Mistress of the Wind (Arucadi Series Book 1)

by E. Rose Sabin

  Again the brown figure materialized out of the darkness. Even carrying an armload of wood, he moved with uncanny quiet. He dumped the wood into the bin and knelt by the hearth to stir the dying embers. He put a log on them, watched until it ignited and burned with steady flame, then added others.

  Soon the fire roared and crackled, radiating warmth and light. The stranger propped the poker against the wall and settled carefully onto the second chair. “Now,” he said, smiling. “You’re Kyla, I know. I’m Dannel.”

  “You live here?”

  He smiled again, and his face glowed a ruddy mahogany in the firelight. “I guess you could say I’m a relative of Alair’s. He lets me stay here in return for work I do around the house. Carpentry, repairs, gardening.” He ran his hand along the armrest. “I made these chairs,” he said with pride.

  “You do good work,” she said. “Do you help him in his laboratory?”

  “Say!” He jumped to his feet. “Are you hungry? I’ll bet Alair hasn’t offered you anything to eat.”

  “I’m starved,” she confessed. “I was going to ask the housekeeper for something.”

  “That one!” Dannel snorted. “Hospitality wouldn’t occur to her. Anyway, she’s a terrible cook. You’re lucky I’m here. Just wait. I’ll bring you a feast.”

  He hurried off. Kyla expected the wait to be long, but he was back in minutes carrying two platters. With a graceful bow, he placed one in her lap. She supposed the second to be his, but he bent and set it before Ruffian. The dog sprang up and tore into the meal. Lowering himself into the chair opposite her, Dannel smiled as he watched the dog. “I knew Alair hadn’t thought to feed him. He never remembers such things.”

  Kyla could hardly resist attacking the food as Ruffian had. Mouth watering at the savory odor of roast lamb with steamed onions and carrots, she held back only to ask, “Aren’t you eating?”

  He shook his head. “I had my supper earlier. Go ahead, please.”

  She picked up the fork on the side of the platter and started in without further urging. The meat and vegetables were delicious, and it was hard to be polite when she was starving. Dannel appeared pleased to see her enjoy her dinner. He waited until she sopped up the last of the gravy with the remaining chunk of bread, then jumped up. “You’ll need wine,” he said and rushed out.

  He returned almost immediately with a flagon and a stemmed goblet of worked silver. He poured the wine, presented it to her, and returned to his chair.

  “You’re kind and I thank you,” Kyla said. “But why won’t you join me?”

  “Alair doesn’t permit me to drink his wine,” Dannel said. “But it’s a joy to serve it to you.”

  “And does he know you’re doing that?”

  “I didn’t tell him.” Dannel gave her a conspiratorial wink. “A mage knows everything that happens, doesn’t he? He can’t object if I show kindness to a guest.”

  Kyla grinned and sipped the wine. Uncomfortable about not sharing it with him, she offered the goblet, saying, “Please drink.”

  He raised the goblet to his lips, but when he handed it back to her, she thought it held no less wine than before.

  Leaning back in her chair, she gazed into his dark eyes. “Tell me about yourself,” she said. “And tell me about Alair. And the work he does in his laboratory.”

  “About me there’s little to tell, and about Alair and his work I would be ill-advised to speak.”

  Ruffian got up, went to Dannel, and gazed up at him, sad-eyed, panting. Dannel hopped up. “The dog needs water,” he announced, vanishing again.

  Holding a conversation with Dannel seemed akin to talking to a child’s pop-up toy. It seemed clear he’d divulge no secrets about Alair’s laboratory and the mysterious chain. Dannel returned with a large bowl of water and set it on the floor. Ruffian lapped noisily.

  “What would Ruffian and I have done if you hadn’t come in?” Kyla asked. “We both could have died of hunger and thirst before anyone else thought to offer anything to eat or drink.”

  “Alair is absent-minded,” Dannel said, sitting down. He jumped up again. “What’s this?”

  Dropping to his knees, he examined the three books lying on the floor beside her chair. In a moment he rose with one in his hands. “Poetry! I love poetry.” He sank back into his chair and turned pages, his face eager.

