This sounded suspiciously like listening to the voice of the world again, but she followed his instructions to clear her mind, breathe deeply, and imagine herself in the green depths of a summer forest. And promptly fell asleep.
THE DOMAIN OF GRANDMOTHER
Karigan spent the next day resting, eating the little bits of food Enver offered, and drinking his herbal concoctions. He also slathered her wounds with salves and wrapped her in bandages against the coming exertions of the planned rescue attempt. Her fever remained low, if not broken, and she felt better than she had in days. That was not to say she was herself yet.
While she rested, she wrestled with Estral’s words of the other night, the list of all the situations she’d found herself in. Why did she always step in to help? Why did it have to be her? Why didn’t she wait for someone else to do what was necessary?
In her case, she thought, there usually wasn’t anyone else around, and if she didn’t take action, what might be lost? For instance, Fergal Duff might have drowned in the Grandgent. Yes, there had been others on the ferry with her when he went over, but none of them made a move to rescue him until after she dove into the water. What might have become of Estora in the Teligmar Hills had she not intervened? Grandmother would have possessed Sacoridia’s future queen, and claimed a major victory.
There were consequences to not helping. Even if there were an army of potential rescuers, what if none of them stepped in? If not her, then who?
Estral entered the tent and sat beside her. “I guess my part will be staying here,” she said.
“What? You aren’t going with us?”
“Enver says someone needs to stay here. I volunteered.”
Karigan was surprised. “I thought you wanted to—”
“Help rescue my father? Of course, but I also realize I am not you. I am not even my father. I haven’t the skills or the resilience. Often I wonder what kind of Golden Guardian I’m going to be if I can’t do these things.” She laughed derisively. “My thing is teaching music to children, not this—this adventuring. Besides, Enver thinks that the fewer who go into the Lone Forest, the better. You will have a better chance of getting my father and the king out without me in the way.”
“What about your voice? You said the thief was there.”
“It is more important to get the king and my father out. I can live without my voice, I know that now, but I am not sure how I could stand life without my father.”
Estral’s voice had gotten scratchier. There was no telling how long Idris’ gift would last. For Estral, staying behind would be more courageous than going.
“We’ll bring Lord Fiori back,” Karigan said.
“Just keep yourself in one piece, and if you see that nasty Nyssa?” Estral made a cutting motion across her throat.
Karigan hoped not to see Nyssa at all, and if she did, she very much doubted she’d be in any condition to engage in a fight. Her part would be in stealth.
As daylight waned, she dressed. The weight of her greatcoat proved painful against her back, so she carried it as a bundle under her arm. Enver’s shirt had a quality to it that kept her warm, despite its thin fabric. She made her way out of the tent with Estral’s assistance. Enver and Nari stood by with Condor, Mist, and Coda. Karigan looked Condor over and was pleased to see her saber strapped to the saddle. With her back so damaged, she could not use it, but she figured the king or Lord Fiori could. She did not even arm herself with the bonewood. She just could not use her wounded back muscles to wield it. The only weapon she took was her longknife.
“You will ride Mist,” Enver said.
“But Condor—” Before she could finish, she saw why. Mist knelt down on the ground, waiting for her to mount. It would be easier than trying to climb up into Condor’s saddle.
“You were not aware at the time to know how smooth Mist’s gaits were when last you rode her.”
She kissed Condor’s nose and, feeling guilty, sat upon Mist’s saddle. The mare rose with nary a jolt to her back. Nari mounted Coda, and Enver, Condor. Midnight leaped up behind him. It was strange seeing someone else, plus a black cat, riding her horse.
“Hurry back,” Estral said, by way of farewell.
Karigan glanced over her shoulder as they rode away, Estral a solitary, unmoving figure. “I’ll bring him back,” she murmured.
Enver and Nari watched for trouble with their sharp vision as dusk settled in. The Lone Forest was still quite a distance away. Smooth as Mist’s gaits were, Karigan’s back and stab wound felt the ride.
• • •
It was full dark, and they were much closer to the forest when they approached what appeared to be a wide, deep crevice through the landscape. Instead of altering their course to avoid it, Enver guided Condor over its edge.
“No—” Karigan began, but then Enver and Condor did not fall, but simply vanished from existence.
“It is illusion,” Nari said, “like the one around our other campsite.” Then she and Coda vanished as they stepped into the “crevice.”
Mist followed, and though Karigan braced herself, there wasn’t even a slight sensation of falling, only the tingle of wards. It was clever, she thought, to create an illusion that appeared more as an obstacle to be avoided than, say, a thicket of trees that would look like an obvious hiding place.
“Nari made this illusion yesterday,” Enver explained. “A place to leave the horses and to which we can retreat and hide. But come now. We will wait until the hour of night’s end, and you must rest until then.”
“Galadheon,” Enver said.
Karigan blinked her eyes open. Hadn’t she just lain down?
“It is nearing the time,” he said. “You should take some food and water.”
She grimaced as she sat up, pain rippling through her back. Even with the illusion, they had not dared light a fire, so she forced down some hardtack and the Dragon Dropping Enver gave her. Then he handed her his flask of cordial.
