Castle of Deception bt-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  And a storm of shouting castle folk came rushing out to meet them—For one panicky moment, the bardling fumbled for his sword, sure he and his party were under attack. But before he could do anything to defend himself, Kevin made out some individual shouts amid the sea of noise:

  “They’re here!”

  “They made it!”

  “Oh, you brave, brave heroes!”

  Kevin glanced at the rest of his party, seeing on their faces the same shocked disbelief he felt. “Uh, yes,” the bardling began warily. “We’re here, all right. But why are you—”

  The rest of his question was drowned out in a storm of cheers. Eager hands reached out to grab his mule’s bridle and lead it through the entryway into the crowded outer bailey.

  “If it will please you to dismount, my lords, lady?”

  No, it doesn’t please me, Kevin thought. This is all just too weird.

  But he couldn’t think of any convincing argument that would let him turn around and ride out of here. Exchanging uneasy looks with the rest of the party, he dismounted and followed their guides.

  They were led into the shadowy depths of the count’s Great Hall, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the carpeting rushes. The vast, torchlit room was fairly stuffed with courtiers and servants alike. At the sight of Kevin and (he others, they all burst into a frenzy of murmuring—

  At the far end of the Hall sat Count Volmar himself, splendid in robes of somber blue, there on his red-canopied chair of state on its dais. And beside him was;

  “Charina!” the bardling gasped.

  “Kevin!” She came scurrying down the steps to Kevin’s side in a wild swirling of blue velvet and long golden hair, and caught the startled bardling in a passionate hug. “Oh, you brave, brave hero! You saved me!”

  “Ch-Charina,” Kevin stammered, too shocked and embarrassed for anything else, overwhelmed by the soft sweetness other. At last he managed to disengage himself, gasping out, “I’m delighted to see you’re free, and I—I wish I—we—could take credit for it, but we didn’t—”

  “Don’t be so modest, young man.” Count Volmar stepped down from his chair to shake Kevin’s hand. “The elven traitors who’d captured my niece released her as soon as they learned just who I had sent out to track them down.” The count smiled heartily. “If it hadn’t been for your reputation, all of you, and the diligent search I know you undertook, my poor dear Charina would still be a captive.”

  If it hadn’t been for their reputation? What reputation? Unless Lydia and the elves had been holding out on him ... ?

  But they looked every bit as baffled as he.

  Before any of them could say or do anything, though, the count’s servants swarmed down on the party.

  “Hey, wait!” Kevin cried.

  The last thing he wanted was to be separated from the others. But he didn’t have much of a choice. Still trying to protest, Kevin was almost dragged away by the flock of eager servitors.

  Chapter XVIII

  To Kevin’s momentary surprise, the servants deposited him not back in the chilly, barren squires’ hall, but in a luxurious suite of rooms whose expensive the floors and tapestry-hung walls marked them as the count’s prized guest quarters.

  “But I don’t—I’m not—You can’t—Hey! Isn’t anybody listening to me?”

  The servants, who were busy dragging out a hip bath and hanging the room round with heavy linen draperies “so the hero will not be bothered by drafts,” stopped to stare at him.

  “My lord?” one asked, glancing at Kevin’s well-worn clothing and mule-scented self. “Do you not wish to bathe before meeting with Count Volmar again?”

  “Uh, yes, of course I do! But—”

  Too late. They were already off in a new flurry of excitement. Almost before Kevin could catch his breath, he was bathed and hustled into the most elegant silken hose and velvet tunic he could ever have imagined, a rich sky blue trimmed with gold thread. Somewhat to the overwhelmed bardling’s relief, the whole thing was ever so slightly too big for him, especially in the shoulders: at least something wasn’t totally bizarre—at least the clothing hadn’t been conjured up specifically for him! A gold chain was draped about his neck, an ornamental dagger was fastened at his side, and Kevin was hurried back down to the Great Hall.

  The rest of his party was already down there, arrayed in similar splendor. Lydia was truly beautiful in an amber-dark gown (Kevin could imagine what she’d had to say about having her legs hindered by skirts), her curly dark hair caught up in a net of gold thread, while the two elves looked inhumanly elegant, like some princely brothers, light and dark, out of the dawn of magic. Eliathanis’ pale coloring was exquisitely set off by the softest of blue silk robes, while Naitachal’s dark complexion was made yet more exotic by the deep red of his velvet robes.

  Not one of the party looked any more comfortable in all that borrowed finery than Kevin felt.

  ‘‘Ah, here you are!” Count Volmar cried heartily.

  He, coo, was more richly dressed than before, a rich blue robe trimmed with costly ermine about his shoulders, the gold chains of his office glinting across his shoulders, a jewel-encrusted velvet cap glittering on his head. At his side, in a chair only slightly lower than the count’s own, sat Charina, her eyes modestly downcast, her hair caught back by a crystal circlet, and an elegantly outfitted semicircle of the count’s warriors stood behind the dais.

  “Now,” the count announced, “we may begin the ceremony!”

  “Ceremony ... ?”

