“Wyrds and Shee!” Har said impatiently. “My sister’s been kidnapped, and you talk about children’s tales.”
“I suppose the Wyrwood gets a bad reputation by accident?” Maurin asked politely.
“A couple of travelers get killed by robbers, somebody has a nightmare, and all of a sudden the woods are filled with Wyrds,” Har muttered. “I hope this pass of yours is not some minstrel’s tale as well.”
“Traders don’t lie about making money. Not in their own logs, anyway.”
“All right, then. We’re too far behind the others to be much help there; we might as well cover the opposite direction, just to make sure.”
The two paused briefly to leave a message with the gatekeeper, then urged their horses to a faster pace. When they reached the other side of the city, Har dismounted and studied the ground carefully, but he rose shaking his head.
“Too much traffic,” he said. “If the Lithmern did come this way, their tracks are buried. We must head further east to learn anything,” He remounted and they moved away from the city at a slow trot. Har dismounted frequently to study the tracks in the road, but always remounted with the same negative headshake. Both men were growing frustrated, and Har was about to suggest they turn back, when he caught sight of something lying in the middle of the road, glinting in the moonlight—a noble woman’s dancing slipper, sewn with green spangles.
Chapter 4
WHEN ALETHIA REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS, it was nearly dawn. Her captors had stopped, and she was propped against a tree at the edge of a clearing in a forest, her hands and feet tied. One of her shoes was missing. Despite her aching head, the stiffness of her muscles, and the cold seeping from the ground through her thin silk dress, she forced herself to think. A forest—we must be north of Brenn. There aren’t any woods this dense to the south, not for half a hundred miles, anyway. And they couldn’t have gone so far in one night, especially since they’d have had to cross the river. She craned her neck, searching for familiar landmarks, but there were none. I thought I knew all the land within a day’s ride of Brenn. Perhaps I’ll be able to recognize something once it’s gotten lighter.
A boot prodded her side. Suppressing a squeak of surprise and indignation, she turned and found one of her captors looking down at her. At least, she thought he was looking at her; his cloak was muffled up around his face, and the brim of his hat hung down far enough to hide the rest of his features.
“Awake at last, Mistress?”
The man’s voice was very like a croak, and Alethia could not place the accent. Fighting down her fear, she replied with some energy, “No thanks to you, I’m sure! I do not like people who abduct me and then whisk me off to nowhere. Where are we, where are you taking me, and what do you intend to do with me when you get there? Oh, and by the way, who are you?”
The cloaked man laughed. “I care naught for your likes nor dislikes, and less than naught for your questions. I tell you only this: Hope neither for escape nor rescue. We stand a full two days’ hard ride from the place you call your home, and dangers fill the forest around you.”
“Dangers worse than you and your men?” Alethia said with as much polite skepticism as she could muster. “Anyway, I don’t believe you. Those horses are nothing special—” she nodded at the animals tethered to the bushes on the far side of the clearing, “—and a blind man could see that they haven’t been ridden hard.”
“Believe or do not, as your wishes lead you; whatever you believe, we shall reach Mog Ograth in another day and a half. I have given warning, as I was bidden.” The cloaked man started to turn away.
“And do your instructions include starving me to death?” Alethia put in quickly. “I am ravenous!”
The cloaked man burst into laughter and bowed mockingly. As he bent, Alethia saw clearly into the dark space between the hat brim and the cloak, and stifled a scream of unreasoning terror. There was nothing there, only shadows.
To her relief, the cloaked man walked away and did not return. Apparently her final comment had made some impression, however, for after a few minutes one of the other men brought her a piece of hard bread. She thought that he looked nicer than the others; he seemed younger, barely thirty, and he did not have any of the scars that the rest of the party seemed to flaunt. When she looked at his eyes, however, Alethia felt chilled. They were brown and cold, and remote as the icy blue peaks of the Kathkari mountains, as though their owner roamed in other fields. She did not try to speak to him.
