The Name Of The Sword (Book 4)

by J. L. Doty

  Nicki said, “She’s not dead.”

  At such an adamant statement, both AnnaRail and Olivia looked at her pointedly.

  JohnEngine asked, “How do you know that?”

  “I just do. At least I think I do.”

  “You think,” JohnEngine said. “How can we be certain?”

  Olivia’s eyes narrowed and she leaned forward looking only at NickoLot. “Child, you’re thinking of a prescience spell, aren’t you?”

  Nicki lowered her eyes, feeling like a little girl caught sneaking a sweet from the kitchen.

  “Good,” Olivia said. “That’s an excellent idea. I applaud your initiative.”

  Surprised, Nicki looked at her grandmother. “But I have nothing of Rhianne’s to use as a focus.”

  AnnaRail and Olivia exchanged amused glances. “Oh dear girl,” Olivia said. “Your mother and I have bits and pieces of every one of you.”

  Olivia shooed JohnEngine and Jinella out of the room, then turned to AnnaRail. “It’ll be best if she does this where she practices most of her spell-casting, so take her to her own room. I’ll meet you there with something of Rhianne’s to help her focus.”

  On the way to her room, AnnaRail said, “I do hope you were going to ask our help in this.”

  Nicki answered truthfully. “I was going to ask you, but maybe not grandmother.”

  As Nicki sat down at the small writing table in her room, Olivia joined them. On the table the old woman placed a wrinkled piece of linen with a dark, brown stain on it. Olivia said, “I collected a little blood when she cut herself once.”

  She and AnnaRail discussed the spell, decided Nicki should rub some of her own blood into the stain. Nicki pricked her finger with the tip of a sharp knife, and dripped seven, dark red drops onto the linen. She heard Olivia summoning wards as she rubbed it in carefully with a finger.

  “Think of the near future,” AnnaRail said. “Think of Rhianne, and think of the two of you together.”

  Nicki closed her eyes, fed power into the old and new blood on the piece of linen, and with her mother standing next to her, feeding her strength, she immediately felt herself slipping into a trance.

  She saw a sad Rhianne from the past, then an old Rhianne, wrinkled and gray, but happy. She saw Rhianne standing in a magnificent court, in a great hall, and on the throne above her sat a king in Decouix white. But this king wore the head of a goat with blood-red eyes, and from him radiated malevolence and hate.

  The goat king turned his head and looked at Nicki. It said, “This is not your future, child.”

  Terror flooded into her and she screamed.

  “It’s all right,” AnnaRail said.

  Nicki opened her eyes, found that she had fallen out of her seat and lay on the floor, her head cradled in AnnaRail’s lap, Olivia standing over them. Her pounding heart slowly calmed, and she got control of her breathing.

  AnnaRail stroked her brow softly and asked, “What did you see?”

  Nicki described the throne room and the monster. AnnaRail helped her stand, then sit down again at her small table. The two older women quizzed her for some time, where most interested in the fact that the monster king wore Decouix white. At some point they appeared to come to a mutual decision. They looked at each other carefully and nodded their agreement at some unspoken conclusion.

  “What?” Nicki asked.

  AnnaRail said, “She’s in Durin, probably Valso’s captive.” She looked at Olivia and asked, “Tulellcoe?”

  The old woman nodded. At the look on Nicki’s face, AnnaRail said, “We’ll tell Tulellcoe what we’ve learned here and ask him to go to Durin and investigate.”

  Olivia said, “Once we tell him Rhianne is Valso’s captive in Durin, I think we’d have trouble stopping him.”

  ••••

  One of Rafaellen’s wounded soldiers could neither walk nor ride, so they set about building a litter for him. Morgin said, “While you’re at that, I’m going back to the site of the ambush.”

  Rafaellen made no attempt to hide his distrust and assigned one of his men to accompany Morgin. With the fellow following him closely, Morgin headed back down the trail, walking slowly and examining every broken branch and displaced leaf for any sign of the jackal warriors. When they reached the site of the ambush he circled it carefully and found the position on the trail where Mortiss had carried him away from the battle, with two mounted jackals chasing him. He continued circling the periphery of the carnage, looking for any sign of the jackal troop’s withdrawal. The guard that Rafaellen had sent to keep an eye on him turned out to be a nuisance, looking over his shoulder and questioning everything he did.

