Book of Enchantments

by Patricia C. Wrede

  Auridan remembered that first fair well. Unlike so many of his erstwhile comrades in the war against Alizon, he'd been restless and disinclined to settle down. By a lucky chance, he'd met one of the lords from the south who'd been dispossessed during the war. Auridan had taken service with him, and they had spent several years fighting in the southern part of High Hallack. Eventually, the lord and his men had prevailed, but the substance of his keep had been wasted in the struggle, and Auridan was not of a mind to squat there waiting for the man to rebuild his fortune. He had taken the lord's blessing, and the few coins that could be spared, and come back to Fyndale in search of another patron.

  He studied the crowd as he walked along, and for the first time began to doubt the wisdom of the decision he had made with such blithe confidence. Most of the fairgoers looked prosperous and contented— good signs for the merchants, perhaps, but not so promising for a blank shield mercenary looking for someone in need of a guard or a soldier.

  Well, if nothing else, he could hire on with a merchant returning home from the fair, Auridan thought philosophically. Merchants were notoriously nervous about bandits, particularly when there were profits to protect, and from the look of things, this fair would be profitable for nearly all of them. Feeling somewhat more cheerful, Auridan headed toward the serving tent, to purchase a cup of wine and consider what to do next.

  Two drinks later, he had still not thought of anything. He was just beginning his third when a light, musical voice said, "Fair fortune to you, traveler. Are you the blank shield the sword-seller told me of?"

  Auridan looked up, and his reply died on his lips. The woman who stood beside him had the kind of beauty songsmiths broke their strings over. Her thick, butter-colored braids coiled into a high knot above a classic oval face. Her skin was fair and flawless, her eyes a serene hazel. She was tall and slender, and her cloak and robe were of fine wool, heavily embroidered. She could be no more than twenty, but her bearing proclaimed a confidence beyond her years.

  She must be daughter to one of the Dales lords, Auridan thought dazedly; then his bemused wits began working again and he rose to his feet and raised his hand palm-out in greeting. "Fair fortune to you, lady. I am Auridan; how may I serve you?"

  The woman's lips compressed very slightly; then she sighed and motioned for Auridan to seat himself once more. She took the place beside him and said, "I wish to hire a man to guide and guard me on a journey. I have been told that you are a man of honor and would suit my purposes."

  "I have done such work before," Auridan admitted. "What direction do you travel and with how large a party?"

  The woman bit her lip and looked down; suddenly she seemed much younger, barely out of girlhood. Then she raised her chin and said defiantly, "I wish to go north, to Abbey Norstead. And the party will consist of we two only; I will take no others with me." She added solemnly, "It is why I particularly wish to hire an honorable man."

  Auridan swallowed a chuckle, but shook his head. "I fear you have not considered, lady," he said gently, even as he wondered why such a girl as this would wish to enter the abbey. "The effects of the war linger; travel is still not safe. I cannot believe your kinsmen would allow—"

  "The last of my kin by blood is at Abbey Norstead," the girl broke in pointedly.

  "Then you'd do far better to stay in Fyndale for a week or so, until the fair ends, and hire passage in a merchant's train. I'm sure that at least one or two will head toward Norsdale."

  "I've no mind to wait so long," she retorted. "Nor do I wish to move at a snail's pace, stopping at every village and hamlet in hopes of another sale."

  "I see you've journeyed with merchants before," Auridan said, amused.

  "Two travelers alone may well be safer than a larger group," she persisted. "For two can hide, or slip away silently in darkness, where more cannot."

  "A single guard may also be easily taken by two or three outlaws, who would never think to attack a stronger party," Auridan pointed out. "And with such a one as you to tempt—"

  "I am not helpless!" she interrupted angrily. "I know the use of a sword, though I am better with a bow."

  Without thinking, Auridan raised a skeptical eyebrow. The girl saw, and her eyes flashed. "You think that because I am beautiful I have no thoughts in my head save silks and jewelry, and no skill in my hands but embroidery!" she said scornfully. "Faugh! I'm sick to death of men who see nothing but my face!"

  Before Auridan could answer, a man's voice cut across the hum of talk surrounding them. "Cyndal! There you are at last!'' The girl stiffened, and Auridan looked around for the source of the cry.

