The Robin And The Kestrel bv-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  "Ye follow this road here _" he said, pointing to the Old Road that led on to Westhaven. "Not the newer route, but this 'un. Ye take it into the hills, till ye come to a bare-topped hill. If ye get to a village called Westhaven, ye've gone too far. On top of the hill, that's the shrine. But I wouldn't go there _" he added, as she turned to go.

  "Why not?" she asked, belligerently.

  He laughed, the first time she had heard him do so. It sounded like an old goose, honking. "Because, woman, if you go there, ye'll be judged too! And be sure, if you don't return to your home and the duties of a proper woman, it'll be because demons have taken you like your sister!"

  She turned away from him as he slammed the gate shut, feeling chilled, and not by the wind. The Old Road_a bare-topped hill? Between here and Westhaven? There was only one place he could possibly mean.

  Skull Hill.

  She ran back to the wagon as fast as her legs would carry her, the horse running alongside, but looking back over its shoulder with longing; there was a painful stitch in her side before she got there. "They sent her to Skull Hill," she said, panting, as she harnessed the horse up again, and flung herself into her seat. "I don't think she's very far ahead, not if they wanted to time her arrival for midnight _"

  "R-right." Kestrel didn't waste any words; he simply slapped the reins against the horses' backs to get them moving again.

  It was terrible. They wanted to gallop the horses and knew they didn't dare. It only took a single hole in the road to send both horses down_and at a gallop, that would mean broken legs and dead horses for certain, and if the wagon overturned as well, they could wind up dead.

  It took a few moments for the pain in her side to leave; she breathed the cold air in carefully, holding her side, and waited, before the pain eased enough that she could speak again. "Now we know what the Ghost meant," she pointed out. "About people being sent from here."

  "Y-yes," Jonny replied, urging the horses to a faster pace than a walk, until they were moving as fast as even Gwyna considered safe. "P-put one of th-those p-pendants on an enemy, it m-makes them c-come here. And it identifies th-them t-to th-the Ghost."

  "He'll kill her, of course," Robin replied off-handedly. "He won't even hesitate. He told us that himself."

  But Jonny only turned and flashed her a feral grin, teeth gleaming whitely in the moonlight.

  "N-not if w-we f-find her f-first!" he said. Robin returned his grin, but uncertainly, then peered through the darkness ahead of them. She was hoping to spot Orlina Woolwright quickly, for at this pace, they could defeat their own purpose by accidentally running her down.

  Through the valley of Carthell Abbey they raced, and out the other side into the hills; Robin could hardly believe that a woman on foot had come so far, so quickly. It seemed impossible_but the road was wet and muddy here, and they kept coming across the tracks of a human, pressed into the mud and visible even at a distance. They both knew how seldom anyone used this road, so who else could it be?

  They were deep in the hills again before Robin realized it. And now she had the answer to another question_why tend this road so well if no one used it?

  To make it as easy as possible for your victims to reach the place of ambush, she thought grimly. It isn't the Sire who tends this road; it's the Abbey, I'd bet the Ghost's silver on it.

  But they were very, very near Skull Hill now; one more hill, and Orlina would be within the Ghost's grasp.

  "There she is!" Kestrel exclaimed, his stutter gone in the tension and excitement. He slapped the reins over the startled horses' backs; they jerked into a canter, and she finally saw what he had seen. A fast-moving shadow ahead of them, a shadow that fluttered near the ground, with a flurry of skirts. It was Orlina, indeed, and she paid no attention whatsoever to the horses bearing down on her. Kestrel cracked the whip, startling the horses into a dangerous gallop; the wagon lurched as the horses bolted.

  A few yards more, and it would be too late!