  Morgin found several places where two or three horses had broken away from the trail. But on closer examination he determined that each was the result of an individual combat that had become separated from the melee. He found a spot on the south side of the trail where the brush and undergrowth had been trampled by the hooves of many horses. He followed that spoor for about 50 paces to a spot where a wide swath of undergrowth had been trampled; he’d found the place where the jackal troop had regrouped after the battle. With more than 30 riders, he had no difficulty picking up their trail, which headed southwest.

  Morgin’s guard said, “I need to piss. Stay within sight.”

  He walked about 20 paces away, a distance that would give him plenty of warning if Morgin tried to attack him. He turned his back and began unlacing his breeches.

  Keeping an eye on the man, Morgin whispered, “Soann’Daeth’Daeye, are you here?”

  The shadowwraith coalesced in front of him and dropped to one knee. I am, my king. What do you desire?

  “Can you tell me where these jackals are?”

  No, sire. We are of the forest, and like it are blind to their presence.

  Apparently the wraiths could sense the spoor of the jackals, but not the warriors themselves.

  “Can you sense the princess?”

  No, my king.

  Whatever magic the jackals were using had masked the princess as well. Morgin would have to track them without the aid of the forest or the wraiths.

  He and his guard returned to the trail and found Rafaellen and the three remaining soldiers waiting for them. “Come,” he said to the captain. “I’ve found their trail. You can ride with me, but have your men hold back about a hundred paces. I don’t want to stumble into any surprises.”

  He considered telling them of his shadow magic, but recalling Rhiannead’s fearful reaction when she thought she faced the ShadowLord, he rejected that thought as soon as it occurred to him. The last thing he needed was superstitious soldiers constantly fearful of him when they needed to focus their fear on the jackals.

  Tracking the jackal troop proved to be easy. They made no attempt to conceal their tracks, and with more than 30 riders they left a very visible trail. As Morgin followed them he grew increasingly uneasy about that. By midmorning he suspected they wanted him to track them, so he pulled up and turned to Rafaellen. “I don’t like this.”

  “Why?” Rafaellen asked.

  “It’s too easy. They want us to find them. They’re after something, and it’s probably not the princess if they’re willing to let us catch them.”

  “You think maybe another ambush?”

  “Possibly.”

  Looking at the trail the jackals had left, Morgin revised his opinion of the situation. He needed to move with more caution, needed to go forward protected by shadow, but he didn’t want Rafaellen to see his abilities in that regard. “Go back and ride with your men. I can move more silently without you.”

  Rafaellen shook his head. “No. I’m staying close to you.”

  Morgin turned to face the captain. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “I do trust you, but not that much.”

  They locked eyes for a long moment, and Morgin realized he had no choice. He wrapped himself in shadow and Rafaellen gasped. Then drawing his sword as he danced among the shadows, he
stepped out of one immediately behind the captain and pressed the tip of his sword between the man’s shoulder blades. Rafaellen froze.

  Morgin said, “If I wanted to betray you, or murder you, do you really think you could stop me?”

  Morgin lowered his blade, stepped back a pace and said, “Turn and face me.”

  Rafaellen turned around slowly, and the fear on his face surprised Morgin. The man’s voice trembled a bit as he said, “ShadowLord.”

  Morgin shrugged. “I suppose so. But if I am, forget all the legends you’ve heard. I have no intention of harming you or your men, or the princess. So do as I say.”

  He pulled another shadow, knowing that in the soft light beneath the forest canopy he would seem to disappear. Rafaellen gasped again, and Morgin stepped from shadow to shadow until he stood about ten paces farther down the trail. “Do as I say, Captain, or you’ll hinder me, and that will endanger the princess’s life.”

  Rafaellen returned to his men and it appeared that now the captain would obey Morgin’s orders. Morgin climbed into Mortiss’ saddle and pulled a shadow about them both. He nudged her forward, moving more cautiously now that his suspicions had been aroused.

