by Barb Hendee
The dog spun around, running back. He leaped through the opening, and she followed, slamming the door behind. She quickly heaved a pivoting wood bar into its braces, sealing the door.
"Help! Murder!" someone screamed.
Magiere flattened her back against the door.
A portly woman holding a dripping ladle stood gasping in wide-eyed panic near a small stone hearth. Brown stew bubbled within a cast-iron pot hanging over the weak flames, and spatters of" the same color stained the woman's greasy apron. There were stacks of tin and wood plates and mugs on a squat side table, and crates of potatoes were piled in the corner under plucked chickens dangling from wall hooks. Magiere was in a back scullery and kitchen.
"No," she said, lowering the falchion. "Ma'am, be quiet.'
She must look horrifying to a commoner, rushing in armed with a large dog at her side. Magiere put one finger to her lips. The squat woman stared at her with wide round eyes.
The door bucked against Magiere's back as something struck it from outside. The woman screamed again.
Magiere shoved past her, kicking open the far plank door. She ran out and startled a skinny girl with a haggard face carrying a wooden tray of brimming tankards. Magiere stood in the common room of a small tavern. Clusters of townsfolk stared at her in surprise as another squealing scream came from the kitchen.
"Murder!"
The skinny girl stumbled, and the tray of tankards toppled to the floor with a splashing clatter. A stocky man in a floppy leather cap stood up in alarm.
Chap lunged out before Magiere, letting out a deep snarl. His muzzle and teeth were stained with blood.
"Wolf!" cried the stocky man.
Patrons toppled drink and food, chairs and tables, as they scrambled in any direction away from the dog. This left a clear path to the front door, and Chap raced for it as Magiere realized what he'd done. She slammed her palm into the chest of the man in the cap, knocking him aside as she followed the dog.
She stopped briefly in the street to look both ways. Another soldier rounded the far right corner, coming straight for her with his shortsword out. He was young, probably less than twenty years.
He came at her too fast, and she sidestepped him neatly. As he passed, she slammed the butt of her sword into the back of his head. He went down face-first in a crumpled heap and didn't move. Hunger worked its way throughout Magiere's body, building to an ache in her jaws.
Chap barked, and she spotted him across the street before a set of wide doors. She joined him, jerking one door open, and they both hur-ried inside. She hadn't seen any other soldiers in the street, but some townsfolk across the way had surely watched out the windows. They would point out where a "wolf" and a fleeing woman had gone. She looked about her new surroundings.
A long row of stalls ran down one side, and near the doors was a ladder up to an overhead loft. At the stable's far end were bundles of dried hay. She didn't see a rear door, but there was a wide window with shutters closed and barred from the inside.
A soft whine from Chap echoed through the stable. Magiere glanced about but didn't see him. He whined again, and she followed his sound to the back and around behind the hay. He scratched at the dirt floor.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, but words felt difficult in her mouth. "We have to go."
A straight crack in the floor appeared where Chap clawed. He kept at it, and exposed a thin rope loop. Magiere grabbed it and pulled. A hatch opened, spilling back loose hay and dirt. Magiere hesitated for two breaths.
She stepped to the window, lifted the bar and tossed it away, then slapped the shutters wide. When she turned back to the floor hatch, Chap had shoved a hay bundle over to rest against the hatch's top. Magiere pulled the hatch up halfway. Chap wriggled through the opening and disappeared. She followed and dropped down into the dark. The hatch slammed shut under the weight of the hay bundle.
Anyone following in haste wouldn't see the line in the floor beneath the hay… but would see an open window. A risky gamble, but better than trying to outrun Darmouth's soldiers through streets she didn't know.
The cellar—or whatever purpose this pit served—was empty except for two large barrels near a ladder she hadn't seen before jumping in. Magiere moved to the back to crouch and wait with Chap.
Her teeth still hurt, and she was so angry over losing Wynn that her dhampir half wouldn't recede. She tried to breathe quietly and push the anger down.
