Wren frowned. “Irodee’s daughter—Liandra? She was with you? Where’s she now?”
Dac pulled at his mustache. “Couldn’t very well tow a youngster with us. Laramis left her with a priest in Malan.”
Bannor felt a chill. If Mazerak was indeed heading to Malan to speak with the King and Queen about Sarai, Irodee’s daughter could be trapped.
Sarai licked her lips. “In Malan?” she asked. She glanced back at smiling figures of Laramis and Irodee who were weaving their way through the crates toward them. Bannor felt the tautness in Sarai’s body. No doubt she guessed as he did that Irodee wouldn’t be smiling for long.
“Aye,” Dac answered. “Malanian Lord and Lady they was, head of the church as far as I know such things. Seemed happy to watch her.”
Irodee’s eyes widened and she stopped. She took Laramis by the shoulders. “Is this true my husband, in Malan!?”
The blond man looked stunned by her outburst. For a moment, the only sounds came from gurgling of the river and clomping of wallopers moving on the decks.
Indigo eyes wide he spoke slowly, obviously trying to determine his error. “Yes, two of my most trusted friends—” His voice trailed off. His gaze stopped on Sarai. “Arminwen? Ladyship, your pardon please…” he closed his eyes and his fists tightened. “Tell me, milady, you wouldn’t be the one the Malanian King is searching for would you?”
Sarai sighed and nodded. “I am a fugitive for refusing his Majesty’s arranged marriage to Myrgul Tradeholme of Ivaneth.”
Laramis snorted and rubbed his short beard. “Duke Myrgul? I can understand trying to avoid a marriage with that egotistical pigboy.” He turned to Irodee. “I am sorry, my wife. I did not know.”
The Myrmigyne nodded. Her dark eyes fixed Sarai.
“Laramis—Sarai and Bannor are engaged,” Wren added.
Laramis’ face grew tight. “It may be the King has found out. When we left, he was readying to commit troops to a full scale search for Princess Sarai.” The blond man studied Bannor. His dark eyes looked concerned. “That’s very bad considering what we saw on our way here.” He unshouldered his pack, reached inside and pulled out a battered helmet. He dropped it on the deck at Wren’s feet.
The night-black metal made a hollow clank on the wood and spiraled to a stop. The odd shaped helm was fashioned to look like a snake’s head, the face opening sported fangs to make it resemble gaping jaws.
Wren stiffened. “The helm of Hecate’s warrior minions,” she said.
“One of thousands, Missy,” Dac growled. “They’re all over the north territory. We had to kiss dirt and eat bark to get past those dross-eatin scale-faces.”
“Thousands?” Bannor echoed. His stomach twisted. “A whole army?”
“Sure as Moradin’s beard,” Dac muttered. “Lest I’m wrong, they all is carrying one of these. Found ‘em on every one we was forced to bring down.” He fished a piece of worn leather out of a pouch and handed it to Bannor.
Sarai gasped.
Bannor felt a chill as he studied the leather etching. The river sounds and the creaking of the barge seemed to grow loud. An unmistakable rendition of his face had been depicted on the oiled skin. Bannor pinched the leather between his fingers.
A whole army looking for me. I didn’t want to believe…
Laramis sat across from them and pulled Irodee down with him. The Myrmigyne looked less happy now than when they first boarded the barge.
The barge rattled and kissed against a rock quay. The wallopers grunted and heaved a wooden crate onto the cobbled stone finger jutting out into the river. The village on the shore was little more than a few thatched shanties and a corral populated with some mangy looking herd animals.
An army. The words rang in Bannor’s head. He ran his fingers across the image so carefully crafted by an unknown artist. Who drew it? Didn’t they know or care what they were setting loose on him?
Laramis’ voice called his attention back. “It’s more than that, friend.” Staring at Laramis, Bannor noticed he had old man’s eyes set in a young face. His voice made the boards vibrate. “Imagine, friend, the King’s army and Hecate’s army both want the same thing—the princess and you. Neither will allow the other to have what they want.”
“It’ll start a war,” Sarai breathed.
