by Barb Hendee
"I don't give a damn what it looks like," Darmouth snapped.
"Wait until tomorrow," Faris advised. "Send her word that you require another audience. The death of Marianne a' Royce is reason enough. Once she is within these walls, we can hold her quietly. When she fails to return to the inn, the half-blood will come for her."
"Why, when he already abandoned his own parents?"
"He will, my lord. I saw him look at her. He will come… and we will deal with Byrd later."
Hedí stood frozen in place.
Booted footsteps inside the council hall approached the archway, Darmouth or Paris would step out in a moment. Hedí hurried up the stairs, keeping her steps light. Upon reaching the third floor, she walked more calmly.
There was little relief in returning to her cell of a room. How could she warn Byrd?
* * *
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wynn dressed as Tomato and Potato wrestled on the rumpled bedcovers. The door was ajar, and Chap was gone. She gathered up the kittens and headed downstairs.
The common room was empty except for Clover Roll, curled on a table near the window. A strange rattling came from the kitchen, so Wynn set the kittens down and pushed aside the doorway curtain.
Magiere and Leesil rummaged about, gathering sausages and hard biscuits and tea leaves. Their hair was in loose disarray, and Magiere's muslin shirt hung out of her breeches. Chap whined as he paced and wove between them, getting in the way more than anything else. A late night and morning had made them all miss breakfast, but Chap's exaggerated complaints were far too dramatic.
"Did you see Byrd when you came down?" Magiere asked.
"No," Wynn replied. "Have you been up long?"
"Not long," Leesil said, and placed a kettle on an iron hook arm above the hearth's embers.
Physically he looked improved. His eyes were no longer bloodshot but still held a hint of the haunted withdrawal that Wynn had observed since the night of Faris's visit. Something in the Móndyalítko's words had upset Leesil, even horrified him, but Wynn hesitated to ask.
And it unnerved her that Byrd was suddenly missing.
Leesil should pay more heed to her concerns about that man's involvement with the Anmaglâhk. He did not seem to understand what would happen to the common people if Darmouth were assassinated.
"Do you suppose Byrd might… ?" Wynn began, then thought better of it. Byrd would hardly be meeting with the elves in broad daylight. "So what do we do for today?"
Leesil glanced her way and then returned to staring at the kettle not yet boiling.
Wynn immediately regretted asking. He wanted a course of action to follow but objected to all of their suggestions. And she feared her sympathy would only make him feel worse. Magiere dropped a few sausages into the iron pan settled among the hearth's coals, and they began to sizzle. The smell made Wynn slightly nauseous.
"You had the only option last night," Magiere said. "Take the vampire's head to Darmouth for bounty."
Leesil's face clouded. Any denial he was about to spit out was lost as Byrd swatted the doorway curtain aside and stepped in.
"You won't need it," he said. "Darmouth wants to see you—now. He wants a report about last night. The dead woman was the mistress of Lord Geyren, a younger noble growing in favor."
"Why?" Leesil asked, and his tone was cold. "Geyren's men were there, as well as two city soldiers. There's nothing Magiere can add that they haven't already reported."
Byrd shook his head. "He wants to hear about the hunt itself. That's all I know."
"Very well," Magiere said. "Back in Bela, even Councilman Lanjov wanted word on our progress. And he couldn't stand being in the same room with us."
"That's not all he's after, I'll wager," Leesil said, and closed his eyes. "You don't know who you're dealing with."
Wynn had no wish to cause Leesil distress, but it was he who did not understand. She had no intention of leaving Venjetz until they knew what Byrd was planning.
"There are two choices," she said. "Continue the search, which means getting back into the keep, or leave for the mountains to find a way to the elven lands."
Wynn expected Leesil to lose his temper again over her so bluntly stating the obvious. It seemed the best way to force him to choose, instead of resisting every suggestion.
Leesil slumped as he covered his face with one hand.
Wynn almost choked for what she had just done and looked to Magiere with silent regret for hurting Leesil further. Wynn expected little more than Magiere's fury, and this time felt she deserved it.
