The Goblets Immortal

by Beth Overmyer

  These thoughts worried him until first light, keeping him from any semblance of sleep or rest. He meant to stir early, hoping to pace about and get rid of some of his nervous energy. It was not meant to be, it would seem. Slaíne, as usual, slept as one dead; freeing himself from her would mean waking her, and he didn’t relish the idea.

  At last, when the sun had cleared the trees, the girl stirred, rolled over, and sat up with a start. For a moment, she looked about as though uncertain of where she was or who Aidan was, her eyes wide and wild. After that moment had passed, she came to her senses and stopped shaking and casting him odd glances. “Well, that was strange.” She did not expound.

  He wasn’t going to ask, but as they scarfed down their sad excuse for a breakfast – one shriveled and drying pear each – Slaíne still didn’t seem quite herself. He sighed as they crawled out from beneath the pine. Exhaustion would be his constant companion, it would seem, until this whole sordid affair was behind them. That is, he reflected, if Slaíne was still up for participating in the theft and deception.

  Her words accosted him out of nowhere. “You’ve strange dreams, no?”

  Aidan eyed her as she brushed the pine needles he’d missed from her dress front. “Yes, I have.” He paused, waiting for her to go on. When she didn’t, curiosity got the better of him, and he resigned himself to inquiry. “Why? Did you have some strange night vision?” He meant it playfully, but she frowned up at him.

  “Aye, strange indeed. But it weren’t no vision – I don’ know what’s to come. Ain’t no ruddy seer.”

  Perhaps teasing hadn’t been the best approach. She seemed to clam up now, her jaw set taut and her posture rigid. Ah, well. If she wasn’t going to offer any more, he wasn’t going to ask anything more, but he couldn’t shake a dark feeling that came over him all at once. Aidan put out a hand to stop Slaíne, drawing a curse from her. “Slaíne, did you dream of Meraude?”

  She let out a groan. “Not that old hag again. You dream of her?”

  “Not last night.”

  Slaíne narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  What did it matter to her? Aidan shrugged. “No, I did not. What has this got to do with anything?” She didn’t answer. “Answer me straight. Did you dream of Meraude?”

  She bristled. “’Course I did nay dream of that wretch. I dreamt about the woods.” She shot him an accusing look, and took off toward the road, seemingly forgetting her curse as Aidan ran to catch up with her.

  “Easy.”

  Slaíne growled at him. “I’m not a horse.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes. Why did she always want to start fights? “No,” he said after a measure, and that is when he noticed the great rip in her dress. “You are not. Forgive me.” He waited a moment longer before changing the subject. “I think you should change.”

  She stopped mid-stride and looked over her shoulder at him. “Change what?”

  Aidan put up his hands. “Please, hear me out. We’ve been in the woods for a while now, and, I – I don’t know how to say this but….” Why was he starting to laugh now? There was nothing funny about the tear in and of itself, but she was already in such a foul mood, apparently, that one more thing going wrong was ridiculously horrible. It was so awful, it was funny.

  It was Slaíne’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’ve got a tear in me dress, haven’t I?”

  Aidan turned away as she started cursing, shaking with laughter. What was the matter with him? He attempted to calm himself, turned and was surprised to see her staring at him expectantly. His eyebrows shot heavenward. “What?”

  “Sir, you gotta help me.”

  He still wasn’t understanding. They’d come close enough to town that Aidan could feel more individual Pulls milling about not more than a mile away. They had better start moving. “What is it?” he pressed.

  Of all things, Slaíne stomped her foot and threw her hands up in the air. “You, sir, are going to have to help me get dressed.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, after much awkwardness and snarled instructions, Aidan finished lacing up the back of Slaíne’s blue dress, and they both stood away from each other, fuming. Now was not the time to be divided by something so silly. Still, Aidan could scarce look at her without laughing or scowling, and she would not even favor him with a glare. So into town she walked as instructed, Aidan following as close behind her as he dared, keeping his head down.