Eating with her hands tied was awkward, but she managed. As she ate, Alethia watched her captors. There seemed to be about a dozen of them, including their shadowy captain, but they moved constantly about the clearing and Alethia could not be positive of the exact number. They had already started a large fire in the middle of the clearing, which meant that they were confident of their safety; had they feared pursuit, they would not have done anything so obvious. Could the captain have been telling the truth? But how could they have come two days’ ride in a single night? She was sure she hadn’t been unconscious for two days; she didn’t feel sick enough, or hungry enough.
The captain had mentioned Mog Ograth, the capital of Lithra, so he and his men were probably Lithmern. Though Alethia had never seen one of the raiders, she was familiar with the descriptions that filtered constantly back to Brenn, and these men fit: dark eyes; dark hair chopped off raggedly just below their ears; square, solid bodies with hands that looked too large for the rest of them. On the other hand, she had never heard of Lithmern with shadows for faces. She glanced toward the captain, and shivered. At least the rest of the men were ordinary.
Having learned what she could from observing her captors, Alethia turned her attention to the cords binding her hands and feet. The awkward movements of eating gave her an excuse to study the knots from several angles without arousing suspicion. Well before she finished the bread, she had decided that she could use her teeth to untie her hands. Unfortunately, the maneuver would occupy no little time, and one or another of the men watched her constantly. Alethia concluded that she must wait for a more suitable opportunity, and concentrated on eating.
She finished her scanty meal and leaned back against the tree. The Lithmern had almost finished setting up camp, and several of them lay beside the fire. They seemed distant and far away, despite the growing daylight. It was surprisingly pleasant to lie listening to the birds and watching the men. One of the Lithmern staggered past the fire, then collapsed slowly beside it; he must be even more tired than she was. Another man leaned against one of the horses and slid snoring to the ground.
A faint alarm sounded at the back of her mind, but with her hands and feet bound, she could do nothing. At least they all fell asleep first, she thought fuzzily as her eyes closed and she slept.
Bracor and his guests returned to Brenn at dawn, having left most of the guardsmen behind to continue the search. They had found no trace of Alethia or her kidnappers, and they were tired and frustrated. Even the message Har and Maurin had left with the gatekeeper did little to raise their spirits, for even if their assumptions were right, it was far too late to follow them. Bracor sent a new detachment after them anyway. Then he and the two lords rode slowly through the streets to Styr Tel.
Isme met them in the courtyard. As they dismounted, Bracor shook his head. “We found no trace of them,” he said. “Har and Maurin have gone another—”
“Bracor, I must speak with you,” Isme interrupted, her expression grim. “Alone.”
Handing his reins to a servant, Bracor nodded. “You will excuse me, my lords,” he said to Armin and Gahlon, and without waiting for a reply, he followed Isme inside. She did not speak again until they reached the study and the door had closed behind them. Then she turned to him and said, “There were traces of magic in the courtyard. Spells of calling, and of concealment.”
Bracor’s face stiffened. “Magic? Not—”
“No. The spells were entirely unfamiliar to me.”
“But the
Lithmern knew enough to use them, and to know they would be necessary,” Bracor said, frowning.
“Possibly,” Isme said. “The spells were very strong, and subtle enough that I did not notice them until afterward, when I went to look. Of course, I am somewhat out of practice. But that they used spells to hide themselves does not mean they suspected me of possessing similar skills. It may have been the only way for them to succeed in their attempt.”
“Or the easiest way. Though you are right; I don’t know how else they could slip half a dozen men unseen into and out of Brenn, let alone Styr Tel.” He paused. “There is another thing. If the Lithmern have learned magic of their own, it must change our preparations for defense. How much shall I tell Lord Armin and First Lord Gahlon?”
Isme looked at him. “How much will they believe?”
“I don’t know.” Bracor rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Everything, or nothing. I will have to think about this more when I am rested.”
“Then go and rest,” Isme said, and touched his arm gently. “There is time, now. There may be none, later.”
