The Chaos Gate, page 8
“Playing anxious mommy again?” asked a shrill voice from overhead. Lydia glanced sharply up to see Tich’ki hanging in the air like a hovering insect, wings a glittery blur.
“You think I like it?” she snapped at the fairy. “Hell, if I’d wanted the role, I would have had kids of my own!”
Tich’ki came down to a tiptoe landing on the chairback. “Miss the old days, do you?”
“What? You mean the days of wandering about without a place to call home? Not really. No more than do you. Let’s face it, Tich’ki, no matter how much fun it is to wander around without any ties to anyone, it’s really good to have a home, friends.”
“And responsibilities.”
“Blast it, yes. In the old days, I didn’t have to be responsible for anyone but myself!” Lydia shrugged. “Even nowadays it’s not too bad. The guards I head up are usually smart enough to take care of themselves; they wouldn’t have gotten hired otherwise.”
“But then there’s Kevin.”
“Yeah, right,” Lydia muttered. “Then there’s Kevin. Where the hell is he?”
Tich’ki shrugged. “Who knows? He’s a human. Never can tell what one of your folks are going to do. Thought that Dark Elf had more sense than to get lost, though.”
“I hope they’re only lost!” Lydia stared at the fairy, who took wing in alarm. “Come on, Tich’ki, you can’t tell me you’re not worried, too.”
“Why should I be? They’re big boys, both of them. They can take care of themselves.”
“Uh-huh. Unless Naitachal’s gone back to his bad old ways.”
“As a Necromancer, you mean? Not a chance. He’s much too happy as a Bard to do something so stupid.” But then Tich’ki paused, hanging almost motionless in the air, only her busy wings blurring with iridescent color. “Unless…” she began thoughtfully.
“Unless what?”
“Unless maybe his kin is after him?”
“Oh, great,” Lydia groaned. “Just what I needed, something else to worry about!”
Tich’ki darted down to tousle her hair, grinning at Lydia’s annoyed swipe as she quickly whirred back up out of reach. “Forget it, Lydia. If they haven’t been able to snare Naitachal in the past four years, they’re not going to catch him now.”
“Sure. Of course. Then where is he? And where is Kevin?” Lydia started pacing, then stopped short. “Oh hell, I give up! I don’t care what anybody says: I’m going after them.”
“Just like that, huh? What about your duties here?”
Lydia stared up at the fairy. “Since when have you developed a sense of responsibility?”
Tich’ki shrugged, plainly embarrassed. “I like it here.” Then she swooped sharply down to pinch Lydia’s arm. “But don’t think that makes me soft!”
“Not a chance of that,” the woman muttered, rubbing her arm. “Yeah, I guess I should stay here and ‘mind the shop’ as the saying goes. But, dammit, Tich’ki, someone’s got to get Kevin back here.” Besides, it’s been too long since I’ve actually had an adventure…No, never mind that. It’s Kevin you’ve got to think about, only him.
Hurrying to the doorway, Lydia yelled for a guard. “Get Captain Sandroc in here now!” As soon as that grizzled veteran entered, Lydia began snapping out orders: “I want you to get together a troop of guards with forest experience, five to ten of ’em, and I want ’em ready to march out in two turns of the hourglass.”
Sandroc must have wondered what his commander-in-chief was up to, but he saluted smartly enough and hurried to obey without question. And in an admirably short time he was back, saluting again. “The men are ready to march at your orders.”
“Fine.” Nothing like an old soldier for efficiency. Lydia had taken advantage of the brief interval to slip into her old leather armor. It was admittedly getting rather on the worn and battered side but it fit her body so comfortably she hadn’t even considered replacing it Sword a familiar weight at her side, bow and quiver slung over one shoulder, Lydia called to Sandroc, “You’re in charge here till I return.”
The soldier didn’t show by the slightest quiver of a muscle that he was surprised. Weatherbeaten face totally impassive, Sandroc asked only, “Might I ask where you’re going, ma’am?”
“To find Count Kevin.” And bring him home even if I have to haul him back by his ear!
