With that, the rude fellow jerked the leash and blundered past Turlough, passing close enough that the odiferous beast brushed his palfrey’s foreleg, and while the palfrey was selected for its normally congenial behavior, it took great offense to either the odor or the proximity of the pig. With a squeal, the horse reared and bolted off to one side.
Fortunately for Turlough, he was enough of a skilled horseman to keep from being unseated, but it took him several moments to get his horse under control again, and by then, the offensive Auld Tappin was gone.
“Of all the...” Turlough turned and glared at his escorts. They were trying very hard not to laugh. Glowering, Turlough pointed to one and snarled, “You! Go into that tavern there and ask where the Braidwines live. Now!”
The guard quickly dismounted and hurried for the small tavern. Turlough surveyed the locals with an impatient eye. At length, the guard returned, wiping his chin. He walked over to Turlough and gestured up hill towards a tower.
“The tavern keeper said that Master Haldane Braidwine had taken over the keep of Gordslea Hold,” the guard said.
“Hmmmm...” Turlough glanced up at the visible tower of the keep. “So perhaps Drayton is indeed gone...”
He spurred his horse and started up the street. The guard scrambled to get mounted and follow.
Ahead of them rose the old square tower and walls of Gordslea Hold. Turlough galloped his horse through the main gate there, and only then did he slow his pace.
Heads turned at his approach. Several earthy types were gathered over by a pen, and to his relief it was a large bull rather than a pig that was being admired. In their midst was a man whose features hinted a bit of the young man Turlough wanted to find.
“You there, are you Master Haldane Braidwine?” Turlough called in an authoritative voice.
“I might be,” the man said and furrowed his brow. “And who might you be?”
“I am Lord High Magister Turlough Greenfyn,” Turlough said. “High Mage of the Council of Mageborn in Caer Keltora, and I have come to speak to you about your son, Alaric Braidwine.”
The man’s furrow deepened. “What’s happened to my Lark?” he asked suspiciously.
“That is something I was hoping you could tell me,” Turlough said. “May I come in?”
Haldane Braidwine looked at the others. “All right. Come this way.” He started off towards the keep without so much as a “shall I assist you?”
Turlough dismounted. He motioned for one of the guards to accompany him while the other was to remain with their horses.
The yard was well kept, Turlough noticed, but the entrance through which he was taken was clearly a kitchen. Several women were there, including one who was lording over the others. She looked up as Turlough entered her domain.
“Haldane, where are your wits, bringing quality through my kitchen when I’ve a meal to get on.”
Haldane winced. “This man is the High Mage, mother, and he has come to talk about Alaric...and this is still the shortest way to the rest of the keep.”
“Then he’ll talk to me as well,” she said fiercely and turned to one of the lasses assisting her. “You take over Sion. Get Fiona to fetch the wine.”
“Why thank you, madam,” Turlough said. “I am a bit parched.”
“It’s not for you,” she said. “It’s for the dinner. If you’re parched, you can have water from the pitcher over there.”
Turlough knotted a fist. The woman glowered at him as defiantly as any warrior. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Water then,” he said.
“Fiona go fetch a pitcher of water from the well instead. And make it a clean pitcher, child.” The youngest girl bolted out of the kitchen. Mistress Braidwine gestured toward the door. “This way Master High Mage.”
She threw off her apron as she spoke and pushed past Haldane who smiled after her. “She’s a good woman,” he said with a smile. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”
Turlough had several suggestions, none of which might be considered genteel, but he kept them to himself. He followed them both into the main hall of the keep. A fire was glowing warmly from the hearth. It looked strangely empty for a hall that once held feasts. The old table was there, and it looked as though it had seen a good scrubbing. The boards were scoured until they were nearly white.
Haldane stopped before the fire, stretching his hands. He gestured to a chair. “You can have my chair, m’lord,” he said.
Turlough accepted the offer, though he glanced at the seat to be certain it was clean. Mistress Braidwine noticed his glance too...
“You’ll not find a speck of dust in my house,” she said.
“I would not expect to,” Turlough said. “I just wanted to be certain there was not a cat or a dog sleeping in the chair...”
“I don’t allow animals in the hall,” she said.
He nodded and took the chair.
“Now, m’lord,” Haldane said cheerfully. “Exactly what brings you here?”
“I’m looking for your son,” Turlough said. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Oh...when was it, Mother?” Haldane said. “Two...maybe three sen’nights ago?”
“Why was he here?” Turlough asked.
“Oh, well, he and that other mage fellow, they came looking for Marda Alfrey.”
“Marda Alfrey...” Turlough said thoughtfully. “I know her. Why were they seeking her?”
Haldane shrugged. “They never said, to be honest.”
“And what connection does Marda Alfrey have to your son?” Turlough asked.
“She trained him,” Haldane said. “In fact, she is the one who recommended I send him to your Dun Gealach. Now you must tell me what had happened to my son?”
“As I said, he has disappeared,” Turlough said. “You say that Marda trained young Alaric. Where is she now?”
“She left right after I sent him to Caer Keltora,” Haldane said. “I imagine she went home...”
