“Or feel my steel on your neck, Diago,” said Cariad. He stood directly behind the thane, his hand on the dagger in his belt.
Rihana yawned as Diago slowly straightened and turned. “Well, well, little cock. Didn’t take you long to ride from the keep, did it? Your mistress let you out long enough to find a bitch to keep you tame?”
Cariad said nothing, but his back went rigid and his face paled.
“You’ve been itching to give me a taste of your steel ever since I took your miserable hide into my service, haven’t you?” Diago went on. “Kin to my wife, she says. You’re no more her kin than you are mine, you miserable half-bred bastard.”
Cariad’s face flamed, but his hand remained steady and otherwise he did not move. “Call me what you like. Even your writ only runs so far, my thane.”
A silence was falling over the common room, the men drawing back and turning to watch, the maids shrinking back near the bar and the kitchen doors. Lem paused in his polishing, watching the two men with narrowed eyes, and Elizondo burst through the kitchen door, hands raised, robes flying. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, please—there are no enemies here. You wear the same colors—please, I beg—”
“Quiet, fool.” Diago spat the words at Elizondo, but his eyes did not leave Cariad’s face. “Shall we see what you are made of, princeling?”
Juilene gasped. Although Diago was older, he was taller and broader than Cariad, and while Cariad was obviously in fighting condition, there was no guarantee that he would be the winner in a fight with Diago. “Cariad,” she cried, “don’t—”
“Hush, Juilene,” he said, his face set and grim. “Let me do this.”
Diago snapped his fingers. “Torches, my good innkeeper. Torches in the yard. I want to see how much blood this young one leaks when I run him through.” He left the room with a swagger and an another bow. Rihana raised her eyebrow, shaking her head with suppressed laughter, and followed him outside.
Juilene set the harp aside and rose to her feet. “Are you mad, Cariad? You mustn’t raise your hand to him—”
He caught her to him and held her close. “Get your cloak, your harp, and anything else you might want to take. The little mare is saddled and waiting for you in the stables. Lona wants us to leave. It’s not safe for either one of us here. I’ll explain more on the road.”
“But what about Diago? What do you mean to do here? He’ll kill you if he can—”
He touched her nose, and smiled almost gaily. “If,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll fight him just long enough to distract him and then I’ll catch up to you. Let him think I’m a coward and turned tail. It’s more important we get away.”
“What of Lona?” she whispered, still not believing what he told her. “Will you leave her?”
Cariad looked grim once more. “You know it isn’t my choice to leave her, lady, at the mercy of that—that bastard scum. But she has her ways of handling Diago—and it’s more important that we—that you—get away.” He glanced over his shoulder. Loud shouts and catcalls came from the inn yard. “There’s no more time, now. I’ll explain everything I can once we’re on the road. Wait for me beneath the trees at the second crossroads. I won’t be far behind.” He brushed a stray curl off her face with the back of a gloved hand.
“Cariad—” she said when he was halfway across the room. “Please be careful. Don’t make Arimond’s mistake.”
He turned back and his smile was gallant but his eyes were rueful. “Have no fear, my lady. I fight to save a life, not to take one.” He swept her a low bow, turned on his heel, and disappeared out the door.
A low wind sighed through the branches of the uster trees as Juilene reined the little mare to a halt at the center of the crossroads. The leaves whispered and rustled in the breeze and the animal whickered and stamped its foot. “I know,” murmured Juilene, patting its neck. “I’m not used to being out at this hour, either.” She slid to the ground and looked back over her shoulder. Pray the goddess Cariad was safe. She tried not to think about being here, in the dark, out in the open, all alone. What would she do if he didn’t come? If, despite his brave words, Diago killed him, or at the least, seriously injured him?
Cariad had implied that it wasn’t safe for her to stay at the inn, now that Diago and his sister had come. And he seemed to imply that she would be better off somewhere else—somewhere he would take her—but where? Where should she go? The road to Eld, a voice seemed to echo in her mind as the wind sighed once more through the trees. She raised her face to the star-studded sky. A thousand points of light flickered, inscrutable as the will of the goddess. Dramue, protect Cariad, she prayed. Protect us both.