###
“You see?” the tracker said plaintively, glancing up from the foresty ground on which he crouched. “Somebody must have stopped here in this glade pretty recently, because there are still some traces of hoofprints and signs that two human bodies—or maybe one human and one elf—rested here. See how the grass is all disturbed? They were travelling fairly lightly, judging from how shallow the prints are, and at a guess I’d say they were both young and slender, or at least moved with the ease of young men.”
“Yes, of course,” Lydia said impatiently, leaning on the pommel of her horse’s saddle. “I can see that much from up here. But can’t you tell if those bodies belonged to Kevin and Naitachal?”
The man shook his head in frustration. “Sorry, ma’am, but there’s no way to tell that, or even if the hoofprints were left by the horses Count Kevin took from the stable. And as to where they went…” The tracker shrugged. “We can follow ’em through the forest all right; the horses broke off enough branches as they passed to have left a clear trail. But we can’t be sure we’d be following the right folks.”
Lydia jumped down from her horse. She was a fine tracker in her own right, but after only a short while she straightened with a sigh, reluctantly admitting the man was quite right. Without magic, there wasn’t any way to prove just who’d stopped here. Wonderful to follow the trail all day and find out we’d wasted time trailing two common minstrels. You’d think Kevin would have been thoughtful enough to leave a scrap of cloak or a broken lute string or something, she thought in disgust. “All right, I’m open to suggestions. Where could the two of them have gone?”
“Where do you think?” asked a sharp little voice from overhead. As Lydia glanced up, Tich’ki darted out from among the trees like a dragonfly. Hovering, sunlight sparkling off her wings, she shrugged. “I couldn’t stand waiting at home, either.”
“Oh, right. What about your duties?”
Tich’ki shrugged again, obviously annoyed at Lydia’s prodding. “Oh, I think D’Krikas can manage without me for a short time,” she said drily. “Besides, did you really think you could go off on an adventure without me?”
Aware of the soldiers staring at them, Lydia muttered, “It isn’t an adventure, dammit, it’s a mission. Now, where do you think Kevin’s gone?”
The fairy swooped down to a landing on Lydia’s shoulder, steadying herself, nearly weightless as a bird, by grabbing a handful of hair in one small fist. “Where do you think? The kid’s a romantic, always has been; all of those Bards are. Ha, and that includes our music-loving Dark Elf pal as well.”
“Oh, they wouldn’t have—ow!”
Tich’ki had given her hair a painful tug. Launching herself into the air too quickly for Lydia to swat her, the fairy said over her shoulder, “You bet they have! The two of them have gone off to see our Kevin’s prospective bride. Don’t believe me? Follow me and I’ll prove I’m right!”
Lydia hesitated a moment, wondering. If she followed Tich’ki, and this turned out to be nothing but one of the fairy’s unpredictable pranks, she was going to look like a fool in front of her men. But without any other clues, there really wasn’t anything else to do but follow.
To Lydia’s relief, Tich’ki brought them straight to Count Trahern’s castle. As the woman looked up at the massive walls, she heard the fairy whisper in her ear, “Done my bit. Your turn now.”
At Lydia’s signal, one of the soldiers, a fellow with a voice loud as a trumpet, called up to the castle guards to let them in. Rather to Lydia’s surprise (she wouldn’t have let strangers in so easily), at the mention of Count Kevin’s name, the gates swung open as if by magic.
Well now, looks like Tich’ki was right. Kevin must have made quite an impression on these people!
Even more to Lydia’s surprise, as she and her men clattered into the cobbled courtyard, a tall, richly dressed man who could be none other than Count Trahern himself came down from his keep to meet them.
As the man came closer, Lydia froze, staring at that elegant figure with its dark hair so fetchingly touched with silver and its strong, finely planed face, and heard something deep within her say softly, Oh. My. And a more irreverent corner of her mind chattered, Mommy, buy me one of those! Count Trahern didn’t look like the sort of fellow who knew how to relax easily, but she was secretly delighted to spy a startled little glint in his eyes that said he, too, was pleased with what he saw.
Even if I’m in this old armor of mine and probably reek of horse. Well, well, isn’t this interesting!