Turlough nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
He rose and started for the door. “If you see your son, would you have the kindness to send a message to me most hastily?” Turlough asked.
“Certainly,” Haldane said. “If you’ll tell me why you’re so eager to find him?”
“I fear at this point I am not at liberty to say what,” Turlough said. “But rest assured I will find him.”
He hurried out before they could ask more.
Marda Alfrey, eh? He had not heard her name in a long time, not since she broke her alliance with the Council to go be friends with that bard Ronan Tey.
Never much liked that one. Turlough shook his head.
He mounted his palfrey and left Gordslea Hold by the back gate this time. And just a short ways down the road, he gated himself and his escort to the last place he recalled Marda living out on the moors of Mallow.
FORTY-FIVE
Turlough would rather have taken an army to Mallow, but he kept his small escort instead. That, he figured, would mean there were two targets besides himself should Marda live up to her reputation. Yet another of the mageborn who would have nothing to do with the Council, Turlough had tasted her temper before.
Granted, he could have gone back to Dun Gealach and passed the task on to Lorymer, but good, loyal if not always tactful assistants were difficult to find these days.
The gate he opened into Mallow landed Turlough and his guard on a narrow trail. He cast about with mage senses to see if Marda had set up any mage traps, but none were to be felt... In fact, it seemed rather devoid of her magic at all.
He dismounted and climbed the narrow little trail, leaving one guard with the horses and taking the other as a distraction. But they reached the height of the trail under the hawthorns unchallenged. The cottage showed no sign of a resident. No smoke curled from the chimney. No livestock wandered the yard. Turlough frowned.
“Marda Alfrey, come forth!” he shouted.
He felt a faint stir of essence in the air. Not li
ving essence at all, but spirit energy wafted to him. As he watched, a faint wisp of a fog hovered just inside the cottage door then took on a weary translucent form.
“Marda?” Turlough said.
“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice echoed with spite.
“Why merely to ask you about your pupil Alaric Braidwine,” he said.
Marda’s eyes narrowed.
“May I come in?” Turlough asked.
“As if I could stop you,” Marda said and backed away.
Turlough sent the guard in first. While he did not expect Marda could harm him in her present state, he did not want to risk finding out otherwise. But the guard entered the small hut without incident, so Turlough stepped inside.
And stopped. There was a faint reek of demon to the place, but it was unlike any demon Turlough had sensed before. In fact, it felt nothing like the demon attached to young Braidwine. He glanced around. Marda had backed over to the hearth and was sitting in the ashes of her fireplace. She looked terribly sad.
“Well,” Turlough said. “This place stinks like a demon pit. What have you been doing, Marda?”
“None of your affair,” she said and crossed her nearly invisible arms over her slightly more solid chest. The stones of the fireplace still showed through her.
“None of my affair?” Turlough repeated. “The affairs of all mageborn in Ard-Taebh are my affair, Marda.”
“Oh, go away you ridiculous old peacock,” Marda said. “I never much liked your line. All too sure of themselves. You, that Fenelon...”
“Fenelon?” Turlough stepped closer to her spirit. “Have you seen Fenelon?”
She nodded. “Yes, I have seen him, and by the Silver Wheel of the White Lady, I wish that I had not. He cost me dearly.”
“In what respect?” Turlough asked.
Marda shook her head and backed into the fireplace itself. There she squatted, looking as dejected as ever an old soul could.
“Come on, Marda,” Turlough said. “It will do you no good to resist. I can bind you and force you to speak.”
“A lot of good it did Fenelon,” she said and laughed. “He tried to force me to speak, and I just...disappeared in spite of his binding.”
Turlough passed his glance over the cottage. “Really,” he said. “So when did you start consorting with a demon, Marda?”
Her eyes roved wildly as though she feared he had been heard. “Ask not. I cannot tell. I cannot betray him...he will not let me.”
“Him? Alaric Braidwine?”
She began to cry. “I did not betray him. I loved him like my own.”
“Then who do you fear you will betray?”
She closed her eyes and drifted back into the stones of the fireplace. “I cannot betray him,” she said. “He hears...he knows...he has punished me once already for saying more than I should. I should never have welcomed him into my house. I curse the day he walked out of that storm and begged shelter of me... Now go away.”
But Turlough would not be put off, and he began to whisper the words of a binding spell. Marda cried out, trying to fade away, but he dragged her ethereal form back out of the stone and made her stand before him. He bound her to the earth and to the air, and made his chains tight as bowstrings. She writhed then grew still, her old face damp with tears.
“Tell me, Marda,” Turlough said gently. “Tell me who is it that you fear? The demon to who you are bound?”
“I cannot tell,” she whimpered. “I have already betrayed him once. I cannot do it again or I will be sundered for all time.”
“Do you want to know peace?” Turlough asked. “I can give you that rest.”
“He will never let me rest. I should have known better, should have seen what was in him, but he deceived me with his lovely voice and his lies.”
Turlough took a deep breath. “Alaric deceived you?”
“No!” she cried. “It was the demon that is in him.”
She stopped, covering her mouth.