“Drink all that is left,” he instructed her.
“All of it? Are you sure?”
“You will need it.”
There was about a third of a flask left, and when she drank, this time it tasted of the deepest, coolest of mountain springs. Exhaustion slipped away, and she was filled with a sense of peace and well-being. The pain ebbed. She wondered how long it would last.
The plan was for Karigan and Enver to ride into the Lone Forest on Mist, accompanied by Midnight, while Nari waited for them at this temporary campsite with Coda and Condor.
Karigan rode behind Enver, the belt of her saber looped around the saddle’s pommel. She had left her greatcoat behind as too painful to wear and a hindrance to what must be accomplished. Midnight vanished into the dark as she padded somewhere alongside them. Enver had told Karigan that he and Mist would be able to sense traps and avoid them. Human guards would be dealt with. The bare glint of the fingernail of a moon allowed them to melt into the concealment of the dark. It was agreed that Karigan would not use her ability until they reached the encampment proper, unless some necessity required it before then. He did not wish for her to drain her energy unless she had to.
He rode with bow and arrow at the ready, his quiver strapped to his hip. Mist traveled at a jog, her hooves light on the rocky terrain. Anxiety knotted Karigan’s insides, her tension worsening the pain in her back, especially when they entered the subdued world beneath the eaves of the forest. Enver did not speak, and if he saw traps, he did not point them out. She certainly could not see any. Sometimes she was aware of Midnight, darker than shadow, slipping through the underbrush.
She lost all sense of time. Sweat dampened her brow, whether from fever or anxiety, she could not tell. At one point she was sure Midnight transformed into her larger form and darted off in a different direction. Enver turning to look confirmed it. Farther on, Mist picked up her pace, and Enver raised his bo
w with arrow nocked. He loosed two arrows in quick succession. Karigan could not see a thing, but she heard the cracking of foliage as bodies fell to the ground.
Mist veered in a new direction, Karigan wrapping her arms around Enver’s waist to keep from flying off the mare’s back. Doing so wrenched the wounds of her back, even as she felt the muscles of Enver’s own back tense and flex as he drew the bowstring taut and released another arrow. The white arrow soared silently into the dark as though its quarrels were the flight feathers of an owl.
Elsewhere, she heard a snarl and a man’s scream cut short. Midnight.
“They are expecting us,” Enver said, “as we believed they would. There are more armed guards in the woods, and new traps.”
“Do you need my ability?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
Mist ran on without falter, careening through the woods. Whether her erratic path was to evade traps or guards, Karigan could not tell. All her focus was tied to hanging on to Enver and trying not to think about how much her back hurt. After an interminable passage of time, Mist slowed to a walk, then a halt.
“From here we will continue on foot,” Enver said.
Releasing Enver hurt just as much as holding on to him had. He slid to the ground, then Mist obligingly knelt to make it easier for Karigan to dismount. When this was done, the mare rose to her feet and Enver pressed his hand to her forehead and whispered softly in Eltish to her. Her ears flickered; then she turned on her haunches and trotted off, melting into the dark like the mist that was her name.
“She will come when we need her,” Enver said. “Are you ready, Galadheon? Are you able to continue?”
She nodded. Enver’s cordial was holding her in good stead.
“The keep is not far. We will need the use of your ability.”
The plan was to infiltrate the keep because that was where she had seen the king and Lord Fiori. It was a place to start. She held out her hand, and he took it. Reassured by the strength and warmth of his grip, she called on her ability and they faded into the dark even more thoroughly than Mist.
They walked through the woods, Midnight padding somewhere behind them. When they reached the edge of the woods, they halted. The keep, and its wall, stood in a clearing. Fires, torches, and lanterns flickered here and there among the shanties, and even in an arrowloop of a tower. The light was gray to Karigan, not bright.
“We must stay away from the light,” she reminded Enver.
The encampment appeared quiet. Most of the civilians must be asleep, but she saw guards on watch, some nearby. There were also a few dogs prowling about.
“What about the dogs?” Karigan whispered.
“Not to fear,” he told her.
They walked across the clearing, steering away from the guards and light. When a dog seemed to catch wind of them, Enver . . . She wasn’t sure what he did, if he sang, gave a command, or whistled; it was beneath her hearing. The dog lay down and rolled onto its back.
They edged past darkened shanties toward the gate opening. This would be the most lighted space outside the keep. Enver found the deepest shadows as they slipped past yawning guards. It seemed to her that he also enhanced her ability, making them fade more completely, and alleviating the drain on her.
They crossed the courtyard and around another guard who stood sentry before the keep’s entrance. They slipped behind the blanket that served as a door. They’d made it into the keep, the domain of Grandmother.
RETURN TO NYSSA’S WORKSHOP
The keep was still and dark. It was a simple structure of ancient days with few rooms. It was not difficult to locate the great hall. A fire glowed in the hearth, dimly illuminating the sleeping forms on the floor huddled beneath cloaks and blankets. Karigan hoped Grandmother was not one of them.
They carefully picked their way among the sleepers, she peering at the faces and seeing none that resembled King Zachary or Lord Fiori. A woman stirred at their passing. Karigan froze, her heart pounding, but the woman just murmured in her sleep and rolled over.
