“No,” said Corvus. “Just me. You don’t count.”
Hostilius lunged forward with a yell, but Corvus parried his opponent’s thrust down and stepped on his sword. Then he brought his own to rest against Hostilius’s throat. One on one, there was hardly any challenge.
Breathing heavily, Hostilius lifted his hands in token of surrender. “It’s lucky all the Deiran do not share your aptitude, Magister,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Corvus with a grin. Then he frowned and slapped the man’s face with the flat of his falcata. A long, thin line of blood creased Hostilius’s cheek. “For your impertinence.”
Hostilius flushed with anger, but said nothing and bowed his head in submission.
Corvus nodded. Then he reached into his pocket and handed Hostilius a gold coin. “And that’s for your tenacity.”
The soldier smiled in satisfaction, and slipped the coin into his purse.
Turning to address the three legionaries who had not participated in the fight, Corvus pointed with his sword to Quintus and Bruttius. “Clean this lot up. I want you ready in one minute.”
“Yes, Magister,” said the three soldiers, saluting.
“Good,” said Corvus.
“Hail, Magister Corvus,” interrupted a nervous voice from above him.
Corvus looked up to see a little fat man with curly red hair standing at the edge of the pit. His name was Lugotorix Iulius, and he was an adjutore, one of the aides assigned to assist Corvus in his office.
“What is it?” Corvus asked.
“The guards are bringing in a criminal,” said Lugotorix. “They tried to apprehend him near Queen’s Ford, but he evaded them until early this morning. He slew a man and wounded two others before they were able to subdue him.”
“Sounds like quite a pursuit,” said Corvus, swinging his sword, trying to keep his muscles loose.
“Yes, Magister,” said Lugotorix. “Almost three days they were on his trail.”
“They are to be commended for their persistence,” said Corvus. “Tell the steward to give each man a bottle of wine from my personal collection.”
“Very generous, Magister,” said Lugotorix.
Corvus waited, but the portly adjutore said no more.
“So,” Corvus said impatiently, “is there some reason you have brought this to my attention?”
“They think he might be one of Garrick’s,” said the aide. “He wouldn’t identify himself when challenged, but he seemed more than a common bandit.”
“Very good,” said Corvus. “Put him in the culverhouse and have Guerren prepare him for me. I’ll be along in half an hour or so.”
“Yes, Magister,” said Lugotorix, and he hurriedly left the courtyard.
In the pit, Corvus turned to face the three guards. They looked fresh. He smiled.
“Again!” Corvus barked, advancing on them with his heavy, sickle-curved falcata held out in front of him.
***
Chapter Five
It was not long after dawn. Mist still clung to the ground, and the air smelled wet. To her right, Elenn heard the Shirbrook brightly rushing south to join the River Mareys. Morning light filtered through the poplars and willows which grew thick alongside the road.
To Elenn’s left Aunt Ethelind walked, leading Ranulf’s horse, Seissylt, who pulled the little tub-cart. Its axles creaked out a quiet rhythm as they traveled down the road. Birds of all sorts sang and cawed and tweeted a welcome to them all, and her parrot finch Gawaine chirped a merry reply from his birdcage in the back of the cart.
Elenn had been up all night, caring for Seissylt and then packing her own things. Ethelind had instructed her to bring no more than she could carry on her back, so virtually all her remaining possessions had been abandoned. Still, the freedom of the road was delicious.
Elenn realized she was hungry, and dropped back to walk beside the cart. Mentally reviewing its edible inventory, she reached into a leather purse and pulled out a small loaf of bread. Cutting herself a slice, Elenn ripped off small pieces, alternately feeding herself and Gawaine, who chirped appreciatively.
“Aunt Ethelind,” said Elenn at last, brushing the crumbs from her hands. “Hasn’t Seissylt rested enough for one of us to ride in the cart?”
“I am content to feel the earth beneath my feet,” said Ethelind.
“Well, my kirtle is getting muddy,” said Elenn. She held out the bottom of her garment for her aunt to see where it was lightly speckled with flecks of brown. “It would seem prudent to take care of the few items of clothing we have.”