Wren pointed a finger. “Not if we’re not here. I do not intend to be around for them to fight over. It stresses the fact that you two must cooperate with me.” She focused on Sarai. “I know you’ve been considering trying to break from me.” She paused and her voice dropped. “Don’t do it.”
“Ladyship,” Laramis said to Sarai. “I must agree. I know Lady Wren is a bit rough around the edges.” He glanced at the savant. “Her manners are atrocious sometimes, but I have it on good authority—” He paused and looked skyward. He touched his the hilt of the sword over his shoulder, then his forehead and finally placed a palm over the flaming sword emblem on the left breast of his chain mail. “Lady Wren’s heart is in the right place in these matters.”
Sarai’s brow furrowed. She had watched that gesture carefully. It seemed to spark some recognition. “I’ve seen you before.” She paused. “Laramis—Lord Laramis De’Falcone?”
“Sir Laramis Corbin De’Falcone the II, scion of the eternal flame of Ukko. I have visited your court many times Arminwen.”
“Pardon me density, gent, mayhap I missed it, you’re saying she’s the King’s daughter?”
“Haven’t you been listening? Exactly that. Bend a knee, blackguard.” Laramis said it lightly, but Bannor sensed a sword rattling in a sheath.
Dac eyed Laramis. He bent his knee-a little. “Beg pard. I never did understand all this dross with titles.” He grinned. “Ladyship—Warmaster DacWhirter Varon Ironfist of Blackstar. I ain’t had much use for court manners, so apologies if I offended.”
Sarai’s violet eyes turned flinty. “Skill and courage define a warrior, not etiquette. A good many nobles have forgotten that—I haven’t.” She kissed Bannor on the cheek. “Not everyone can shine like a Paladin.” She nodded to Laramis.
Bannor felt a twinge of irritation from the way she said it. It was one of those not so subtle feminine jabs in the ribs. Even when things looked this serious she could still pick at him. He guessed human or elf, it didn’t matter, women were women. Instead of slighting his lack of refinement, what she should have been worrying about was the huge Myrmigyne staring daggers at her.
“So what about Irodee’s daughter?” he asked.
The big woman focused on Wren.
The savant pressed her lips to a line. She seemed to study the movements of the wallopers on the deck.
“Well?” Irodee’s voice sounded sharp. She’d never used that tone with Wren before.
She seemed surprised by it, too. “For the time being, she’s safe in Malan. Even if Mazerak links you and Laramis with Sarai, we can still send my Mother or Father for her. Mazerak doesn’t know them by sight.”
“What if they hold Liandra to get her back?” Irodee nodded toward Sarai.
“Irodee, let’s deal with it if it happens. Liandra is my goddaughter. I won’t let her get stuck in Malan. We’ll get her back safely. Let’s concentrate on staying ahead of that army long enough so that help can get us off planet. Then we can go get Liandra. Okay?”
The Myrmigyne nodded with a tight-lipped expression on her face.
A pungent odor made Bannor’s nose wrinkle. The master stood nearby rubbing his filmed over eye. He was chewing on a raw onion.
No wonder he smells bad.
“Sorry ta interrupt, but there’s the matter of payment for passage.”
Dac fumbled in a pouch and flicked a gold coin to the bargeman. “Yer lucky I’m dry.”
He caught the coin, glanced at it then stowed it in a pocket. He scratched under a hairy armpit. “Am I to understand you six are running from the law? Costs extra if the King wants ya.”
Laramis tapped the circular crest on his armor. “My good man,
in Ivaneth—I am the law.”
The rest of the trip downstream was more subdued. The words ‘war’ and ‘army’ were not ones Bannor liked. He’d lost his brother Rammal in King Balhadd’s siege, and his family had all but disowned him because of it. Conceiving of a possible war brought troubling thoughts.
They’d already faced hundreds of orcs and demons, and now an army pushing down from the North. Some tiny part of him clung to the idea that it was some deception of Wren’s.
