Jarid was scanning the plateau. “Where is Chime?”
Three words. It was only three words.
They stopped Muller’s world.
“Chime?” Muller stared at him. “She is at Suncroft.” He suddenly, urgently needed that assurance.
Jarid turned to him, his posture growing very still. “She came with us.”
“With the army?” Muller froze. “You let my wife, my pregnant wife, ride in an army?”
Jarid offered no excuses. He said, simply, “Yes.”
“Saints almighty, why?”
“For the same reason you and I came.” When Muller began to protest, Jarid held up his hand. “Cousin, listen. Harsdown has sent an even larger force to Suncroft. She knew that better than any of us.” He motioned at the battlefield out on the plateau, littered now with shields, broken swords, arrows, and rocks from the catapults. Iris was treating the injured in a sheltered area near the western cliff.
Jarid’s men had laid out the bodies of those who had lost their lives either for Aronsdale or Harsdown. They chose the northern edge of the plateau, where the Saint of the North would know to find them for their journey to the Northern Lights, the gateway to the ocean that would carry their souls to the land of the spirits.
Jarid spoke quietly. “We needed every bit of help. Had any of us not been here—Chime, Iris, you, myself, any of our soldiers—we probably would have lost this battle.”
Muller couldn’t hear. Wouldn’t hear. “Where is she?” Unable to contain himself, he strode away, knowing his abrupt departure was an insult to the king, but afraid he would offend Jarid far more if he stayed. He couldn’t bear to think of Chime in battle.
He stalked across the plateau, and soldiers stepped rapidly out of his way. They were cleaning up, tending the injured, and mourning the dead. He felt as if he were breaking inside, seeing the men he had trained, ridden with, dined with, and fought with lying broken. Or worse.
Jarid caught up to him and walked at his side, keeping his long-legged pace. At first Muller ignored him. But finally he slowed down. “I don’t see her.” He struggled to keep his voice calm. It didn’t matter how formidable Chime could be when she set her mind to something, he still wanted to sock Jarid for bringing her with the army.
“She was with Iris,” Jarid said.
Muller didn’t trust himself to answer. He could see Iris kneeling by another man, a lieutenant laid out on his back. The queen had her hand around a diamond sphere that hung from a chain around her neck. As Muller came up to them, her patient looked at him with eyes surprisingly free of pain, given the wound in his side, which had soaked the bandage around his torso with blood. The fellow was hardly more than a boy, with a cowlick of hair.
Muller didn’t want to interfere with her work, but he couldn’t hold back his concern. “Have you seen Chime?”
Iris glanced at him. “She was with me a few minutes ago.” She spoke kindly to her patient. “You must go easy for the next few days.”
The youth gave a shaky nod. “I will, Your Majesty.”
She smiled at him, then stood up and spoke to Muller. “Chime and I were separated in the fighting.”
“Do you know what happened?” Muller asked.
“She isn’t here?”
Alarm flared in Muller. “Nowhere!”
Her voice gentled. “You and she have a link. Perhaps with my help, you can reach her.”
Muller was suddenly aware of the injured man listening to them. “How?”
Iris motioned a lieutenant helping her, a man with a healer’s patch on his shoulder. She left her patient in his care and took Muller’s arm, leading him away. Jarid followed but kept his distance.
When they were off by themselves, Iris spoke to Muller in a low voice. “Make a spell with me. Your link to Chime is stronger than mine.”
He was willing to try anything. “I need a shape.”
She showed him her diamond pendant. “Try this.”
He tried to focus through the pendant, but it did no good; the faceted diamond had too much symmetry. Dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword, he focused on the long, stretched shape. It stirred a spell within him, but one too weak to be of any use. Then he remembered Drummer’s ring, lying under his shirt. He pulled out the cord and folded his hand around the bent circle of metal.
Muller formed a green spell, striving to rebuild his link with Chime. Iris’s power washed around him like a river of rainbows, enhancing his efforts. His breath caught; she had such a tremendous gift. His spell spread across the land, searching, searching…
Pain. It stabbed his temples. Instead of Chime, he had found the dark mage, running up against the mage’s mind as if he had hit wall. He tensed for the counter attack. When he felt nothing, he realized Iris had surrounded his spell with a glimmering emerald sphere that hid him from Wareman—
Emerald?
That protective sphere didn’t come from Iris. Green wasn’t her color…
Muller let his spell fade, becoming aware of the army around them. Iris was holding her diamond ball, her gaze clearing. No one had disturbed them, probably because Jarid stood a few steps away, his arms crossed. Several of the king’s men paced nearby, guarding the king.
“I didn’t find her.” Muller wondered about the green sphere, but it had given him no sense of her location, if it did come from her. “Only the dark mage.”
Iris’s gaze darkened. “He took her.”
No. Muller wanted to shout his protest; it took all of his control to answer quietly. “Do you know where?”
“I only caught impressions of his mood.” She looked out toward misty Aronsdale. “I think they are riding to Suncroft, to rendezvous with Varqelle.”
Muller swung around to Jarid, speaking loud enough for the king to hear. “I must go after them.”
Jarid came forward. “How will you find them?”
