5
Ton-Kel slipped like a shadow from the shelter of one ramshackle building to another, her feet automatically skirting piles of discarded tools, trash, dung, and the occasional outraged chicken, as anger and fear burned in her gut like warring flames. She tried to focus her attention on the people around her as they went about their daily business, to watch for hints of strange behavior, something to shed some light on what had so affected their lives, but one thought kept scattering all others before it.
They sent us here to die.
Something was exerting control over the local Fey. Something that could create pocket magic. Something that could snatch a Triad member and make him betray his Triad. Something that could make human and fairy alike dance to its tune. There was only one being, one enemy, who could possibly manage it: for some reason, a Greater Fey was working dark magic in the region of Westmere.
And what hope did any human, even Triads, have against a Greater Fey? The Factions who had sent their Triads must have known. And, for some reason, feared to take direct action against one of their own.
They sent us here to die.
It made no sense — but then, when did the actions of the Greater Fey ever make sense to the humans they ruled?
She looked back along the path that led up to the inn, out of sight now behind a rise of earth, and wondered how long it would be before someone came looking for her. A good while yet, with any luck at all. She needed this time alone to pull herself together, to find something positive to offer her Triad. And the other Triads; they were all in this together, after all.
All in it together, and all stuffing their faces back at the inn under Lily's fawning attentions, as if nothing was more important. Ton-Kel gritted her teeth, surprised at the strength of her annoyance.
Galen had been called away by one of his men to attend to some disturbance. No sooner was he out the door than Lily had appeared from the kitchens as if by magic, smiling sweetly as she bore trays of food and drink, offering the Triads an early luncheon. Brushing away Sir Charles's gallant protest that they were putting her to extra trouble. Flirting her way around the room while her husband, the silent Alfred, carried pitchers of ale and glowered at her as he poured.
The food was mostly the same sort of stuff they'd had for breakfast, but that was certainly no cause for complaint. For all Galen's talk of the imminence of starvation, there was no sign of it at the Roan Horse Inn.
Perhaps Ton-Kel should have stayed a little longer, listened to what some of the others had to say. But Galen's revelation had robbed her of appetite, and in her present mood she had even less tolerance for Lily's games than she normally would. She rose and slipped out, murmuring some excuse to Baraccus — who, she noticed, watched Lily with interest. Well, he was a man, after all. What else could one expect?
Ton-Kel shook her head to banish the thought and took a deep breath, scanning the area around her. From where she stood in the shade of a sagging wooden shack, she could hear children playing, the clucking of a few chickens, but little else. The smell of green wood and dung on a badly tended fire hung in the air. A few people wandered the muddy streets, dispersing to their daily tasks. Tasks they should have been up to at dawn.
She pushed herself away from the mold-slick wood and moved on, wondered what good she hoped to do by spying around the village. What could these people possibly do that would change the situation? What difference would anything they said make?
Not that anyone seemed particularly anxious to say anything. She had tried talking to the woman with the basket of wilted greens, the man with the hoe, the fellow driving pigs out of the village and toward the stands of alder and willow that passed for woods on this side of the river, other folk as they came and went. None could be induced to reply in more than monosyllables. She received shrugs, sideways looks, and the occasional sullen glare, which disturbed her more than she had thought possible. There was no friendly chitchat, no gossip, nothing to give her insight into these people's lives.
Of course, if the enemy was, in fact, a Greater Fey — and what else could it be? — then the silence was understandable. Who could be induced to speak of their suspicions if they believed a Greater Fey the guilty party? To speak of the Fey drew their attention….
It also explained the hostility Westmere displayed toward the Triads. Triads, after all, served the Fey. Whether they wanted to or not.
The sun was warm on her back as she walked, yet there was an almost visible pall of gloom hanging over everything around her that the friendly sun could not disperse. Westmere was, if anything, even shabbier and more run down by daylight than it had looked the previous dusk.
She stepped carefully over a broken line of fencing and looked around for signs of life. Two women walked toward the river, dragging buckets behind them as if past caring what they accidentally scooped up on the way.
Most folk were away, probably tending to fields and flocks up on the meadowlands. Doubtless she could go where she wished, undisturbed and unnoticed.
As if that would accomplish anything. She wondered again why she bothered. True, it was something to do, but what was the point when all the evidence pointed to the utter futility of doing anything?