When they had inspected just about everyone, Enver pointed to a dark corner where a man lay bundled in a blanket next to a lute case. They stepped carefully over to him and Karigan tried to discern his shadowed features. Firelight glinted on gold strands of hair, and he looked the right size, tall man that he was.
“It is Lord Fiori,” Enver whispered. “I sense his Eletian blood.” He let go her hand and knelt by the sleeping man, visible to any who happened to look. Karigan glanced apprehensively behind them, but all remained quiet.
Enver placed his hand against Lord Fiori’s temple and spoke almost inaudibly. Lord Fiori’s eyes opened and slowly focused. He sat up, his eyebrows raised.
Enver continued to speak inaudibly, and Lord Fiori nodded. He then looked about, and Karigan realized he was searching for her. She reached out and touched his shoulder and he jumped. He looked older and more haggard to her than she had ever seen. There had always been a timeless quality to him that she put down to his Eletian blood, but not now. Clearly captivity had been harsh on him.
::The king is not here.:: His lips moved, but his words were delivered in a whisper right into her ear. Estral had once mentioned he could do this trick of throwing his voice. Useful, that.
“Where?” Enver whispered.
::Nyssa’s workshop,:: Lord Fiori replied.
A chill of fear shuddered through Karigan. She glanced around again, and dropped her fading.
::Disconcerting,:: Lord Fiori said. He shed his blanket and rose. Karigan wordlessly handed him her sword. He accepted it with questions in his eyes, then buckled it on.
Enver spoke to him some more, explaining what needed to be done, and he nodded and stretched his hand out. Karigan took it, and Enver’s, and they faded out. Enver led them through the great hall, away from the sleepers.
::I regret leaving my travel lute behind,:: Lord Fiori said in her ear. ::It has gone many a mile with me.::
She squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. Preserving his life was more important at the moment than an instrument that could be replaced.
They left the keep without incident, but Karigan felt a growing unease. She glanced up at the tower, but the light that had glimmered in the arrowloop had been extinguished. Was that where Grandmother dwelled? Yet it was not the tower from which the uneasiness emanated. It was not in the direction of Nyssa’s workshop that she felt it either, but from somewhere on the far side of the keep. Something ancient, something hidden, something, or many somethings, scratching at that which contained them in a—in a prison?
As though roused by the dread sensation, filmy figures ranged about the clearing around the keep. Many appeared to her agitated and beseeching, while others drifted aimlessly, some vanishing among the trees in the woods. Her skin felt clammy, and she realized that Enver and Lord Fiori were pulling on her as they moved back into the woods toward the building that was Nyssa’s workshop. She shook her head, focused on where she was, and the apparitions vanished from her vision.
Several guards ranged around Nyssa’s workshop, and to her surprise, Enver let go of her and swiftly drew his knife. He placed his hand over the mouth of the first guard they encountered and cut his throat. Enver eased him to the ground so that he made no noise falling. He looked fierce, almost feral, as he hunted, far different from the man who had so gently tended her and listened to the voice of the world, whose spirit guide was a turtle.
He swiftly struck one guard after another. When one, puffing on a pipe, came around the corner of the building and saw a fallen comrade, Enver blurred out of the shadows. The man’s pipe dropped out of his mouth, and Enver took him to the ground, his knife jammed in the guard’s throat.
For all that they were quiet, more guards arrived, having found the slain.
“Galadheon,” Enver said, “go see to your king. Lord Fiori and I will hold off these g
uards.”
She let go of Lord Fiori and, without hesitation, ran to the door of Nyssa’s workshop, maintaining her fading as she went. She threw the door open. The interior was dimly lit by a lamp at low glow. She stood on the threshold waiting for her eyes to adjust, then shut the door behind her and dropped her fading. That no guard leaped out of the shadows to kill her was a relief, but being back in that place made her skin crawl.
She saw the pen where she and Estral had been held, but it was empty. Her gaze was then magnetically drawn to the beam to which she’d been manacled for the flogging. The cuffs hung open and empty, as if awaiting her return. She took a step back, tried to calm her breathing. She wanted to run as far away from the building as she could, but then, in the soft orange glow of the brazier, she saw him, on the table that dominated the center of the room. She rushed to him, took in his bruised, abraded face, his full beard. She almost did not recognize him.
She placed her hand on his chest to feel its rise and fall. “My lord?”
He took a rumbling breath.
Thank the gods.
She saw that he was strapped down and that there were knots of yarn across his face. Peeling back the blanket that covered him revealed more. She drew her knife and started slashing at the yarn, the knots stinging her hands, and threw the pieces to the floor as she went. As she pulled the blanket down farther, she realized he was entirely unclothed. A fleeting warmth rushed to her face as she worked to destroy the yarn, and then she covered him back up. She flexed her stinging hands and then sawed through the strap that bound his head down, and then that of his wrist.
His eyes fluttered open.
“My lord?” she said. “Can you hear me?”
“Karigan?” he whispered. He raised a trembling hand to her face. His fingers brushed across her cheek. “Are you real, or another vision sent to torment me?”
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