  Heedless of her own danger, Robin launched herself from the seat of the wagon as Kestrel pulled the horses to a halt; the wagon slewed sideways with a rasping screech of twisting wood and grinding stone, blocking Orlina's way. Robin flew through the air and tackled the woman, knocking her to the ground. The song of the pendant rasped like an angry wasp in her mind as soon as she touched Orlina's flesh. They tumbled together into the underbrush; the thick and springy bushes alone saved them from broken limbs. Together they tumbled back into the road, and Robin yelped with pain as her shins and elbows hit rock.

  She didn't even think, she simply grabbed the pendant, and jerked, breaking the chain, before the woman could get to her feet again. If Orlina ran, they might not be able to catch her before the Ghost took her.

  The song in Robin's head whined_then faded. Orlina Woolwright sat up slowly, blinking, as if she had been suddenly awakened from a deep sleep. Moonlight poured down upon her as she frowned, looked quickly and alertly about her, and focused on Robin, who was sprawled in the dirt of the road beside her.

  "What am I doing here?" she demanded, in a strong, deep voice. "What has been happening?"

  Jonny came around the front of the wagon, first pausing long enough to soothe the bewildered mares. He reached down his hand, with a courteous grace Robin had seldom seen in him_except when he had been in his uncle's Palace. In one heartbeat, he had gone from the vagabond, to the Prince in disguise.

  A useful ability. Orlina Woolwright recognized that grace for what it was, and took his hand. He helped her to rise; she accepted that aid, and when she next spoke, her voice was softer, less demanding.

  "I last remember being hauled before that dog of a High Bishop," she said, her words clipped and precise. "What happened?"

  "It's a l-long s-story, my l-lady," Jonny said, carefully. He helped Robin up; she moved carefully, but although she felt bruised all over, and had her share of scratches, there was nothing seriously damaged Jonny gave her a quick hug, then led Orlina over to the back of the wagon, and opened the door for her. She got in as gravely as if it had been a fine carriage. "W-we'll t-tell you all, if y-you have the t-time."

  As he lit the lantern inside and Robin climbed up the rear steps, she saw Orlina Woolwright smile as she took a seat upon their bed. It was not a condescending smile, and she took her place in their wagon as if they were both royal and she was honored to be there.

  "High Bishop Padrik has left me little but time, young sir," she replied. "And I think he tried to take that, too." She gestured for the two of them to join her. "I would be very pleased if you would tell me the whole of it."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Robin was glad they had reprovisioned; with the stove going, the wagon seemed a cozy island of safety in all the darkness. She made hot tea for all of them, served up the last of the meat-pies, and tended to her own scratches and bruises_or at least the ones that she could get to without disrobing. Orlina did not seem to notice hers; perhaps some of the numbness of the spell that had been on her still lingered_or perhaps she was tougher than even Robin had thought. She was certainly younger than Robin had assumed, given her rank_in early middle age at most. It was the lady's leanness that had fooled her into thinking Orlina was older; there was not even a single strand of gray in her hair, and the muscles beneath the dress had been as strong as an acrobats. But she ate like one who had been starving for a day, and drank so much tea Robin had to make a second pot. The tale was a long time in the telling, and it was well past moonrise before they finished it. They had a great deal of explaining to do; the lady believed them, but Robin had the feeling that if she had not found herself on a road in the middle of nowhere, with no memory of how she got there, she would not have.

  She examined the pendant with interest, but did not touch it. "A nasty thing, that," she said, then looked thoughtful. "Guild lore has it that silk will insulate magic _"

  "Gypsy lore too," Robin told her. "I'd like to wrap it up, but we don't have any."

  "Allow me," Orlina said, and
pulled a silk handkerchief out of her sleeve like a magician. Robin accepted it with gratitude, and quickly shrouded the pendant in its folds. At last the annoying mental whine of the pendants "music" stopped.

  Only one thing Orlina had no trouble believing; that the High Bishop had such a convenient way for disposing of those who caused him trouble.

