Now she must break the circle and see how much time would be demanded in recovery before they could ride on. She stood and began retracing her steps, going deosil this time.
As she released each man, he fell to the ground, unable to move. Aurya was bewildered; her spells had not lasted long enough for such a reaction. Each man should have been tired, but after an hour or so of rest been fine.
The men of the inner circle were now all released, and lay upon the ground like boneless heaps. With a sudden touch of fear, Aurya began releasing the four who stood as the Guard of the Elements.
They, too, collapsed as her touch upon their foreheads freed them from the power that had held them captive. Finally, she reached Giraldus, the anchor of the Wards. Though he stood still straight and tall, it was not of his own power. His eyes were rolled partway up into his head and there were flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth.
Quickly Aurya touched his forehead, murmuring the words of release. She caught him as he started to fall and lowered him gently to the ground.
What went wrong here? Her thoughts raced. What have I done?
She went to examine the other men. Some of them were barely breathing. It was as if the life force within them had been sapped by something other than herself.
This place, she thought with a recognition of danger that had come too late. What is this place? Who made it?
Aurya built up the fire again, then began examining the perimeter of the circle. Once again the little stacks of stones drew her attention. Kneeling, she saw that the stones bore marks she had not seen earlier. But nothing she recognized, and they told her nothing.
Then, suddenly, she felt weak, dizzy. She tried to stand and found she could not.
Out, she thought, her mind feeling as fuzzy and disconnected as did her body now. I must get out….
She could barely make herself move. It was by sheer force of will that she dragged herself past the stack of stones she had been examining. Then the weakness became too much, and she sank to the ground.
Her breath came in gulps at first. Slowly, breath by breath, her head cleared. She sat up and stared back at the circle. Whatever it was, it was dangerous—perhaps the most dangerous thing Aurya had ever encountered. Somehow, she had to get Giraldus and the men out before the circle claimed all of their life force.
Aurya felt stronger with each passing second. Finally, she felt ready to brave the circle again. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and headed for Giraldus.
It took her three tries, three times of entering the circle again and dragging him for as long as she dared, only to have to leave him while she staggered back out and away until her strength returned.
Giraldus breathed easier once he was also out in the open, but he did not revive. Aurya was going to have to do this on her own. Any thought of ambushing The Others was abandoned in favor of keeping her own party alive.
But as she entered the circle a fourth time, to grab the ankles of the next man and begin pulling him to safety, Aurya vowed to discover the nature of this place. Once she was Queen, she would find its creators and make them pay. Above all, she vowed to see this circle destroyed—by her own hand and by her own magic. If there were more such places in Aghamore, she would destroy them as well.
Chapter Thirty-two
Lysandra and the others walked all through the night and into the day. Stops were brief and never long enough. Conversation became a thing of the past as all their concentration became focused on putting one foot in front of the other long after their bodies were crying out for sleep.
Finally, pursued or not, they could go no farther. They had made good progress and were well into the boglands; if they could maintain this pace, they were certain to reach the boats near dawn the next day. But without rest, they would go nowhere.
The stones of Rathreagh served them well, and they found a place to camp where one huge monolith had fallen and lay at an angle on top of another. It provided them with the shade Talog needed, and underneath the stone roof, the ground was firm and dry.
Once camp was made, Lysandra sent her Sight back along the path they had just traveled. This ability was becoming stronger each time she used it.
“What do you see?” Renan asked her softly.
Lysandra shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “But I don’t know if they’re not there—or if I just can’t see them. My Sight has never worked like this before,” she added softly, for his ears alone. “It’s changed. Everything has changed since Selia’s mind touched mine. I don’t understand it all yet, but I think that part of what she does, part of what she is, is to awaken what lies dormant in others.”
Renan laid a hand upon her arm in a gentle gesture of friendship and comfort. “Well, I’m going to believe your Sight and say we dare chance a small cooking fire. I think a hot meal and some of your tea would do wonders for us all.”
Lysandra gave him a small smile. “Then if you’ll hand me my medicine pouch, I’ll find the right herbs.”
Renan did so, and then moved off to start the fire. As Lysandra sorted through her dried herbs for the chamomile, lemon balm, and mint she had decided to use now, as well as for the betony, rosehips, and licorice root she would brew when they awakened, she thought about Renan’s touch. Although it had been light and passing, she could still feel the warmth of it on her arm.
Lysandra nearly smiled, but then she stopped herself. She would not cause Renan either the pain or the embarrassment of letting him know that she was aware of his feelings—and that she shared them.
Had Renan’s soul been as lonely as hers, she wondered, his heart as empty? She did not know, but she doubted it. He was a priest, a man whose vocation filled those empty places—didn’t it? Again, she realized how much about Renan she did not know.
She gave her head a small, private shake. Perhaps the answers did not matter. What they could share—openly and proudly—was the friendship this journey had given them. It was what mattered, and it was enough.
And yet, deep in her secret heart, where self-deception cannot survive, Lysandra knew that love lived in her again.
