When Nance heard me, she turned and rode back to me. “What is it?”
“No point in me going with them. Tarvik is right, Erlan will follow and murder us all.”
“What else can we do?”
“Nance, if we're probably going to die, anyway, will you trust me now with a plan that might save the rest of them?”
If we had been in the temple, Nance would have wailed her dismay. As it was, she bit her lip and nodded.
“Find Lor,” I said, knowing he would be walking near her.
While she circled away to search for him, I pulled on the reins, said the “whoa” thing, and was surprised when Black stopped.
We stood as an island. The marching guards washed around us. When a mounted guard called to ask if I needed help, I waved him on. With the responsibility of the people, flocks, and possessions on their minds, the last guards passed me with no more than a glance.
They had traveled some way past when Tarvik whirled his horse and raced back. I’d been afraid he would. Since I had last seen him, he had picked up the old dog and lifted it on to his horse. It was in front of him, stretched like a worn rug across the base of Banner's neck.
“You will delay us, Stargazer,” he complained.
“Go on without me, Tarvik. Nance and Lor and I need to return to the temple.”
“You have left something behind? I will send a servant for it.”
“No, not that. Tarvik, you are right. Erlan can track you easily in this mud. He's bound to follow to get the supplies. Maybe I have a trick to persuade him to stop.”
Tarvik squinted out at me from the shadow of his hood. The winter sky reflected in his eyes. “What do you plan?”
“It's too complicated to explain. I'll tell you later. Go on now and we'll follow soon.”
The muscles of his jaw hardened. He caught my wrist. “No, if anyone remains to face Erlan, it must be me and my guards.”
“We've had this conversation. No way can you outfight his army. You'll end up dead.”
“And what will keep him from killing you?”
Unless I could come up with a convincing sales pitch, he would halt the procession. The brat refused to drop his gaze from mine or loosen his grasp. I needed something outside his understanding and within the boundaries of his superstition to keep him moving. I knew only one word to do that.
“Magic. I have magic that will defeat Erlan. I wish I could keep you here to help, but if you hang around, so will your guards. Erlan has to find the city deserted or the magic won't work.”
Tarvik's hand slid to cover mine, his grip crushing my fingers. For a moment I thought he would pull me off my horse. Tarvik's lower lip jutted out.
At last he said softly, “Have your way, Stargazer. I know my father believes in your magic. Besides, you aren't going to listen to me, are you?”
He wheeled off, dashing after the guards on his horse. Its hooves cut moons in the mud path. I wished I could leave as emphatically, in case he glanced back at me. But no matter how I pulled on Black's reins, the horse would not turn. I crossed my wrists on the back of its neck and leaned my forehead against them, unable to go in any direction until Nance and Lor returned to guide the stupid beast.
It did occur to me that despite my education, I lacked the simple skills required to be an effective barbarian.
CHAPTER 17
Two long, ice-edged days after Nance and Lor left me, at my insistence, I still had no idea how I was going to handle my part of the plan.
They didn’t want to leave me alone but we couldn’t think of another way to outwit Erlan. The three of us worked for a day raking snow across the mud. We carefully broke tree limbs to imitate storm damage while hiding signs of the retreat. If Erlan's scouts searched beyond the near woods, they would pick up the trail, so it was up to me to stop them at the castle's edge.
The temple, stripped of its altar cloths, jewels, robes, dishes, and other ornaments, was as cold as the inside of a refrigerator. Heavy hanging lamps remained in the ceiling. I would need them when Erlan arrived. So I lived in the dark to save candles.
Each evening I built a small fire in the courtyard and huddled beside it, allowing myself one fire a day to heat my supper. Most of the city's firewood was gone, carried off to the valley hiding place. My fire consisted of branches torn from the thicket near the castle.
To mutilate the castle shrubbery probably carried a penalty of death by freezing in a cell, but as there was no one to accuse me, and I might soon freeze anyway, I slashed and burned.
