The Destined Queen

by Deborah Hale

  “As you wish. But none of this will matter if we fail in our quest. You said the staff was not in that secret chamber or anywhere in the palace. How can that be? According to the old writings, Abrielle hid it in the castle, and this is the only castle in…”

  “No.” The back of Maura’s neck rippled with an eerie chill. “There is another. A very old one, scarcely more than a ruin now. In Aldwood. I have been there. That must be why it looked familiar.”

  Could it have been the nearness of the staff’s powerful magic that had sparked her courage when she’d been captured by the bandit lord who now occupied the ancient castle?

  “Aldwood?” said Delyon. “Over the mountains, you mean?”

  “Yes. Near the eastern shore where a great army from Dun Derhan will be landing soon.” If troops from Westborne had been dispatched to the eastlands, it must mean the death-mage had received word that the time was approaching to spring their trap.

  She jumped up, grabbing Delyon’s arm to pull him to his feet. “Come, we must not tarry here another moment! We have to get over the mountains before the army does, to warn Rath and your brother and to search for the staff.”

  “Curse me,” muttered Delyon. “Why did I not think of another castle? Why did I not ask? If the rebellion fails, the fault will be mine!”

  “Nonsense. If we had not come to Venard, we might never have known what the Han are planning.” And she might never have discovered the truth about her parentage. Could it have been destiny that had led her and Delyon here?

  “Put any doubts out of your mind.” That applied to her, she realized, even more than Delyon. “We must not let anything distract us from racing the High Governor’s army over the mountains.”

  It was one of the first lessons she had grudgingly learned from Rath when she’d started out on her quest to find the Waiting King. Now she put it into practice, almost welcoming the urgent, demanding mission that would distract her thoughts from the revelation that had turned her world upside down.

  “How can we do that?” Delyon sounded defeated almost before they began. “The Han have a head start on us. They will block the high road through Pronel’s Pass and we dare not try to steal through their ranks. I doubt I have enough genow scales left to make a meadow mouse disappear.”

  “There must be other ways through the mountains.” Maura shrank from the thought of a bridge like the one over Raynor’s Rift. “Paths too narrow for an army, but ample for a pair of wayfarers traveling light and swift. It is past dawn. We must start on our way before the invisibility spell wears off.”

  Before he could protest, she pulled open the door and tugged him out into the passageway.

  They found the palace and the city both astir with a great caravan of supply wagons marshaling on the outskirts to follow the army into the mountains.

  “I wonder if they’re leaving behind any of the harvest in Westborne?” Maura muttered as she towed Delyon toward a low hill just outside the city. In spite of everything, her spirit lightened to be out in the sunshine and fresh air, with their days of hiding and searching behind them. “This looks a likely spot to take our bearings.”

  “Take them quick,” said Delyon. “You are starting to become visible around the edges. I reckon I will, too, before long.”

  “That road to the southeast—” Maura pointed toward it “—leads in the direction of the mountains but away from the high road the army is taking. At least we can follow it while we make our way through the fields and woods.”

  “Lead the way,” said Delyon, “and set the pace. I will do my best to keep up with you.”

  They moved steadily eastward all that day, not even pausing to eat what little food they had left from the High Governor’s larder.

  As night closed in, Maura fretted the short distance they’d covered. “We need to move faster, or we will never find Rath in time once we reach the Long Vale.”

  By now they were both fully visible, and there was still light enough for her to see Delyon’s rueful shrug. “I cannot walk any faster over this rough ground. Shall we risk taking the road?”

  After a moment’s thought, Maura gave a grim nod. “We have spied little traffic on it, and I doubt the Han can spare many soldiers to guard the way. I wish I still had some powdered stag hoof to hasten our journey.”

  They made better speed once they reached the road, though Maura kept glancing behind them when she was not peering ahead into the gathering darkness. She had been traveling in stealth for so long, the prospect of meeting up with anyone on the road fretted her. She would have praised the Giver with a grateful heart to find a patch of hundredflowers by the wayside. But even if they did grow on this side of the mountains, their season was past.