Ethelind spared her niece only a glance, with one eyebrow raised skeptically. “More prudent to have chosen to wear something that would travel better.” She wore a linen head-wrap and long grey dress covered by a dark apron, much like the robes of her institute.
“It’s the plainest one I’ve got,” Elenn said. The kirtle was a gorgeous scarlet color, well-tailored, and embroidered with yellow flowers on the bodice. It had been Maiwenn’s, and Elenn loved it.
“It’s garish,” said Ethelind. “You look like a laird’s battle cape.” She snorted derisively. “It’s a wonder the servants didn’t steal it when they ran off.”
“I saw Cauleyne, the chamber maid, eyeing it,” said Elenn, “so I hid it in the bottom of the dovecote, along with a few other precious things. The doves all disappeared, but no one found my chest of treasures, thank the Gods.”
“I’m not sure the Gods had much to do with it,” said Ethelind. “But I can’t pretend to comprehend the shape of their plans.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what you pretend, Aunt Ethelind,” said Elenn, with a grin.
“What am I to do with you?” Ethelind sighed. “You have your mother’s clever tongue, and your father’s stubborn heart.”
Elenn used to think this was half a compliment, until she realized that her aunt did not approve of cleverness. “If you don’t know what to do with me, you should let me ride in the cart so you can get a moment’s peace for once.”
“Hush, child,” said Ethelind.
“Come now, you must admit—” Elenn began.
“Hush, Elenn!” Ethelind hissed. She halted in her tracks and threw her right arm out in front of Elenn.
Peeved, Elenn opened her mouth to protest and then closed it. On the road ahead of them, the shade of the trees was strangely dark. And Elenn realized that neither Gawaine nor any of the other birds were singing. Now that the Seissylt had stopped and the axles no longer creaked, the only sound to be heard was the cawing of a few crows.
“Ravens. A bad omen,” Elenn murmured.
Ethelind nodded. “An evil presence haunts this place,” she said, her narrowed eyes peering into the unnatural gloom.
Elenn did likewise. At first, she could see nothing but the muddy country road, winding its way through the wood. Then, something moved. A shadowy, man-sized figure, barely visible in the dim light, stepped out from behind a distant tree.
“Bandits?” whispered Elenn.
“No,” said Ethelind. “Something worse.” She passed the reins to her niece and pulled open the drawstrings of the travel sack that hung around her neck. From within the depths of the sack, she pulled a narrow wooden box, almost as long as her forearm.
Holding the box, Ethelind stepped forward. Elenn moved to follow her, but her aunt lifted a forbidding hand.
“Aunt Ethelind, let me help you,” Elenn said. “I have been practicing my conjuring.”
“You’re a brave girl,” said Ethelind, not taking her eyes off the shadowy form in the trees ahead of them, “but you can do nothing in this contest. Stay here.”
Frustrated, Elenn bit her tongue and watched her aunt walk down the road, one hand holding the box and the other folded into the familiar Leodrine gesture of blessing—and warding. As she reached the halfway point between the cart and the place where the dark figure lurked, Ethelind stopped.
“Child of shadows,” she called, “come forth! Tell me your name, and by what r
ight you haunt this road.”
Complete silence followed, and a chill descended like an invisible blanket of snow. Even the crows stopped cawing. The loudest sound Elenn could hear was her own heartbeat. She wrapped her fingers in the chain that held her mother’s ring and prayed.
“Lurker in the trees,” Ethelind shouted, “I charge you to name yourself.”
“Who commands us thus?” came the reply, in a voice at once screeching and guttural.
“You face a Sister of the Leode,” Ethelind called, “a daughter of Deira, and a servant of Ollatha and his children, the Gods. Now give me your name.”
“We are Uran’s seed,” said the voice, which scratched and echoed like a chorus of ghosts. “We wait on the Baydh Rignu, and on her faithful disciples. We are Naihmant.”
A biting wind whistled through the air, and Seissylt reared and kicked. Seizing the reins, Elenn soothed him as best she could, but she, herself, was shaking like a leaf.