  He’d given her some instruction as to what to say and do if stopped or confronted, though he doubted the latter. If anything, the men would tip their hats, and the women would nod or turn to gossip about this unknown woman in their midst.

  They passed through the town’s iron gates, which always remained open on this end, as they were too heavy and cumbersome to close every night and open every morning. The cobbles were well worn from much foot, horse, and carriage traffic. At this early hour, with the sun still on its ascent, there were not too many people about. A few of the tall buildings boasted ten windows apiece, and some of the upper ones had been opened so that maids could empty chamber pots or shake out rugs.

  Aidan hadn’t been through this part of town for years upon years. He hoped that no one would remember him. He would have to rely on Slaíne’s acting skills – which he wasn’t sure existed – to get them through if anyone suspected him.

  The town had changed quite a lot since he’d last passed through. New buildings had sprung up, giving the outer ring of the city a claustrophobic feel, too many sights and too many Pulls surrounding them. There were some familiar sites, like the carved stone fountain in the middle of the square that depicted two lovers kissing, something Aidan had always rolled his eyes at.

  “Sir?” Slaíne murmured.

  “Aidan,” he replied. “Better yet, call me something different altogether.”

  There was a brief moment where she paused mid-step and turned around to look at him, perplexed. “Sir— Rutherford, I mean.”

  Aidan grimaced as her shoulders began to shake with laughter. “Yes, milady?” He’d affected a lower-class accent, obviously startling his traveling companion, who paused again and looked over her shoulder at him. “Milady?”

  Slaíne shook herself and stepped out of the way for an open carriage and horse rolling and trotting through the middle of the square. The driver raised his hat to Slaíne as he rattled and jingled past, and in response, Slaíne all but ignored him. Perhaps she would do all right after all.

  “Rutherford, what if our friend is following us?” Her voice was so low, he had trouble at first deciphering what she was saying. When Aidan did not respond at once, she rephrased the question. “You know, our know-it-all friend?”

  “Yes, I know what and who you mean, but keep your eyes ahead.” They both side-stepped horse droppings and a group of gossiping stable hands, who also raised their hats to Slaíne, who in turn ignored them as someone in her station of life would.

  “Love of all, but I feel foolish, lookin’ like I’m talkin’ to meself.” Her shoulders heaved. “What of Larkin? Think she’ll show up and betray you?”

  Aidan clenched his hands into fists. “Very likely.”

  Another thoughtful pause. “Then why are we doing this?”

  “Because this will be our only chance…if she is, in fact, not on our side.” He had to be quiet now, as there were more people about in this area and it would not look proper for him to be talking to his mistress without apparently having been spoken to.

  The cobbles here were more worn, and a few of the stones had come loose or gone missing entirely, making the way treacherous for someone not in good walking shoes, like most women. Aidan recalled Slaíne’s shoes, which were more practical than what he’d seen the fashionable Ton wear. Should they need to run, their escape should not be hindered in that way.

  Aidan stiffened when he felt a familiar Pull. It
was coming from one of the shops, if he was not mistaken. Ah, yes, the blacksmith’s. He squinted in concentration, exploring the Pull. He remembered to keep his gaze lowered as they moved on, leaving the familiar behind. He did not know anyone who lived in this part of town. At least, not that he remembered.

  Before he could determine the Pull’s source, it disappeared. Were they hiding? Aidan’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins, and it took every modicum of self-control that he possessed not to Summon the silver sword and run for the hills. Instead, he settled for matching his stride with Slaíne’s and telling her to quicken her pace, which she did with nary a backward glance.

  The pathways through town now multiplied, the street widened and then gave way to clusters of buildings in the center of it. Aidan was now on hyper-alert, feeling not just for Pulls but the absence of Pulls, certain there must be iron concealing unwanted persons. Yet as they hastened to the right fork in the road teeming with servants and a carriage or three, Aidan could feel no repulsion and saw nor felt anything amiss. He tried to relax. He tried telling himself that this would work out, but when he felt Slaíne’s Pull getting too far ahead, he did the last thing he knew he should do: he pushed against the small crowd and caught up with the girl, grabbing her by the hand.