Magiere simply frowned and nodded her understanding.
Chap licked Leesil's hanging hand and barked once, confirming Wynn's words. Leesil slid his palm over the dog's head.
"You want to go back in?" he asked.
Chap again barked once.
Magiere pulled Leesil's other hand from his face and gripped it tightly. "Can you give us any plan, any ruse to try? Once we're inside, are there people to speak with, bribe"—she shrugged—"threaten?'
"No," Leesil said, but he appeared to be thinking. "Servants and guards won't know anything and couldn't be bribed anyway. Darmouth holds something over everyone he keeps close, like Faris or Omasta. Nothing you'd offer could outweigh that."
"Well, then," Wynn said as the smoky smell filling the room began to sting her nose. "We will have to find an opportunity once we are inside."
Byrd had remained silent throughout this exchange, but now added his own admonishment. "And you're forgetting one thing, lad. If Magiere doesn't report, Darmouth will simply send soldiers to retrieve her. He's given an order, and she has to go."
"I know that!" Leesil glared at him. "And I haven't forgotten that you talked her into—"
Chap bellowed, turned a quick circle, and shoved his way between Magiere and Leesil to the kitchen hearth. A yowl followed, and Wynn stood upright, wondering if he was hurt. Both Magiere and Leesil looked at the dog.
Smoke billowed into the chimney from out of the pan on the embers. The stench burned Wynn's nose. She barely made out the blackened shrivels of sausage remains in the pan.
Chap let out an angry series of yips as he shuffled before the hearth.
"Oh, stop it!" Magiere snapped at the dog, and pulled Leesil toward the curtained doorway. "Come and help me get ready. Wynn, get your cloak and your pack. We'll meet you back here."
"My good pan!" Byrd growled, and rushed for the hearth.
He grabbed an iron poker and speared the pan's handle loop. When he lifted the pan, it toppled to dangle from the poker's end. The sausages' charred remains tumbled into the coals with a sizzle and puff of ashes.
"You people are the worst patrons I ever took in for nothing," Byrd grumbled.
Chap whimpered and shoved his head into the hearth. He began hacking and sneezing with smoke billowing around his face. Wynn grabbed his haunches and jerked him back.
"Both of you be quiet!" she shouted, and grabbed Chap's muzzle in one hand. "And you—stop acting like a drunkard at the bottom of an empty keg!"
She snatched a hard biscuit off the table and shoved it into Chap's jaws. Chap bit it in half and spit the pieces on the floor.
"Fine," Wynn said. "Then go hungry."
She stomped out of the kitchen and did not slow until she reached the upper hallway and the door to her room. Across the way, the door to Leesil and Magiere's room was shut tight.
Magiere wanted Leesil alone for a moment, and Wynn understood. She slipped into her own room to bundle up for winter weather. She was pulling on her gloves when the door opened and Leesil stepped in. He held two small daggers in makeshift sheaths, each with dual straps attached.
"Give me your arms," he said.
"Where did you get those?"
"I bought the makings back in Soladran," he answered. "I pieced them together the night we stayed in the barracks. Now give me your arms."
Wynn was uncertain. Leesil pushed up her coat sleeves and began strapping the sheat
hs to her forearms, the dagger hilts held downward toward her palms. He pulled her sleeves down to cover them.
"Reach across for one," he said, "or fold your hands into your sleeves against the cold to grab both. Don't do it until the last moment, or you'll lose the advantage of surprise."
Wynn looked up at his tan face and amber eyes. His concern touched her, and she leaned her head against his chest.
"We will be fine," she whispered. "You will see us soon."
Leesil closed his arms around her shoulders, holding her rightly.
"Am I interrupting?"
Wynn stiffened and lifted her head.
Magiere leaned against the doorframe with arms folded, her hair pulled back with a leather thong. Her hauberk was buckled down over her thick wool pullover, and the falchion was strapped to her waist. Hood down, her cloak was pushed back off her shoulders.
"Or should I come back later?" she added.
