Thera was holding her breath when he stopped speaking. He studied her for a moment.
“What do they believe you can tell them?” he asked.
“They believe I can tell them where the others have gone,” she said. “I fear they will try to torture me.”
Brother Colum shook his head. “I will stay and make sure they do not. But tell me, do you know where they have gone?”
She looked him in the eye. “I swear on the Blessed Brother that I do not,” Thera said. “I asked them not to tell me in case something went wrong and I was left behind.”
Brother Colum nodded. “Then I will certainly stay and make certain you are not harmed in any manner. And when they are done with their interrogation, I will make them hand you over to me. You are, after all, one of my pupils, and your fate is my decision.”
Thera nodded. There was comfort in that.
Etienne awoke, refreshed from her nap. She had not meant to sleep so long, but it had felt good.
As she sat up on the pallet, she saw the small feast, mostly gone. And two backsides high in the air. Shona and Wendon were leaning out of the small window.
“There he is...I told you,” Wendon said.
“How can you tell from here?” Shona asked.
“Tell what?” Etienne said.
They jerked back simultaneously, and poor Wendon cracked his head on the upper beam of the window frame. Etienne winced in sympathy.
“There’s a mage down below,” Wendon said, rubbing the back of his head. Shona had the good graces to stifle her laughter.
“Mageborn are not unusual in Ross-Mhor,” Etienne said.
“This one is wearing the livery of a royal advisor,” Wendon said.
“Which kingdom?” Etienne felt her heart trying to leap into her throat. Oh, horns, how could they have found us so soon? She was certain she had set enough misdirection spells on the gate to stifle the pursuers for a while.
“Loughan, I think,” Wendon said. “That is what I was trying to determine.”
“Definitely not Keltoran,” Shona added.
Etienne sighed. “How odd? Why would a mageborn from the Kingdom of Loughan be here?”
They both shrugged. Etienne took a deep breath and let her mage senses slide into the floor and followed the path of wood down to the truck of the great willow. The bright golden essence of the mageborn was starting to climb the entry stairs to the village. He did not feel familiar to her. On the other hand, as swiftly as Turlough found them when they went to the Shadow Vale, she knew she should not be surprised that other mageborn from Ard-Taebh were on the move. She pulled back her mage senses and frowned in thought. Like as not, Turlough had sent messages to everyone in reach of a ley line and told them he suspected Etienne and the others were in Ross-Mhor. It occurred to her that this might not have been the best place to come after all. She had hoped that by not going to her own village that she would be able to elude capture, but now she wondered who would have known that she had kin in this part of the world.
“I think we better leave,” Etienne said.
“Are you well enough?” Shona asked, and Etienne had a hard time not laughing considering her apprentice was only recently recovering from the damage of a death bolt.
“I have no intention of spell casting here,” Etienne said. “We shall leave by mortal means. Grab what you can of the food.”
Shona began to gather the remains of the fruits, nuts and cheese.
“But what about the silver you paid for this room?” Wendon said.
Etienne shook her head. “It would not be a good idea to bring attention to us by demanding the return of part of the money,” she said. “And anyway, it would be taken as impolite.”
Wendon looked thoughtful for a moment then began gathering his things. They had managed to escape Dun Gealach with their packs, and he shoved the robe that belonged to Tobin into his bundle. Etienne quickly pulled her own things together, then went to the door. The others were behind her as she opened it.
The “inn” consisted of several connecting smaller huts on uneven limbs. The arrangement of stairs that led down to the common hall did not follow a single course. So far, there was no one in the way. She carefully crept out of the room, wondering if there was a place they could wait until the mageborn arrived, for surely he would come here straight away. Unless he knows who my relations are. Etienne had not gone to them for fear she would put them in danger. Now, she was glad of that decision.
They had reached the foot of the stairs when she heard the landlord hailing someone who had just entered the place. Oh, horns, the man was fast. Had he run all the way up the ramp to the village? She gestured the others back and carefully peered around the corner at the last turn of the stairs.
Yes, it was Loughan’s livery that greeted her gaze. And a large man wearing it too. One of the Aldens, from the look of him. They were all brown-haired, tall, thick-set men whom she heard Fenelon once say were probably descended from the old giants of Keltoran myths. She could believe that, seeing this man, for he stood head and shoulders over even the tallest of the Ross-Mhorians.
“The name’s Bran Alden,” he said in a deep voice, “and I have come seeking a trio of travelers who may have taken room at this inn. A tall woman of your own land, a younger lass, and a young man built like a barrel.”
She heard Wendon snort, and she motioned him to silence. Bran Alden. She knew that name. He had wed Fenelon’s older sister. But what was he doing here?
“Aye, they might be here,” the landlord said. “What do you want with them?”
“They are friends of my kin, and I had some news for them about him,” Bran said. “Very important news of a personal nature.”