It was full daylight before Giraldus and his men began to stir. They moved groggily, painfully. Even Aurya, though the effects on her had been minimal by comparison, felt as if she had drunk far too much wine.
“What happened?” Giraldus demanded in a voice that Aurya thought would make her head shatter.
“I don’t know,” she told him, “and I won’t know until we get away from this place so I can think clearly. Whatever that circle is, it’s going to destroy us if we don’t get far away from here… now.”
Aurya could see that Giraldus was in too much misery to be angry—but she knew that anger would come, and soon. Although she had spent some of the long night working out what she would tell him, she was in no condition right then to handle any kind of confrontation.
And she had far more on her mind than Giraldus’s anger. The Others were getting away. If she did not act soon, everything would be lost. She had let her concern for the men—for Giraldus—delay her last night. She would not do so again.
Aurya now doubted that the spell she had cast last night had weakened her intended victims. She had begun to think it had not left the circle, but had been amplified and fed back into her companions. The more strength she drew from them to send her magic out, the more it had looped back so that they were both drained by her need for their energy and bombarded by the spell she was casting.
The presence of so many others within the circle had protected her, standing at the center. Yet, if her spell had gone on a moment longer, she would not have had the strength to save any of them, including herself. As it was, they only had to deal with their hangovers. At least the horses were still tethered and packed, and they could ride again almost immediately.
Aurya called Rhys over to her. “We have to get to the other side of the boglands,” she told him, “between the bogs and the river—and we must get there quickly. Do you know the fastest
route?”
Rhys said nothing for a long moment. Aurya could see that he was considering, but her temper was shortened by the pounding in her head and she wanted to scream at him to answer.
“Aye, I think so—maybe,” he said at last. “We never went to the river much when we was kids. I think I remember a way, but we’ll need to take a different road than this ‘un.”
“Fine,” Aurya replied, standing slowly so that the action did not make her head reel… much. “Then you will guide us again. Pass the word to mount up. It’s time and past to get away from here.”
Rhys was recovering with the resiliency of youth. He quickly turned to obey. Feeling as she did, it made Aurya tired to watch him.
As she began to walk toward her horse, Giraldus joined her. She could feel the anger radiating from him now as she had last night. But he said nothing until they reached their mounts. Then, as he put his hands on her waist to help her into the saddle, he held her still for a moment and looked down sternly into her face.
“We will talk,” he said, “later, where we’ll not be overheard, for I’ll not argue in front of the men. But before this day is over, I will know all of what happened last night. And understand this, Aurya—I had better like the answers.”
“I understand,” she said.
As Giraldus walked toward his own mount, her thoughts continued the unspoken remainder of her reply. I also understand what I will tell you… which might not be the same thing at all.
The farther they traveled from the circle, the better everyone felt. The residual effects of whatever force the circle contained evaporated with distance. By noon, they were able to once again set a hard pace.
Aurya was again impressed by Rhys’s usefulness. The young soldier quickly got them onto the right road, one he assured her would have them to the river by the next day. Giraldus remained silent as he rode beside Aurya—which did not bode well—but he put off their confrontation until camp was made for the night.
Finally, while the men were busy unloading horses and setting up tents, Giraldus grabbed Aurya’s upper arm and unceremoniously led her away. Aurya’s first reaction to the way his fingers dug into her flesh was anger, but when she saw how Giraldus was clenching and unclenching his jaw with each step, she realized there was a better way to play this.
When he decided they were far enough away for at least a semblance of privacy, he turned on her.
“Well, madam?” He waited, as if those words were all he needed to say.
He wants to be placated, Aurya thought, reading his face. He wants me to tell him something—anything—so that he doesn’t have to remain angry.
“Giraldus,” she began, “I don’t know what that place was or what happened there. But I was the one who dragged you—all of you—to safety, even though each time I reentered the circle it nearly killed me.”
She looked up at him, her face a mask of false feminine weakness and concern. “It was hard, too,” she continued, putting all the fatigue she was feeling into her voice, letting him know how difficult her task had been. “But I didn’t let myself stop—not until everyone was safe.”
“Humph,” Giraldus grunted. Although he was not quite satisfied with that answer, she could see that he was willing to let that go for the sake of peace between them. But then his face grew hard again as he got to the true source of his anger.
“And what spell did you place on me, madam, to make me obey your commands? Me, Aurya… you put your damned magic on me. How dare you.”
“Giraldus,” she said softly, coaxingly, moving closer to him, “I did it only for your protection. Truly,” she lied. “I didn’t know what or who we might encounter also looking for the child. We still don’t know who it is. It almost certainly is a mage, a sorcerer, to have the scroll, but just how powerful… ? I used the spell—and it’s only a small Spell of Obedience—because I was afraid the moment might come when it was the only way to save your life.”
Aurya could see that Giraldus was softening. She stepped closer still, putting her hands flat on his chest and leaning into him so that with each breath he inhaled the scent of her body.
“I only wanted to protect you,” she said, looking imploringly into his eyes. “I know the ways of magic and those who wield it. I didn’t want to take the chance of losing you.”