There was no anger in her voice and her serious expression was marred by one cocked eyebrow. When it came to Leesil's affection, Magiere had nothing to fear from Wynn. She had nothing to fear from anyone. Leesil had eyes only for her. Magiere's humor was as caustic as everything else about her.
Wynn blushed, quickly holding out her arms to divert attention. "Look what he did."
"I know," Magiere replied. "I suggested it. You ready?"
Wynn nodded. She grabbed her pack loaded with scholar's wares to maintain the front they had first established in Darmouth's presence. When they returned to the common room, Chap paced before the bar, still whining. Leesil opened the front door and remained there as Magiere led the way down the street. No one said good-bye.
Wynn pulled her hood forward and lowered her head a little against the cold breeze. They walked without speaking, Chap trotting beside her. He finally quit mourning the loss of his sausages.
Wynn barely noticed the city around her until the keep appeared ahead between the buildings. They passed a few soldiers loitering in the street near a dry-goods shop. Magiere glanced at them and kept on walking. She had not bothered to pull up her cloaks hood, and Wynn wondered how she could stand the cold.
They passed more soldiers milling about. Rather than patrolling, they stood outside of homes and taverns as if they had nothing better to do.
Magiere reached the crossing of Favor's Row and stopped. Ahead of them, Lieutenant Omasta waited in the archway of the bridge gatehouse. No soldiers accompanied him, but three came slowly down Favor's Row from the right.
Magiere remained still, and Wynn wondered at the delay. Omasta waved them forward, and Chap growled.
''Start backing up," Magiere whispered.
Wynn stepped up next to her. "Bur… ?"
Magiere was expressionless. Snowflakes landing upon her pale race seemed to disappear before melting.
"We run," Magiere said quietly. ''Find a place to hide until dark and make your way back to Byrd's."
Wynn glanced back the way they had come.
Two cross streets back, the soldiers who had been hanging about only moments before now walked toward them at a quick pace. One drew his shortsword. Lieutenant Omasta stepped off the bridges end onto the cobblestones, walking casually toward them.
"It's all right," he called out. "My lord wishes to speak with you."
Wynn knew right then he was lying.
Magiere jerked out her falchion. "Wynn, to your left. They don't want you."
"But what about—"
"Run!"
Chap snarled, spinning about to face behind them.
Wynn bolted to the left down Favor's Row. She ran as fast as her short legs could without slipping on frozen cobblestones. She glanced back once over her shoulder.
Magiere headed the other way toward three soldiers charging to meet her. Chap was close behind her.
Wynn looked ahead and veered toward the first street away from the lakeside. She turned the corner and slammed straight into something.
Hard bumps ground against her face and forehead on impact. She recoiled and stumbled, barely keeping her footing. All she saw for a moment was a wide torso covered by a studded breastplate of hardened leather.
"Where you goin", girl?"
The soldier was more than a head taller than Wynn. A cap of quilted wool with earflaps covered his head and framed a square face of ruddy windburned cheeks and beard stubble. His eyes looked too small for his face. Another came up behind him.
All Wynn could think to do was scream out, "Magiere! Chap!"
"Not gonna happen," the soldier said, and grabbed the front of her coat.
Wynn gripped his wrist with both hands, trying to pull him off. He jerked hard, curling his arm, and spun her around. Her pack ended up crushed against his chest. He closed his other arm around her, and the ground dropped from under her feet as she was lifted.
Wynn's arms were pinned and she kicked wildly, but the soldier's hold would not give. She felt something grinding through her coat's bulk and her short robe into her ribs.
A dagger—the one on her left wrist.
"Be still, you little whelp," the soldier warned. "Malik, get over here and grab those legs."
Wynn focused on only two things. She pushed panic aside and folded her left leg up high. She kicked sharply downward.
Her boot heel ground down the soldier's thigh and hit sharply on his kneecap. His leg buckled, and he barked out a curse. When her feet touched down, she thrashed free of his grip, but he grabbed the pack before she could get clear.