The little mare stamped once more and tossed her head. “Yes, yes,” Juilene said, “I know, I know.” She led the horse to the little stand of trees, and tied it to one of the low-hanging branches. With some difficulty, she managed to pull one of the packs off the animal’s back. She fumbled with the straps until it opened. She probed the inside. Lumps of various sizes, indistinguishable in the dark, met her fingers, and finally she found what she was searching for: flint and tinder. She pulled it out of the pack, set it on the ground, and searched the immediate area for wood to make a fire. As she was gathering a few dry twigs and one heavier log, she heard the mare scream. She rushed back to the trees. The horse was shaking its head from side to side, and neighing. Small, dark objects clustered around its eyes, and with a cry, Juilene rushed forward. She swung a long twig, and the things buzzed and lifted away.
She patted the horse’s nose to calm it and looked around fearfully. Something whined around her own head and with a cry she swung her arm blindly. Her hand connected with something, and the creature fell, shrieking, to the ground. In the starlight, she could barely make out a dark, cylindrical body and a pinkish round head. She shuddered. Mantlings. They were nocturnal creatures; a fire would keep them away.
Her hands shook as she piled the wood as quickly as she could and struck a spark with the flint. She raised her head in the direction of the inn as the flames leaped into life. Goddess, protect him, she thought. Please let Cariad be all right.
As if in answer to her prayers, the low drum of a horse’s hooves broke the silence. The little mare knickered softly and tossed her head in the direction of the sound. Let that be Cariad, she prayed. The sound grew louder, and a dark shape emerged over the rise of the hill. The horse and rider cantered to a stop and the rider swung out of the saddle.
“Juilene!”
She rose with a little cry and held out her hands unthinkingly. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, and for a long moment, they stood together. She heard the beating of his heart, her nostrils full of his distinctive scent. Finally she pulled away, a little awkwardly. The embrace had seemed so natural, and yet, she reminded herself, this man was little more than a stranger.
He smiled down at her, almost shyly, as the light of the fitful fire played across his face, a face she saw was bloody.
“You’re hurt!” she cried.
“It’s nothing.” He waved one hand impatiently and turned away. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get this fire going, and then we can talk.”
She busied herself with wood and brush, and finally, when the flames leaped high in the dark, and both horses were tethered securely just inside the perimeter of light, she sank to the ground. He seated himself beside her, not quite close enough to touch her, but close enough for her to see the thin line of blood that snaked across his forehead and down the side of his face.
“You should let me take a look at that,” she said once more.
“Later,” he said. “After we’ve talked.” He tore open a package from one of the packs and held out a hunk of cheese. “Hungry?”
Juilene hesitated. She fumbled in the bodice of her dress and held out a brass coin. “Here.”
“What’s that?”
“The curse hasn’t been lifted,” she said. “Please, take this. I don’t want to take any chances
.”
He opened his mouth as though he would protest, seemed to think better of it, and pocketed the coin. “Now, will you eat?”
She took the cheese and broke off a piece. “Now, will you talk?”
He smiled. “As you will it, I obey. Lona had the feeling that there was more to Diago’s sudden homecoming than he wanted anyone to think. And the fact that he was bringing Rihana made her realize that the two of them might have some plans involving you. And if the harp you carry is Dramue’s—” He broke off and started again. “I wish we could have gotten you away from the inn before Diago saw you once again. But—” He paused and stared into the fire. “The fact that he stopped at the inn, so that Rihana could get a look at you—”
“At me,” she echoed. “Why would they do that?”
