WayFarer

by Janalyn Voigt

  The truth of the ancient saying robbed her of breath. Why cast accusations onto Benisch when she had acted in naught but selfishness since meeting Elcon?

  “I suppose I deserve that, but I want to make things right.”

  A smooth look came over Benisch’s face. “I’ll help you leave Torindan in secret. I’ll provide you and your servant with a mount and a supply of food and water. I’ll even put you on a back way that leads through the passes to Norwood.”

  She inclined her head. She would need to journey that way to Westerland, for roads had not yet penetrated the wild lands she and Elcon had flown over when she’d come to Torindan. Besides, she would be a woman alone. She might come upon other travelers willing to help her in the mountain passes, but only the roughest sort of huntsman and tracker could be found in the western wilderness.

  “In return, you must leave at once, promise never to return and keep my involvement secret if you are discovered.”

  She took a steadying breath. “I agree to all but your first condition. I will leave when I am ready.” She pressed a hand against her stomach. “But that will not be overlong. Now pray excuse me. I wish to be alone.”

  Benisch rose and unbolted the door. No sooner had it banged shut behind him than Murial opened it. She gave Aewen a strange look.

  “What matters take you behind a locked door with Benisch?”

  She sighed and squared her shoulders. “You will know soon enough.”

  ****

  “Aewen, wake up.” Elcon called from her dreams. When she opened her eyes, he leaned over her. “Come then wife, do you yet sleep?” He frowned. “It’s past midday. Are you ill?”

  Aewen came with difficulty out of slumber and sat upright. She shook her head, although her stomach did feel squeamish. “I’m just tired.”

  He gave her a weak smile. “Do you grow bored while I’m occupied? Perchance you are homesick. Do you miss your sister’s company?”

  She wished he did not speak of her people. She did think of Caerla sometimes, and of her parents and brothers at Cobbleford. They were all lost to her, as Elcon would soon be also.

  He reached out and flicked away tears that had welled in her eyes and now spilled onto her cheeks. “What’s this? Sorrow?”

  She broke down in earnest, weeping until his arms came around her, and his kisses stopped her tears. Yes, she would leave Elcon to a better life without her, but not today.

  Despite the joy of being in his arms, she could not ignore her nausea. Breaking free, she hurried to empty her stomach.

  “You are ill.” He opened their bedchamber door and called for Murial. “Summon Praectal Daelic.”

  Aewen was too weak to protest. She lay back against the pillows to wait with a sense of helplessness for the praectal’s arrival. Her secret would soon be revealed. Her husband held her hand and smoothed her brow. Creases lined his forehead. He worried for her. She should tell him the truth now while it was hers to give.

  And yet…what if the praectal missed her condition? Her belly had only just started swelling.

  Elcon pressed his lips to her forehead and gazed into her eyes.

  “Elcon—”

  The door burst open and a large Kindren entered the chamber with Murial behind him. He had a kind face and carried a satchel by a strap across the front of his brown overtunic. After her examination, Daelic loomed over her bedside. “Are you aware you are with child?” Murial, waiting in the doorway, met her glance and backed away. Elcon, who hovered in the background, rushed to embrace her before she could respond. She breathed a thankful sigh, for what could she have said in answer? She’d meant to leave him, but in weakness could never bring herself to actually go. Her heart could not withstand such a loss. Each day spent as Elcon’s wife, despite the distance he sometimes adopted, brought her comfort. Now that his joy overflowed at impending fatherhood, she could not bring herself to shatter it. Hope, which until now she’d counted as an enemy, embraced her. In bearing her husband a fine son, she would enjoy her husband’s favor.

  16

  Duplicity

  The cap for Aewen’s soon-coming child blurred. Brushing away tears, she applied herself once more to embroidering the small garment. She would not allow herself to dwell on her fears for her child, its father, and herself. Now she knew what had so preoccupied Elcon. Civil war loomed. Snow had closed in to protect them over the winter, making it difficult to reach them. But the spring thaw would soon bring blossoms and new life. Would it also bring death?