Loud voices and footsteps burst into the stable above. Magiere closed her eyes and tried to block out the shouts overhead. Musk and leather, sweat and lingering beer or ale filled her nostrils beneath the scent of dirt, hay, and horse manure.
"Quiet!" someone yelled as a pair of heavy boots stepped through the stable above.
It was Omasta's voice. There were perhaps three or four men with him, by the different positions of shifting feet that Magiere heard. A lighter set of footsteps followed.
"Can't your men follow simple orders?"
Faris.
Chap rumbled once softly.
"That's none of your concern," Omasta fired back.
"Yes, this was your task, not mine," Faris answered. "And all you have to show for your bungling is one little scholar, who may mean nothing to the half-blood. You can explain that to Lord Darmouth, and not I."
Another set of footsteps ran in. "She's not in the alley, sir."
"Well, look again!" Omasta answered. "It's clear she climbed out the back window. Spread out and search the connecting streets, as she can't have gotten far. I will go to our lord. The rest of you keep hunting until I send word otherwise."
A dull thunder of footsteps headed toward the stable doors. Magiere remained crouched in the darkness with Chap.
Faris knew about Leesil, and though she wondered how, there was no doubt that he'd told Darmouth. She shivered with a need to run to Leesil, and flattened her palms on the dirt floor to get up.
Chap stepped down on her hand with his paw, growling softly in warning.
Magiere settled back. They had to wait for darkness and hope it was not too late.
Hedí spent the morning in Korey's room.
At breakfast she had asked Julia for brightly colored yarn and needles. She went up to teach the girl some basic knitting. Korey was so excited by this new project she could barely sit still at first. She finally settled down, and the hours passed quickly as they chatted and worked.
Past noon, Julie came with a tray. She was shocked to see Hedí sitting on the bed with Korey. "My lady…"
Clearly Hedí was not supposed to be here, but Julia would not dare give orders to anyone of favor or nobility.
"Don't leave," Korey said to Hedí. "Please."
Julia's mouth opened and closed, and suddenly she looked frightened
Hedí had no wish to cause a simpleminded servant unnecessary trouble. She stood and picked up her sewing bag.
"I have some things to attend to," she told Korey. "But I will see you tomorrow. We can play at cards again."
Korey's face fell, and she shot Julia a glowering pout. Hedí kissed her on the head and swept past Julia out of the room.
She went to eat her own lunch, and stayed in the meal hall to work on the embroidered pillowcase. Working with her needle, she busied her thoughts with how she might get a message to Byrd, but all possibilities seemed blocked. She considered bribing Julia to carry a note, but if by chance the woman agreed and then faltered in any way, the repercussions would be disasterous—and brutal for Julia.
Heavy boots on stone echoed in from the entryway outside the meal hall. Hedí set down her work and stepped to the archway to see what the commotion was about.
Omasta was there and looked both angered and worried. He was always on edge, like all those around his pig of a master, but he looked more troubled than ever before.
Two soldiers followed him in, dragging a young woman in a sheepskin coat by her bound arms. One of them limped and clutched a canvas pack in his free hand. They dropped
the woman, and she landed with her cheek flattened to the floor. The limping soldier dumped the pack's contents out, and Omasta watched impatiently as his men rummaged through the woman's belongings.
There were small roles of parchments bound with string, two leather-bound journals, and some charcoal and quills. A small bottle of ink cracked open on the floor.
The woman, or perhaps girl, was small, with olive-toned skin uncommon for the people here. Her eyes were closed. The left side of her face was reddened and swollen, including her left eye. Her slack lips were bloodstained on the left side.
Parchment, books, and quills—a scribe, perhaps? No, even a journeyman of that profession would have found a place to settle and ply her skills. And what would Omasta want with a scribe badly enough to have her beaten, bound, and searched?
Some type of scholar seemed the only other possibility, but such were rarer than an act of kindness in the Warlands. In Hedí's limited travels with Emêl, she had met only two, and both were in service to noble houses. Even an apprentice would be under the guidance of a master, so why was this one dressed for the winter travel… and so young?
"Where's that pasty-skinned hunter?" Darmouth boomed.