Giraldus’s arms had automatically begun to close around her. Then he realized what he was doing and stepped away.
“I’ll not be toyed with, Aurya,” he said, “or made to dance to your tune like a puppet on your strings.”
Giraldus was trying to keep his voice stern, but much of its force was already fading. Aurya knew her plan—and her lies—were working. Much as she hated the “weak-and-dependent-woman” role, she would continue it a bit longer.
“Giraldus,” she said sweetly, “I know how strong you are and how great a warrior and leader you are. I count on your protection every day of our lives together. But magic is a different battlefield, where a strong arm and a warrior’s heart count for nothing. They can, in fact, be dangerous. It is because you are so strong and because I know that you would act to protect me—and your men, as the great Baron you are—that I cast this spell.”
“Aurya, I—“
“Think, Giraldus,” she pressed on. “If we were on a battlefield and you saw a danger to me that I did not, you would expect me to obey you, wouldn’t you. Well, we are in a battle—and I might not have time to explain a danger. This little Spell of Obedience was only to protect you until we reached our goal. Trust me, Giraldus, just for a little while more.”
She smiled up at him through her lashes, making her lie the sweetest of medicines to swallow. She watched the last vestiges of anger fade from Giraldus’s eyes, as she had known it would. This was the true magic of womanhood. Although the spell she had cast made things simpler when she had not time to flatter a male ego, most often all she—or any other woman—needed to control a man was her wits and her body. This was a truth as old as Eve.
Now that Giraldus’s anger was assuaged, Aurya slipped her arms around his waist. “Tell me,” she said brightly, “last night, before the circle became a danger, what did you feel when the magic first touched you?”
Giraldus was returning her embrace this time. He smiled at her question, a look of wonder—and of greed—igniting in his eyes.
“It… it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” he said. “I felt as if the wind roared inside of me, as if lightning filled and flowed through my veins. Is that what it’s like for you each time?”
“That and more,” she told him. “Would you like to feel it again? Would you like to become my partner in magic, as you are in life and in bed?”
Giraldus tightened his grip around her, pressing her body into his. “Yes,” he said. Then his mouth sought hers hungrily.
Aurya knew that—again—she had won, and more than she had hoped. She would make him her partner, but in ways he could not begin to imagine.
Their lips separated and Aurya met his smile with her own, one that seemed to promise all the ecstasies of heaven and Earth combined. Then she took a step back and slipped her arm through his.
“Let us go back to our tent, my love,” she said, her tone suggesting more than her few words said. “The night is too short and we must ride again with the dawn. Let us go and seal our new partnership.”
As the sun went down, Lysandra and the others were preparing to take to the trail again. By midmorning tomorrow, Talog said, they would be on the river. It would be a grueling pace and the Cryf would have to keep going hours into the sunlight, but they had no choice.
Selia had remained quiet all through last night’s travels and the day’s rest. She spoke only when spoken to and then only with the barest reply. But Lysandra could feel no sense of depression from her. If anything, Selia was becoming resigned to the new direction her life had taken, as if a part of her had always known she would someday be forced to abandon the quiet cloistered life she had thought to choose.
Lysandra hoped this acceptance would continue, for Selia’s sake even more than for the sake of the kingdom. But experience had taught her that this might well be the calm that so often comes before a storm. If it was, then Lysandra intended to be near at hand to help the younger woman through whatever tempest—of mind, heart, or spirit—might still be coming. Lysandra could not change the sorrows that had already scarred Selia’s short life, but she intended to be certain the younger woman knew that she would never be abandoned or cast off again.
Once again Talog led the way, finding safe passage through the bogs. For Selia’s sake, Renan had kept the lantern they had used in the tunnel. It was shielded on three sides, giving off only as much light as necessary to show the area immediately ahead.
By dawn, they were almost out of the bogs. The stunted, twisted trees gave way to healthier growth as better soil gave firmer support to their roots. Finally, the company felt safe to rest long enough for Lysandra to brew them another dose of her strengthening tea.
As they sat, sipping from mugs filled with three of her strongest strengthening herbs—wood betony, licorice root, and rosehips, sweetened with honey for extra flavor and energy—Talog and Renan were once again at the maps.
“Three hours you think,” Lysandra heard Renan say, “and we’ll be back to the boats?”
“Three, mayhap four—but not longer,” Talog agreed.
“Ah,” Renan sighed with relief. “I think we’re going to make it. Did you hear that, Lysandra—Selia? We’re almost safe.”
“We heard,” Lysandra assured him, though she did not quite share his confidence. Something was nibbling at the edge of her consciousness, something she could not name but that added to the discomfort in her already-weary body.
She finished her tea and stood. The rest had been welcome, but to sit longer was to invite stiffening muscles. So, after once more raising their packs onto weary shoulders, she and the others started to walk.
There were no more stops; hour after long hour, there was just walking. Lysandra kept one hand on Cloud-Dancer and in the other gripped her walking stick. There were moments she felt as if her entire existence had been this journey, this silence, and these footsteps.
The Thirteenth Scroll Page 33