  She was strangely touched to see his excited expression change to a frown. He looked up. “This is terrible poetry. Who would go to all the trouble and expense of preserving such bad verse? Books are too precious to waste on such drivel.”

  Kyla laughed at his vehemence. “It’s not that bad. Not outstanding, I’ll grant you, but most of it is at least passable.”

  “Passable? Listen to this.” Dannel stood, placed one hand over his heart, held the book out in front of him, and read with exaggerated expression:

  Wending my way home by wagon track,

  In amazement I watch Lady Night

  From the hills make her graceful descent

  Down the slick and stony slopes

  To wash her voluminous garment

  In the waters of the bight,

  Dyeing them a muddy, star-flecked black.

  He resumed his seat and his normal, quiet tone. “It doesn’t start out badly, though he knows little of meter, but what poet rhymes ‘garment’ with ‘descent’? And ‘voluminous garment’ gives an image of a fat woman dressed in a tent.”

  Kyla giggled. “You’re right. Somebody who wears a ‘voluminous garment’ doesn’t make a ‘graceful descent.’”

  He nodded. “‘Muddy’ doesn’t help the image either. It clashes with ‘star-flecked’.”

  “You’re right. The imagery is wrong. Night comes across as a slattern in a big, dirty housecoat carelessly dripping stars all over the place.” Kyla flashed him a mischievous grin. “Can you do better?”

  He laid the book in his lap and gazed at her. “I wouldn’t have to be good to improve on that. I would hope to do much better. You’ll be the judge.”

  He dropped his gaze, burrowed back in his chair, and remained so quiet that the sounds of the crackling fire and Ruffian’s slow steady breathing filled the room.

  He looked up and a soft smile played about his lips. “This is for you.” The words were little more than a whisper. After another long pause he recited slowly in a low, gentle voice:

  ’Neath shadowing peaks

  Our voices drift and twine;

  Soft glances reach, then fade

  O’er the crevasse.

  While, leagues beyond,

  Sweet wisteria and pine

  Imbibe of early sun

  A golden draught.

  Its taste is fire

  And wash of fragrant wine;

  She yields her sweetness

  In its tender grasp.

  Mesmerized by the cadence of the words, the warmth of the wine, the flicker of the flames, Kyla gazed at Dannel and did not speak. The silence between them formed its own communication. A fragrance of pine mingled with traces of wisteria swirled around her.

  He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it, and still neither spoke. His fingers caressed hers. His flesh was cool and dry and smooth.

  She leaned forward, eyes closed, lips parted. His hand slid along her arm and cupped her elbow, drawing her nearer.

  A loud snore broke the spell. Kyla snapped from her dreamlike state and pulled her hand from Dannel’s. Beside her chair, on his back, Ruffian let out a second snore and pawed the air, muzzle twitching, while short barks and soft growls defined his dreams.

  Dannel stood and held out his hand to Kyla with a look of wry regret. “I think he’s reminding me that I’m supposed to show you to the guest room. Alair will have my head if I delay any longer.”

  She took his hand, but it was only a gesture of friendship. He led her from the room.

  She frowned and looked around in confusion. She thought they’d passed through the same door, but instead of the long corridor to Al
air’s laboratory, they entered a short, wide hallway with a door on either side and a third at the far end. An oil lamp burned brightly in a wall niche, revealing the details. She had not seen this hallway before.

  Dannel swung open the door on her left and showed her a bedchamber dominated by a wide canopied bed.

  “You’ll need this.” He lifted the oil lamp from the niche and handed it to her. “I hope you find the room comfortable. You must be tired. Sleep well. Someone will come to fetch you in the morning.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Dannel, for your kindness—and for the lovely poem.”

  He smiled nervously and edged away from her as though embarrassed in her presence and eager to be gone. “I—I think Alair needs me.” He hurried through the opposite door, opening and closing it too quickly to let her glimpse what lay beyond it.

  She walked into the bedroom, set the lamp on the bedside stand, and sat on the side of the bed. The room was cold, but she made no move to undress and crawl under the thick down comforter, wonderful as it would have been to snuggle beneath it.