Aunt Ethelind, on the other hand, stepped forward, holding both hands up, like Anyon, the first king, calling down the lightning.
“Begone, enemy of men!” Ethelind commanded.
The occult form stepped forward. The darkness advanced with it, seeming to swirl like autumn leaves in the wind.
“Depart, agent of corruption!” called Ethelind, her voice like a trumpet.
As the figure drew near to her aunt, Elenn could see it more clearly. It was as tall as a man and wore a cloak of shimmering black, like jet. It lifted its arms, unfolding great talons that stretched out toward Ethelind.
Elenn dropped the reins, and reached out her own hand toward Ethelind, her middle fingers interlocked as her aunt had shown her. “Courage,” she breathed. “Be strong.”
Heedless of the creature’s grasping claws, Ethelind threw back her head and laughed.
“This is not your world,” she said. “And you have no power over me. Away with you!”
The creature halted in its tracks, no more than an arm’s length from Ethelind. For a moment it stood there, motionless. Then with a sudden shiver, it erupted in a spray of black shadows that took to the air and darted away in every direction. As they disappeared, the light returned to the wood.
Elenn ran to her aunt.
“Faithful disciples,” muttered Ethelind, her tented fingers absently tapping her lips. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Aunt Ethelind!” Elenn cried. “What in the name of all the Gods was that?”
“It called itself one of the Naihmant,” said Ethelind, “but I think that obscures more than it reveals, don’t you?”
Elenn struggled for words, but nothing seemed to come out.
“Come, child,” said Ethelind, walking back to the cart. “We must be on our way. I fear we have even less time than our noble friend Ranulf thought.”
“No,” said Elenn.
Ethelind turned and raised an eyebrow.
“Not until I get an explanation,” said Elenn. “You keep saying that you’ll explain things later. Well, it’s later.” She glanced over her shoulder at the woods which had been haunted by some infernal shade mere moments earlier. “So tell me what’s going on, or I’m not going anywhere.”
“I did promise you an explanation,” said Ethelind with a sigh.
“Yes, you did,” said Elenn.
Ethelind nodded, and then handed Elenn the slim wooden case she had pulled out of her travel sack. “Open it,” she said. “The explanation starts here.”
Elenn took the box. It was heavy and plain, made of darkly polished Renonian oak. It looked very old. The latch was brass, and fashioned in the shape of a woman with long, flowing hair. She pushed it aside with her fingers and opened the box.
As the lid swung back, Elenn gasped.
“Is this the Falarica?” she asked, in hushed reverence.
Ethelind nodded in silent affirmation, but Elenn barely noticed. She could not tear her eyes away from the treasure she held in her hand. Inside the box, on a velvet bed, lay a straight portion of a twisted horn a little longer than her hand. The horn was intricately carved and inlaid with silver. Elenn had seen many wonders in her young life, but she could not help but feel awed in the presence of this precious relic. And her aunt was its guardian.
“You heard me speak of it last night,” said Ethelind.
“Well, I didn’t think you carried it with you,” said Elenn. “In truth, I wasn’t really sure what to believe. I mean—” She hesitated.
“You didn’t believe I was important enough to actually be the guardian of the Falarica,” said Ethelind. “You thought I was just your old auntie.”
“No,” said Elenn, “I never… but this…” She trailed off, staring at what she held in her hands. “And then that thing! I feel like this is all a dream. Is it the same world today as it was yesterday?”
Ethelind laughed. “The world is the same, and so am I. All that has changed is your awareness. As the circle of your knowledge expands, you learn how much more there is to know.”
Elenn turned away, in no mood to hear more of her aunt’s cryptic aphorisms. “I don’t want to learn more, if it’s going to be like this,” she said, glancing again at the woods where the creatures had lurked.
“No matter how bad things get,” said Ethelind, “remember that good is stronger than evil. So believe in the Gods, and keep moving forward.” She placed a hand on Elenn’s shoulder and smiled. “Trust me. It will all work out for the best.”
“Can I trust you, though?” Elenn asked. “You certainly don’t trust me—not enough to tell me anything important.”