If Kovat, rather than Erlan, came stamping into the courtyard to howl at me about damaged trees, I would be pleased to see him alive. There was the possibility he and his warriors traveled a half-day behind Erlan's army and had simply not been seen by the scouts. If so, I could grovel a little and then point out to Kovat that my intentions were to protect his boy from truly unloving relatives.
But as I had little faith and less hope, I concentrated on what had to be done.
Sitting by the fire with my cup and bowl, I went over and over our plans. When my head ached with thinking, I drifted off to pleasanter memories, camping on the plateau with Nance, telling stories by the fire with Tarvik. Eating in wildly expensive restaurants with Darryl.
Okay, that memory wasn't so good, because it ended with me hiding behind a dumpster. Forget that and think about hot showers, coffee, and deli food heated in the microwave.
Was Tarvik right? Did Erlan believe in lifedrainers? Too late now to change plans. If we guessed wrong, forget my horoscope, ignore the long lifeline circling around my thumb. Signs of natural life spans were no protection from violence.
Worse, suppose Erlan's route crossed with Ober and Alakar as they traveled homeward? The scout hadn't mentioned her, but Ober might now be doubling back with Erlan's army. I could outwit stupid, superstitious Erlan. But I'd had a try at outwitting Ober. It was not easy and not completely successful. Would she pay any price to get even with me, take any chance? Kinda thought she would.
Was Nance right? Was Ober a sorcerer? And what the hell powers did a sorcerer have? I'd met my share of mages and there were never two alike. Actually, the thought was somewhat consoling. Out in the big bad world there was only one Ober.
When my fire burned to embers, I wrapped myself in my cloak and sheepskin and slept at the fire's edge. The courtyard was no colder than the empty rooms of the temple, and far less frightening. Here I could see the clear winter sky. The familiar constellations sparkled like frost.
Venus dazzled. Its aspect offered some protection in Tarvik's chart. Would that it did the same for me. Okay, if I had the choice, this time I'd give Tarvik the luck because he really needed it. All I had on my side now was Mercury, a brief reflection in the sunset before it flickered out below the horizon, a reflection in my mind more than in my vision. I knew where it was even if I couldn't see it. Mercury made no promises at all.
And each day Erlan's army moved closer to the deserted city and me.
Sometimes I almost longed for a horse to ride. Maybe if my life depended on it, I could mount a horse by myself and manage to make the right sounds and tugs on its reins to send it racing across the hills, carrying us both in the opposite direction from the destiny that marched toward me.
However, Lor had taken Black so he and Nance could travel fast.
With no reason to squeeze through the opening to the stable to keep my whereabouts secret, I walked freely around the outside of the temple and castle, leaving the gates and doors open. I wandered through the castle, idly noting the corridors and courtyards, peering into the banquet room with its long tables and benches and the scenes of Kovat's past victories painted on the walls.
A sound sent me into panic. Scraping. Foot dragging? I flattened against a door and tried to breathe.
My heart banged away so loudly anyone could hear it.
Listen. Hold my breath and listen.
Spreading my fingers against cold stone, I slid slowly to the edge of the re
cessed doorway, leaned out, looked up and down the corridor. Did a shadow move? Maybe not.
Then I heard it again, a low scrape, from the direction of the wide double doors that opened into the castle on an entry to make the base of a T-shape with the corridor. Big front entrance, not used much, lit up on the nights of banquets with masses of candles. I'd left those doors pushed open, back against the inner walls, so I could wander and get as much light from outside as possible. Dumb idea, maybe, because if it made entering easier for me, it did the same for whoever was slowly shuffling toward me.
And me without so much as my Swiss pocketknife that Tarvik took and never gave back. Daggers, swords, arrows, used to be lots of them hanging on the walls. Everything had been packed up and taken away and why hadn't I thought to ask for a club or a scary looking knife?
Scrape, slide, thought I'd pass out
Then the sound turned to fluttering. A tumble of dry leaves blew through the open doors and past the corner and now I could see them, dry leaves, just stupid dry leaves stirred and pushed by a draft. I was some weird kind of Superwoman, out to save the city and terrified by dry leaves.
I stumbled on down the hall, away from the entry.