As Etienne watched, Bran reached into his belt and drew forth a gold sgillinn. She bit back the epithet of indignation that nearly spilled from her lips.
“Aye, I do believe they are here,” the landlord said as he pocketed the coin. “Shall I send a boy up to tell them you are here?”
Bran shook his head, leaning on his thick oak staff. “I’ll surprise them,” he said. “If you will just tell me which chambers...”
“Three rights, a left, second door from the end,” the landlord said with a shrug.
“Thank you,” Bran said and started straight for the stairs.
Horns! Etienne thought. She turned to the pair of anxious faces and gestured that they should head back and duck into the first left turn. They did not hesitate to obey. With Etienne herding them like a Keltoran shepherd, they sprinted into a side corridor. There, they pressed themselves into a doorway and waited.
Within moments, the giant man passed the end of the corridor, following the right-hand turn for the set of stairs that led to the level of their room. He seemed to hesitate briefly, then moved on. As soon as he was out of sight, Etienne started forward and motioned for the others to follow in silence.
They made their way down the stairs to the main level and the common room. The landlord looked up and his eyes rounded. Etienne gestured for the others to make for the door, but she took a moment to cross the board and glower at the man. He took a step back.
“You are a despicable worm to sell the safety of your customers for mere gold,” she said. “I shall make certain everyone from Blue Oak to the ocean knows what a treacherous house you run. May Tree Borers devour you and your wretched inn! Were I not in a hurry, I would demand my silver back!”
With that, she turned and hurried after the others.
“Where to?” Wendon asked when they got outside.
“Down that way,” Etienne said and pointed to a side avenue between branches.
With luck, this Bran Alden would not know where her cousins lived.
She only hoped Fenelon had never told him enough that he could find out.
THIRTY-FIVE
The woods thinned out again, leaving them once more on an open road crossing what looked like a broad moor. Here and there, Alaric could see a copse of trees and small tors top
ped by what appeared to be scatterings of ruins. Old megaliths and giant boulders were everywhere, as well as smaller stones that clearly reminded him of the hunched over shapes of men and animals. Some were as black as obsidian while others were white like quartz. Everything looked as though some great quake had occurred. The trees that sat away from copses were stunted and gnarly.
“What happened here?” Alaric asked and gestured to the landscape.
Talena looked uncomfortable. “We are getting closer to the borders,” she said softly. “These lands are known as the Cursed Dales.”
“Really? Why?”
“You’re a strange bard,” she said, casting a sidelong look at him, “not to know the story of this place. They say this is where the great battle took place, a battle that was the beginning of the end. This where the heretics and the Dark Mother fought against other heretics who followed the White One. What they did here tore the world apart. No one comes here. No one wants to come here. Even when our King has sent armies to defend our borders, they avoid this place by going around it. We should do that too.”
“No,” Ronan hissed inside Alaric’s head. “It would take too long.”
Alaric sent mage senses scampering about and felt a great deal of magic in conflict. And there was essence. The landscape was full of what felt like living essence, and yet. He closed his eyes and sought to focus, and then opened his eyes again. Thin wisps of what he took at first for mist moved hither and yon. He frowned. That wasn’t mist. It was a spirit, and not one, but literally hundreds. And not all of them looked to be human spirits. Ronan, what if this place is dangerous?
“It is not,” Ronan insisted. “As long as one knows what to watch out for, one is perfectly safe. Just remember to stay away from stones that are black. You are mageborn, you know perfectly well that nothing dead can harm you.”
Unlike you? Alaric thought.
Ronan said nothing, though Alaric could feel the bard’s spirit grow restless.
“How long would it take to go around it?” Alaric asked, looking at Talena.
She frowned as though not liking the idea. “A fortnight, at least.”
“And if we go straight through?”
Her face tensed. “That would be madness,” she said. “But I have heard it said that one can cross it in two days if one stops in the middle…”
“Then others have crossed it safely?”
Talena looked back at the landscape. “My father crossed it before I was born. He told me that it was not a wise thing to do.”
“Why did he cross it, then?” Alaric asked.
Talena shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
“She’s lying,” Ronan said almost gleefully.
What do you mean? Alaric thought.
“I sense that he told her why.”
“Surely he would have told you,” Alaric insisted.
She took a deep breath. “It was nothing that mattered at the time…nothing that matters now.”
“I think it does matter,” Alaric said.
Talena shot him a sharp look. “And why do you say that?” she asked.
“Because it seems to be something that upsets you,” he said.
She sighed again and looked at her hands. “My mother came from Taneslaw,” she said. “It was not something my father talked about much. He could have gotten into serious trouble because his wife was a heretic.”
“You mother was a mage?” Alaric asked. That would explain a lot, he thought.