Wynn slipped her arms from its straps and reached up her left sleeve. As her hand closed on the dagger's hilt, a booted foot struck her hard between the shoulder blades.
She toppled forward and slid. Her right cheek grated across the street's cold stones. Panic took hold as she scrambled to her knees, swinging blindly back with the dagger.
Its tip grated along a leather hauberk instead of a breastplate. The second soldier half crouched above her. His eyes widened at the blade's passing, and he lashed out with his hand.
His palm cracked against the side of Wynn's face, and her head whipped sideways. Wynn's vision turned white, and she vaguely heard a metallic clatter.
She lay facedown in the street, but the white still blurred her vision like a blizzard enveloping the world. What little she made out looked as flat as a picture—her left eye would not focus at all.
Something thin and biting circled her wrists. A sharp pain in both
Wynn's shoulders cut through the dull ache in her head and eye, as her arms were pinned back and tied.
"Lucky day, girlie," came a voice she barely heard. "We're supposed to bring you in one piece."
Wynn's arms jerked upward, her shoulders twisting back as she came off the ground. She exhaled sharply. Her feet dragged on the stones as she was carried away.
"You half-wits!" someone shouted. "You were to stay out of sight until they were on the bridge."
It took all Wynn's strength to turn her head. She looked up with only her right eye.
Lieutenant Omasta glared down Favor's Row and slowly shook his head. Wynn tried to focus.
Bodies lay in the street. Soldiers were Wynn's best guess. Magiere and Chap were gone. They had escaped—and she was alone.
Wynn could not feel afraid. She was too tired. She wished the soldier would just drop her so she could sleep on the cold stone. She remembered Leesil holding her as she told him that everything would be fine.
Omasta turned about and looked down at Wynn. "Take her in and wait for me. The rest of your contingent had better bring that hunter back."
Wynn's head sagged. A salty taste filled her slack mouth, and every few paces a dark red droplet spattered on the snow-dusted stones of the keep's bridge.
Magiere heard Wynn cry out. She faltered in her flight and stopped to look back. Chap whirled about as well.
Three soldiers closed behind them. Three more were coming out ahead. Magiere couldn't see Wynn, and anguish only made her furious that she'd led the young sage i
nto this trap.
Chap lunged back down the road toward the trailing soldiers.
"No!" Magiere shouted.
The dog skidded to a halt with an angry snarl.
"We can't help her if we're caught," Magiere said.
Chap barked twice in denial, but he turned back, lunging ahead of her toward the soldiers in their path. Magiere rushed after him.
The soldiers were fully focused on her, and the first was caught by surprise when Chap grazed his leg in passing. The man stumbled sideways, and Magiere slashed into his side with the falchion as she passed She didn't look back to see if he went down. The next two slowed.
Chap swerved right, snapping and snarling as he passed one soldier's flank. The man spun about at the dog's circling attack, and Magiere charged straight for his companion.
Every fast breath Magiere took fanned her hunger. She no longer felt the cold. Her opponent cocked back his shortsword, and Magiere swung downward while still running. For that instant the soldier seemed to slow in her vision, yet her own movements retained speed.
The shortsword had barely finished half its swing when Magiere's falchion collided with it. His force seemed weak, and Magiere's strike broke through his guard. The falchion's curved end bit through his hauberk's shoulder, and he crumpled. She turned away before he hit the ground.
Chap's jaws were clamped on the third soldier's ankle. He set all fours and jerked backward. The soldier slipped and fell, his boot tearing between Chap's teeth.
The soldier's skullcap helmet clanked on the stone. Magiere kicked his head as she passed, and his body spun a quarter turn on the cobblestones. He went still, arms splayed out like a rag doll's. Chap pulled in beside Magiere as she ran on, with the trailing soldiers closing from behind.
Chap rushed ahead and swerved down the first side street, and Magiere followed. The dog turned again into an alley. He wove his way between the crates and barrels, and Magiere toppled as many as she could in her passing to slow their pursuers. A few steps ahead she spotted a half-open door in a building of weather-bleached planks.
"Here!" she shouted at Chap.