If a Paladin said an army was headed this way… He best ‘smell the metal smokin’ as Dac said. It didn’t change Wren’s plans of simply leaving Titaan to go to Cosmodarus. It made a shambles of Sarai’s scheme to get away from Wren’s control. Could Sarai justify to her Father waging a war with the army of Hecate over one untrained savant? It might mean starting a conflict simply to get to Malan.
He let the rocking of the barge lull him. Leaning against the gunnels, he let the cool wind caress his face. The sky was turning shades of indigo. The smells of vegetation, wood tar, and slow running water all mingled in his brain. He was glad to let the river do the walking for a change. All the leagues reeled off in this last ten-day had ruined his boots.
The stubble of the borderland hills slipped by. A continuous panorama of steel gray, chaff brown, and dappled greens cut through by valleys and stands of trees. Beyond them the crags of the Westros Mountains stood like rows of teeth back-lit by the setting sun. Beyond that range lay the old world, the kingdom of Corwin where Wren came from, the land that claimed to have thrown off the yoke of Hecate. The presence of her army proved the real truth of that matter.
They’d passed several more nameless river communities. Few were larger than a dozen houses and a few fenced in horses. From time-to-time the barge master would have the wallopers unlash a few crates and drop them on a quay without slowing. Usually people were waiting for the goods.
Thunk!
He looked away from the rail. Dac and Wren were playing a game with a dagger, something to do with lamps casting their shadows on the crates. The barge workers nervously watched them play. One easily saw the deadly accuracy each player possessed.
“Ten points,” Dac rumbled.
“Ten?” Wren demanded. “Off center eye shot? Five.”
“I be spinnin it backwards ye see?”
“All right, ten.”
Thunk!
Laramis and Irodee leaned together whispering. The Myrmigyne had been stiff ever since the news about her daughter. She kept pulling at her long hair and looking to the north as if she would leap out of the boat and head to Malan at any time.
The paladin did his best to keep his wife calm. Polishing the blade of his battle sword, he spoke soothingly in another language that must be Irodee’s parent tongue.
Thunk!
Sarai had folded a blanket and reclined on a pair of crates. He noticed she looked pale and her hands trembled.
“What’s the matter?”
“The water. The wood.”
“Huh?”
“I’m an elemental now, my One, remember? It’s uncomfortable not being in contact with stone. I feel so weak.”
“Is it bad?”
“No, it’s like being empty, vulnerable. I don’t like it.”
She means normal, not faster than a horse and stronger than a bear. He could sympathize with missing such powers. He leaned down and kissed her. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled him in for another kiss. “I’m sorry, too; for deceiving you, for snapping. I want us to be happy.”
Bannor looked at the stars. “We will be.” He closed his fingers together one at a time into fist. “I won’t let anybody stop us.”
Blue light crackled around his hand to seal the promise.
* * *
Gaea, for several centuries I was obsessed with learning everything about her.
Because it was known that she only appeared and spoke with Ka’Amok, I even went as far as to become as they are. I learned that to embrace the Green Mother is to touch Tan’Acho. I became obsessed with receiving that boon.
I grew a conscience, protected the weak, and helped my fellow Ka’Amok.
I listened to the stars and one night after several centuries of trying, I finally heard her voice.
“Daughter,” she asked in my mind. “Why do you pretend to be something you are not?”
“To gain your favor, and touch Tan’Acho,” I answered. “If you want my favor,” she answered.
“Give back the life of the brother Alphas that you took. Restore the lives of all the others you have unjustly taken.”
There was such pain in her voice, that for the first time in all my millennia of life I felt guilty for my choices.
“But I can’t,” I answered.
“Just so,” Gaea replied. “You will feel my touch when you are again a part of your alpha. When one can again love what you are.” The voice went quiet and I knew that I would not hear it again.
That is why I hate her—I hate the mother that would call me “daughter” but refuses to acknowledge me with her embrace.
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.
Chapter Eighteen
« ^ »
Bannor felt a stirring in the darkness. His eyes snapped open. Ash-gray clouds swam through the indigo night. The red moon Triatus lit the highest clouds making the wispy trails look like streaks of blood. Stirred by a restless breeze, the fire flickered casting random shadows across the riverside clearing. The blocky shape of the barge fidgeted in the current, tugging at the mooring tethers. The night insects had stopped chirping. Bannor sniffed burning wood and the damp loamy odor of grass and vegetation. He detected hints of something else, but the smell was too vague to name.