  Earlier she’d been sleepy; now she was wide awake, her thoughts in turmoil. She gazed around the room. A chest of drawers stood against the wall by the door. Against the side wall a washstand held a basin and pitcher, towels, and, on a shelf beneath it, a chamber pot sat partially hidden under a discreet lace cover. A chair like those in the front room completed the furnishings.

  The chair reminded her of Dannel. Why had she been so captivated by him? They’d scarcely met, and she’d let herself be drawn into his embrace, eager for his kiss. If Ruffian’s snore hadn’t broken the spell …

  A spell, yes. It was as though she’d been bespelled. She shuddered and hugged herself, thinking of the sudden longing she’d felt for Dannel. Could Alair have sent him to distract her from her interest in the chain?

  No, the idea was absurd. It had been the food, the firelight, the wine. The poem.

  Dannel seemed afraid of Alair. He did not, like Claid, refer to the mage as his master, but he seemed no less bound to Alair’s will. Perhaps Alair had sent him.

  If Alair was that determined to keep her away from the chain, then she was determined to get a closer look at it. She would have to exercise great care.

  She rubbed her arms briskly and resisted the temptation to wrap up in the comforter. She’d give Dannel time to retire, and, if she was lucky, Alair as well. Then she intended to take the lamp and find her way through this mysterious house to Alair’s laboratory and the chain that held Claid captive.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NIGHT PROWL

  When she knew she’d fall asleep if she delayed longer, Kyla rose, took the lamp, and tiptoed to the door. She eased it open and slipped into the hall. She shaded the lamp with her hand and moved as soundlessly as she could. She considered removing her boots, but the cold floors would chill and numb her feet, making her more likely to stumble.

  She wore her heavy cloak. If Alair caught her, she’d claim she’d decided to leave despite the night and the cold, and she’d gotten lost hunting for the front door. Not a plausible story or a prudent one. If Alair called her bluff and put her out in the cold to find her way down the mountain by night, she could blunder into a snow bank and freeze. Or topple into a crevasse or be torn apart by night-prowling fellcats.

  If she was right about the chain and Alair caught her with it, casting her out would be the least he might do. Her best hope was not to be caught.

  In the square hallway she listened at each of the other three doors. No sound came from behind them. She eased open the door through which Dannel had fled and held the lamp high. The light fell on an uncarpeted wood floor and, to her left, a plain white plaster wall. She pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The widening circle of light revealed a book cabinet, a reading table with an unlit lamp, a silver inkwell, and a cluster of quill pens. Alair’s study! Cautiously she approached the table, fearing to see Alair step out of the shadows.

  A foolish fear. The mage would hardly be lurking in a dark room. He had, however, been here recently—she touched the lamp’s chimney and found it still warm. On the desk lay the book on mathematical theory. She imagined it making him sleepy and so bored that he’d closed the book and wandered off to bed.

  The light from her lamp played on the books in the cabinet. Recalling Claid’s comments about Alair’s spell books, she wiped dust off the glass front with a corner of her cloak and read the titles engraved on the spines. She was hoping to find a book that might tell her something about the chain, but none of the titles mentioned spells or chains, and the cabinet was locked.

  Crossing to the room’s far end, she opened the door there and peered cautiously inside. She saw a bed, and on it a blanketed mound stirred. A sharp snore set her heart hammering. She’d blundered into Alair’s bedroom!

  She stepped back into the study, pulled the door shut, and stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe. What should she do if he threw open the door and found her cowering there?

  I came to find my book, she’d say. I got confused and thought I was going out the door I entered. How silly of me to get so turned around.

  The bedroom door did not open. She gathered courage and tiptoed across the room and through the other door.