  Slaíne frowned, looked down at their entwined fingers, but did not question it nor pull away. She said something he could not make out over the din. When he did not respond, she tugged him over to the side of the road, and they stood facing each other next to a water pump and trough. “How much farther?”

  Aidan shook his head, which he tried to remember to keep down. “I cannot say, ma’am,” he said, remaining in character. If anyone were to eavesdrop and discern that they were headed for Lord Dewhurst’s estate, they could very well be followed and lose whatever element of surprise they still might hold.

  Slaíne nodded. “Ah, right.” She began to wipe her nose on her sleeve, a nervous habit of hers, but caught herself, seemed to think the better of it, and shot Aidan a guilty look. “You feel any – thing?”

  Again Aidan shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

  “And we keep on in this direction?” She worried her lip for a moment, her wild hair catching in a breeze made by passersby. Where had this surge of people come from? Wasn’t it a trifle early to be out running errands? Aidan couldn’t be sure; he’d been away from this sort of civilization for quite some time now. “We’d best keep on the move. And try to walk less as one with such urgent purpose.”

  “Do I walk with purpose, now?” she scoffed. “Sorry my acting skills are nay to yer likin’, s— Rutherford. Shall we?”

  They walked for some time, Aidan receiving no more than a handful of initial curious glances from the women-folk. Men tended to keep their minds on task; the women would be the first to sound the alarm, if something were amiss. Aidan donned the role he played best: brow-beaten, worn-down, life-weary man. This kept him hidden. Slaíne, Aidan realized too late, would draw more attention the narrower the town became. Not many in these parts were red-haired and pale of complexion.

  Sure enough, as the number of Pulls decreased, the covert stares and the occasional pointing increased. “Who’s that, you think?” a wee child asked its mother, tugging on her grimy apron. The woman at the cobbler’s shop, whom the babe was addressing, took one look at Slaíne and pulled her young indoors. “Vampire,” Aidan heard her spit before slamming the door behind her child.

  Whether or not Slaíne heard the word, Aidan was uncertain. If she did, he wondered if it bothered her. If so, she did not let on.

  Past the cobbler’s, down a narrow back street, Aidan noted that the houses truly were growing few and far between. “There will be a bit of the wood coming up ahead,” he said, catching up with Slaíne.

  She bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “What then?”

  Aidan glanced over his shoulder, though he knew from the Pulls surrounding them that no one had been following their progress. “Our passing through town will – should go unnoticed. But once we’ve reached that particular patch of wood, there will be sentries.” He gave Slaíne a meaningful look to make certain she followed.

  The girl frowned. “They belong to Dew—”

  Aidan hushed her. “Yes, that man. If I still know him, he still likes to make a show of his power. You might be questioned, asked to state your business and the like.” He grimaced, failing to mention that he himself would probably be searched. No need to plant even more worries in her head.

  “And I’m to tell these sentries that we was waylaid by Romas, an’— Ah, bugger.” She chewed on her lower lip again as she thought. “I can nay sound proper. We’ll be ratted.”

  “Not if you keep talking. Act confident. Take no lip. Attitude will get you everywhere with these thugs.”

  Slaíne shot him a meaningful look. “And they nay will look on ya?”

  He let the comment roll with a laugh. “We’ll be fine.” They slowed their pace. Aidan’s thirst was growing under the heat of the rising sun, but he would not risk Summoning a water skin and possibly give himself away. Again he checked for Pulls. None familiar, save for Dewhurst’s, who must be on his estate, such was the distance. He felt for Larkin’s Pull; nothing. Good…unless she was hidden by the presence of iron. And there was no return of the Pull he’d experienced back in town. But still he did not drop his guard, releasing her hand.

  “Where did you live?”