Cariad leaned forward. “I’ve told you—Lona’s told you. The magic which binds you has a different look to it, apparently. Each thurge leaves a certain—signature—I suppose, and there is something uniquely different about yours. Do you remember the thurge in the inn the other night? Not the old man from Sylyria—the one who sat in the shadows and said he awaited Diago’s homecoming? He arrived at the keep this afternoon. Lona believes Diago had him at the inn spying on you. Anyway, Lona thinks we should take the harp to Eld and let the Guardians have a look at it. That gets you out of Diago’s way, and prevents both of them from trying to destroy the harp.”
“They would destroy the harp so that it can’t be played at the end of the millennium?”
“Exactly,” said Cariad. “The last thing Diago and Rihana or anyone who is trying to unbind the magic would want is for the Sleepers to awake, and for a new Covenant to be made. If that happens, all their questing for the wild magic will be for nothing. But I don’t think Diago quite realizes what he nearly had—or what you might have—and so, hopefully, we won’t be followed into Eld.”
“You think he’ll follow us?”
“I think Diago is capable of doing anything in pursuit of his goal. Lona believes that he and Rihana were going to try and untangle the magic which binds you, in hopes of deciphering exactly what the spell was Lindos put on you.”
“Why not ask Lindos?”
“The last thing a thurge in possession of the wild magic would do is tell another thurge. Especially one who seems as bent on power as Lindos. If that were the case, all the thurges might rise up against him or, as Diago plans, challenge him as individuals. No, Juilene, it’s better that you get as far away from Diago as possible. He would think nothing of using you—not for pleasure—but to study the magic.”
“I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad,” she murmured.
Cariad stared at her in horror. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Don’t know what?”
“I could tell you stories—” He gazed into the flames. “In—in my country,” he began awkwardly, pausing between the words, “the thurge—the High Thurge—” He broke off. “Magic is used to torture people. Even to kill. And it is not easy or clean, to watch a man die by magic.”
Juilene stared at him in horror. There was so much she wanted to ask him, so many things she wanted to know about this mysterious country he alluded to from time to time. “What kind of thurges are these?”
He shook his head. “Evil men and women. But that is of no matter now. What does matter is we must find a way across the wilderness and over the mountains into Eld. And at this time of year, that isn’t going to be easy.”
“Do you think Diago will come after us?”
“I want to hope not. But that’s not what I believe.” He poked at the fire with a long stick and a log split into a shower of sparks. “Yes, we’ll have to be careful. The wilderness is not an easy place to cross—there are all sorts of things which live there—mantlings, dwarf dragons—all kinds of dangers. But if we take the roads, that’s the first place Diago is going to send men looking, and we can’t afford to let him capture us.”
“Us?” Juilene cocked her head. “Why do you say, us, as if we are somehow in the same situation?”
Cariad looked grim. “Because we are, lady. There is a spell binding me, as well, although I carry a glamour to shield me from the eyes of prying thurges. But the glamour is wearing thin, and under the scrutiny of two thurges, such as Rihana and Diago, who are deliberately looking for the magic, I am afraid I would stand out like a beacon in the night, even as you do.”
“What sort of spell?” Juilene frowned.
“A dangerous spell, and a powerful one. Don’t worry, it carries no threat to you, or to anyone around me, but the marks of the magic are upon me, as surely as they are upon you. And I dare not reveal them to anyone, especially to a thurge like Diago.”
Juilene rocked back on her haunches, gathering her knees under her skirts and wrapping her arms around her legs. Who was this man? She looked at Cariad closely, as though some clue to his identity might be evident in his aspect. But in the light of the flickering fire, all she could see was a lean face and high cheekbones, dark brows and a high forehead, with dark, sweat-soaked curls clinging to the bloodstained skin. His eyes were hidden in the shadows, his nose was straight, and his mouth was as carefully chiseled as though some sculptor had traced it out of fine marble. There was an air of sadness about his mouth, she thought, although his shoulders and his back were straight, and he gazed into the fire steadily, as though staring the future in the face. He was very brave, she knew, and yet, it was a very different kind of bravery from Arimond’s. Cariad would always think before he acted, and would never act without considering all the consequences. She relaxed as she realized that for the first time in a long time, she felt very safe.