First things first, though. “My lady,” the count said politely, even though Lydia knew there wasn’t the slightest thing ladylike about her right now, “might I ask if Count Kevin has sent you?”
“Kevin!” Lydia exclaimed in shock. “No—he—I thought he was here!”
“He was here,” Count Trahern corrected, frowning slightly, “but he left some time ago.”
“And, uh, what about your daughter?”
The frown deepened. “As far as I know, my daughter is off at the shrine of Saint Verdain.”
“Or…is she?” Lydia wondered. “Look, I’ll be honest: I came here looking for Kev—ah, Count Kevin, because he never came home, neither he nor his Bard friend. And before you interrupt,” she added, hastily holding up a hand, “no, we found no signs of violence anywhere between his castle and yours.”
“I…see.”
“Uh, I don’t mean to bring up anything delicate, but…well…could you tell me if anything…happened?”
“Happened.”
“Between Count Kevin and your daughter—”
“Count Kevin and Gwenlyn,” the count said flatly, “disliked each other from first sight. They both made that most painfully clear.”
“Oh.”
“So if you are trying to imply that the two of them threw off their proper responsibilities and went running off together in some burst of childish exuberance, pray forget it.”
“Unless…” Lydia stopped with a sigh. “Look you, Count Trahern, we’re both adults. We both know there’s that proverbial fine line between love and hate. I don’t mean to worry you, but are you sure your daughter’s gone to Saint Verdain’s?”
“No, curse it, now I am not sure at all.” Count Trahern paused a moment, then snapped at his servants, “Prepare my fastest horse. Yes, yes, the grey will do. Gather me an armed escort as well.” Turning to Lydia, he bowed curtly. “My lady, I know you and your men have had little chance to rest, but I think we had best ride to the shrine ourselves, just in case.”
“Just in case,” Lydia agreed, trying her best to ignore Tich’ki, who was hidden in the wilderness of her hair, whispering, “Bet our boy’s having a good time rolling around with the girl right now! Just like you wanna do with her daddy!”
Damn the fairy! And if she was right and that was what Kevin really was doing, getting them all terrified for nothing—well, then, damn that little Bard for an idiot, too!
“Come, Count Trahern,” she said grimly, “let’s ride.”
Chapter X
In The Greenwood
The day was edging towards late afternoon, judging from the angle of the sunlight filtering down through the thick ceiling of leaves. Gwen, sitting rumpled and uncomfortable on the forest floor where she’d been unceremoniously dropped, watched the bandits moving about the mingy little campfire they were building and nervously told herself not to be a fool.
They look nasty, but they won’t hurt you. You heard their leader: undamaged goods are worth more. Gwenlyn wasn’t naive; she knew exactly what that “undamaged” meant. Father will probably be furious about this whole thing; he probably won’t want to let me out of his sight again till the day I’m safely married off. But that’s better than being dead or…or anything else. Of—of course he’ll ransom me. And of course none of these scum will hurt me till he does.
But did they have the patience to wait that long? Their leader, a tall, skinny fellow who looked as though he didn’t have one sound tooth in his head, wasn’t exactly an awe-inspiring hero out of legend.
Gwenlyn doubted he would hold the others in line very long if they didn’t agree.
And those others weren’t any more heroic in appearance. Gwenlyn glanced from a thin, poxy-faced boy to an older man whose dark, narrow face was crossed by a livid white scar to a man of indeterminate age who had the nervous, cruel eyes of a predator. Catching this man staring back at her, Gwenlyn hastily looked away, and heard him chuckle. None of the others looked any more civilized; far from it. Gods, what filthy, half-starved, desperate-looking creatures these were!
And if I live long enough to hear a minstrel ever dare sing of noble outlaws again—
Bah! There was nothing of a minstrels romances about this group: they had all the charm of scruffy wild things frantic enough from living with daily fear and want to be dangerous. They’d attack out of sheer panic.
Or out of sheer malice. That cruel-eyed fellow was watching her again, still chuckling softly, mindlessly, to himself, and Gwenlyn fought down a shudder. If only there’d been a woman or two among the group, she thought, she might feel at least a touch more at ease, because that would mean a settled band with at least a shred of civilized organization about it. But these men looked far too desperate to have even thought of forming such a band.
