Raccan's long, pale hand reached from behind her and took the paper. "This won't help you. He'll be a statue, but still behind his wall."
Kyrlia froze even as her heart raced.
Baylin whipped around, broadsword in hand. The blade whipped uncomfortably close, and might have cut her if Raccan had not reached over her head and blocked it with his staff.
"He's going in the wall!" Edor shouted, hastily stowing the spell egg. From the sound of a grinding stone door and the sour look on Baylin's face, Kyrlia guessed his next words. "He's gone."
Baylin leaned forward into Kyrlia's face. "Stupid fool—it's your fault."
"How? He was behind me."
"You could have taken him while he was striking me!"
While he had been protecting her? She shook her head. "He was too fast."
Baylin snorted and sheathed his sword. "Stay here, woman, and watch the child. We've got a wizard to kill."
Undisturbed by the fight, the boy read on.
* * * *
A sunbeam crept across the floor, turning the day from morning to late afternoon, but little changed with the prince. Mostly he read, his hand tapping the table beside him. When he finished a book, he would set it on a pile on the table, then straighten the already pristine stack. Next he would stand and march around every table and chair, tapping each one three times before sitting back down with a new book.
With nothing else to do, Kyrlia sat on the bench and watched the prince. Occasionally she would hear shouts from Baylin and Edor as they searched the keep, and from the increasing frustration in their voices she knew that they had not found Raccan. She felt glad that they had failed, and bothered that she felt this way. When would his spell wear off?
After a time she stood and went to the wall. Pressing against it, she shouted as loud as she could, "Prince Salace! Can you hear me?"
"I'm sure he can," Raccan said from behind her.
She pulled her blade as she turned. He was sitting on the bench, his staff on his knees, his hands palm up towards her. His magical blue eyes looked into hers, calmed her.
She sucked in her breath. "How did you...?"
"It's my castle. I know all the secrets—except, unfortunately, how to get rid of uninvited visitors."
"Like us?"
"Like the prince. He comes here to read my books. This time he has brought a wall to keep me out."
Kyrlia frowned. "But we were told..."
"Not the truth, I fear, for then you might not have taken the job. Prince Salace has a strangeness which keeps him talking to others. He lives in a world of his own making, a world where other people are not welcome, and where nothing can be out of order. His own order, not mine. If anyone tries to force him against this order, he lashes out fiercely. That is why King Illich gave you the statue spell—so that you could bring him back without trouble."
"Then why did he want us to kill you?" She lowered her rapier, but did not put it away.
Raccan spread his hands. "He holds me responsible for the boy's affliction."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. The strangeness appeared at the same time that I became a royal wizard, but it was not my doing. When King Illich demanded that I break the spell on his son, I explained that there was no spell. His majesty accused me of deceit and drove me from the court."
"And so you came here, to the wilderness?"
He smiled wryly. "Old family home, actually. This keep watches an important trade route—or it was a trade route, until his majesty's aggressions shut off trade with the countries to the west. Someday, it will be a trade route again. Now it is a quiet place where a wizard can work in peace."
"It's lonely." Kyrlia sheathed her sword, showing Raccan that she trusted him. "No one's here."
"Not many care to work for an evil wizard." He smiled. "How did you come to be a mercenary? Your husband, is he one?"
"I'm not married," Kyrlia said quickly. "Those are my cousins. They rescued me from a debt marriage, and I owe them my freedom."
"Some freedom, if you owe it to another."
"It's better than being told that your worth is less than nothing, that you were sold to pay off a loan of seed, and for that you deserve nothing until you can pay off your debt with slave labor." And worse. She shook away the memory of hot blood flowing down her arm. Her hand, but Baylin's knife. Edor showing her how to make it look like a robbery. More than debt linked them.
"What is your worth to your cousins? You don't seem to be the most eager of hired killers."
"I can read and write." And keep secrets.
Raccan's eyes sparkled. "Do you know Fullmich?"
She shook her head. "Is he a mercenary? Or a smuggler?"
"He's a philosopher. He wrote a dozen books about magic in the natural order of life. Or perhaps you prefer history?"
She shook her head. "I don't read much."
"Then I have a world to show you." He captured her hand and started to rise, then faced the amber wall. Slowly he sank to his seat. "Or I will, someday, when the prince decides to leave."
Her hand remained in his. Her heart raced; she could barely think. This spell, the one Raccan had put on her, was both dangerous and strong. What color would Edor's crystal be now? "The boy—doesn't he need to eat, or sleep, or...."
