Wandering Lark (The Demon-Bound Duology)
Page 19
“I’m starting to dislike my part in this,” Hobbler said mumpishly. “Feed the half-kin to the dogs...what were those two thinking.”
Gareth reassuringly patted the Dvergar on the shoulder and urged him on.
Life as it is, Wendon thought ruefully, is not life as it should be!
Day before yesterday, he was a free man, able to pursue his studies. Not a care in the world, except to wonder how long before he finally achieved the status of a master mage.
Now he was a prisoner, and for what?
Because I allowed myself to be deceived by a pretty face and words of promise.
Or the “little head” as his father would have said.
“Gullible, that’s what you are, Wendon,” he muttered aloud at the ceiling. He was lying on Tobin’s bed, staring at the supports and the stones. It looked enough like a dungeon to make him want to close his eyes and pretend he was elsewhere.
And what good would that do? He could not unmake what he had done. He did not dare harbor one instant of hope that he might find a way out of this mess and keep his powers and his name intact.
But he had lived in Dun Gealach long enough to know that the High Mage was a merciless man.
“There is no hope,” he muttered.
He was ruined, all because of...
A soft knock on the door disturbed his ruminations. “Who’s there?” Wendon called.
The door opened slightly, and a head of tousled brown hair slipped past the edge of the wood. Winsome eyes were luminous with unshed tears.
“What do you want?” Wendon snarled and turned his stare back at the ceiling.
“May I come in?” Thera asked.
Wendon sighed. “I suppose.”
He heard her sigh, and the click of the door closing again. Softly, her feet rustled the carpet of reeds as she crossed the stone floor and stopped beside the bed. He could see her now as she leaned over him a little.
“What do you want?” he repeated.
“To tell you how sorry I am to have embroiled you in this matter,” she said. “I never dreamed the spell would wear off. I thought that giving you essence would help, but...”
Wendon frowned. “The spell wearing off is not your fault,” he said curtly. “I let my concentration wander.” He stopped himself before he said “to you.”
“Still, I am the one who convinced you to take Master Fenelon’s place, and I would never have done so had I known things were going to go awry.”
Wendon turned his head so he could look at her better. She had her eyes lowered demurely, and her hands worried the hem of her tunic.
“I would never have involved you if I thought you would come to harm,” she added.
“And why should you care?” Wendon asked.
Her eyes rose damp with tears that were now slipping from the corners. The sight stung him just a bit. “Because I cannot help but care,” she said.
“The teaching of your Blessed Brother?” Wendon asked as he sat up on the bed.
“The Brother teaches us to do no harm,” she said. “To use our skills to help others. But...” She hesitated. “May I sit, please?”
Wendon raised an eyebrow then nodded, gesturing to the side of the bed. Thera lowered herself to the edge, clasping her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath and looked at him.
“I care for reasons beyond what the Brother teaches,” she said. “It is true that in the beginning, I wanted to gain your trust for a greater cause. I believed in that cause. I still do, and sometimes one must be a little deceitful for the good of all.”
Wendon rolled his eyes and leaned against the headboard of the bed. “And I fell for it, like the fool. Master class, indeed. I was so greedy, I believed you.”
Thera frowned a little. “You cannot hold yourself responsible,” she said. “Yes, I knew you were greedy, and yes, I knew you were eager to become a master mageborn because I had been told these things.”
Wendon snorted. “Then I was all the more easily fooled,” he said. “I thought for a moment, that you might have cared about me.”
“Oh, but I do,” she said and leaned, reaching to put a hand on one of his knees. He froze. The touch rekindled flames inside him. Wendon held his breath. “I care very much, and that is what makes it all the harder for me to say this. When I saw you there, in the conjuring chamber, I had expected an oaf and a bully. But I saw the sweet young man that you were...”
Wendon jerked his knee from under her hand and pulled his legs away so that he was out of her reach. “Don’t,” he said. “I’m not sweet. I’m a coward and a bully and a fool and...”
“And you have a kind soul beneath all that,” she said, swallowing hard. “I saw that in you the day we met.”
“You’re just trying to deceive me again,” Wendon said. He crawled off the far side of the bed and stood facing the wall. He did not want her to see the warm glow of blood coloring his cheeks.
“No, I’m not,” she said. “Please, believe me when I say that I care for you because I do. Silly as it may seem, I fell in love with you that first day.”
Wendon stiffened. Slowly, he turned back to look at her. The tears tracking down her cheeks flowed abundantly. Her nose was red as a beet, and a little swollen as well.
“You fell in love with me?” he asked, sounding more surprised than he meant to. “How? Why?”
She rose from the bed, carefully wending her way around the foot of it to join him on the far side of the room. He leaned back against the wall, realizing there was no place to go, as she gently pressed the palms of her hands against his chest, then slid them around the barrel of his body. To his surprise, she leaned her cheek against his chest.