  Aidan cringed. “On the other side of town.”

  Slaíne nodded, her brow creasing. “An’ you were lord of this all?”

  This was the last topic he wished to discuss with Slaíne or anyone, for that matter, now or at any time. So instead of elaborating, he gave her a non-committal shrug.

  Slaíne took the hint and pressed him no further.

  The busyness of the town fell away, along with several hundred human Pulls, leaving them in the thick of a small wood. Aidan sensed four new Pulls hidden in the trees near them, and the artificial call of a bird seemed to cause Slaíne some confusion. She started to look among the leaves, but Aidan coughed a warning, and she returned her eyes to their path.

  Several human Pulls ahead at the manor were drawing together at a point high above the trees. Archers, he thought ruefully. What could have possibly set them on their guard…unless Larkin really had set a trap and didn’t need to be present for it to be sprung. Aidan ground his teeth. He was about to take Slaíne by the arm and steer her back whence they came, but a Pull was quickly making its way toward them, and one was moving in from behind. They were good and surrounded now.

  To Aidan’s surprise, Slaíne came to a halt and put up a hand for him to stop. Then, entertaining the air of someone both spoiled and bored, she opened her mouth and said snappishly, “If you would be so good as to show yourself, sir or sirs, I would be most obliged.” Silence. She let out a heavy sigh. “How’s a lady to feel, being followed around in the shadows like she’s some sitting duck? Out wi’ you, I say.” There was another silence, and Aidan feared Slaíne had erred in her presumptions. Twigs snapped as two Pulls from the side and one from ahead rushed toward them. Hands sweating and itching for Slaíne’s silver sword, Aidan bowed his head and tried to look the part of the foolish servant.

  The two men, both guards from either side of the wood, made it to them first. They wore the regal red cape and the golden-brown tunic and slacks of Dewhurst’s guard and had the swords to go with them. The weapons, however, were not drawn, though one of the men rested his hand on the pommel. “What have we here?” he asked, amused.

  “A vamp and her pet?”

  The two laughed for a moment until Slaíne joined in, a note of menace in her lilting voice. The men’s laughter became more uncertain and soon cut off altogether. One coughed. The other grimaced.

  At last, Slaíne’s laughter died and she placed her hands upon her hips. “If we’re quite done wi’ this merriment, I
would like to know if I mayn’t pass in peace.”

  They were bulky men, overfed and underworked. Both wore chainmail over their dirty tunics. That had to make them sweltering hot beneath and perhaps a good deal cross. As it was, both faces were blotchy red and beads of sweat had formed on their exposed skin, sure signs that they were no match for Aidan if there was to be a fair fight. And there wouldn’t be.

  “Rattish, Lefere, enough of your posturing.”

  Aidan started and looked up at the sound of the new voice before lowering his head again and staring at his muddy boots. It had been a woman’s voice speaking to the men, something Aidan had not anticipated. This voice held authority, and that could only mean one of two things: either Lord Dewhurst kept a woman as head of the guard, or…. He shuddered at the thought.

  The hem of a white gown came into view, and Aidan chose to stare at it. No, definitely not head of the guard. Dewhurst had remarried. The rake. The devil!

  He stopped his mad stream of thoughts. There was a conversation going on, and he must attend.

  The woman was saying, “I hope my guards have not been giving you too much trouble.”

  Slaíne let out a chirp of a laugh. “It isn’t anything I ain’t heard before.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”

  “Oh, I’m originally from Ilitris.”

  “I have not heard of that place. Where is it?”

  Aidan grimaced internally. Slaíne needed to speak with more “Ilitris is a small mountain town. Not many’ve heard of it.” She must have sensed some of Aidan’s frustration, for she interrupted the woman’s next question. “I’m sorry to cut in, like. But I’s beset by highwaymen not five days prior. I’m to meet up with the rest of my convoy ’fore the week is out, and we’ll like as not replace what was taken.”

  “You poor dear. Have you reported the robbery to the proper authorities?”