improviser, but the key had risen a full step, and the style of playing was completely altered. Emereck frowned. The wind had not shifted, and the statues were fixed in place. How could the music change so suddenly?
He looked up and saw Liana hurrying toward him around the ruined wing of the castle. He rose hastily. “What is it?” he said as she approached.
“Four people just came in—at least, I think there are only four. Three soldiers and a noblewoman. They’re talking to Kensal now.”
“Ryl! And you left her with Kensal and the harp?”
“I thought you would want to know. Besides, I don’t think it’s Ryl. Kensal didn’t recognize her.”
Emereck stifled a curse. So much for Kensal’s assurances that no one but Ryl could find Windsong! He snatched up his harp and ran through the garden toward the gate, Liana at his heels. When he rounded the end of the ruined wing, he went more cautiously, keeping out of sight behind statues and clumps of bushes and motioning Liana to do the same. He stopped when they had worked their way close enough to hear. Panting slightly, he peered around the edge of a bush.
A striking, dark-haired woman stood several paces in front of Kensal. She was dressed in an elaborate riding-costume of red silk and brown velvet, trimmed in gold, and her hair was coiled on top of her head in the fashion of Lithmern noblewomen. Behind her, just inside the iron gate, stood three men in uniforms, holding horses and watching Kensal through narrowed eyes. Two of the men were completely unfamiliar. The third Emereck recognized at once, and a chill ran down his spine. He was the leader of the Lithmern who had attacked Ryl’
s inn.
“You can hardly expect me to believe that,” Kensal was saying. “This is not the sort of place one comes to by accident.”
The woman smiled, like a cat discovering the cream untended. “Just so. And you and your companions had as much purpose in coming here as I.”
“We will leave my companions out of the conversation for the moment,” Kensal replied. “At the risk of sounding inhospitable, I must point out that you are the ones who must explain your presence. And before you spin me any more fairy-tales, I will tell you that I have recognized your captain.”
“I regret the inconvenience he caused you at your last meeting,” the woman said. The look she gave the unfortunate captain would have cracked stone. “He overstepped his authority.”
“Really.” Kensal’s voice was politely noncommittal.
“I wished only for the opportunity to speak with you.”
“You have it now.”
“I have heard that you know something of interest to me.”
“Anything’s possible. But I’m still waiting for an explanation of your presence here.”
The woman sighed. “I am seeking something.”
“Which is?”
“A way to destroy the Shadow-born.”
Emereck stiffened, and his hand tightened involuntarily on the branch he was holding. The woman’s head turned toward the faint rustling, and she said, “Your companions are returning at last, Cilhar.”
Emereck went forward at once, feeling a little foolish at being discovered so easily. Liana followed at a little distance. The Lithmern woman’s eyes widened slightly when she saw him, as if in recognition. Emereck studied her unobtrusively, but he was certain he had never seen her before. He wondered who she thought he was.
Kensal nodded as Emereck joined him, and said, “Emereck, meet Shalarn sa’Rithven of Lithra—noblewoman, sorceress, and the person behind that attack at Ryl’s inn.”
“Not the best recommendation I’ve ever heard,” Emereck said, matching Kensal’s tone. Inwardly, he felt numb. This was the woman Gendron had mentioned, who had been staying with Prince Lanyk. Had they been working together? Was she aware of the prince’s death?
“I have already apologized for the overzealousness of my men,” Shalarn said.
“Quite so,” Kensal said blandly. “You were about to explain who or what these Shadow-born are, that you wish to destroy.”
“If you seek to test me, Cilhar, I shall pass,” Shalarn replied with a touch of impatience. “The Shadow-born are things without bodies, powerful and intelligent beings that live below the surface of the earth. To walk in sunlight they must use others’ bodies. They are old beyond imagining, and wise in magic.”
“And your reasons for wishing to destroy these wise, powerful, and ancient beings?”
“They are responsible for the loss of my home and the current unfortunate position of my country.” Her voice was even, but Emereck could hear the undercurrents of anger and hatred.
“Um.” Kensal studied her. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“It is more than possible! You are familiar with the details of our war with Alkyra a few years ago?”
“We have heard of it,” Kensal said, glancing sideways at Emereck.
“Our king knew the war was coming, and he knew that the Alkyrans are sorcerers. So he prepared sorcery of his own to counter their magic, and encouraged others to assist him. He called on the Shadow-born for help, but they betrayed him. They destroyed our sorcerers and took command of the army, then led it into a trap.”
“And how is it that you managed to escape?” Kensal asked mildly.
“I was lucky,” Shalarn replied simply. “I had friends who helped me, and I was careful not to use magic until I was out of Lithra. Since then I have sought for a way of punishing the Shadow-born for what they have done.”
“I see. And just how do you expect a Cilhar soldier to help you?”
“You have a… thing of great power. You cannot deny it; I have felt its presence, and I have tracked it since you or one of your friends played it a week ago in Minathlan.”
“And you want it.”
“I want it. I am being open with you, you see.”
Emereck tensed. Kensal shot him a warning glance, and he forced himself to relax. Shalarn seemed to think Kensal had the harp; he must do nothing to correct that impression. Kensal turned back to Shalarn and said, “What makes you think I would give it to you? Assuming, of course, that I have such a thing to give.”