“I hear your heart,” she said. “I heard it the day I met you. A strong heart. A brave heart, and one empty as my own was until that day. I love you, Wendon. Silly as that may seem, I love you for what you are and not what you aspire to be. Which it why it hurts me all the more to know that I got you into this trouble.”
Hesitantly, he let his own arms drift around her shoulders. She did not pull away. She only pulled herself tighter against him.
“Please, say you will forgive me,” she said. “Say you will give me another chance to win your heart.”
Wendon took her by the shoulders and broke her grasp on him. He pushed her back so he could see her face. There, he searched for any hint of mockery, brushed her with mage senses as though her aura might reveal the lie to him. He found no mockery. No deceit. Only pain.
“I...I...I fell in love with you too,” he said softly.
“You did?” Her lips quivered as she smiled up at him. “Really?”
Wendon managed to nod because his throat started to close up.
“Oh, Wendon,” she cried and threw arms around his neck and pressed lips to his. Before he knew what he was doing, he had closed his arms around her and was returning the kiss with more passion than he imagined he should have felt. But she was warm, and her lips were inviting, and her body against his was stirring his blood, and other things. The passion he had felt in the tower that time she visited him was rekindled. He wanted her so badly, he could taste her.
“Oh, Wendon,” she whispered and started to drag him back over to the bed. Her fingers worked at the remains of his clothes.
He didn’t need Fenelon’s apparel...not now, anyway.
Etienne was brewing tea when the wild euphoria overwhelmed her. Horns! She nearly dropped the kettle as wave after wave of passion filled the air. Startled, she turned to where Shona had sat bolt upright in the bed.
“What in the name of Cernunnos...” Shona muttered.
“What indeed,” Etienne said and forced mage senses to focus. The center of the heat flared around Tobin’s room where she knew Wendon was, and now, she could sense Thera’s golden aura as well. And when she realized exactly what they were doing, she quickly withdrew her mage senses.
There were some matters best not investigated, she decided. Besides, using mage senses might alert
the guards...
...Or would it?
Experimentally, Etienne extended mage senses again and plucked the essence of air as though gathering it for a spell. She half expected the door to slam open and the guards to rush in, but if they sensed her actions, they showed no sign of coming to stop her. To be sure, she hurried into the corridor leading to the main door and drew essence of air again. Nothing happened. No guards, no warning to stop using magic at all. “Loisg,” she whispered and mage fire filled her hands, and still, the guards did not come. Furthermore, the suppressing miasma of Wendon and Thera’s passion seemed to stop just a few steps beyond where she stood now.
So the guards were not responding to the swirl of sexual essence. Why not? If Turlough was having them scry Etienne’s chambers to make certain she did not try to escape with magic.
She shook the mage fire from her hands and stepped closer to the door. The aura of passion was not here. Tentatively, she tried to scry in to where Shona was and felt nothing. Yet, as soon as she stepped into the range of the aura, she felt it washing over her nerves. She stepped back and tried to scry harder, and heard the door behind her.
Etienne turned to find two guards looking at her. She blinked.
“So sorry,” she said. “I thought I saw a mouse and I was trying to see where it went.”
“You’re not supposed to use magic of any sort,” one of the guards said.
“Yes, I do apologize. It’s just that I cannot abide the vermin. I’m sorry. I will not try it again, I promise.”
The guards traded looks. One nodded and the other said. “Very well, mistress. If you like, we can fetch you a cat.”
She started to refuse then changed her mind. “That would be very kind of you,” she said. “Thank you.”
They bowed slightly and backed out of the chambers, closing the door. Etienne took a deep breath. A plan began to form in her mind.
If Wendon and Thera’s passion could be used as a shield, there might be a way to escape and go help Fenelon after all.
Assuming she could figure out where Fenelon had gone.
TWENTY-NINE
Master Gloster treated his guest well, Talena noted. He begged songs from the bard, and Lark was quick to give their host a performance that befit his hospitality. Soon, Talena was well fed and being handed a mug of honey wine that quickly went to her heart and her head. By the Triad, one could not get honey wine this pure in the cities. Country folk seemed to know the secret of its making. No wonder it was said the King himself had his honey wine imported from the wilds of Garrowye.
At length, their host showed signs of growing weary. Farm folk, she knew from her own youth, were early risers, and therefore early to bed. Master Gloster and his kin proved no different. He yawned a few times, and then looked at his guest and said, “I believe the time to retire has come. May the Triad watch over you and bring you peaceful sleep while you are under this roof.”
Talena and Lark were shown to separate beds. Most farm folk had long houses, and the bedchambers were merely like stalls along one side of the room with curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Within these stalls were pallets of straw covered with good woolen blankets and down covers. Master Gloster was apparently one of the wealthier farmers, for his bedchambers were in a separate part of the house. And the small stalls were on both sides of the corridor. He directed Talena to one near his daughter-kin, and showed Lark to a stall on down near his sons rooms at the other end. Propriety demanded it, she knew. Still, she was not so sure she wanted to be too far from Lark.
Not after what she had felt in the barn today.