A Greater Fey — he could be right in front of her and she wouldn't know it. He could disguise himself as anything, anyone — or be simply invisible. He could alter her thoughts and memories, open up the earth to swallow her, turn the air to fire and burn her to a crisp — she and the rest of the Triads. What chance did they have?
But what good could possibly be served by sacrificing three — possibly four — Triads? she argued silently. Surely there has to be more to it than this.
Then again, maybe she was simply looking for some way to make her death meaningful.
She had no interest in death. Whatever mysteries lurked behind that final, dark curtain were ones she was quite content to leave alone. Life was what mattered — life and what you did with it. Here and now she was alive, and there had to be some means of keeping it that way.
She paused beside an abandoned hut and watched a small group of children playing in the ruins of an enormous old stump a few yards away. They had turned it into a crude castle, rotten wood towers and stick and bark gates giving it recognizable form. Two of the children set corn husk soldiers to guard the parapets, while the other three arranged their armies — crafted of pine cones, bits of wood, leather, rags, and whatever else they had scavenged — around the roots: obviously the invaders.
The timeless familiarity of the scene made her smile despite herself, but the smile quickly faded. Would any of those children be alive to play in another year? Was there anything she could do to ensure it?
How, if a Greater Fey wanted them dead? Or was, at the very least, indifferent to their lives?
Ton-Kel turned away and leaned back against the building behind her, closing her eyes. Who is our enemy? What does he want?
The sound of restless movement within the hut made her turn her head; she sought to identify it. Animal, not human. A horse, from the smell. She opened her eyes and bent to peer between sagging slats. Enough sunlight filtered through the crumbling roof to brush streaks of dusty light over the beast within. Big, handsome, grey just a shade or two away from white, well formed. A war-horse. Obviously a Cavalier's mount. A good use for the deserted houses. How many others hid similar surprises?
The horse shifted again with an uneasy grunt, and Ton-Kel caught a glimpse of a section of the opposite wall that had been hidden by the big animal's body. A flicker of movement through a gap on the other side set her senses on alert; there was something stealthy, something not right….
Straightening, she slipped along the wall and around the corner behind the hut. She flexed her fingers, the tips tingling as she drew her ki into focus, ready for use.
She peered around the next corner and saw a hunched figure pressed close to the wall. A woman, by the clothes, though a worn shawl d
raped her head and concealed much of her shape. She crouched motionless, her attention fixed on the children. Past the bulk of the hut and the woman's still form, Ton-Kel caught snatches of movement, glimpses of small bodies in motion.
Her nerves still a-tingle with the sense of danger, Ton-Kel considered simply channeling the force of her ki into the woman, stunning her. But she hesitated; despite what her instincts cried, it was entirely possible that the woman had a perfectly innocent reason for being where she was, doing what she was. If she was just a citizen of Westmere, Ton-Kel had no right to harm her without cause. There were other options.
With stealth born of too many midnight forays into places where she had no business, Ton-Kel glided up behind the woman. When she was within reach, she paused, drawing her energy into one, tightly focused beam, and grabbed the woman's head. "I suggest," she said quickly, "that you offer no resistance, and turn and face me."
She had rarely used the spell of suggestion, and her uncertainty caused her to use too much force; the woman sagged to the ground with a moan. Ton-Kel released her grip on the woman's head and laid one hand on the nearest slumping shoulder. "You do not need to be afraid. You have suffered no harm and feel no pain. Rise now, and face me." She hesitated, then took her hands away. The woman was harmless now, one way or another, and Ton-Kel disliked using unnecessary force. If she needed to, she could always re-establish full control.
The woman obeyed, rising to her feet and turning toward her in one lithe movement, large, yellow-brown eyes wide and trusting from within circling fur. Shock sent icewater racing through Ton-Kel's veins and clenched her stomach in a knot of fear. "Sobaka," she spat, drawing back.
The woman recoiled, fear driving out the enforced calm. "No don' hur-rrt," she whispered, "I mean no h-a-aar-rrrm. No h-aarrrrm." The fanged mouth, no longer shaped for human speech, mangled the words.
Ton-Kel took a deep breath, then another, forcing calm back into her voice, forcing her body to lose its rigidity. Galen had warned them that there were Tainted in Westmere. The woman — Sobaka or not — was most likely just another unlucky citizen. She was harmless at the moment, in any case. "I will not harm you," she said through lips still tight with revulsion. "Why are you here?"
"I w-w-aaaatch—" The sobaka pointed toward where the children played, temporary hidden by the wall. "I only w-aaaatch. I on m-ma-my way to Rrrroan h-horrse inn. W-wor-rrk."