  "I've long suspected something of the sort," Orlina said grimly; there were dark circles under her eyes, and a bruise on one prominent cheekbone but she showed no other outward signs of weariness or damage. Except, of course, for her dress, which was as muddy and brush-torn as Robin's, and her disheveled hair. "He rose to power in the Church with amazing speed, and those who opposed him or were simply in his way found reasons to take themselves away from Gradford." Her lips compressed to a thin, angry line.

  "Straight to the Skull Hill Ghost, I would guess," Robin replied. "But the immediate question is, what of you? Have you anywhere you can go?"

  "Th-the Abbey isn't s-safe," Kestrel told her, quickly. "Th-the Abbot's in th-this."

  "He's probably waiting for a messenger from Gradford to tell him what his share of the loot will be," Gwyna added. "If you go back there, he'll just find another way to be rid of you, and blame it on the Beguilers or the treekies."

  Orlina looked down at her hands. "Other than my office of Master Weaver, I have nothing," she said softly; but she did not sound vulnerable, she sounded detached. "Padrik took it all from me, with a few moments of lies and some shoddy magic tricks." She looked up again, and there was fire in her eyes. "I should go back there and confront the dog! I _"

  "Do that, and another mob will get you," Robin said firmly. "You haven't a chance against him."

  "And you do, I suppose." She lifted one ironic eyebrow.

  Kestrel shrugged. "S-some c-contacts. P-people wh-who w-will b-be interested in hearing th-the t-truth."

  Orlina looked as if she was about to give them an argument, then looked down at her hands again. They were shaking with the fear she would not show, and this outward sign of her weakness must have convinced her, for she abruptly collapsed in on herself. "I have nowhere to go," she said, a new hesitancy in her voice. "A few relatives that I haven't seen in years, decades _"

  "Then go to them," Robin urged. "Petition the King for justice from a position of safety."

  "Or m-move t-to another K-Kingdom," Kestrel added, flatly. "If w-we c-can't d-do s-something about the s-situation in G-Gradford s-soon, th-that's wh-what w-we're d-doing. It w-won't b-be safe here for anybody."

  Well, that was news to Robin, but it was news she agreed with. He who flees, lives. Better a live fox than a dead lion.

  "You're still a Master of the Weavers, lady," Robin continued, as another idea occurred to her. "He didn't take that away from you, because he can't. Your Guild isn't one of the ones supporting him in Gradford; it should give you shelter that you're entitled to. You earned it, by your own work."

  Some of her color returned; some of her pride as well. "That's true, young lady," she said after a moment, the fire returning to her hazel eyes. "And the Guild does take care of its own." She sat in thought for a moment. "I think I have enough gold and jewelry on my person to purchase transportation to the nearest Guild Hall." She smiled slyly. "And what that fool doesn't know is that the Masters pendant does not identify the Master, at least in our Guild. The ring does, made for the Masters hand."

  She held out one of her trembling hands to display a ring, gold, with an inlaid carbuncle featuring the Weaver's shuttle. "Anyone who sees this will know me, and the Guild will protect me."

  "Good, we can do that," Robin affirmed, as Jonny nodded.

  "I'll t-turn the h-horses," he added. "W-we've a l-long r-road ahead of us."

  Fortunately, the lady didn't ask him to elaborate.

  They left her at the door of a shepherd's home_one which providentially housed a member of her own Guild, as designated by the shuttle burned into the wood of the door. The family welcomed her with sleepy enthusiasm and some hearty curses for anyone who would dare damage a Guild Master.

  They left the entire group listening to Orlina's tale, after first making certain that these people had no great love for the Abbot of Carthell Abbey.

  "Greedy and grasping, I call it," the weaver said with a snort. "A bargain's one thing, but he cheats with short measures. Got so we make special trips up the road to trade, rather than trade with him. And that Padrik was no better when he was at Carthell Abbey."

  They offered a good place to camp, and Jonny headed back in the direction they indicated.

  "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" she asked, after the silence became unbearable.

  "S-something h-has t-to be d-done," he said, flatly. "I'll bet th-there's s-something at the Abbey th-that'll t-tell us h-how t-to g-get rid of th-the Gh-ghost."