The magic her medallion was supposed to detect had clearly been diverted to another source. The dog he had traded for the horse that now bore that same heretical taint. It had been a deception all along. For when he had looked at her in that strange way, she had felt the medallion shiver convulsively. What he had done, she could not say. Cast a spell on her? No, for she had not died as she had been told could happen when heretics cast spells.
But to know that all this time she had been deceived into thinking he was not one of the magic born. Now she was more certain that his mission was one the Temple would want to know about. Somehow, she needed to let Desura know without alerting the others to her purpose.
She did not undress, but lay down on the pallet for what seemed like a proper length of time, listening to the sounds of the house. Someone started to snore quite loudly. Then another. When Talena felt certain that the rest of the household were asleep, she rose from her bed and crept over to the curtain, pushing it aside. No one stirred. Good. She slipped out of the stall and moved back into the household proper. In the kitchen, she managed to find a small candle and set it aflame from the embers in the fire then she sought a pan of wash water and drew the scrying glass from her jerkin.
But when she stuck it into those depths, nothing happened. It did not vibrate or glow. Why not? She took it out, shook it, and stuck it back in the pan with the same results. Nothing.
Wait, this was not running water. It was not water in the ground. Of course, the Watchers could only see through natural water. Talena would have to go outside and try to find a stream or a pond.
She was about to turn when she heard the light tread of a foot on the boards. Ducking behind the nearest table, she froze and held her breath.
Legs appeared, wearing familiar boots.
Lark?
Talena ducked farther down. Yes, it was Lark. He was ghosting along at a stiff pace as though not use to moving. She waited only until he had passed through the kitchen and headed for the door before she crawled under the table to follow.
Lark lifted the bolt and stepped outside. There he stopped and stretched arms over his head, then with more confidence, he started to move across the yard and towards the stables.
At first, she wondered if he was going to leave, but it occurred to her that he had nothing more than the clothes on his back. The harp and his satchel were still back in the house. She watched him go into the stables then hurried across the yard herself. Reaching the door to the barn, she paused and peered cautiously around the corner.
Lark had stopped in the middle of the hall. He stood there, breathing deeply of the night air, slowly stretching his arms out at his sides. For moments, he held that pose, and then he began to move. His hands drifted towards his chest, and he started to unlace his shirt and pull them off, tossing them over the edge of the stall door. Once free of them, he began to stretch his muscles as she had seen dancers do, and the sight was intoxicatingly erotic enough to make her briefly forget why she was standing here. He moved with an almost unnatural grace.
“Alaric?” someone said.
Talena froze. Where had that voice come from? She frantically searched the dark, but there was no one in sight. And then it occurred to her that the voice had emanated from stall where the yellow horse stood. Who was in there?
“Shhhhh,” Lark said. “Alaric is asleep.”
“Ronan?” the voice said, and this time, the yellow horse poked its head into view. “Why are you here? What’s wrong?”
Talena’s jaw dropped. Lark turned and glowered at the horse. “Nothing is the matter, demon!” he hissed. He waved a hand before the horse’s face. “Back to sleep with you!”
She could not believe what she was seeing. The horse closed its eyes and lowered its head over the edge of the stall door. Lark chuckled and rubbed his hand through the white mane.
“Much better,” he said.
He turned from the horse and resumed his strange dance, and it occurred to her that she had also seen fighters do such exercises to warm up before tests of skill. His movements became faster, stronger. He stretched out his hand and one of the rakes leapt from its mooring on the wall and into his grasp. By the Triad! He was the heretic! For none but a heretic could have made the rake move that way. I should have brought the medallion with me, she thought. She would have bet that it would have vibrated hard enough to get hot right now.
This was something she needed to tell Desura now. She looked around for a source of water, remembering that it had not worked in the kitchen. Running water, that was probably what she needed now. Perhaps the pump would work since that water was brought up out of the ground and...
The hand snagged her shoulder before it registered that she had been found. Talena twisted around, eager to break out from under the grasp. But before she could pull away, another hand seized her arm and jerked her into the stables. She was slung off balance by the motion. Still, she tried to keep her feet, and her endeavors were rewarded. She stayed upright, turning and dropping into a fighting stance, reaching for the dagger on her belt.
She had hardly drawn it when it was struck from her hand and buried its point in the wall of a stall. Lark lunged at her faster than she though was possible for any man—even one with his obvious fighting skill. One hand closed over her throat and slammed her into the nearest wall, holding her there.
“I don’t like spies,” he hissed. “And I don’t like you. I told him not to let you come. I told him to stay away from you, but he would not listen, and now you have seen, and now you know.”
Know what? she thought and tried to kick at him. The blow landed, but he barely flinched, and he pressed close to her to keep her from repeating the attack. She tried to rake at his face with her free hand, but he caught the wrist and pressed it to the wall. He had her helpless, pinned like a child, and she could not break his grasp. The strength in it was inhuman.
But then, she saw his face change from the frightful demonic glare to one of strain. He gritted his teeth.