  “You don’t mind swearing fealty to me, my boy, do you? Just a formality, of course, but appearances must be kept up.”

  “Uh, yes, I mean no, I mean—”

  “Good! I’m glad that’s settled. Now, come along. We must do this thing properly!”

  “ What thing? What are you—”

  “No, no, questions later! Now, if you “—Volmar’s sweep of arm included Lydia and the elves—” will go back to the head of the Hall and reenter at the trumpeters’ signal ...”

  Kevin glanced at the others in confusion. Lydia shrugged.

  “Why not? The sooner we get this over with, whatever ‘this’ is, the sooner we can ask questions.”

  “Exactly,” Naitachal agreed. “Come, my friends.”

  The trumpets blared. The blasts of sound certainly did fill the Hall, Kevin acknowledged, even if, he noted painfully, the instruments were all ever so slightly off-key. Feeling like an idiot, the bardling marched solemnly back towards Count Volmar, stopping at the foot of the dais, uneasily eyeing that semicircle of men-at-arms. One of them, he noticed, held a small, gilded lance, a ceremonial thing topped by a glittering pennon of cloth-of-gold.

  Now, what?

  Count Volmar stood. “Don’t look so worried, lad,” he murmured. “Just follow my lead. Come up here and kneel.”

  Sure he was going to do something stupid, like tumble over backwards down the steps, Kevin climbed the steps and carefully went down on one knee. The count extended both hands.

  “Go on, lad, take them.”

  The bardling obeyed, feeling Volmar’s palms as soft as those of any pampered nobleman but so cold he had to wonder if the count was really as at ease as he looked. Following Volmar’s prompting, wondering if he was getting himself into some binding oath he might regret later, Kevin parroted:

  “My Lord Count, I herein enter into your homage, and become your man by mouth and hands. I swear to keep faith and loyalty to you, saving only the just rights of His Majesty King Amber. And I swear to guard your rights with all my strength.”

  There. That didn’t sound so bad. Nothing in there to compromise his honor or his loyalty to King Amber.

  Count Volmar was returning his own part of the vow. “We do promise to you, our friend and vassal, Kevin, that we and our heirs will guarantee to you with all our power, ail the rights due to you. Let there be peace between us.”

  “Let there be peace,” Kevin echoed, then tried not to start in surprise as
Volmar kissed him on the cheeks.

  “Get up,” the count whispered. “Take the lance.”

  Kevin obeyed, and everyone cheered.

  “There, now!” Volmar exclaimed. “That’s finished! Sorry I can’t cede you any lands, my boy, but that, unfortunately, is the way of things. But from here on in, you may sign yourself as a court-baron!”

  “I, uh, thank you,” Kevin said helplessly. “Now, can we—

  “Now, my boy,” the count cut in, slapping him so heartily on the shoulder the bardling staggered, “we celebrate!”

  And celebrate they did, even if Kevin and his party still had no clear idea what they were celebrating. So quickly it seemed positively magical, the Great Hall was filled with long trestle tables spread with fine white linen and covered with elegant gold ewers, drinking cups and plates.

  Plates, too! Kevin was used to the far more common thick bread trenchers. Count Volmar really was trying to impress them!

  As guests of honor—for whatever reason, the bardling thought—Kevin and his party were seated at the High Table with Count Volmar. To the bardling’s embarrassment, he found himself seated beside Channa, so close to her that he could smell the faint, flowery scent she wore (costly stuff, imported from the lands far to the east) and feel the warmth other. Whenever she reached for food or drink, somehow their hands always managed to brush. Each contact seemed to burn through Kevin like flame, pleasant flame that sent heat surging through his whole body. He knew the count, sitting on Charina’s other side, was asking him questions, he knew he must be answering, but Kevin, dazed by Charina’s presence, was hardly aware of what he was saying, any more than he was aware of what, out of the interminable courses offish and meat and poultry, he was eating.

  The air in the Great Hall rapidly grew heavy with the varied smells of food, torch smoke and too many people crowded into one place (Kevin was vaguely aware of Eliathanis’ fastidious distaste), and for all Charina’s allure, the bardling found himself struggling not to yawn.

  Ah, at last! Here came the subtleties, the spun sugar confections—at this dinner, a castle upon a marzipan hall and a swan swimming through a marzipan sea that marked the end of a feast. Soon, Kevin thought with longing, he would be able to escape and get some rest.

  No, he wouldn’t. Dinner was followed by a seemingly endless procession of jugglers, acrobats, dancers, and an illusionist mediocre enough to make Naitachal snort in contempt. Charina oohed and ahhed over each performer, applauding vigorously, jarring Kevin awake every time he started to drift off. Powers, if this interminable celebration didn’t end pretty soon, he was going to end up snoring away with his head in the crumbs.

  At last, though, the ordeal did come to an end. The last of the performers bowed his way out of the Hall, and Count Volmar got to his feet, looking as crisp as ever.

  “The hour is lace. And so, my friends. I bid you good night” Beaming, he held up both arms in benediction. “1 declare a week of celebration!”

  As all the courtiers cheered, Kevin bit back a groan.