  He found the speaker quickly—a tall, brown-haired man of perhaps thirty years, dressed in a tunic of fine crimson wool. He was making his way quickly through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the girl beside Auridan. "Hervan," the girl muttered, and she spoke as if the name were a curse. "He would!"

  The brown-haired man reached the table. He ignored Auridan and said in a chiding tone, "My dear Cyndal! What do you here, and in such company? My lady has been frantic since she found you missing!"

  "I don't believe you, Hervan," the girl replied, unmoved. "Chathalla knew I was going out, and I've barely been gone an hour. She wouldn't fuss over such a thing."

  "Chathalla's nerves are particularly fragile just now," the brown-haired man said defensively.

  "Your concern for your lady wife does you credit," Cyndal said in a dry tone.

  "I could wish you had had as much consideration. What she will say when she knows where I found you ..." He glanced disapprovingly around the serving tent, and his eyes came to rest on Auridan.

  "Don't tell her," Cyndal suggested.

  "Don't be ridiculous, Cyndal. You shouldn't be wandering around the fair alone; you know that. Come on, I'll take you back to the tent."

  "I haven't finished my discussion with Auridan," Cyndal said.

  "Cyndal, be reasonable!"

  Hervan's tone was patronizing, and Auridan felt a wave of dislike for the young Dales lord. He decided to intervene. "But she is," Auridan put in pleasantly. "Being reasonable, I mean."

  Hervan stared at him in blank astonishment, and Auridan gestured at the cup of wine he had been drinking. Fortunately, it was still three-quarters full, and he had set it down between Cyndal and himself, so that it was impossible to tell to which of them the cup belonged. "My lady has not yet finished her wine. Surely you do not think it would be reasonable for her to leave it behind?"

  "Indeed." Hervan looked from Auridan to Cyndal, and the question in his expression was clear. Cyndal's lips tightened, but she presented Auridan as graciously as if they were at the court of one of the High Lords of the Dales instead of in a serving tent at a fair. She did not, Auridan noticed, mention what she had been discussing with him.

  Hervan's expression cleared before Cyndal was half finished with her explanation. "A blank shield? How fortunate! I am in need of a Master of Arms; come to me tomorrow and we'll talk of it."

  "Why, thank you, my lord," Auridan said, forcing his lips into a smile. "Tomorrow evening, perhaps? I would not wish to interfere with your fairing."

  "I will look for you then," Hervan promised. "Now, Cyndal—"

  "But Lady Cyndal still has not finished her wine," Auridan cut in smoothly. "Surely it won't matter if she stays here a little longer. I will be happy to escort her back if you wish to return and reassure your lady wife."

  Hervan hesitated visibly, but he could not refuse without giving the impression that he did not trust Auridan. That would make Hervan look foolish, since he had just offered to take Auridan into his service. Hervan bowed graciously, showered Auridan with insincere thanks, and left at last.

  Auridan turned to Cyndal. She was looking at him with an expression of mingled resignation and scorn, and he wondered whether she thought he had believed Hervan's playacting. "I think that now I understand exactly why you wish to go to Norstead," Auridan said before she could speak. "But I thought you said that you had
no kin outside the abbey. Lord Hervan does not act like a stranger."

  Cyndal's eyes widened; then, suddenly, she smiled. Auridan swallowed hard. Cyndal had been lovely before, but the glowing expression of relief and gratitude increased her beauty tenfold.

  "Hervan was my uncle's stepson," Cyndal said, and Auridan gave himself a mental shake. He had asked, after all. "When my uncle saw that he was unlikely to have children of his own, he made Hervan his heir. Hervan has been lord in Syledale since my uncle died two years ago."

  "And it took you two years to decide that you'd rather enter an abbey than live in his household?" Auridan said skeptically.

  She laughed, but her expression sobered quickly. "No, it's only in the last few months that he's been acting that way, since he's known Chathalla will bear him an heir after Midwinter. I decided on the way to Fyndale that it would be easier on everyone if I went away for a while. My mother's sister at Abbey Norstead is the only blood relation I possess, so it's reasonable for me to go there."

  Auridan stiffened as wild speculations chased each other through his mind. If the impending birth of an heir had triggered Hervan's subtle persecution of his cousin-by-marriage, Hervan's actions might well be rooted in something deeper than mere distaste for Cyndal's presence. And whatever the cause, it was certainly not a safe situation for a mercenary to become involved in. He opened his mouth to tell Cyndal as much, and found himself saying, "Have you told Lord Hervan of this plan of yours?''