He stepped from the counsel hall across the way, a tall pewter tankard in his grip. Hedí ducked back a step.
Darmouth's breastplate was recently oiled and cleaned, and he looked freshly shaved. Omasta stood at attention, but Hedí noted no fear in his eyes. Rather, he expressed deep regret. Hedí had never seen this in anyone facing Darmouth's anger. Omasta genuinely did not wish to disappoint his lord. She could not imagine what would foster such a willing sense of duty to this tyrant.
"She escaped, my lord," Omasta said. "The men closed in too soon. But the search continues, and we may yet find her. I'll keep the men at it, even into the night."
Darmouth's eyelids drooped halfway as he stared at Omasta for a long moment, but there was none of the brutal anger he showed to others who failed him. He stepped forward to stand over the small woman and hooked his boot toe under her shoulder to flip her over.
"Where would Magiere hide from my men?" he asked.
The girl did not respond and simply lay prone below him. Darmouth poured the tankard over her face.
She choked on the foaming liquid filling her mouth. Her head rolled, and only her right eye blinked to clear the fluid.
"Magiere," Darmouth repeated, "where is she?"
"I do not know," the woman mumbled. She tried to shake her head, but the gesture was feeble.
Darmouth's expression darkened. He lifted his boot over the woman's face.
"My lord!" Hedí shouted, and stepped into view. "She is a scholar, not just some commoner."
It was a desperate guess, and all Hedí could think of to halt any further abuse.
Darmouth lowered his foot at the sight of Hedí. He swallowed hard and took a deep, slow breath, perhaps not wishing to appear the beast that he was in front of her. In any other moment Hedí would have found this sickeningly humorous. She consoled herself: As long as Byrd breathed, one day this tyrant would choke and squirm in his own blood.
Darmouth glanced down at the young woman, then back to Hedí.
"Of course," he answered, and turned to Omasta. "Secure this prisoner in a room on the first level—not the lower cells—and put a guard on the door. I'll speak to her later, when…"
He trailed off, watching Hedí. The rest of his orders were not for her ears. He headed back into the counsel hall, motioning Omasta to follow. Omasta nodded to his men and joined his lord.
Hedí had no doubt that Darmouth would order Omasta to organize a raid on Byrd's inn.
The girl on the floor slowly rolled her head to look at Hedí with her good eye. One soldier shoved her belongings back into the pack, and both hoisted her up by the shoulders and dragged her up the stairs.
Hedí followed from a distance.
The guards took their prisoner up the stairs and down the corridor of the second level. Hedí watched long enough to see which room they placed her in. One remained outside the door. Hedí hurried quietly up the stairs to her own room. Once inside she could not sit still, and paced the floor.
A fire burned in the small hearth. She looked about at the cherry-wood desk and wardrobe and the thick quilt upon her bed. Darmouth took pains to have this room made comfortable for her. Such thoughts made her hate the surroundings even more. The same man thought nothing of stepping on the face of a helpless girl for answers she might not even have.
Hedí did not know why she had put herself at risk for this stranger. It was a foolish act that gained her nothing.
"Mrowr."
The sound was so soft that Hedí was not certain she had heard it until scratches followed outside her door. What was a cat doing inside the keep?
She twisted the latch, opened the door, and a dark little form bolted around her skirt into the room. Hedí twisted about.
A small, brown-black cat, with eyes of matching color and a bobbed tail, hopped up on the bed. It stared back at her and let out a soft "purr."
In spite of everything Hedí had just witnessed, she almost smiled. "There are wolfhounds below, you little fool. How did you get in here?"
Perhaps a soldier or servant had brought it in to hunt vermin in the lower levels, but this one looked too small for such a task. It was barely beyond a kitten. Firelight glimmered off the fur across its ears and face.
Hedí approached the foot of the bed, reaching out. "Very well, come here. I will have Julia fetch some milk. If you are lucky, there might even be cream."
A ripple swelled through the cat's shoulders.
Hedí jerked her hand back.
A larger swell passed down its back as it craned its neck and crouched low. It issued a grating yowl, digging its claws into the bedcovers as its eyes rolled up in its head.