“I need a scout. Arkandy Ravensford.”
“Take who you need. The rest of us will follow.” Jarid’s face had turned grim. “We must reach Suncroft before Varqelle.”
Muller knew it was impossible. But they had to try.
He couldn’t bear to think of Wareman inflicting his vile person on Chime, such a sweet-natured, dulcet angel.
“You bog-warted slug!” Chime swore with gusto, using language no noblewoman would ever have known, much less spoken. “If you don’t let me go, I will change you into a slime toad.”
“Not likely.” Wareman sounded as if he were gritting his teeth. He spurred his mount, the charger he called Snowhawk, into a pace too fast for them to talk.
With her wrists bound behind her back, Chime had trouble keeping her balance. Wareman sat behind her, his arms around her waist, the reins in his hands. Wind streamed past her face as Snowhawk raced across the valley. She didn’t know whether to shake from fear or punch the cretin who had run off with her. Both would be satisfying, but she had no intention of letting him see her fear and she couldn’t hit him over the head with her arms bound.
At the end of the valley, the ground sloped up into a rocky hill carpeted by wild grass. The plants were greener here than in the mountains, with star-flowers scattered everywhere. As they climbed the hill, Wareman let his horse slow down. Chime hadn’t wanted to risk falling from the horse before, but at this more sedate pace, she immediately began trying to work her wrists free.
“Hold still,” Wareman told her.
“You are unpardonably rude,” she said. “Untie me.”
“Stop twisting around, or I will—” He paused as if he hadn’t thought of a suitable threat.
“Will what?” Chime redoubled her efforts.
He grabbed her upper arms, holding her in place. “I will tie your legs, too.”
“How? The horse is in the way.” She yanked at her bonds. “I guess I’m so terrifying, you must tie me up to protect your helpless self.”
“Blustering saints, woman!”
“What do you want with me?”
“Yo
u will be my wife.”
Foolish mage. “I’m already married.”
“Enough,” Wareman growled. “You are married only as long as Prince Muller lives.”
“No! You mustn’t hurt him.”
“It appears I must, if I am to wed you.”
“Coward. I would marry a slug first.”
“Woman, silence!”
“No.” She was too furious to care how he threatened her. “Untie me.”
“If I untie you, will you be quiet?”
That caught her off guard. She had expected more threats. After a startled pause, she said, “All right.” In truth, she was growing too tired to fight anymore. The battle had exhausted her.
Anvil worked at her bonds with one hand while he held the reins in the other. When he loosened the ropes, her arms fell free. She held back her groan of relief as she brought them in front of her body. Burn marks showed on her wrists, but the ropes hadn’t cut her skin. She rubbed her arms, trying to regain the feeling in them.
They crested the top of the long slope and started down its other side, entering a forest of hardy trees, taller than those in the Tallwalks, with bristly leaves. Mist drifted around them.
After a while her captor said, “I am called Anvil the Forged.”
Chime snorted.
“You should show more respect,” Anvil said. “You are riding with an indigo sphere-mage.”
Although Chime knew he had great power, she had nursed a hope she might have overestimated its extent. “Why do you hate everyone in Aronsdale?”
“I don’t hate you.” Then he added, “Though I must say, your manner of speech leaves much to desire.”
“You ride with our enemies and kill our people.”
He answered flatly. “Aronsdale killed my family.”
“Aronsdale?”
“The people of Stonce. I was eleven years old.”
Chime blanched. She couldn’t imagine losing her loved ones. “I am sorry about your family.”
After a moment he said, “So was I.”
She hesitated. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
He told her then, his voice low as he related the violence that had culminated in the vicious murder of his family and the brutal use he had endured. By the time he finished, she felt tears on her face.
“I am so terribly sorry,” she whispered.
He spoke numbly. “Since then, I have had no green.”
It no longer surprised her. What he had experienced could have burned it out of anyone.
After that they rode in silence. Chime needed to absorb what he had told her. Although he pushed Snowhawk hard, the powerful charger easily kept the pace, moving as if it were part of the fog hanging about the trees. Red birds chittered in the branches and blue ones flitted from perch to perch. As the dusk gathered, the coos of echo-doves drifted eerily through the trees.
Chime spoke uneasily. “When do we stop?” She doubted his horse knew the way in daylight, let alone at night.
“Can’t stop.”
“King Jarid will catch you even if you keep going.”
“Jarid.” Anvil spoke as if pondering a puzzle. “The Mage King.”
Chime tensed. “That’s absurd.” The less he knew about Jarid’s mage abilities, the better.
“Oh, come now. Everyone saw him ablaze. He is a mage, Lady. A powerful one.”
She doubted it would do any good to deny it. So she said nothing.
Despite his initial refusal, Anvil did eventually rein Snowhawk to a stop under a cluster of trees. “We will camp here for a few hours.” He jumped down from the horse, then reached up to help her. Ignoring his offered hand, Chime slid down and landed with a thump. “And then?”
He tilted his head, considering her with a half smile. “We go to Suncroft.”
“You will never take the castle.” She thanked the saints he couldn’t make a mood spell and know she feared otherwise. “It is impregnable.”