  "Not yet," Cyndal admitted. "I thought I would have a better chance of persuading him if Chathalla and I had all the arrangements made before I spoke to him of it."

  "I see." Auridan was more confused than ever. "And she agreed to your traveling with a single man-at-arms?"

  "I didn't mention that," Cyndal said. "She'd worry. I'll just tell her, and Hervan, that you've agreed to be my guide and head the men who'll accompany me. They won't think to ask how many men there will be."

  "Why the need for all this subterfuge? Why don't you just take the five or six men you need with you?"

  "Because Hervan wouldn't provide them, and I can't afford to hire that many!" Cyndal snapped. "And if you aren't going to help me, I don't see why I should answer any more of your questions."

  "In that case, I shall escort you back to your cousin," Auridan said, rising. "I strongly recommend, however, that you explain matters to Lord Hervan before you approach me or anyone else on this subject again."

  "That can be no concern of yours, since you do not wish to take me to Norstead," Cyndal said coldly as she rose to follow him.

  Auridan scowled at her. "By the Nine Words of Min, lady, do you not realize how much trouble you would make for any man like me who accepted your offer unknowingly? Blood-kin or no, Lord Hervan stands as your protector! Were I to agree to take you to Norstead without his permission, I'd have to go on into the Waste and earn my bread by scavenging, for no lord would hire me afterward."

  "Oh." Cyndal's voice was thoughtful, and she was silent for a long time. They had nearly reached the visitors' tents when she said, "I'm sorry; I hadn't thought of it that way. But if Hervan agrees, will you guide me?"

  "Certainly," Auridan replied, then wondered whether the wine had not been stronger than he had thought. He gave a mental shrug. Time enough to worry once the girl got Lord Hervan's agreement to her plans; from what Auridan had seen, it did not look probable.

  Cyndal did not appear to share Auridan's doubts. "Thank you," she said with a smile that took his breath away. "You are coming to speak with Hervan tomorrow, are you not? I'll talk to him before then."

  Auridan nodded absently, and she directed him toward one of the tents on the outer perimeter of the camp. They finished their walk in silence, except for the obligatory courtesies exchanged when he returned her officially to her step-cousin's care. Then Auridan hurried away to his own campsite, feeling unreasonably relieved and irrationally anxious at the same time.

  To give himself something to think about besides Cyndal, Auridan spent the evening worrying at the hilt of his new sword with polishing cream, strong soap, and a pile of old rags. He worked slowly to keep from accidentally dislodging the stones in the hilt. Even so, by the time he was ready to sleep he had removed most of the ancient grime from the carving that decorated the hilt. In the flickering firelight, all he could tell was that the two stones were the eyes of some wild-haired creature. Reluctantly, Auridan sheathed the sword, telling himself he could examine it more closely in the morning.

  When he awoke, his first action was to reach for the short-sword. He was surprised to see how different the carving looked in daylight. The blue stones were indeed eyes, but what he had taken for hair was a crest of intricately carved feathers that stood out around the head of a serpentlike creature. The serpent's body twisted around the hilt of the sword, forming a series of ridges that made the sword less likely to slide in the hand. Auridan studied it, wondering from what tale the swordsmith had taken such a creature. A snake with feathers was strange enough to be a relic of the Old Ones . . .

  Auridan shivered, then shook his head and smiled. The Dales were full of strange things left behind by the Old Ones, but one did not find them for sale at out-of-the-way booths in Fyndale. For while the leavings of the Old Ones might be dangerous indeed, there was always someone eager to take the risk in hopes of the power he might gain. Any merchant daring enough to traffic in such items would be charging enormous sums for them, not giving them away to mercenaries. Auridan pushed the remnants of his uneasiness to the back of his mind and went off to get himself some breakfast.

  When he finished eating, Auridan took the sword to a busy tinker's stall and had the blade cleaned and sharpened. It cost more than he had expected, but it was worth it to have a good sword at his belt again. He spent the day wandering through the fair, but as soon as the sun disappeared behind the mountains he headed for Lord Hervan's campsite.