  The sun had set and the moon not yet risen in the star-dappled night sky when Delyon suggested they stop and make camp.

  Though reeling with fatigue, Maura resisted. “Just a little farther, please? Our only chance to gain ground on the Hanish army is if we start earlier than they each morning and keep going later each night.”

  “But if we exhaust ourselves now, we may not reach—”

  “Shh!” Maura squinted into the darkness. “I think I see lights up ahead. If it is a farm, we might be able to barter some healing for a few supplies. Or at least get directions for the quickest way through the mountains from here.”

  Her weariness lifted at the prospect of encountering another family like the one she and Rath had met in the south—folks hungry to relearn some of the old customs they had lost under the harsh rule of the Han. The gentle glow spilling from a small window beckoned her with a promise of rest and help.

  Then, from out of the darkness ahead, came a sound that banished all such hopeful thoughts from her mind. Loud, vicious barking, the kind made only by…

  “Hounds!” Maura grabbed Delyon by the hand and began to run.

  18

  T he barking drew closer at a terrifying speed. And the night had grown too dark for Maura to spot any means of escape but one.

  “Up this tree, quick!” She scrambled onto the lowest branch, then turned to give Delyon a hand up.

  They climbed higher among the boughs as the hounds—at least two by their noise—reached the base of the trunk and set up a blood-chilling racket. Likely they were enraged at being deprived of their sport…for the time, at least.

  “That must be…a Hanish guard post,” gasped Maura. From the direction of the building, she could see the bobbing light of a torch coming toward them. “I’m going to climb out to the end of this branch to see if there is another tree close enough to reach.”

  Even as the words left her lips, she knew it was probably futile. The hounds would only follow them from tree to tree until they could go no farther.

  “What about a spell?” suggested Delyon. “Dreamweed? Spidersilk?”

  “Anything is worth a try.” Maura fumbled at the pockets of her sash, though she was not very hopeful. Her spells hadn’t worked on those lankwolves in the Waste.

  The branch beneath her sagged dangerously. One of the boughs around her might have led to another tree, but in the darkness, she could not tell.

  The torchlight came closer and a deep male voice called out in Comtung, “Throw down your weapons, then climb down to be questioned! Be warned—I have an arrow aimed at you and I am a good shot.”

  “Maura!” Delyon called in Umbrian, just loud enough for her to hear over the baying hounds. “Keep still and stay here. I will give myself up. Now that you know where the staff is, you no longer need me. May the Giver go with you.”

  Maura opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. If the Han believed Delyon was alone, she might be left at liberty to rescue him.

  “I have no weapon!” Delyon cried out in Comtung. “I am but a weary traveler. I would come down but I fear your dogs will tear me to pieces.”

  “Songrid!” snapped the man in Hanish. “Chain the hounds!”

  A woman’s voice called out, “Meat!”

&n
bsp; It was clearly a word the beasts understood, for the sound of their barking moved away from the tree as quickly as it had come. The torchlight moved away, too, tempting Maura to try running off in the dark. But sense and caution prevailed. The hounds could be set loose again just as quickly. And next time there might not be a tree handy.

  A moment or two later the woman returned with the torch and the Han once again ordered Delyon to climb down, which he did.

  “Search him for weapons, Songrid,” said the Han.

  Through the leaves, Maura saw a tall fair-haired woman approach Delyon. She held the torch in one hand and with the other she patted his chest, waist and legs.

  “He is not armed,” she announced at last.

  Why had she made no mention of his sash? Maura wondered. Then, by the flickering torchlight, she spied it hanging from one of the tree branches. A pang of shame gripped her for every unkind thought she’d ever had about Delyon.

  “Anyone else up there?” the Han asked him.

  “I am alone.”