The old dog no longer lay outside its usual door. Could have used him, not that he'd be much use, but I could have maybe yelled, “Killer dog here so get out before I let him loose!”
I opened that door, the one the watchdog used to watch, and wandered into another poorly ventilated room. Like all the rooms, it was empty. Chiseled into one stone wall was the outline of a crown. It was touched up with bits of flaking paint, faded on the gray stone. An odd decoration, perhaps someone's attempt to make the place more pleasant. Ah. This must be Kovat's chamber, and was it he or some long ago warlord who marked it as the chamber of the ruler? I wandered back out and truly wished the old dog was still there in the doorway. I would have welcomed a sleepy nod.
I even looked into the room previously used by Alakar and Ober. Now it was bare, nothing but cold stone and a long heavy wooden table, not even a woven tapestry to steal. Tarvik had replaced the missing stone that opened the wall to Ober's room, and had closed his own secret door before he allowed the servants to enter and remove the wall rugs. If he did not return to the castle, the passageway would remain secret forever.
A scent of perfumed oils hung in the stale air. Heavy, sweet, it was something the barbarians valued. The women rubbed the oils in their hair and on their skin to mask the ever-present odors of animals and sweat. When I closed my eyes, I could see Ober and Alakar, their hair gleaming in the candlelight, long thick braids shiny with oil.
I walked slowly around the room, following the scent until I reached the table. Leaning down to it, I could smell the perfume in the rough wood and I remembered Ober standing at the table drawing odd signs and mixing liquids in small bowls and vials. I had watched the neighborhood herbalist mix herbs using similar bowls and had enjoyed the clean spicy balm. The fragrance faded in a day or less.
Why did this perfume hang in the air and cling to the table for so long? Perhaps because it was in an oil base, I thought, and ran my hand around the edges of the wood to feel for slick spots.
This endless day I tried to dull fear with boredom. I knelt by the table, running my hands down the legs, enjoying the smoothness of the dark wood, trying to do the yoga thing of calming my mind. Never been much good at that.
My fingers caught on an edge. It took me a moment to become aware. Then I knelt and peered through the dim light, running my fingertips back and forth until I realized there was a shallow drawer set in the framing below the tabletop.
It did not have a handle. I prodded it, tried to slip a fingernail into the side, hit it with my palm, and finally sat back on the floor and stared. I could see the line of its four edges but no way at all to open it.
It would be empty, of course, or maybe contain a forgotten brush or scarf. Nothing of value. So what else did I have to do while waiting for my probable demise?
That drawer was a challenge. My mind sharpened. I thought of every drawer in every cabinet and table I had ever seen, and then I remembered hiding under tables when I was small. I reached under the tabletop. It was open, its support beams exposed, no shelf to seal it.
Flat on my back, I slid part way into the table's shadow, reached up, found the bottom of the drawer, pressed my palm against it and pushed it outward. Then I had to wiggle myself out and onto my knees before I could stand.
Secret doors, secret drawers. These folks would love wall safes.
Bingo, the drawer was not empty. It held several small vials. I took them out, one by one, and opened them. The first left a sticky coating of oil on my fingers. Even holding it at arm's length, I could smell the perfume. I had never been close to Alakar or Ober, didn't know what scent they used, but it was pretty much overwhelming and what I'd expect of Erlan's girls. I wiped my hands on my tunic to dry them.
The next vial was dry pottery sealed with a cork. I worked the cork loose and shook the vial. Liquid sloshed in it. It didn't seem to have any odor at all. It could have been water, but I doubted Ober would leave anything as harmless as water sealed up in such a small vial.
Poison? Possibly.
After setting down the vial, I picked up a small-lidded box made of hammered metal. Turning it slowly in my hands, I found the almost invisible hinges, then ran a fingertip along its opposite side until I touched the latch. Such a little box, easy to tip, and did I want its contents making contact with my skin?
Perhaps it was a harmless face powder. Or perhaps it was something else.
Nothing brings out curiosity like boredom, waiting and stifled fear. I put the box on the table, held it carefully by its edges, and pried up the latch.