Hedí backed away as the cat flopped on the quilt, twitching.
Its face flattened and its round muzzle collapsed inward upon a skull that bloated from within. Shoulders widened to grotesque misshapen mounds about its thickening neck. Black-brown fur thinned, and pale flesh showed beneath. Forelegs elongated. Ears shriveled inward around its stretching face. Eyes rolled back down and irises shrank, as its whole body began to grow in size…
Hedí almost cried out as she whipped around, lunging for the door.
"Hello!" a small voice called.
She sucked in a breath she could not let out, and flattened her back against the door.
Sitting in the middle of her bed was a naked little girl with dark eyes and skin and long wavy hair.
"It's me," Korey said with a giggle, then waved happily at Hedí.
Hedí panted in short breaths as she slumped to the floor, unable to even blink.
Korey crawled off the bed's side and dropped to the floor in her bare feet… bare everything. She started to run across the room but stopped and smothered another giggle with her hand.
"Whoops! I forgot again," she said, and with a sigh scurried back to pull at the quilt with all her strength. "My clothes don't come with me "
Hedí tried to speak. "H-how…"
Korey struggled to pull the quilt around herself. It was too big, and half of it wrapped around the bedpost. She stopped struggling long enough to look at Hedí.
"Papa taught me," she said, as if it were obvious.
"Your father… taught you that?" Hedí whispered.
"Uh-huh. Mama can do it too… I think, but I've never seen it. Papa can do great big ones, when he wants." Korey frowned and tried to look over her shoulder at her own bare buttocks. "But I can't get the tail. Just a stubby thing!"
As a child, Hedí had heard stories of shifters. Most were too wild to be anything but superstitious nonsense, folklore forgotten as the fancies of youth.
"Can… can all your people do this?" she asked.
Korey finally heaved the quilt free and wrapped it about herself, but most of it dragged across the floor as she came to plop down before
Hedí.
"Papa says some, but not all. It's a family thing. Mama says Auntie Balalee—I never met her yet—sees things that aren't there but are somewhere else. I don't understand that part. Are you sick?"
"Sick?" Hedí's breathing slowed, but her heart still pounded against her ribs. "No, I… I am fine."
She touched the ribbon about her throat. Faris could turn himself into a great cat, perhaps something like a mountain lion. It was no wonder that Darmouth wanted control over this family of Móndyalítko. Her heart tightened in fear for little Korey.
"You should not be here," Hedí said. "What if Julia finds you gone from your room?"
Korey shrugged and rolled her eyes. "She won't come till dinner; then she'll just leave the tray. No one ever comes to visit but you. You like to be with me. Mama and Papa love me… but you like to be with me."
Hedí took a deep breath and let it out. "Oh, Korey."
Hedí's own mother had liked nothing better than to visit with her daughters, play at cards, and braid their hair, even late into the night. Hedí never realized the wonder of a mother's companionship until it was gone. And Korey's own parents were never allowed that close to her for too long.
Hedí did not like using a child, but unless Darmouth was assassinated, Korey would grow up trapped here, until he used her like her parents—or killed her. Korey did not appear to know of the lost sibling that Ventina had viciously hinted at. If Byrd was not warned, he would be arrested, and everything they had worked for would be lost, even the life and future of this girl. And it appeared Darmouth did not know Korey shared her parents' ability, or he would have taken extra precautions with the child.
She grasped Korey's shoulders. "Lord Darmouth has captured a young woman and locked her in a room one floor below us. He calls us guests, but that is a lie. I am a prisoner here—as are you. Do you understand that?"
Korey pulled back suspiciously. "Papa says we aren't supposed to talk about that."
Hedí felt a twinge of guilt, but there was too much at stake to stop now. "Your father is afraid of Lord Darmouth, and he should be. You are a good girl for your papa, but I must get a message to a friend in the city, or we could all… get hurt, including your parents. Can you sneak out as a cat and take it to where I tell you? Stay in the shadows on the bridge, and you will be small and dark enough that no one will notice."