  11

  The Track of the Jackal

  Seducing Lewendis proved to be rather easy. He was a bit of a yokel, and had never really had a lover as beautiful—and as talented beneath the sheets—as Chrisainne. And to her surprise, he turned out to be a gentle and caring lover. He was not the most handsome of men, but he took great care to be certain she enjoyed herself, and she did. Between him and the stable boy she almost had enough lovemaking in her day to keep her satisfied. If only she didn’t have to fuck that pig BlakeDown.

  She felt the touch of Valso’s mind close at hand, so she quickly put such thoughts away.

  The weather here in Durin is atrocious, Valso said. It’s been raining all day.

  It’s rather pleasant here, Your Majesty, she said. Though it saddens me that you must suffer such dreariness. But I do have some good news to report, and that might brighten your day.

  And what is that?

  I have seduced one of ErrinCastle’s lieutenants, one of the hotheads his father forced upon him. She had thought long and hard about this, and decided that she could use Lewendis to her own advantage with Valso. His name is Lewendis, and he can be quite volatile. But he’s also easy to manipulate.

  Chrisainne heard the skepticism in Valso’s tone. But it sounds as if he’s nothing more than a low-level lieutenant. So how is this good news?

  Through him I have more direct control of the border situation. I can directly influence his thinking, keep him from starting a war too early, but when you decide the time is right, I’ll have him start it at your pleasure. How much of a war would you like him to start? An all-out bloodbath, or just a skirmish?

  Oh Chrisainne! I like you. I like you very much.

  And with that, Valso withdrew from her mind.

  Yes, Lewendis: a pleasant surprise wrapped in a crude country package. And while she took enjoyment from that surprise only because Theandrin had forced her to seduce him, Chrisainne wouldn’t let that stop her from killing the woman.

  A rather surprising thought occurred to her: why stop with Theandrin? Theandrin first, then wait a year or so, and ErrinCastle could follow her, some sort of accident. At that point, with no other offspring, BlakeDown would be desperate to sire a new heir. And he’d have Chrisainne close at hand, a beautiful, young noblewoman in the prime of her fertility. She’d have to do something about her own husband. It might look suspicious if he died, and then shortly afterward she married BlakeDown. Better to kill him off sometime between Theandrin and ErrinCastle. If she did this right, she could be the mistress of Penda and mother to its heir. She’d have to put up with BlakeDown and his piggish rutting—or perhaps not. Once she bore a son to inherit the leadership of Penda, and maybe a spare, she’d have no further need of BlakeDown. And with him out of the picture, there’d be no one to stop her from taking all the pleasure she desired from whomever she chose, for she would be the Lady of Penda, with no lord to gainsay her.

  Yes, she just needed to set her sights higher, and be willing to take whatever steps were necessary.

  ••••

  “Pheasant tonight,” Theandrin said, standing in the kitchen, reviewing the meal plan with the cook. “Boar tomorrow evening, and how about—”

  Something triggered her special ward, sending a jolt through her soul. She staggered, reached out and gripped the back of a chair.

  The cook frowned and took her arm. “What’s wrong, milady? Are you ill?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Here,” the cook said, pulling out a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

  “No,” Theandrin said. She had to move quickly. She turned and marched out of the kitchen, saying, “We’ll finish this later.”

  She’d created a new ward, designed to trigger on a non-physical intrusion, and she had to get to it before the effect dissipated. She strode through the castle proper, servants scurrying out of her way. She marched up to the second floor and into her bedroom.

  She retrieved a small chest from beneath her bed, placed it on the bed and opened it, its only contents a small, silver pendent containing a lock of her hair and 13 drops of her blood. She lifted it out of the chest, pressed it tightly against her breast and closed her eyes.

  She felt nothing for several heartbeats, but as she concentrated and focused her magic, a faint and indistinct impression washed through her. She saw a white light far in the distance. It slowly approached and grew in intensity until it shone with such brilliance it flooded the landscape of her thoughts, almost swamping any other feature. But not quite, for beneath it she saw two shadows, one green, one blue, both nothing more than a blotch of color beneath the overpowering white radiance. The vision slowly faded, until nothing remained to be seen but the back of her own eyelids. She opened her eyes to consider what she’d just seen.