“I hope that is not another of your hunches,” Bracor said with an attempt at a grin. “The last one was too accurate for anyone’s peace of mind.”
Isme only smiled a little sadly, and did not reply.
Harsh cries woke Alethia. Her eyes flew open. Green daylight poured through the branches of the trees, making deep shadows on the forest floor; it must be nearly noon. The fire had gone out, and all of the Lithmern raiders except the captain were scattered on the floor of the clearing, sleeping so soundly that they might have been drugged. Even the horses stood with their heads down.
The Lithmern captain was stumbling painfully from one man to another, shouting and shaking them in a futile attempt to arouse them. He turned toward her, and Alethia shut her eyes quickly. Perhaps too quickly; the shouting stopped, and the sound of footsteps drew nearer, then stopped by her side. Despite her fear, Alethia tried to breathe slowly and evenly. After a moment, she heard the captain walk away. When she cautiously raised her eyelids a crack, he had gone back to his men. Eventually, he gave up and reeled toward the horses, where he disappeared from view.
Hardly daring to believe her luck, Alethia raised her bound hands to her mouth, keeping careful watch for the vanished leader. It was slow work, and every minute she expected to see him coming back. Finally, the stubborn knots gave. With her hands free it took only a few moments more to untie her ankles, and she kicked off her remaining shoe and tried to rise.
Her stiff legs would not hold her at first. By the time she gained her feet, she was nearly wild with the thought that the captain would return just in time to prevent her escape. As she reached the edge of the clearing, she stumbled over one of the sleeping guards and fell to the ground beside him.
Terrified that the noise would bring the Lithmern captain, she pulled the dagger from the sleeping man’s belt and twisted to look back at the camp. There was still no sign of the captain, so she risked cutting the swordbelt free and taking it as well. Using the sheathed sword as a walking stick, she started slowly off into the forest.
Twigs and small branches quickly ripped her stockings to shreds, and her bare feet felt every rock and irregularity in the forest floor. She hardly noticed; her one thought was to get as much distance between herself and the Lithmern as she possibly could before the inevitable pursuit began. Whatever had put her captors to sleep, she could not be sure that it would last much longer, and it was always possible that the captain would leave off trying to awaken his men and come after her alone.
Alethia walked for nearly an hour, her stiffened muscles loosening only gradually. Several times the ruffled lace trimming the sleeves of her ball gown caught in bushes, and she wasted precious moments tearing free. Finally she cut the remaining fragments off with the dagger and threw them away. She was so intent on making progress that she did not see the clearing until she was almost on top of it. In the middle of the open area a man in green and blue sat before a fire with his back to her.
Alethia stopped abruptly, but the man had heard her, and he turned. At the sight of her, his eyes widened in recognition. “Lady Alethia of Brenn! How came you to the Wyrwood, and in such a state?”
With relief, she saw that it was the minstrel, Tamsin, who had passed through Brenn a few days previously and sung at her birth eve party. “Lithmern,” she said concisely. Seeing his bemused expression, she added, “I was kidnapped.”
“I take it you have escaped and pursuit is imminent?” the minstrel said calmly, rising from his seat.
“They were all asleep when I left, but as soon as their leader finds a way to wake them, they will follow me.”
Tamsin’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, but he kept a credible composure. “You need not walk, my lady. Starbrow and I are at your service,” he said.
He sounds like a character out of one of those ballads he sang… was it only three nights ago? Alethia did not voice the comment. At the moment, a hero out of a ballad was just what she needed, and if a wandering minstrel was an unlikely candidate, he was still the only one she had. “Starbrow?” she said instead.
“My horse.” Tamsin whistled, and a moment later a huge chestnut with a white star on his forehead came trotting into the clearing. Tamsin rubbed the horse’s ears, and the animal snorted contentedly.
“A noble animal, and well trained,” Alethia observed politely, feeling, absurdly, as if she too had fallen into the minstrel’s romance.