And would such creatures really be able to keep themselves in check? Would they really be able to wait long enough for a ransom to be paid? Would they even want to wait?
Oh, dear gods. Gwenlyn shrank into the shelter of her ragged cloak, fiercely refusing to let any fear show on her face but all at once more terrified than she’d ever been in her life. She was alone in the middle of the forest with these wretched creatures, totally at their mercy. There was nothing to stop them from doing whatever they wanted—
Stop that. Start panicking now and you may as well tell them to cut your throat.
Which they’d do after they’d had their fun. Grimly Gwenlyn forced herself to come to grips with reality. The idea of a ransom was all nice and civilized, something to be arranged between noble foes, not with ragged men like these, ruthless simply because they had nothing left to lose. No, she couldn’t sit around waiting for a messenger to arrive with payment. She didn’t dare.
And, Gwenlyn thought with a flash of spirit, damned if I’m going to be stupid enough to try waiting for some gallant to miraculously show up to rescue me!
So. She had to get out of this herself. Gwenlyn swallowed drily, struggling to squash her growing panic. Think, she told herself fiercely. Think, dammit! What advantages do you have?
All right. Start with the most obvious things. Her riding clothing was good, sturdy stuff. An asset: she wasn’t going to freeze. Her boots were reasonably suited for walking. Another asset. But she had no weapons, not even a belt knife, and no means of making fire. That was most certainly not good.
Wait, now. Gwenlyn, subtly moving her hands under cover of the cloak, froze suddenly, realizing for the first time that the bandits had done a sloppy job of binding her arms. And they hadn’t thought to bother tying her feet. After all, they must have reasoned, where would she go while they were all wide awake to watch her?
Awake. Gwenlyn felt a little shock run through her, a little spark of memory. When she’d been a small child, missing her mother, too lonely to fall asleep, her old nurse (who, it was rumored, had a drop or two of elven blood) used to sing an odd little melody, the tiniest of magic charms, to make her sleep. It had worked every time, whether Gwenlyn had wanted to sleep or not. And one day, when Gwenlyn was a bit older, her nurse had taught her the tune and words.
I haven’t needed them for years. Can I possibly remember them? And oh, can they possibly be strong enough to work on grown men?
No way to know without trying. Doing her best to ignore the bandits, more of whom seemed to be staring at her with every moment, Gwenlyn tried to put herself back into the mind of the child she’d been, listening to her nurse, hearing…hearing what? A trace of melody. Something like this…yes.
“Hey!” someone shouted. “Stop that stupid humming!”
A rough hand slapped her, hard enough to send Gwenlyn sprawling, tears of pain and shock springing to her eyes. Someone chuckled. Someone else started to laugh, then fell to coughing, harsh, ugly sounds that probably meant the onset of lung disease. Struggling back to a sitting position, Gwenlyn hastily wiped her eyes dry: dangerous to show signs of weakness to wild beasts. And obviously the bandits’ idea of “unharmed” didn’t include a little rough handling.
But I have the melody in my mind now. At least I…think I do. Now, if only I can remember the words, too!
They never had made too much sense to her; presumably they were human corruptions of elven words. But she’d better think of them, and think fast, because from the smoldering light in the bandits’ eyes, they thought the idea of slapping a noblewoman about was a fine bit of fun. “Lessen spring, fashion ring…” No, no, that wasn’t right! “Lessen spring, fleshen sing…” Yes, that was it, and—and—oh gods, she had the rest of the song now, too!
One of the bandits was getting to his feet, muttering something to the others that made them snicker. Seeing him starting towards her, Gwenlyn hastily began to sing. No, wait, her nurse had always sung the charm at a slow, deliberate pace. Even though every nerve was shouting at her to hurry because the bandit was coming dangerously close, Gwenlyn slowed her song as much as she dared.
And to her delighted astonishment, as she sang the nonsensical, Powerful words, she felt a small, odd something stir in the air between them. The bandit stopped suddenly to give an enormous yawn.