  "Are you planning on breaking into the Abbey?" she asked softly.

  He gave her a sideways look. "G-got a b-better idea?'

  "Not at the moment." They drove on in silence for a while longer, the horses' weary hoofbeats clopping dully along the dusty road. "The worst that can happen is we can pretend to be looking for holy books. That we've been overcome with a terrible case of religion.''

  His sudden bark of laughter released the tension in both of them.

  "Tomorrow night," she replied. "Not tomorrow during the day. We're both tired, and so are the horses. We can sleep as much as we need to, get rested, and get into the Abbey tomorrow night." She tilted her head toward him, coaxingly. "Hmm?"

  For answer, he turned the horses off the road as soon as they reached the camping spot that the weavers had offered; just beyond a small bridge over a stream. The mares were more than glad to stop, and so was Robin.

  "N-not afraid of t-treekies?" he teased, as she jumped down to unharness them and get them hobbled for the night.

  "Not treekies, nor Beguilers, nor varks," she replied, her hands full of leather straps. "But I am afraid of your food, and it's your turn to fix dinner."

  "S-so it is." He laughed, and went around to open up the back of the wagon. Presently she smelled lamp oil and bacon. By the time she finished with the horses and came around to the door, he'd warmed the wagon completely, and had hot tea, with sausages wrapped in bacon slices waiting for her.

  And something else as well; which left her too weary to ask him anything more about his new plan before she drifted off to sleep.

  Jonny had moved the wagon to a point just outside Church lands, and hidden it in a thicket off the road. They were still within easy walking distance of the Abbey_and more importantly, from here they could hear the bells as they rang for the various Holy Services of the day.

  "It isn't m-much of a p-plan," Jonny told her the next day, as they waited, rested arid fed, for the sun to sink. "B-but I used t-to b-break into Ch-Church b-buildings all the t-time when I w-was on my own. Only p-places they g-guard are th-the T-Treasury and th-the k-kitchen. I w-was l-looking f-for s-safe p-places to s-sleep. N-nobody g-guards the L-Library."

  Robin took up the mass of her hair to braid it so that she could bind it around her head, out of the way. She gave him a puzzled look. "The treasury I understand," she replied, "but why the kitchen?"

  "B-Brothers are always h-hungry," he told her. "N-novices are always s-starving."

  They were both wearing dark breeches, close-fitting sweaters, and soft boots; all clothing they had gotten for Gradford, so all of it a drab charcoal gray. Gray was better than black for hiding in shadows, as Jonny well knew.

  They waited after the sun set until the bell for Sixte, the last of the day's Holy Services rang; then they waited another hour or so for the Abbey to settle.

  Just before they left, Jonny impulsively picked up the silk-wrapped pendant; he had the feeling it might be useful, although he wasn't certain how.

  He recalled noting certain trees beside the Abbey, easy to climb, with boughs overhanging the wall; they were just as easy for the two of them to climb as he had tho
ught. The Abbey itself was dark, with not even the single lantern at the gate alight. That was both inhospitable and unusual; but he reflected, as he inched along the bough he had chosen, that he already knew that Carthell Abbey was both. With luck, they could come and go and never leave a sign that they had been here.

  They took their time; no point in hurrying and possibly giving themselves away with an unusual sound, or worse still, a fall. Kestrel straddled the bough he had chosen, lying on his stomach, and pulling himself along with both hands, while both legs remained wrapped around it. If he lost his grip, he would still be held by his legs. Gwyna was behind him; he hoped she had chosen a similarly safe way to cross. Excitement warmed him; now they were filially doing something. It felt good, after all this time of simply sitting back and watching things happen.

  The bulwark of the wall lay below him_then behind him. If this had been summer, this would have been a bad place to come in, for the soft ground would have betrayed him by holding his footprints. But the ground was rock-hard, and any tracks he left in the frost would be gone with the first morning light.