  Another door. Although she hadn’t noticed more than two, she did not step out into the square hallway but into a space filled with shadowy forms. Her lamp’s light roved around a circle of nightmare creatures, hunchbacked, twisted. Maw-mouthed faces leered at her. Their shadows shifted and changed in the lamplight. For a heart-stopping instant she thought them living beings. She went rigid with panic until the utter quiet eased her terror, letting her see that the moving shadows were caused by her lamp shifting in her quaking hands. The monstrosities were carved stone arranged in a demonic circle contrived for Alair’s foul magic. Shuddering, drawing her cloak about her, she backed from the room.

  A nudge from behind sent her flying forward. She grabbed the lamp, burning her hand to keep the chimney in place. Trembling, she turned to look behind her.

  Ruffian, tail wagging sheepishly, gazed up at her, his eyes glowing gold in the lamplight.

  “Oh, Ruffian, it’s only you.” She dropped to her knees and hugged the dog. “Show me the way out,” she whispered, scratching his ears. “Good dog.”

  Ruffian trotted across the room, ignoring the statues, and, ears cocked, head alert, stopped before a closed door. She pushed it open, and Ruffian pranced through. She followed.

  She brushed past hanging bundles of garlic. A large fireplace with a spit, a cutting board, and the lingering odor of scorched meat told her Ruffian had led her to the kitchen. He gazed proudly at her, tail wagging.

  She patted him. “You did get me away from those horrors. Could you show me the way to the laboratory? I do not want to go back through the stone monsters.” She looked around for another exit.

  Ruffian was no help; he busied himself sniffing and licking at the stone floor near the hearth, probably where burnt meat had been dropped. She spotted a door across the room and headed for it, thinking it wiser to leave the dog absorbed in his find. If he barked, he’d wake Alair. She tried the door. It wasn’t locked, but it stuck, and when she pushed hard, it gave with a suddenness that sent her stumbling inside.

  She collided with a figure standing in a small pantry.

  She jumped away, but the silent figure did not move. She steeled herself and drew near for a closer look. The shock of recognition nearly made her drop the lamp.

  “Dannel!” She spoke the name aloud, clapped a hand over her mouth, and examined the rigid form. Was he dead? She ran her palm over the arm, felt the smooth texture of polished wood.

  A carving. A life-sized wooden replica of Dannel. Or Dannel himself, bespelled and hidden among sacks of flour, jars of preserves, and bags of pungent spices.

  Like the stone statue of the housekeeper, this wooden image of Dannel must be part of Alair’s wizardry. Perhaps he us
ed the images to bind his servants to him, holding them as slaves.

  The thought filled her with revulsion. She backed from the pantry and shut the door on the painful sight. She’d find a way to wrest Dannel from Alair’s power, but first she had to find the chain and free Claid.

  Standing in the center of the kitchen, she examined the room. In addition to the fireplace, it boasted a small cast-iron cooking stove and a sizable table with a washtub, but she saw no doors other than the one she’d come in and the pantry door, both closed. She also saw no sign of Ruffian. Could he have followed her into the pantry and been shut in? No, she would have seen him, and he’d be scratching and whining to be let out.

  More likely she hadn’t closed the other door completely, the dog had pushed through it, and it had clicked shut behind him.

  Much as she disliked the idea, she would have to retrace her steps through the stone trolls.

  The door was shut tightly enough now. It resisted her efforts to open it, yielded with a loud groan. Her muscles tensed. She peered around the edge of the door. A grimacing stone face thrust into hers.

  Heart thudding, she leaped back. She didn’t remember passing so close to the frightful thing when she went to the kitchen.

  Refusing to let statues unnerve her, she brushed past it. Something caught her cloak. A quick, frightened glance showed her a fold snagged on the upraised fingers of a stone hand. She tugged it free and ran to the center of the room.

  She lifted the lamp over her head and turned slowly, peering past the carved monsters into the shadows beyond, looking for Ruffian. If he frightened her again, she’d scream.

  Ruffian was not in the room. She saw several doors, but turning had disoriented her. She had no idea which door led into the kitchen and which into Alair’s study.

  Most of the doors could be reached only by squeezing past the statues. Though she chided herself for her foolishness, she could not bear to touch the ugly things. She slipped through the only significant gap in the circle of ogres, headed for the door beyond it. Reaching that door, she grasped the handle.