Shalarn smiled and lowered her eyelids. “I have learned a great deal in four years of searching. You are an enemy of the Shadow-born. I think you will help me because our aims are the same.”
“Perhaps,” Kensal said. “And perhaps not. You will allow me time to consider?”
“Of course.”
“In the meantime, let me show you and your men around the gardens. They are quite fascinating.”
“I would be pleased.” Shalarn turned and motioned to her men.
“Show her the gardens? Kensal, are you mad?” Emereck whispered as soon as her back was turned.
“I want to see how her men move. The captain looks as if he might be good; if it comes to a fight, I want to be prepared.”
“We can’t just let them stay here!”
“How would you suggest we get rid of them?”
“I don’t know, but there must be some way. They’re after the harp.”
“Of course they are!” Kensal sounded exasperated. “But as long as we know that, it’s safer to have them here, where we can watch—Are you ready, lady? This way, then.” Kensal started around the castle, Shalarn and her men trailing in his wake.
Emereck scowled after them, wondering what he could do about them. After a moment, Liana joined him. “Do you believe her?” she asked.
“I believe she wants the harp. I don’t know about the rest of it.”
“She makes the Shadow-born sound very different from what Kensal described.”
“She’s Lithmern. But frankly, right now I’m not sure who to believe. Or trust.” Emereck stared after the little group disappearing among the trees.
Tammis rode slowly through the forest, half-hidden from accidental discovery by the leaves and the spells she had wrapped around herself. She could feel magic ahead, the strong fire of the thing she sought and another, more nebulous presence that pushed at her, trying to turn her from her path. It required all of the skill she had learned during the long years in the north to keep herself on the right heading. If she had not been warned of something like this, or if she had not had the beacon of the power she was looking for, she knew she would have lost her direction, possibly without ever realizing she had gone astray.
The thought made her concentrate all the more. Her progress slowed, but even at a snail’s pace it grew harder and harder to keep her horse on the correct path. Finally she realized that she must abandon the horse or lose her way. She hesitated only briefly. If she succeeded in her task, she would have no problem in obtaining a new mount; if she failed, it would not matter.
She dismounted and stood motionless until the horse was out of sight. Then she renewed her concentration. Carefully, she felt out the path through the invisible maze that hemmed her in. Her progress was slow; her eyes told her that she was walking in a drunken circle, while her magic said she was drawing closer to her goal. She forced herself to ignore the evidence of her senses, and went on.
Finally she reached the top of a low rise, and knew her journey was at its end. Below, treetops showed above a long, white wall, and she could hear music from the other side. What interested her most, however, was the bright flame of the power she had followed so far. It was there, on the other side of the wall; she could feel it. She smiled a small, cold smile, and started down the slope toward the gate.
She paused when she reached it and listened. She heard nothing but music. Cautiously, she pushed at the gate. It swung open; the fools were depending on the magic to guard them.
She slipped inside and glanced quickly around. She counted seven horses, four of them still saddled, but no people.
Her eyes narrowed suddenly. That gray was Shalarn’s horse, she was sure of it. So the Lithmern sorceress had gotten here first! And the brown mare was a Cilhar’s mount; she hadn’t seen one of the small, sturdy animals since she’d left the mountains.
Her eyes swept the garden once more and fastened on an untidy pile of clothes beside the stairs. She almost laughed aloud. That was a hiding place? She started forward, but she had taken only two steps when she heard the sound of voices approaching through the trees. She hesitated; it was so close! But she had no time. Cursing beneath her breath, she slid away into the bushes.
“How far do you want to go before you try again?” Welram asked.
“I’m afraid you will have to ask Rylorien,” the Duke replied. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Not far, I think,” Ryl said. “In fact—” She stopped. The Duke was not listening. He was looking intently into the forest ahead of them, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed tightly together.
Welram dropped his reins and reached for his bow. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” the Duke said slowly. “But something seems to be wrong.”
Ryl frowned, concentrating. When she looked up, her eyes were full of concern. “Something is wrong indeed. Time grows short. Call Windsong now, if you can, or we may be too late.”
The Duke nodded. He sat motionless for a long moment, staring at nothing. Then he shook his head and his eyes focused. “This way,” he said, turning his horse. “It’s only a few minutes more.”
Welram cocked an ear at the Duke. “You’re quite sure? I thought you hadn’t done this before.”
“Some skills come naturally to certain people,” the Duke said blandly.
“Quite so,” Welram replied with a fierce grin. He looked at Ryl and picked up his reins. “Well, if there’s trouble ahead, we don’t want to keep it waiting. Let’s go.”
Chapter 23
WHEN EMERECK CAUGHT UP with the others, Shalarn was chatting easily with Kensal. Her men seemed no more pleased by this than Emereck, particularly the captain. Emereck found himself trying to split his attention three ways, so that he could watch Kensal, Shalarn and the captain with equal care. He was not particularly successful. By the time they came in sight of the gate once more, he had learned nothing whatever and he was beginning to get a headache.
Harp of Imach Thyssel Page 22