  “Indeed?” said the Han. “Then perhaps I should loose a few arrows into the branches to make certain.”

  Maura kept still. Surely he was bluffing.

  Then she heard the snap of an arrow embedding itself in the tree trunk. Still she would have taken her chances, for it was a big tree and she was perched farther out on a branch than the bowman would expect.

  But Delyon cried, “Stop!”

  The Han gave a harsh grunt of laughter that his threat had worked.

  “Come down, Maura,” Delyon called in Umbrian. “We will have to find another way. I cannot risk you being killed.”

  Cursing under her breath, Maura slid down out of the tree. She did not remove her sash, in the hope that she might be allowed to keep it.

  But this Han was more cautious than the one who had taken them prisoner on the way to Venard. He immediately ordered the woman named Songrid to take the sash from Maura before marching her and Delyon back to the guardhouse. Once they entered, he kept his bow trained on them while bidding Songrid tie the prisoners into a pair of heavy chairs near the hearth.

  “Now…” He aimed his bow straight at Maura’s chest, but his words he aimed at Delyon. “Tell me who you are, where you are bound and why you were trying to sneak past this guard post after dark. And no more lies, or the wench will pay for your deceit.”

  Delyon gave their names. “We did not mean to sneak by your fine guardhouse,” he lied, in spite of the Han’s warning. “We would have stopped, but your dogs prevented us.”

  The Han appeared to waver between suspicion and belief. “Where are you headed and why?”

  Maura fancied she could see the sweat pop out on Delyon’s brow. He hesitated and his gaze shifted restlessly, as if searching for inspiration to weave a plausible falsehood. If the Han had more than half a wit, he would not believe anything that came out of Delyon’s mouth.

  So she spoke up. “It is no use lying to the man, Delyon. He looks far too clever to be fooled by any excuse.”

  The Han pretended to scorn her flattery, but his aim with the bow lowered a bit.

  “The truth is,” she continued, “we heard the mines had been attacked by the army of the Waiting King and that many of the men who toiled there had been set free. I go in search of my husband. He was taken to the mines not long ago, so I have hope he might still be alive.”

  She infused the story with all her longing to see Rath again. “We mean no harm to anyone. Let us go, I beg you! I fear he may be wandering in the mountains, hurt and hungry.”

  “Enough!” The Han appeared to believe her story, even if he had no sympathy with it. “These wild tales about an Umbrian army are nothing but lies to stir up gullible folk like you and cause unrest. If your husband was taken to the mines, that is where he belongs. You had better go back where you came from and turn a deaf ear to treasonous tales from now on.”

  Might he let them go? Maura did not try to hold back her tears of relief, but let them fall in a pretense of despair.

  Delyon caught the spirit of the tale.

  “I told you it was foolish to pin your hopes on such mad rumors!” he chided her in a convincing tone. “Now will you come home and forget all this nonsense?”

  Bowing her head so the Han would glimpse nothing in her eyes to contradict what she’d told him, Maura gave a nod that she hoped looked reluctant. As the Han mulled over his decision, she silently begged the Giver’s help.

  “I will fetch you back to Venard for questioning in the morning,” the Han announced at last in a tone that suggested he was doing them a favor. “If all is as you say, you can return home from there. For tonight, you will sleep in the haymow over the stable.”

  One last tiny ember of hope in Maura’s heart flickered out when he added, “Bound, of course.”

  A while later as they lay in the straw, Maura squirmed closer to Delyon. “Let me see if I can untie your hands before my fingers grow too numb.”

  Back to back, Maura tugged at the tightly knotted rope around his wrists.

  “That was quick thinking in there.” Admiration warmed Delyon’s words. “My mind just went empty.”

  Maura sighed. “Much good it did us.”

  When they were taken back to Venard in the morning, someone would be sure to remember a man and woman of their description who had disappeared in the courtyard of the High Governor’s palace.