Ton-Kel stared at her in disbelief. "You work at the Roan Horse Inn?"
The sobaka nodded several times, blinking. "I w-w-w-aaash. Cloooz." She ducked her head and looked up at Ton-Kel from under puckered brows. "You arrrrr Trrrrriad, stay t'errrr?" The muzzle-like nose wrinkled as she attempted a smile — never a pretty sight on a Sobaka. "I w-w-w-aaash forrr you. Cloooz."
Understanding dawned. Clothes. This woman was the laundress, the "someone" Lily had referred to. Ton-Kel nodded slowly, swallowing her instinctive distaste at the thought of this creature touching anything of hers. The taint wasn't catching, after all. And she was probably no dirtier than any other woman in this benighted village. "Thank you. My Triad has things in need of washing. I was told to leave them by my door. You will find them there." She paused. "Does Alfred pay you for your services?"
The sobaka nodded. "F-food. An' sik brrrrass a w-weeeek." She stared up at Ton-Kel hopefully. "You see. I w-waaaash all yourrrr tings, make them beauti-fahl forrr you." If she'd had a tail, the sobaka would have been wagging it. Ton-Kel found the image even more disturbing.
"How long have you been…." Ton-Kel gestured at her.
The sobaka flinched as though struck. "T-t-twoo season. I w-w-en' looking in the w-w-woooood forrr my su-u-u-on. The p-p-pocke' maaagic w-w-waaas not t'errrrr b-b-beforrrr." She pointed with one hairy, clawed finger along the riverbank, to where trees sprang up as the land rose slowly away from the flat, fertile basin where Westmere nestled. "We live t'errrr now. Allll t'errrr. S-s-obakaaaa, Elfff, K-k-koshkaaa. But W-w-wes'm-m-meeeerrrrr is home."
"And the folk here accept you?" Ton-Kel still found that difficult to believe. She had lived through a Sobaka raid on a caravan once. She would not, by choice, live so close to a Sobaka pack, let alone a colony of Elves and Koshka as well.
But perhaps she would feel differently if she had known them in their human forms. Before the taint.
The sobaka hesitated, then nodded, but there was no conviction in it. "T'ey do not h-h-hurrr-t us. But w-w-weee m-mus' live ap-p-aaarrr-t."
Ton-Kel studied the creature's misshapen face, trying to see what the woman must have looked like before she had stumbled into the pocket magic and taken its poison into her blood. The other Sobaka she had seen resembled wolves, jackals, even hyenas. This woman didn't quite look like any of those. The fur on her face was a soft brown, without the stripes across the muzzle that gave most Sobaka their fierce expressions. There were faint stripes around the large, yellowish eyes, but they made her face look more mournful than fierce. A spaniel's eyes.
Or maybe she just looked sad right now because she was sad.
The sobaka cringed and pulled her shawl over the lower half of her face as if shamed by Ton-Kel's scrutiny, and Ton-Kel felt ashamed in turn for having stared. She softened her voice.
"Do the Tainted know what has happened to Westmere? Are there any rumors among you of how this all started?"
The sobaka looked suddenly frightened. She glanced from Ton-Kel to the children, then to the river before returning to Ton-Kel. "The folk herrre, t'ey arrrre af-f-frrraaaid. Everry-t'ing is w-wrrroong. But w-weee don' taahk; t'errrre arrre many eeearrrs. W-wrrrong eeeaarrrs hearrrr…." She shook her head.
Ton-Kel swallowed her frustration. It was not this woman's fault that speech was difficult for her. But what did she mean? The Fey? Someone else? "Who are the wrong ears?" she asked. "Why do you fear to talk?"
As the sobaka shifted, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to run away, Ton-Kel considered placing her under suggestion again. But no amount of magical force would make her speech any more clear.
She had a flicker of warning, a shadow that stretched in front of the corner a split second before Paulo was there. His eyes went wide as he took in the scene, and suddenly his dagger was in his hand, a snarl of loathing twisting his mouth. "You — what are you doing here?" he demanded of the sobaka. He glanced at Ton-Kel. "Are you all right?"
"Of course I am," she snapped. "Put away the knife, Paulo, she's no threat." The sobaka was shrinking away from Paulo and into Ton-Kel, almost pushing her off her feet. "We were just talking," Ton-Kel insisted through clenched teeth.