The box did indeed contain powder, a white powder, nothing meant to color the complexion. On the streets of Seattle white powder could be almost anything and probably not legal. As far as I knew, there was nothing like drugs in Kovat’s land. Mead seemed to be their only indulgence. Oh right, that and hacking away at anyone in hacking distance with their broadswords.
Bracing myself with my hands on the tabletop, I leaned over the box and breathed in very carefully. Again, there was no scent.
Tarvik had been furious when he banished Ober, hissing, “Will you stay to tell my father that your daughter came to my room and mixed a drink for me? Shall I show him the locket she wears with its traces of the powder she added to my drink?”
Was this more of that powder? A drug of sorts? Anything from a sleeping aid to a mood changer to a 'knock 'em dead' potion?
Didn't want perfume, especially that stuff, so I put the little bottle back in the drawer, then slid it closed. It was harmless but nothing I cared to have sticking to my skin.
The other two items, the vial of clear liquid and the little metal box filled with powder, might be anything. Until I knew what to do with them, I might as well keep them. I closed both containers and dropped them into my pocket.
Tarvik's room was next. I went into it, knowing it would hold very little. Again, the tapestries were gone, the walls bare, the secret entrance closed, the edges of the door invisible among the many lines between stones. A long dark table remained against a wall, nothing else. Now I knew about hidden drawers, I crossed the room and headed straight to the table. Without crawling under the table I was able to reach below its top, find the drawer and slide it out.
More vials and boxes. Didn't think Tarvik mixed magic potions. The guy liked to cook, so I would believe spices, but that face was all too open and expressive to be a mask for a mage. And then, through the dusky light, I saw the neat row of brushes lying in the dark drawer. They had long wooden handles and thin bristles, artist's brushes in several sizes. When I opened the first vial, I found a thick purple powder. The next contained green. There were a half dozen little metal boxes, each containing a thick paste in a different color.
Paints. Not cosmetics. Not what Nance put on our faces. These were real paints
for making pictures.
I turned to the opposite wall, the corner that used to hold the pile of sheepskins and blankets that were Tarvik's bed. Those were gone.
From a high window slit a pale line of light cut across the wall. I could barely make out the drawings that decorated his room, a collection of wild animals and a picture of Tarvik's horse Banner. I’d seen them the first time I’d been in his room. So much had happened since then, I’d forgotten them. I wandered over to study them more closely, took a moment to look at each drawing. They were pretty, neatly done with the fur of each animal carefully painted in sure strokes. I ran my fingers lightly over them, not wanting to disturb or damage them. It was comforting, in that empty room, to touch something familiar.
As I turned toward the doorway I saw another painting, one I did not remember, on the wall between the corner and the door. I went toward it, noticed the dark lines framing a pale oval. In the shadows my eyes had to adjust to the lack of light. Or was it that my mind didn't want to accept what I saw?
The dark frame was flowing hair, long dark hair, moving as though in a breeze to circle the pale oval. That oval was my face, my eyes and nose and mouth. The exact curve of my eyebrows and length of lashes, the line of shadow beneath my cheekbones, a surprisingly accurate likeness right down to the slight frown that I must admit is my normal expression.
But what was a drawing of me doing here on Tarvik's wall, near the door, painted in colors that carefully matched my own skin and hair? It was spooky. I turned slowly to look at the opposite end of the wall where Tarvik's bed used to be. Lying on his bed, he'd be looking at my face.
And who'd want him to do that? No one at all except Tarvik himself. The painting was recent. It certainly couldn't have been there when he let Alakar into his room. Though if it had been, hmm, no wonder she was willing to poison him.
No, that wasn't possible. Nance and I and the magician had been here after Alakar had drugged him. We carried him out. One of us would have noticed the picture. There was only one person with access to this room who knew me without the paints and powders and elaborate hairstylings of the temple, and studied my face enough to draw it. I don't know which bit of information surprised me more, that the guy could do portraits or that he wanted my picture on his wall.
Tyrant Trouble (Mudflat Magic) Page 21