  There was no mistaking the white of Decouix, and that made sense. If she must guess who might place a spy in the Penda Court, the two prime candidates were Olivia and Valso. But she’d seen no Elhiyne red, just the white of Decouix, the green of Penda, and the blue of Vodah. The white and green she understood, a Penda traitor reporting to the Decouix, but how did Vodah fit into this?

  Valso probably had a few of his Vodah lackeys sneaking about. They’d keep a low profile, probably pretend to be Penda, or any of the other Lesser Clans. She’d have to check nearby inns, put together a list of possibilities. It would be someone who had been inside the castle walls at the moment the ward had been triggered.

  If she couldn’t track this intruder down by simply looking for Vodahs lurking about, she’d have to strengthen her special ward. But then the intruder might detect it when he triggered it. Maybe she could add something to it to give her a sense of direction, or location.

  What would she do with the culprit when she found him? She’d have to think on that.

  ••••

  Morgin rode at a slow pace with his attention sharply focused on the track left by the jackal troop, Rafaellen and his men following at about a hundred paces. The forest thinned out and the jackals no longer needed to ride in a single column. That worried him, for if a small group split off from the main troop, he could easily miss the signs of them doing so. He had slowed to a walk when he heard a noise to one side of the track.

  He and Mortiss froze, and the only sounds to break the silence were the soft rustle of the forest leaves, a little noise from Rafaellen and his men, and the faint sing-song sound of a jackal’s voice lowered to a whisper.

  Turning only his head, and doing so slowly, Morgin looked in the direction of the jackal’s voice. He saw nothing for several heartbeats, then caught a glimpse of motion behind a large clump of brush to one side of his track. An ambush, and he and Mortiss had walked right into it. If not for his shadows he’d likely be a dead man now.

  The
play of light beneath the dense forest canopy was ideal for shadowmagic. So he released Mortiss’ reins and draped them across her neck. Conscious that even the creak of his saddle leather could give him away, he gripped the saddle horn, and moving slowly he swung his right leg over Mortiss’ rump. He cautiously lowered his right foot to the ground, then lifted his left foot out of the stirrup and lowered it, careful not to snap any twigs or make even the slightest sound. He leaned toward Mortiss’ ear and whispered, “You take the jackals we spotted. I’m going to check the other side for a second bunch. And start the killing just as they spring the trap.”

  Crouching low, and reinforcing his and Mortiss’ shadows, he edged toward the side of the track opposite the jackals he’d spotted. He hadn’t detected any jackals on that side, but they were smart enough to set up an ambush with a proper crossfire, and there were several clumps of brush that could easily hide a second group of jackal warriors.

  Rafaellen and his men were quickly approaching so he didn’t have much time. He drew his sword slowly, glanced back once and saw that Mortiss’ had left the track, though whether she chose to obey his orders was always a question that would only be answered when the time came.

  Walking in a crouch about 20 paces outside the track, he paralleled it, danced from shadow-to-shadow and checked anything that might hide a jackal. He found one standing behind the trunk of a tree, two more a few paces away behind a large bush, all holding strung bows and nocked arrows, their attention locked on Morgin’s companions as they approached. He couldn’t be certain he’d found them all, and he had no more time to search further. So he stepped into a shadow behind the two and waited. Using surprise he’d try to kill them quickly, then go after the one behind the tree.

  The jackals were smart enough to not wait until Rafaellen and his men had crossed directly between them; too much chance that a stray arrow might miss its target and continue on to strike friend rather than foe. No, they’d surprise their enemy just before they reached that point. But since Morgin’s targets were spread out, he couldn’t wait for that.

  He guessed the jackals would strike when Rafaellen was about ten paces out, so he moved when they were at 20. He held his sword in a two-handed grip, stepped forward and swung it down at an angle at the jackal on his left. It bit deeply into the warrior’s neck where it met his shoulder. At the same instant Mortiss’ cried out a scream from netherhell, and the deep brush on the other side of the track erupted in a maelstrom of barking jackals and enraged horse.