  The best they could hope was that the death-mage—Maura still could not bring herself to think of him as her father—had already gone to join the army marching over the mountains. If he saw her again, he might guess the truth, and she knew better than to hope for mercy from him.

  “I’m not sure this is any use,” she said at last, after fumbling with the knotted rope in vain for some time.

  Even if, by some miraculous grace of the Giver, their identities were not discovered tomorrow, they would still be back where they’d started, with less chance than ever of reaching Rath in time.

  “Shh!” whispered Delyon. “I hear someone coming!”

  They wriggled apart, and Maura rolled onto her other side so it would not be obvious what she’d been trying to do.

  The flickering light of a small torch shone up through the trapdoor as the Hanish woman climbed into the haymow.

  Kneeling beside Maura, she whispered, “What Kez told you is not true. The mines were attacked and the prisoners set free.”

  Maura feigned surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “If I help you get away now—” Songrid glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice further “—will you take me with you?”

  “Why would you want to go with us?”

  The woman’s strong, handsome features tensed. “Do you think your people are the only ones who suffer oppression?”

  Maura shook her head.

  She had glimpsed enough in the women’s quarters at the palace to know better. A race of warriors that disdained healing needed a vast supply of replacements for those killed or injured. Which meant the lot of Hanish women was continuous breeding from a young age. As soon as they were weaned, most children were taken away from their mothers to be raised in an armylike atmosphere that would winnow out the weak and crush any troublesome traits like curiosity, defiance or compassion.

  Fearing a trap, she answered the woman’s question with one of her own. “If you wish to flee, why not go on your own?”

  “If we are caught, I can claim you took me against my will.” The Hanish woman looked almost as wary of them as Maura felt of her. “I want your promise that you will take me across the mountains and help me find a place among your people.”

  “Do you not despise us as your enemies?”

  “That is what I was taught.” Perhaps as a show of good faith, Songrid began to untie Maura’s hands. “But I have eyes and a mind that work better than my womb. There are many things about your people I do not understand, but I know your women are better off than mine, though you are the conquered and w
e are the masters.”

  Delyon must have sensed how the woman’s words swayed her. “Maura,” he warned, “how do you know we can trust her?”

  Songrid glared at him. “How do I know I can trust you, man? I would just as soon leave you behind. But if we are caught, no Han would believe another woman had managed to take me prisoner.”

  Having intimidated him speechless, she turned her glittering blue gaze back upon Maura. “There are two horses we can take. Food. Warm clothes for the journey into the mountains.”

  If this was a trap and Maura went for the bait, she and Delyon would probably be executed right here. But if Songrid was sincere…

  Reaching down, Maura began to untie her feet. “The man—Kez—what about him?”

  “Maura!” cried Delyon. “Do you mean to place our fate in the hands of this—”

  “Watch your words, man!”

  In spite of the brittle tension and everything at stake, Maura was tempted to chuckle. Songrid and Delyon sounded so much like her and Rath at the beginning of their acquaintance. “Do not forget the First Precept, Delyon. Trust in the Giver’s providence.”

  “How can you be certain this is the Giver’s providence and not Hanish treachery?”

  Her feet untied, Maura crawled over to where he lay and began to unbind him, since Songrid showed no inclination for the task. “I cannot be certain. If I were, there would not be much reason to trust, would there?”

  Delyon replied with a wordless grumble while Songrid answered Maura’s question. “Kez is getting ready for bed. He sent me out to let the hounds loose again. Is there something in that sash of yours I could put in a drink to make him sleep deep and long?”

  “Please, Maura. Do not trust her.” Delyon spoke in twaran. Did he reckon Songrid could not guess every word by his suspicious tone?

  “Why not? Because she is Han? You claimed to think no worse of me if I had Hanish blood.”

  “That is different!”

  Did she need to trust this one Hanish woman? Maura wondered. To begin accepting the part of herself that suddenly felt foreign and untrustworthy?