“She had no power, at least none that she let anyone know of,” Talena said. “But then, I only know what my father told me. My mother died when I was still in my cradle.”
“How did she die?”
“I don’t know,” Talena said. “My father would never tell me. It hurt him too much to speak of it.”
“I see. I’m sorry,” Alaric said.
“So,” she said as though eager to change the subject. “Shall we be wise and follow the long road?”
Alaric shook his head. “I would see this place,” he said and smiled. “Who knows? There might be a song or two in it.”
“We might not live long enough for you to sing it, if the stories are true,” she said.
“What stories?”
“That there are all manner of creatures living on this dale that are fond of human flesh,” she said. “Raveners and the like.”
“Raveners?”
She nodded. “They’re very small, but they hunt in large packs. They tear the flesh off a man’s bones in a matter of seconds, I am told.”
“Then we’ll just have to be careful,” Alaric said.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get to the border?” Talena asked.
“As I said before, I want to see new places. That’s what a bard does. See new places and tell tales about them.”
She made a noise that was a cross between a snort and a cough. “Assuming you live long enough,” she said blandly.
“Oh, I think I shall,” Alaric said. He pressed heels to Vagner’s sides. The demon grunted in horse-like fashion and started off at a brisk walk.
Talena hesitated as though she was not going to follow.
“Good, she is too afraid to follow us,” Ronan said. “We shall be rid of her, then.”
Alaric glanced over his shoulder at Talena. She set her expression into a stern frown and applied heels firmly to her mare’s sides and started after them.
I don’t think so, Alaric thought and smiled.
He must be using his heretic powers to read my thoughts, Talena grumbled to herself. How else could Lark know that this place was bothering her so?
She didn’t like this place at all. From the moment she encouraged Kessa out onto the dale, Talena started feeling things she did not like. Feathery brushes across her skin, sharp prickles of the hairs on the back of her neck. There was a sense of foreboding rising in her that she was not accustomed to—or had not been in a long time. In the past, when she had felt such things, bad things had happened.
More so when she was younger. More so when her mother was still alive.
I lied to him, not that it matters, she scolded herself. She had known her mother much longer than she admitted. Not just through her father’s tales of the beautiful, fey lass that he had fallen in love with. Her father had been serving the king as a soldier in those days. He crossed this place to go to war with the heretics of Taneslaw, but he and his unit were attacked by creatures they had no comprehension of. Foul lizard-like beasts as large as horses ridden by misshapen men had attacked them as they camped. Her father was one of the few who escaped with his life, but he was wounded. For days he had wandered, unsure of where he was, when he came to a green place, a copse where the pine trees were tall and straight and smelled so sweet and the loam was dark and rich.
And there, he had passed out on the banks of a stream. What he remembered was a woman, through she seemed little more than a child to him, for she was no higher than his heart. She had coppery hair and eyes like spring leaves, and her skin was as pale as milk. She had crossed the stream just as he passed out, and when he awoke, he was inside a hut that was part of the trees. And within that leafy bower, he met his benefactress. Again, he thought her no more than a girl, but she seemed so wise to the ways of the forest. She told him that her name was Islonia, and he knew at once that she was Tannish by birth. One of the heretics he had been sent to kill.
But he could not kill her. She took care of him, healed him with her special herbs and foreign ways. He came to learn she was not a child, but a woman grown. He fell in love with her, took her as his wife and brought her back to his land.
Still, there were those who looked at her and knew that she was not Synalian in blood. He refused to listen when his family said that she should be sent away, that if the temples learned of her, he would not stand a chance. She would be burned, and he along with her.
He bought out his commission and took work as a mercenary after that. He traveled along, taking Islonia with him. Whe
n she bore him his first and only child, he was so pleased.
But then, when Talena was just a child, her father had gone to talk to a merchant about work. She and her mother were alone in the cottage when the men in black leather armor came.
Talena did not know at the time that they were Temple Bounty Hunters. She thought they were some of the monsters her father had described seeing in his travels. Her mother pushed her into a small closet, told her to be quiet, and locked the door. From that dark, close place, Talena listened to her mother’s cries for mercy and the laughter of the men. The sounds faded as her mother was dragged from the cottage by force.
She never saw her mother again. Her father had returned late that night to a cold cottage and a child sobbing in the dark of a closet. She could not tell him anything. What she did know was that her father had taken her away after that. He never spoke of her mother again. He became dark and brooding in temperament. For Talena, life became roads and rambles and brawls and learning the way of the sword. Then her father took her back to the family farm to stay with her cousin’s kin, and went off, never to return.
She later learned that he had gone to the Temple of the Triad and tried to kill one of the patriarchs who were responsible for ordering the death of his beloved Islonia. But his failure was also his death.
Wandering Lark (The Demon-Bound Duology) Page 23