He raised his head, as if he, too, could hear her thoughts, and smiled at her. Their eyes met and held, and Juilene drew a deep breath. She remembered how the gold highlights in his eyes lit up when he smiled and she wished she could make him smile that way at her. Can you so easily forget Arimond, a voice in her mind scolded. Yes, something else echoed, and she dropped her eyes and knew she blushed. Arimond was a boy—but Cariad—her thoughts trailed off into a jumble of confusion.
“You must sleep here tonight,” Cariad said, looking around. “No one is going to notice we are gone until tomorrow—you aren’t expected to play again until tomorrow night, and Diago won’t come looking for me. So we have a little time, and the wilderness is a dangerous place at night—I am not eager to take you there any sooner than I must.” He rose to his feet. “Let me get you a blanket.”
“What about you? Won’t you sleep?”
“Oh, I can manage on an hour or two if I must. Tonight, I’ll keep the watch. Believe me when I tell you you will need all the rest you can get in the wilderness.”
Silently Juilene watched him retrieve blankets from the back of his horse. She spread them out on the ground beside the fire and lay down, her head pillowed on her arm. Cariad’s face was clear in the glow of the flames. She wished he would smile at her, but he only scanned the darkness beyond the fire, staring into some dark and hidden place only he could see.
Chapter Twelve
Cariad woke her before the dawn. The grove was still; the breeze had faded sometime during the night, but the fire still burned steadily, testimony to his careful tending. She sat up and pushed her hair away from her face. He was busy with the packs that he had retrieved from the horses.
“Here.” His voice was gruff and Juilene turned to stare at him, wondering why he suddenly sounded so abrupt. He was holding out a bundle of cloth to her. “Put these things on. You’ll never make it through the wilderness in that dress, and these soldier’s clothes will make it easier for you to ride.”
Juilene rose stiffly. Her back was sore, her legs were cramped. She stretched, shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself. “But—but—”
“These things aren’t mine, nor Lona’s. In Khardroon, everything a wife has is legally her husband’s. So take them. The only one who’s likely to suffer is Diago.”
Still groggy
and disoriented, she took the bundle from Cariad. It was easier to accept what he told her than to argue. Their hands brushed briefly, and she thought she heard the swift intake of his breath. He backed away, pointing.
“You can change behind those trees. Go on—when you come back, we’ll eat and be on our way. I want to get as much of a head start as we possibly can.”
Obediently, she changed her clothes in the shelter of the thicket. She ripped the silver coins out of the lining of her cloak and stuffed them in the pockets of her breeches. She tied the old cloak into a bundle with the rest of her old clothes. She was tempted to leave it behind, but realized at once it might make a trail for Diago’s men to trace. The soldier’s clothes were big and baggy, and she had to knot the thin leather belt rather than buckle it, in order to make it fit her waist. But they were warm and well made, and she knew at once that Cariad was right. Riding would be much easier in breeches and tunic, and the thick cloak would serve as shelter from the elements in the day, and an extra blanket at night. She laced the leather riding boots as tightly as she could. They reached over her knees to her thighs, and she blushed to herself in the dark. Not since she was a very little girl had so much been exposed. The leather clung to the curves of her calves. She was glad the light was still too dim for Cariad to see her clearly.
But did it matter, a little voice in her mind whispered. They were about to become far more intimate than she had ever been with any other man in her life. She had never been alone over so long a period of time with any man, nor in such conditions. Even when she had traveled with Eral’s company, the presence of Mathy and old Nuala had satisfied her sense of what was proper. But if what Cariad said was true, they went in fear of their lives. What did it matter, if Cariad glimpsed the shape of her legs? The conventions of her birth suddenly seemed silly.
She brushed through the waist-high grass, and found Cariad stirring something in a pot. Two tin cups and spoons were laid out on a flat stone. Whatever was cooking smelled good.
The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden Page 21