  I don’t know if I can survive a week of this!

  Struggling not to stagger, the bardling followed a bevy of obsequious servants back to the guest quarters, blinking wearily as they fussed over him and removed his borrowed finery. As they finally left him alone, Kevin yawned mightily, sure he was going to fall asleep the moment he fell into bed.

  But of course as soon as he was settled comfortably in the big, canopied bed, his mind and body, perversely, woke up. After a time of restlessly tossing about, Kevin gave up trying to sleep altogether. Pulling back the canopies so he could get some fresh air, the bardling sat alone in the dark, puzzling over the weird events of the day.

  Charina free? Himself a hero?

  But I haven’t done anything!

  Nothing made sense. Oh sure, there had been the fight with the bandits and that necromancer. But everything else about their quest had been so—so easy, so ridiculously, frustratingly easy that—

  Kevin froze, listening to the sudden faint creak of wood. That was the door! Someone was sneaking into his room.

  The bardling shot off the bed, groping blindly for a weapon. His hand closed about a heavy candlestick, and he hefted it experimentally, heart pounding, trying to figure out exactly where the intruder might—

  “Kid? Hey, kid?”

  Lydia!

  “Come on, Kevin,” added a high, shrill voice. “We know you’re in there!”

  Wings buzzed in the darkness. Now that had to be Tich’ki!

  Kevin put the candlestick back on the bedside table from which he’d snatched it and fumbled with flint and steel till he’d gotten the chick, expensive, beeswax candle burning. By its flickering light, he saw Lydia grin and Tich’ki come to a graceful landing on the bed. Two more figures moved silently out of the shadows:

  Eliathanis and Naitachal, the latter nearly invisible, shrouded once more in his cloak of necromantic black.

  “We must talk,” the Dark Elf said softly.

  “We certainly must!” Kevin agreed. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like all this glittery splendor is going to explode in my face.”

  Eliathanis grimaced. “Oh, indeed. The whole affair stinks, as you humans would say, like old boots.’’

  Kevin nodded eagerly. “What it is, is that they’re all trying their best to dazzle us.”

  “But just who are ‘they’?” the White Elf wondered. “And why are ‘they’ doing this?”

  “Why, indeed?” Naitachal mused. “I wonder ... could someone have deceived Count Volmar? Perhaps told him of heroics we simply didn’t do?”

  “Why would anyone bother?” Lydia asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Tich’ki shrugged. “A weird sort of human joke?”

  Kevin shook his head. “Not with Charina here. Her disappearance was hardly a joke!”

  “The only other possibility.” Naitachal said slowly, “is that the count himself is involved.”

  Lydia stirred impatiently. “Involved in what? All we know is, he hired us to find his niece. We returned to find said niece already free. Everyone thinks we’re heroes. Yeah, it’s a weird situation, but where’s the crime in it?”

  “Oh, Powers ...”

  “Kevin? What is it?”

  He stared at them all. “I just had a horrible thought Remember what the Arachnia back in Westerin told us? About Carlotta? Well, what if ... what if that isn’t Charina after all. I know she’s no illusion, I sat next to her at dinner and all, but ...” He shook his head in misery.

  “You mean,” the Dark Elf murmured, “that she might be no one else but Carlotta in disguise?”

  “I d-don’t want to believe it, but what if that’s the truth? Then this whole thing, all this ridiculous, empty celebrating, starts making sense. It could all be part of her plot.”

  Naitachal swore under his breath. “Could be, no. It is! And here I thought I sensed something odd about that girl, a hint of sorcery hovering about her. But I told myself no, that couldn’t be, I had to be mistaken. 1 let myself get just as bedazzled as the rest of you.”

  The Dark Elf straightened resolutely. “What happened. happened. If that really is Carlotta, the count is almost certainly under her sway.”

  “And that means they’re both probably waiting for me to find the manuscript again,” Kevin added. “After all, I’m still supposed to be copying it so I can bring the spell back to Master Aldan.”

  “Well, you can forget about all that!” Lydia exclaimed. “The last thing we want to do is play into Carlotta’s hands. We’ve got to get out of here before it’s too late. Yes, and warn King Amber, too!”

  “No, wait.” Eliathanis’ voice was thoughtful. “If this really is Carlotta, we can’t risk her finding the manuscript. That means we can’t Just go running off like so many frightened children.”

  “She probably wouldn’t let us go anywhere anyhow,” Kevin added, “particularly not in the direction of her brother.” He hesitated, biting his li
p nervously. “I—I think we have to go along with the deception, let Charina—or whoever she really is—get close to me again. And then ... well ... I guess then well see what happens.”

  For all his brave words, the bardling was half hoping someone would talk him out of it But to his dismay, the White Elf only nodded. “That seems like the best idea. But since you’re going to be playing the bait in what could be a most complicated trap, someone bad best armor you against the weapons you’re likely to encounter.’’

  “ “Someone,”“ Naitachal muttered. “That ‘someone,’ of course, is going to be me. Unless one of you has miraculously gained some useful protection spells? No? I didn’t think so.”