"Talking! To a Sobaka?" Paulo stared at her in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?"
"No haaarrrrm," whined the woman, shivering. "No harrrmm."
Ton-Kel pushed her away and stepped back. "He won't hurt you. Paulo, stop that. I just wanted her to tell me what was going on, if the Tainted knew anything about it."
The sobaka looked up at her pleadingly. "Don' know. P-p-pleeez. Don' know." She stared up at Ton-Kel out of canine eyes that shone with human tears. "I only c-come to w-w-waaatch."
"Watch?" Paulo snapped suspiciously.
Ton-Kel frowned, her own suspicions flaring again. "What do you watch?"
The woman pointed past Paulo, toward the children. "M-m-my s-uuuon." Ton-Kel followed the direction of the gnarled finger; a little boy, perhaps five years old with curly brown hair, was carefully trying to get a twig soldier to stand on its own. "M-m-y boy. Iss he no' beauti-fahl?" whispered the sobaka, her eyes soft. "I come to w-waaatch sometime, when no h-w-one see m-mee."
An unexpected pang of pity stung Ton-Kel's eyes with tears, and she blinked them away as she returned her gaze to the sobaka. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Paulo frowned over his shoulder at the children. "If he's really your son, then he should know you. Call him over."
The woman looked from Paulo to Ton-Kel, eyes
wide with sudden terror. "Don' call. Don' le' himm seee meee. Don' le' him. M-my husban' tell him I die. Pleeez. I go now. Pleeeeez." She ducked as if about to slink away. Ton-Kel reached out, but did not quite touch her; the movement alone stopped the woman in her tracks.
"Please," Ton-Kel said, "I know you love your son. And you know there is danger here for him as well as everyone else. Believe me, if I — my Triad and I — can save him, we will. But we need help. If you know anything that can help us, then we must know. Will you come and tell me if you hear anything? Anything at all?"
The woman hesitated, looking back toward where her child played, then uncertainly at Paulo. Then she glanced swiftly around again as if for observers. Her eyes, when they met Ton-Kel's, were very intense. "Boggie know everry-t'ing. Heearrr everry-t'ing. You talk boggie." She pointed across the river, toward the menacing darkness of the forest. "T'ere. Sw-w-waaam'. M-m-maaaarrrrsh. Go talk."
Ton-Kel's heart sank. "But they won't talk to us. Galen said they even attacked the Green Triad."
The sobaka made a noise like a whine. "Boggie know. T'ere is no h-h-w-one else know like boggie." She glanced over her shoulder and drew back another step, then looked at Ton-Kel again. "Take c-caaarrrre." Before Ton-Kel could reach for her, she slipped out of range and was gone.
"Well, that did a lot of good," said Paulo with disgust. "What were you hoping to accomplish?"
Ton-Kel glared at him. "I was hoping to learn something we didn't already know. And I was doing fine until you butted in."
He stared. "I don't believe this. I see you alone a few inches away from a Sobaka, and I'm supposed to walk away? Suppose she'd gone mad and attacked?"
"Then I'd have struck her with my ki. I had everything under control, Paulo. I know my job."
He threw his hands in the air. "Fine. Very well. Far be it from me to suggest a little teamwork here."
Her anger fled. She ran a hand wearily through her hair, scowling when her fingers caught; she'd forgotten about the clasp. "I'm sorry, Paulo. I just feel so overwhelmed, I didn't know where to start. I was hoping she knew something. Heaven knows none of the humans around here will talk to me."
He relaxed. "I see you've had about as much luck as I've had. They're angry, too. Angry and resentful. But I'm not sure why."
"Aren't you?" She sighed and shook her head. "Perhaps they have every reason to be. "She turned and started walking back toward the inn. "Where's Baraccus?"
Paulo fell in beside her, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the lower half of the town that clustered along the riverbank like jetsam. "He and Sir Charles took their armor to the smith's to get repaired. With any luck, it won't take—"
He stopped, pointing to get her attention, though she'd already seen what he had; Baraccus, heading back up a path below where they stood, his shadow forming a black halo on the muddy ground around him, his face clouded with fury. Paulo whistled softly. "I wonder if it's safe to talk to him."
Ton-Kel shook her head and trotted down the rock-strewn hill to intercept her Cavalier. He saw her and paused, waiting until she and Paulo reached him. His expression lightened from hurricane to mere thunderstorm.
"You found the smith?" she asked as she reached him.