  Elcon did not say as much, but she’d overheard enough to be more certain than ever that their marriage had divided Faeraven. She snipped a thread, selected a strand of blue silk, and held up her needle to catch the light. She liked the quiet of her outer chamber with prisms and crystals hanging at the windows to create rainbows that swayed across the walls. Upon the mantel unibeasts and gryphons raised carved hooves beneath stuffed pheasants, graylets, and other fowl. A tapestry above the fireplace depicted the first Kindren who had entered Elderland at Gilead Riann, the Gate of Life. She paused to stretch and yawn, cupping a hand over her swollen abdomen.

  Her child must sleep, for she’d not felt kicking since morning. She would not carry the babe much longer, for her lying in neared. Already, whenever she sighed, both Elcon and Murial turned anxious eyes upon her.

  She put her needlework aside, for weariness took her. She should rest. Perhaps she’d awaken to a dream world, to a golden land where enemies filled with hatred and ambition did not lust for her husband’s blood, or her own.

  Murial assisted her to her bedchamber, where she settled for sleep. A tap at the outer door caught her attention as she shifted to place cushions about her. She would let Murial send away whoever knocked.

  Benisch’s voice roused her. He had no business intruding on the peace of her private chambers. What could he want? She’d kept secret his offer to assist her in leaving Torindan for her own sake, but if pressed, she’d confess all to Elcon.

  Benisch must know she’d given up on leaving. It had been one thing to keep from Elcon his fatherhood but quite another for her to wrest it from him. Besides, she couldn’t bear to go away or to separate her child from its father. She’d been wrong to think she could. The dark world she’d entered during the first throws of pregnancy now seemed distant. Right or wrong, she belonged with Elcon. They’d chosen their path and must walk it together.

  Benisch’s voice dwindled to nothing. Murial must have sent him away. Sleep laid a greater claim on Aewen. She woke to heavy silence and listened for Murial’s quiet movements in the outer chamber as pale light filtered into the chamber. It must be late. She sat up. Why hadn’t Murial awakened her? She should ready herself for the evening’s repast. She gave a wry smile. Perhaps Murial had tried and failed. She slept soundly of late. She threw back her bed clothes and sought the stepstool with her feet. She glanced into the outer chamber. It reposed in semi-darkness, the fire smouldering to nothing. Why hadn’t her maid lit the lanthorns?

  “Murial?”

  No response.

  She hurried to her bedchamber and hastened to dress in a simple tunic. Something was wrong. She had to summon help. Before she had completed the task the outer chamber door clicked, the hair at the back of her neck bristled, and she went still. When no further sound came, she crept toward the connecting door, which she’d shut while dressing. She would throw the bolt, and then inquire.

  Before she reached it, the door swung open. Benisch peered in at her. His face had changed, shed its concealing mask and now twisted to reveal the darkness within his heart. She shrank from the sight. “Wh—what do you want?”

  Benisch gave a smile both evil and congenial. “I’ve come to help you, Aewen.” He sounded as if he reasoned with a rebellious child.

  Horror crept over her. She swallowed rising panic. “I—I thank you, but I don’t require your help, Benisch. In fact, I expect Elcon any time now. He will be most unhappy to find you here.”

  Benisch looked trouble
d, but then his face cleared. He stepped closer. “I know you lie, Elder. With Freaer’s armies camped but a few days’ march away, Elcon engages in preparations for battle. And don’t think your servant draws near. She’s tucked in a place none will ever find her. I’ve come to help you leave Torindan. Remember that you want to prevent this war.”

  “I can’t go. My labor nears, but even if I left, nothing would change now. It’s too late.”

  Benisch gave a pleasant smile. “You are wrong. When you are no longer here everything will change. Elcon thinks he rules Faeraven, but he’s wrong. I control Torindan and tell him what to say and do.” He paused and took on the blank look she’d seen before. “Except I couldn’t control his involvement with you. We used it to our advantage though, Freaer and I, to turn more Kindren against Elcon. And it served to alienate the Elder better than the wingabeast raids we carried out. But your presenting Elcon with an heir will never do. You and your unborn child must go.”