“Thank you, my lady. If you would mount, we had best be on our way.” He kicked some dirt over the fire. “Pity about lunch, but it cannot be helped. We must make do with cold fare.” Bowing extravagantly, he lifted her onto the saddle, then sprang lightly up behind.
Alethia found the sword she carried a little awkward, and she was quite willing to give it up when Tamsin commented mildly, “I should suggest that for now we place that useful implement in one of my bags; it would be most awkward to decapitate our mount at the beginning of the journey.”
Tamsin accepted the sword and stowed it in one of the saddlebags, a neat trick while riding. From the same bag he produced cold meat and bread, part of which he handed forward to her. Alethia fell to with a will. When she finished, the minstrel passed her a water bottle and asked, “Now, we are under way and we have lunched, in a fashion. If only to pass the time and satisfy a storyteller’s curiosity, will you not tell me how you came to be in such distress?”
Despite her weariness, Alethia told the story of her kidnapping and escape. As she spoke, the minstrel’s face grew grave, and he urged Starbrow to greater speed. When she finished, he was silent for a little, then spoke. “Your captors must indeed have had a pressing need to venture here; these woods do not welcome such creatures as they. And to travel so quickly… . It will take us until midday tomorrow to reach Brenn, even if we travel most of the night.”
Alethia’s eyes widened. “You mean that creature was telling the truth? But we only left Brenn last night! I am sure of it. How could they possibly travel so fast?”
“I am more puzzled that they dared to venture into these woods at all,” Tamsin said. “The inhabitants of these woods are dangerous to cross.”
“Inhabitants?” Alethia said. “Outlaws and thieves, you mean.”
“Those to whom this forest belongs,” Tamsin corrected her. “They do not like visitors, but they will sometimes allow travelers to pass through the places they do not hold for their own. But I would not care to guess which is more hazardous: to walk among the beasts or to go uninvited into the places that are protected. It is a narrow path that travelers in these woods must follow.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Alethia asked pointedly.
“Minstrels are an exception to many rules, lady.”
Alethia laughed and shook her head. “Who are these people, that make such convenient exceptions?”
“Say, rather, beings, for they are not men,” the minstrel replied. “They a
re the Wyrds, and they are of the older days of Alkyra, when the region was just being settled and magic walked the lands freely.”
“You talk as though you believe the stories you tell,” Alethia laughed.
“The Wyrds are no more stories than the other ‘fey folk’ of Lyra,” Tamsin said. “They were part of Alkyra from the very first, when Kirel was crowned. They are small in stature, but strong in magic. They gave Kirel the Shield of Law at his coronation. Though they have held apart from men for so long, their power at least remains fresh in the minds of men. No one is unaware of the dangers of these woods. The very name of the forest is proof of that.”
“You’ve met them?”
“They are real,” Tamsin said. “But I have not met them. Few men knew them even in the days when Kirel and his line ruled Alkyra; none have seen them since Eirith fell.”
“If no one has seen them for two hundred and fifty years, how can you be so certain they ever really existed?”
“Can you pass through their forest and doubt it?” Tamsin said. “I think you have run afoul of their magic ere now, when you left your captors sleeping.”
Alethia was silent for a moment. She could not deny that something had put the Lithmern to sleep, but she was not going to attribute it to magic simply because no other explanation presented itself.
“What did you mean by ‘other fey folk’?” she said finally, curious in spite of herself.
“The peoples of Lyra who have magic in their blood and bones. They are the Wyrds, the mountain-dwelling Shee, and the sea-people, the Neira. The Shee are powerful and long-lived, wise in magic and very rich. They live in the Kathkari Mountains; the original settlers of Alkyra found their cities there, and made them friends.”
“I know the tale—the Shee helped found Alkyra,” Alethia said. “But I thought they were another myth, like the firebird that fed Darneel when she was imprisoned on the mountain top.”
“The Shee are no more myth than the Wyrds,” Tamsin said firmly. “They gave the Staff of Order to Kirel as a coronation gift. In return he promised that no men would ever come to the Kathkari to settle.”
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