“Oh, no, not again!” she cried.
Before Turlough could ask what she meant, she began to tremble and swell like a toad. He fought to keep his binding intact, but her change would not allow him. She snapped the magical fetters like rotten thread, and with a shriek, she popped and was gone.
Turlough glanced at the guard who had put a hand on his sword. He waved the man to stillness and cast about with mage senses.
The demon essence was strongest on the spot where Marda had stood.
But it is not the demon that is bound to Braidwine at all, Turlough thought. It was older, more ancient and its essence was liquid cinnamon on his tongue.
The demon that is in him.
What had Marda meant by that? Was Braidwine a demon himself?
“We must hasten back to Dun Gealach,” Turlough said. “There is a scroll I would consult.”
The demon that is in him? Where had Turlough heard that phrase before?
Lorymer was waiting in the High Mage’s apartments when Turlough returned to Dun Gealach. He looked rather pleased with himself.
“Well? What have you discovered?” Turlough asked. He seated himself at his table.
“The closest mageborn to Ross-Mhor is Renton Morwaine,” Lorymer said cheerfully. “However, because he has already been threatened with bodily harm by no less than Gareth Greenfyn, he fears he will be useless.”
“I don’t need useless,” Turlough snarled. “I need useful...”
“I am aware of that,” Lorymer said. “And I told Renton that if he knew of another who might be able to assist us, we would appreciate knowing. That was when he informed me that he did know of one mageborn who recently went to Ross-Mhor. Within the last few days, as a matter of fact.”
“What?” Turlough practically leapt out of the chair. “Who?”
Lorymer smiled. “One of the Aldens,” he said. “Bran, to be precise.”
“Bran, eh? Is he certain of this?”
“Oh, yes. He says that Bran stopped by on his way. Asked for Renton’s hospitality for a few hours as, in his own words, ‘Ross-Mhor is a long leap even for a mageborn of my years.’”
Turlough leaned back. “Indeed.” Lunging forward in the chair, he grabbed parchment and quill. “I have another task for you, Lorymer. Go to the Head Librarian and tell her that I am in need of a certain scroll, and that I would appreciate her bringing it out of the deep for my perusal.”
He quickly scribbled words on the parchment then offered them to Lorymer who took the paper with a bow.
“As you will, Lord Magister,” he said and departed hastily.
As I will indeed, Turlough thought.
FORTY-SIX
They reached the edge of the Cursed Dales about midday through the next. Alaric was glad to see the last of that place.
“Don’t worry,” Ronan whispered in his head. “I promise that you will not see it again.”
How can you promise me that? Alaric had asked in response.
“You will not have to return this way,” Ronan said.
Alaric pondered this. If there was another way, why had they not taken it instead? Ronan gave no answer, sliding back into the depths of Alaric’s mind.
Talena looked less than pleased to see the edge of the moor. She pulled her sword around so that it was readily taken into hand. Her gaze was never forward, but shifted back and forth suspiciously.
“What are you looking for?” Alaric finally asked.
“Border patrols,” she said. “Another league and we will be right on the border of Taneslaw. The last thing we want is to be surprised by a party of Tannish scouts...”
“We’re still fairly out in the open,” Alaric said. “Maybe we should look for cover?”
Talena shook her head. “We would be in more danger if we did that,” she insisted. “There are those who say that Tannish lords can speak to trees. That the trees of the border lands are alive, and that they tell the Tannish warriors where to find their enemies.”
“They talk to tree
s?” Alaric said.
“And to animals and to rocks,” she said.
Alaric laughed. “You’ve got to be making this up,” he said cheerfully.
Talena shot him a look that would have frozen fire. “It is you who does not understand,” she said. “The folk of Taneslaw are not like us. They are monsters and heretics and...”
“And her job is to turn them over to the temple...” Ronan said.
“Look,” Alaric said. “I can sense what is around us, so we have nothing to fear. If there are monsters out there, I am certain to know of them before they know of me.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him that spoke of disbelief. “Then why did you not know of the raveners when we went into the ruins?” she asked.
“I thought they were squirrels,” Alaric said.
That made her laugh. She turned away, shaking her head. “All right, so they do look like squirrels. But that is no reason for us to lower our guard. This land is not like our own. You’ll see.”
“All right,” Alaric said. “But if we get there and there are no monsters, you’re going to feel rather foolish.”
Talena rolled her eyes and put heels to Kessa. The mare picked up her pace to a fast walk. Alaric sighed and willed Vagner to take a matching pace.
The gorge finally narrowed down to the point that Fenelon thought they were about to run out of walking space. If he stretched his hands, he could touch either side. Looking up, the tops of the cliffs now rising over them was clearly out of his line of sight, though that might have been the result of the fog lowering over them.
He was not surprised when his father stopped suddenly. Ahead, Hobbler seemed to be contemplating the stones that were now blocking the way.
“Dead end?” Fenelon said. “He led us to a dead end?”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Hobbler said simply and he turned his head one way, then another. “Ah, here it is.”
Wandering Lark (The Demon-Bound Duology) Page 30