  She stared at Benisch, aghast, as her heart raced. She put a protective hand over her belly just as her child gave a mighty kick. Benisch could only mean to kill her and the child within her womb. What if she had gone with him before? Her remains might already be torn by forest creatures and scattered across the countryside.

  She tried to scream but no sound came. She turned to flee. Benisch caught her wrist and twisted her arm behind her. His free hand encircled her neck. He spoke near her ear, so close it brought her pain. “If you struggle I will break your neck here and now. Understood?”

  She gave a constricted nod, and he pulled her into a backward stumble. She didn’t see what he did, but heard a grating. A blast of dank air hit her. He swung her to face an opening in the wall. A blow to her back sent her into gaping darkness. She struck damp stone and lay on her side, gasping for breath. The hidden door scraped, shutting her into darkness.

  ****

  Elcon pushed a hand through his hair as he paced before the hearth in his outer chamber. They had searched everywhere. He could not credit that Aewen would leave him, as Benisch seemed to think. No. Something foul had happened. Light edged the window hangings. Dawn neared. With sudden passion he struck the paneling. “Think!”

  Craelin, at the strongwood table next to Kai, groaned. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

  Elcon willed himself to patience. “We must have missed something.”

  Craelin lowered his hands. “Should we—” He sent an anxious gaze toward Elcon. “Should we dredge the moat?”

  “There’s no time. Freaer’s armies approach. Besides, she won’t have fallen in. A person would have to climb over the battlements to land in the moat.” Or be pushed. At the thought fear inched down his spine. Craelin shoved to his feet. “We’ll search again, but we must turn our thoughts to war or perish.”

  A thudding came at the door, and Kai wrenched it open. Eathnor burst into the room, his chest heaving. “Lof Shraen, I heard—Benisch—the wingabeasts—”

  Craelin slung an arm across Eathnor’s shoulders. “Stop and breathe, so you may sooner give your news.”

  “The Lof Raelein—Benisch—”

  A growing dread settled over Elcon. “Why do you speak of Benisch? Tell me at once, Eathnor. Kai, shut the door!”

  Eathnor bent with hands on knees, gulping air. At last he stood.

  “Tell me.” Elcon kept his voice calm.

  Eathnor’s pale eyes glittered in the lamplight. “As I watched the stables from the loft, I heard voices but only saw in outline one Kindren among the wingabeasts. I crept closer and found the steward Benisch grooming one of the blacks. He seemed not quite…right.” He shook his head at the memory. “He spoke in a high-pitched voice and then answered himself in his usual tones, as if engaged in conversation. The hair stood on my arms, for he addressed his own womanish voice as Aewen and warned her not to complain of the cold and dark in the passage. That’s when I realized—I realized—”

  Elcon’s calm deserted him. “Go on!”

  “Benisch may have taken the Lof Raelein and hidden her in one of the passages beneath Torindan.”

  As the full import of Eathnor’s words drove into him Elcon closed his eyes. The idea of Aewen trapped underground, wounded and terrified, perhaps giving birth alone ignited a terrible fire inside him. He fisted his hands and forced himself to concentrate. Taking time to indulge his fury would not save Aewen.

  “Where’s Benisch?” Craelin asked.

  A smug expression crossed Eathnor’s face. “He’s under restraint in the east guardroom.”

  Craelin gave a curt nod. “That’s well, then. The guardians can begin a search of the passageways beneath Torindan’s motte while Eathnor and I have a talk with Benisch.”

  Elcon would have liked to have a conversation with Benisch, but he turned instead to Kai. “Hurry. Time presses.”

  ****

  Aewen rolled onto her side with a whimper. Why had she made a hard stone floor her bed? Shivers wracked her body, and she curled into a ball—so cold. She must tell Murial to bring more blankets. She jerked her eyes open. “Murial?” Her voice, thin and frail, spun away into darkness.

  A wave of horror rushed over her. Tears gathered. She wept not only for herself, but also for the child who would perish without knowing the warmth of a mother’s arms. She wept for Elcon, who might never know what had happened. She spared tears, also, for Murial, who could even now have perished. She’s safely tucked away in a place none will ever find her. The memory of Benisch’s voice made her shudder.