“I know it seems that way to you,” said Ethelind, “but believe me—”
“The years we spent on the road,” Elenn interrupted. “Did you have it all that time?” She held up the Falarica and waved it accusingly. “What if someone had stolen it?”
“You are not the only one who hid her treasures,” said Ethelind. “You were just the only one whose treasures could have been replaced.”
Elenn ignored the jibe. “If you had a hiding place at home, then why did we leave? It’s not safe out here on the road.”
“Do you think it was safe at home?” asked Ethelind. “We could hardly have stayed any longer. It took all my reputation, my connections, and my magic—which you should know by now are all considerable—to keep the wolves off that estate. And even then, we were selling the furniture and the wall hangings to pay off the worst of them.”
“I never knew that,” said Elenn.
Ethelind grunted. “Open your eyes, child. Deira has become a dangerous place.”
“If it is so dangerous, we should have brought Ranulf,” Elenn said, shaking her head. “The Falarica is invaluable. The two of us alone are not enough to keep this safe.”
“But three of us—that would have been enough?” said Ethelind, with an eyebrow raised.
“Aunt Ethelind, why do you mock me at a time like this?” cried Elenn. She closed the box carefully and handed it back to her aunt. “We’ve only left home an hour ago, and already been attacked by some awful nightmare! How can you not realize how important this is?”
“Believe me, child,” said Ethelind gently, “I know far better than you the importance of our mission, and the obstacles we must face.”
“Then why did you send him away?” said Elenn. “Ranulf was strong and brave, and willing to help us.”
“More than willing,” said Ethelind. “Eager. Insistent, even.” She chuckled. “I thought I would never get rid of him.”
“Why would you want to?” asked Elenn. “We need help!”
“We do not,” said Ethelind. “You and I both are far more capable than you give us credit for.”
“Capable of dealing with… that?” Elenn asked, pointing to the woods ahead.
“You are stronger than you think,” said Ethelind. “Even today, you lent me aid and helped cast that foul creature out. A man like Ranulf would have been no help at all.”
“All the same,” Elen
n began.
But Ethelind held up her hand to cut off Elenn’s protest. “I tell you he would have been useless. I’m not saying he wasn’t brave and strong and handsome and bold, and all the other things that a girl of your age thinks are so essential. If I were twenty, I’d be quite taken with him myself.”
“Aunt Ethelind,” said Elenn, “this has nothing to do with—”
“All right, then, he didn’t catch your eye,” said Ethelind. “All I’m saying is that Deira needs wisdom now more than valor. I was trying to tell that boy last night, and I hoped you would have seen that this morning.”
Ethelind exhaled heavily. “I’ve been trying to teach you this half your life. And some day you will learn it.” She shook her head. “I pray the Gods that you will survive the lesson.”
***
Chapter Six
Magister Corvus slid open a small observation panel in the door to the culverhouse, where the dim light of a single beeswax candle revealed two figures. Guerren, the castle steward, stood against the far wall, facing the door. He was tall and gaunt, and nearly bald. Guerren’s family had been faithfully serving the masters of Tantillion for generations. His eyes never flickered to the door, but Corvus knew that Guerren had marked his arrival.
The prisoner, on the other hand, was seated on a wooden stool in the middle of the room, facing away from the door so Corvus could observe him unnoticed. He was roughly bound with hempen cords, and his hair was matted. He had been stripped of his coat, and his back was dirty, scratched, and marked in several places with ugly purple and yellow bruises. His captors had probably broken a few of his ribs, either in taking him or afterward.
Corvus shook his head. A man who had been the victim of such obvious mistreatment for the last three days would not have the strength to endure strenuous interrogation. He reviewed his other options while he buttoned the dark woolen jacket which he had pulled on over his most elegant scarlet doublet. Corvus tugged at the sleeves and collar until he was satisfied that he looked every inch the Laird.
Of course, every family in Deira that had ever managed to go two generations without resorting to sheep-stealing called themselves Lairds. And only one other man in Deira had won the right to be addressed as Magister—and his appointment was from the Senate while Corvus’s title was bestowed by the Vitalion Emperor himself.
The Crown and the Dragon Page 5