  The guard who greeted Auridan did not seem surprised by his request to speak with Lord Hervan, and he was immediately ushered into one of the tents. He found Hervan, Cyndal, and a quiet, gentle-faced woman seated on small folding stools inside. Hervan rose, frowning, as Auridan entered.

  "This is my wife, the Lady Chathalla," Hervan said, gesturing at the unfamiliar woman beside Cyndal. He paused, studying Auridan, then said abruptly, "My cousin claims she wishes to hire you to take her to Norstead."

  "She mentioned the possibility," Auridan said cautiously. He saw Cyndal shift, and Chathalla put a restraining hand on her arm, and he wondered what he had walked into this time.

  "Indeed." Hervan's voice was barely a fraction friendlier. "And you approve of this proposal?"

  Auridan raised an eyebrow. "Approve? My lord, I am a mercenary. I approve when I am paid."

  Hervan gave a bark of laughter. "Very good. Sit down, then, and we'll talk."

  As Auridan turned, looking for a fourth stool, he heard a short, hissing intake of breath. He straightened hurriedly. Hervan was staring at the carved hilt of Auridan's short-sword, and his expression was curiously blank. "My lord?" Auridan said cautiously.

  Hervan ran his tongue over his lips. "The decoration of your sword hilt is ... quite unusual."

  "Really? I had thought it some whim of the smith who made it," Auridan said. "Have you seen similar work before, Lord Hervan?"

  "Possibly." Hervan's tone was carefully casual, but his lips were stiff with tension. His eyes darted up to Auridan's face, then as quickly away. "Enough. What is your price for escorting my cousin to Norstead?"

  Auridan blinked, somewhat bewildered by this abrupt change in attitude, then named a sum he knew to be reasonable. Hervan nodded, but he did not look as if he was devoting much of his attention to Auridan's words. Instead, Hervan was watching Cyndal, and after a moment he said almost pleadingly, "You're sure you want to take this trip, Cyndal? You won't change your mind?"

  "Yes, I'm sure, and no, I won't change my mind," Cyndal said.

  Hervan glanced at Auridan aga
in and said heavily, "Very well. You wanted to leave tomorrow morning, didn't you? I'll see that everything is ready."

  "You mean, you'll let me go without any more arguing?" Cyndal said, amazement and disbelief warring in her voice.

  "I've no choice!" Hervan swung around to face her. He sounded desperate, and angry, and somehow frightened. "Cyndal..."

  "What's wrong, Hervan?" Cyndal asked almost gently.

  Hervan hesitated, and his wife leaned forward and said quietly, "Yes, please tell us."

  Hervan jerked as if he had been stung, and his expression hardened. "Nothing. Nothing whatever." He looked at Auridan and said, "I'll have your payment ready in the morning."

  Auridan nodded, and the bargain was swiftly concluded. He bowed his thanks and left, puzzling over the implications of the little scene. Hervan had all the earmarks of a badly frightened man, but why would the design of Auridan's sword hilt have frightened him? Auridan kicked at a rock in frustration. Hervan was lord of a Dale, however small; there was nothing Auridan could do to make him explain.

  Briefly, Auridan considered leaving the sword behind, but he needed a weapon and he could not afford to buy another. Nor could he refuse to escort Cyndal, however uneasy her step-cousin's attitude made him. Even if he had not given his word to both Hervan and Cyndal, Auridan could not afford to pass up such a commission. His purse was nearly flat, and it would be at least a week before he could expect any income from an alternate position, supposing he could find one quickly. Auridan grinned suddenly. It was pleasant to have honor and necessity in agreement, for once, about his future course of action.

  They left early the following morning, before the fair-goers emerged from their tents to crowd the space around the booths. Lord Hervan had provided a pretty chestnut mare for Cyndal that Auridan thought would be more than a match for his own gray. Hervan had also arranged saddlebags full of supplies for both Cyndal and Auridan, and he had a purse with Auridan's fee ready and waiting. He even suggested a route— the old track near the top of the ridges. Auridan thanked him without mentioning that he had been intending to take the high trail anyway. At this time of year, any outlaws would be watching the main road for unwary merchants; the high trail would be far safer for so small a party. Hervan's farewells to his step-cousin were perhaps a little stiff, but Auridan had to admit that in everything else the man had done as much or more than he had promised.