  She pushed to her feet and again searched the rock wall for some sort of device that might open the hidden door. Her hands found nothing but stone. She’d lost the way out. Darkness pressed past her eyes and into her mind. Her chest rose and fell as she panted. Steadying herself against the wall, she forced in deep draughts of moist air. If she did not take care, the child might come in this wretched place.

  Perhaps the passage only opened from the Lof Raelein’s chambers, anyway. That made sense for an escape tunnel built for time of war. A tiny light flickered in her mind. The passageway might lead to freedom, if she could traverse it in the dark. She might yet save herself. That thought brought her comfort and stiffened her spine. She was, after all, a daughter of the kings of Wester. She would not surrender to death without a fight.

  Standing away from the wall, she slid a foot forward. With her arms stretched before her, she took the next step and tested her footing. She advanced by slow measures until her foot found nothing, and then swayed backward. She’d thought to find a stairway leading down through Torindan’s motte to an opening below. She lowered to her knees and patted the stone floor where it dropped away. Her hand found a flat surface below the edge. Could it be a stair tread?

  She hesitated. What if she encountered flesh-eating rodents? Or wraiths? If she took a wrong turn, she could wander paths of darkness until the light of life snuffed from her. Or she might come to another door with a hidden mechanism she failed to find.

  She could not allow fearful thoughts to rule her. Lowering herself with care, she blew out a tense breath. Her bare feet found another tread below. The stairs seemed endless but came at last to a landing where every small sound echoed. She rolled onto her back and folded her arms against the cold. Sleepiness dogged her, and a feeling of warmth she knew as false. She stirred, for to give in to sleep might mean she’d never wake again. She positioned herself to follow the stairway downward again, although her knees and toes ached. With painstaking care she lowered herself to the next step, and then the next. As time wore on, she lost count.

  She took a weary step forward, but her feet found only air. She knelt upon the tread. A jagged edge of broken stone met her searching fingers. Rocks scattered and plunged to crash a long way down. She shivered. Perhaps with a lanthorn she might navigate, but she had no light. She pulled herself back up the stair to the landing, breathing in small bursts. An exhausted tremor went through her, and she lay still, too weary even for tears.

  Metal grated
and a light fell from above. Fear drove her to hands and knees. Did Benisch return to make sure of her death? She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the light which, although feeble, stabbed into them.

  “Here! I’ve found her!”

  Footfalls echoed. Arms cradled her. She thought she heard Elcon’s voice. “Aewen!” She blinked and Elcon’s form swam into view. She tried to say his name, but her voice was gone. Instead, she feasted her eyes upon his face, a face she’d never thought to see again.

  They carried her to bed, wrapped her in blankets, and placed warming bricks around her. Servants bathed her cheeks and forehead with cloths wrung in warm water and gave her steaming cider to drink. Praectal Daelic peered at her with grave interest. She managed to speak Murial’s name, but Daelic seemed not to understand her. She concentrated, trying to understand his words, but his speech seemed gibberish. She slept and woke and slept more. When she roused at last, a chamber maid with gentle hands propped her in bed. Outside the windows, rain clouds scuttled across a gray sky and pale light washed the eastern horizon. It must be morning.

  “Tell me your name.” Aewen addressed the servant in a voice that croaked.

  The maid smiled and curtsied. “I am Sylder, Lof Raelein.”

  “Well, Sylder, I am worried about Murial, my maid. Can you tell me anything of her?”

  “And what would be you wanting to know?” Murial’s familiar voice carried from her outer chamber.

  She turned her head. Murial’s familiar figure stood in the doorway. Aewen smiled as tears gathered. “Are you well?”

  Murial drew near to clasp her hand, her wrinkled face wreathed in smiles. “That’s a question I might ask of you.”

  “But you were…did not Benisch—”

  Murial waved a hand. “He pushed me into some sort of passageway in the dark but I groped about until I found a lever that opened the door again. It took some time because it was well hidden, but it seemed a better idea than casting about in pitch black tunnels with no light. Benisch must not have believed I’d discover it, or I might not now draw breath.”