“Is it now?” Anvil nudged her toward one of the trees. “We must eat. And rest.”
Rest. She would never admit it to him, but she felt so drained, she could hardly move. However desperately she needed sleep, though, she couldn’t lower her guard now.
Anvil indicated the ground by the tree. “A seat for the lady.” He smirked. “Not what you’re used to, eh?”
Chime thought of the orchards she loved. “It will do.” She settled in the damp grass around the trunk.
He tended to Snowhawk, but he didn’t shed his mail or armor, though it surely had to be uncomfortable. He kept his sword at his side as well. After they ate a supper of dried fruit and beef jerky, he gave her a blanket from his saddle bags. Chime glowered at him, unwilling to admit she was cold. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, but held back her shivers, determined to hide her vulnerability.
Leaning against the tree, she closed her eyes. Despite her intent to stay awake and escape from Anvil, she dropped into a fitful doze. Every few moments she stirred, then drifted off again. Then Anvil was shaking her awake. It seemed no time passed, yet pearly light filtered through the mist, which had thickened until it turned the world white and formless.
Groggy, Chime peered up at Anvil. He had never tried to touch her during the night, but now he gripped her shoulders and watched her with a frightening intensity.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “Like what?”
He propelled her toward Snowhawk, which he had already prepared for the ride. “I suggest you don’t try my patience.” He heaved her up on the horse and swung up behind her.
Chime held back her retort; better to bide her time than to goad him into taking action against her that might make it harder to escape later, if a more auspicious opportunity arose.
They set off through the fog, chewing on hard cakes. She strained to hear in the indistinct morning, but the fog muffled everything. However, she didn’t sense Anvil using spells to throw off pursuit. It took green to affect perceptions, but even if he could have managed with another color, he seemed to have exhausted his power yesterday. So had she. Right now, she doubted she could do even a simple red spell.
Anvil held her around the waist as they rode. He remained as taciturn as yesterday, his mail bumpy against her back. Chime soon dozed off, her head hanging down, slowly regaining her strength…
Chime awoke with a start. The fog had lightened with daylight. She also felt lighter. Stronger. Her spells simmered, ready for use. Moving stealthily, she curled her hand around her sphere pendant. If she could reach a mood spell back along the way they had come—
“None of that.” Anvil clamped his hand around hers and yanked, breaking the slender chain. It fell away from her neck, hanging down over his fingers.
“Don’t.” Chime clenched her hand around the sphere, her fist caught within his. “You cannot.”
“I can.” He pried open her fingers and wrested the sphere away from her. “A powerful shape, lady. Less than my best, but good enough.”
She answered through gritted teeth. “Go to hell.”
“I think not.” He sounded less than amused.
Pah. Chime wished on him curses of the Saint of Foul Water, who made stagnant puddles smell bad. She studied the horse, the reins, even his boots, but saw no shapes she could use. Had the sky been clear she would have tried using the sun, but clouds covered the world.
Anvil focused with her sphere, which she could neither see nor touch now that he had stolen it. Despair settled over her. His power was too strong. She would never escape. The melancholy annoyed Chime. She fought it, knowing Anvil was using reversed yellow spells to weaken her will. His mage strength baffled her. She understood why the gifts showed up in Dawnfield males, given how they bred for the traits. But why would an entire family in a remote mountain village manifest such strength? It was unusual enough to find just one mage. The traits might run in families, but they rarely manifested with power in more than one person, and then only
every few generations.
As the fog burned off, Anvil pushed Snowhawk harder. Chime needed no spell to recognize his tension; he had few defenses here. He had fled the battle yesterday, but she doubted King Varqelle would consider it desertion. He needed Anvil at Suncroft. He had probably ordered his mage to avoid capture at all costs.
A bird called through the trees, a waterfall of notes. It reminder her of the songbird that had died from sleep gas. That gave Chime pause. Dignitaries from Jazid, a country far to the southeast of Aronsdale, had presented it to Muller. No birds native to these hills could make such trills. So where had it come from?
The bird warbled, closer now.
Chime stiffened, then tried to relax, lest she give away her interest in the bird. Could someone be trying to let her know they were following? It could be men from the King’s Army, come to capture Anvil. Or it could be nothing. The chirps of many birds and insects leavened the day, though she hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps she had imagined the other—
There! The trill was closer, a unique call.
“Why do you keep tensing up?” Anvil demanded.
“Why do you think?” She didn’t need to put on an act to communicate her loathing; it came naturally.
“You don’t like me, eh?” He pulled a length of her hair. “You had better get used to me, gold girl.”
“My name is Chime.”
“Aye. Chime Headwind.” He spoke dryly. “Or was that Headstrong?”
She ignored him.
The trill came again—and this time Chime caught a flash of purple among the trees.
Anvil swore and kicked his horse. “Go!”
Snowhawk took off like a streamer through the fog, his white coat glowing in the pearly light.
“You’re done for!” Chime said.
“Quiet!” He urged the horse faster.
Chime suspected then that their pursuers had just notified each other that they had found her and Anvil, using a trill that only they would recognize—which meant they probably came from Suncroft.
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