Sarai stirred in the bedroll next to him, her face delicate against the pillow of his chest. She sighed and her breath warmed his skin.
The silhouettes of Laramis and Irodee appeared undisturbed to his left. The huge woman lay wrapped around the paladin like a blanket. Yellow and orange reflections danced on the Myrmigyne’s glistening black hair as it spilled across Laramis’ sleeping face like rivulets of ink.
Wren and Dac slept on the opposite side of the fire. Neither seemed disturbed in any way. At the edge of his hearing, he detected the bargemen snoring in the wooden hull at the water’s edge. They said they would post a watch. Bannor didn’t see a lookout anywhere.
Something had awakened him. What? It seemed overly quiet. An itchy feeling of wrongness tingled through him. He couldn’t see or smell anything to substantiate the sense. He didn’t want to wake everyone for no reason. They needed sleep. Tensions between Irodee and Sarai had grown tighter than bowstring.
He caught another whiff of that odor, tangy, but too indistinct to make out. Dac muttered something in Dwarvish and rolled over. Laramis kicked beneath the blankets.
Bannor shifted enough to see the surroundings better. Sarai murmured a sleepy complaint, but didn’t wake. Strange, she slept less before his magic transformed her into an elemental. Even though it seemed as if she could stay awake forever, the moment Sarai lay down to rest she fell immediately into a deep slumber.
Wren and he agreed on this camping spot. A wide clearing surrounded by a wall of scrub bushes and pipe reeds so thick that only a master woodsman or thief could approach undetected. To remain out of sight any attacker would have to stay well beyond dagger range.
Something about the silhouettes of the surrounding foliage appeared off. The difference was so subtle that he might only be imagining it. Some of the reeds didn’t appear to be shifting in the breeze the same as the surrounding ones.
If he gave the alarm now, whoever was stalking them might escape. He needed silent communication.
Wren. The savant mind-speak they’d used before. Could he wake the sleeping woman with a telepathic message?
If he didn’t try, there’d be no way of knowing.
He closed his eyes and composed himself, remembering what he did on that previous o
ccasion. Wren’s instructions repeated in his head. Don’t use your mouth. Think the words. Enunciate them in your head. Savants naturally communicate between each other this way. With training we can mind-speak with telepaths and mundanes.
He’d spelled the words out in his head and had aimed them at Wren. He did that now.
Wren. Wake up. Stay quiet. We may be in trouble.
He couldn’t be sure how much, if anything, she understood. He did feel a muddled response. Bannor caught fragments of blurry pictures; cliffs, fields of green, a starry ocean?
She’s dreaming.
Bannor checked the surroundings again. He still sensed an entity crouched out there—waiting. Though he couldn’t identify any visual evidence, he remained certain of its presence. Something out there patiently stalked them. He became aware of his heart thumping hard against his ribs and the dampness now in his palms.
He didn’t want to scream in Wren’s head as he did the time before. She would yell and alert their watcher.
He sniffed the air again. Bannor could still detect that muted scent, sharp and sweet. Something nagged at his memory. He could almost identify it. Any stronger and he would know what that out-of-place odor belonged to.
Bannor returned his concentration to Wren. The savant had convinced him that her guild-trained senses were extremely sharp and that if anything were out there she would be able to confirm or deny its presence.
Wren, he called again. Another reply, still distorted and unclear, slurred like the speech of someone freshly awakened. He guessed it must be an automatic acknowledgement, not a conscious reaction.
He stretched toward her mentally, envisioning his lips near her ear. Wren, I need to talk to you.
Bannor felt a jolt. He recoiled from the force enveloping him. Chills shot through his body as he found himself towed down into darkness. Lungs tight and heart hammering, he mentally clawed for a grip to resist the force drawing him out of his body. His intangible fingers and toes only scraped down the sides of the chasm that widened as he fell. Bannor tumbled into the void unable to even scream.
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