The scowl returned full force. "We did. And he says he can repair my helm. The miserable wretch then said the charge was three marks. Three marks! The official armorer for the Triumphant in Tir wouldn't ask half that."
Ton-Kel blinked in surprise. "He's charging you?"
Baraccus blew his breath out and nodded, slowly pulling his temper back in check. "He's trying to bleed just as much off Sir Charles. Ulrik warned us; I just didn't believe it."
"What's the matter with these people?" Paulo threw his hands in the air and looked around in disbelief. "We're risking our lives here because they asked for help—"
"Do you have enough?" Ton-Kel asked Baraccus. He shook his head, lips pulled tight. Her heart sank. "I have some money saved from—" She paused; they didn't need to know where she'd got it. "I'll see how much I have."
"I have maybe four brass and as many bits to my name," said Paulo, shaking his head. "If that helps."
"I'm sure we can come up with it," Baraccus admitted grudgingly. "But I don't want to leave us stripped, either. We still need to eat. Who knows when they'll start charging for that as well." He paused, running one hand through his hair without disarraying a single strand. "Well, if need be I'll do without. It's only alloy; doesn't stand up to repairs worth a damn anyway. Doubtless I can replace it in the future."
Paulo gaped at him. "You can't go without a helm!"
"And we can't go without food and supplies," he retorted.
"I don't think that will be a problem as long as Lily's serving. Not for you in any case," Ton-Kel said, avoiding Baraccus's inquiring glance. Lily had charged her for cider. Suppose she presented the Triads with a big, fat bill when all was said and done?
Unless Baraccus, or one of the other men, kept her happy….
The thought disgusted her. She turned her face away with a scowl, and saw Nayir standing almost beside her. Her mouth gaped in a soundless gasp and she closed it with a snap. How had he managed to sneak up on them like that?
"Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing," he said, smiling amiably as Baraccus and Paulo turned, startled, to face him. He looked a little older than he had in the dimness of the baths, but not much. The richness of his black clothing was more noticeable, however. The shirt alone had surely cost enough to feed a family for several seasons. "I don't mean to intrude. But I can't help but be absolutely appalled at the attitude of the citizens of Westmere. No respect at all!" He spread his hands. "I am a wealthy man. Let me help."
"We appreciate your offer," said Baraccus, his voice giving no hint of the annoyance he had to be feeling, "but please do not concern yourself with our business."
"Oh, but it's my business as well," Nayir replied. In the full light of day, his pale face was guileless as a child's, his eyes bright with interest as they skipped from face to face, lingering longest on Ton-Kel's. "After all, my life is also at risk here. While I'm trapped in Westmere, my money isn't doing me any good. I will happily settle your bills with the merchants of Westmere. Think no more about it."
It was a handsome offer, if awkwardly made. Baraccus blinked, taken off-guard. "I assure you—"
Nayir waved away the objections, swept up in his own magnanimity. "Oh no, I insist. Whatever I can do to help you straighten out this whole mess so we can all go home. It's nothing that these people shouldn't be doing for themselves. A Triad should be extended every courtesy. Or so I was raised to believe. In fact, I consider it my duty to do all I can." He smiled at each of them, beaming with eager goodwill.
Ton-Kel glanced again at Baraccus. Why were they all fighting the idea? This was a godsend. It's just that he's so bloody annoying. Too eager. Makes one wonder where the hook is. She shook her head and smiled as Nayir's eyes returned to her face. "You are more than gracious, young sir," she said warmly. It wasn't exactly acceptance, but hopefully Baraccus would take the hint and make it official.
He did, flicking a quick glance at her before looking squarely at Nayir, taking his measure. His smile abruptly became more friendly. "We thank you. It's good to know that not everyone in this town has forgotten their manners. There are some problems beyond the reach of sword, bow, or staff."
Nayir's smile broadened to a grin. "That part never makes it into the songs, does it? I'll deal with the smith and meet you back at the inn. You can tell me of your adventures over some of our host's fine ale."
Aha, Ton-Kel thought wryly. The catch. They could hardly refuse, under the circumstances. Well, it wasn't a dire penance, after all; merely intrusive and inconvenient.
Baraccus inclined his head. "I'm sure we'd like nothing more," he said with every evidence of sincerity. He shot a quick gl
ance at Ton-Kel and Paulo. "Shall we?"
She nodded and turned back in the direction of the inn. Back to the starting point. Ah, well, there was much she could tell the others before they were interrupted.
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 34