"There's a bed and privy on the floor above—for my own use, on nights when I work late. And I won't let any guest in my castle go hungry." Raccan squeezed her hand. "Eventually, your cousins will find what appears to be my interrupted meal laid out in the great hall, and hopefully will see fit to steal what they wish. As for you, would you care to join me at the top of the tower? Company—and conversation—would be a delight."
His spell was making it hard for her to breathe. "But, how do you get the food to him through the wall?"
A strange footstep on the stairs, part step and part shuffle, made Raccan turn his head. He smiled. "You'll see."
A man entered, carrying a tray in his left hand. His right hand was curled against his body, his right foot dragged as he walked, and the right side of his face looked melted. He set down the tray on the table half that stuck outside the wall. A savory scent wafted from it.
The servant turned to Raccan. "Your dinner is ready."
"I'll have a guest tonight, Wells."
Wells looked at Kyrlia and smiled, at least on the left side of his face. "I'll bring up the good wine."
"Thank you."
When he left, Kyrlia said, "You're quite polite to a servant."
"Of course. He seasons my food. Now, watch." Raccan pointed at the boy.
For several long moments nothing happened, though the rich scent of the food tugged at Kyrlia. The boy turned two more pages of the book, and then looked at the wall. His face twisted in concentration as a hole opened in the wall, just large enough for the tray. The food slid through. The boy stood and started his long ritual of walking around every chair and table.
"Why does he do that?" Kyrlia asked. "Is it a spell?"
"Part of the oddness."
When the prince stopped at the tray and stuffed bread in his mouth, Kyrlia spoke. "I'm here to take you home."
"No." Prince Salace didn't look up from the tray.
"He wants you to come home."
The boy looked out the window. "No."
"Isn't there anything you want?"
"No." His attention was caught by something on his shirt, and he brushed at it. "Turtles."
"Turtles?"
"More of the oddness," Raccan sighed. "He listens to little, and says even less. But he reads. It seems to be the only way he learns, as he ignores all other people."
She shivered. "He could be a dangerous wizard, someday."
"He may very well be, if he ever turns his attention beyond himself." Raccan frowned. "So far, all he does is send himself to various libraries and read the books until he is chased off."
"You chase him off? How?"
Still chewing, the Prince wandered to a shelf and sta
rted to pull out books. Some he tucked into his arm, but the rest he dropped on the floor.
Raccan winced as a large volume landed face down. "Before he made the wall, I could walk up and touch his shoulder. He would yell and run away. After a time, he would disappear."
"Is that why he has the wall?"
"I suspect so. I wonder...." Raccan rubbed his chin. Had it been so smooth when she had faced him that morning? Had he changed clothes? She didn't remember the crisp, clean blue shirt he now wore.
"What?"
"Prince Salace is bothered by intimacy. If you would allow me to be so bold..." Rising, he held out his hand.
She faced him. "What are you going to do?"
"Just a touch, nothing more." With one hand he touched her shoulder, and with the other he gently stroked her braid.
"Turtles!" the boy yelled.
"This might work," Raccan said. His hand moved from her hair to her shoulder, and then moved lightly down her side to her waist.
She stiffened at that, despite the deep calm of his eyes. He might promise her no harm, but promises were cheap. "Please, no more."
"Turtles, turtles!" screamed Prince Salace.
"It's just for the boy." But he leaned in, close enough that she could feel his warmth and taste his scent. His lips parted.
Her hands were on his chest. She pushed, fighting his spell, but all that soft blueness swelled over her. She found she could not push hard.
"Turtles turtles turtles turtles turtles," screamed Prince Salace.
Steps sounded on the stairwell. Baylin, coming first through the doorway, poked the air with his blade. "What's this?"
"She's coming with me." Raccan swept his arm around Kyrlia's waist and pulled her back into his hidden passage. As the door slid shut she saw both Baylin and Edor's faces, rage on the one and puzzlement on the other. She heard thumps on the wall, a fist pounding in frustration.
"Let her go!" Baylin's voice came through the wall.
Raccan grinned in the half-light of the glowing moss. He caught her hand in his own and pulled her along the shadowy tunnel.
Frightened, she tried to pull back, but he was stronger than she. With her free hand, she fingered the hilt of her rapier. "I have to go back."
His chuckle echoed against the stone. "You're my hostage tonight, the prisoner of an evil, wicked wizard. And I do intend to torture you."
"How?"
"By telling you all about Fullmich, of course. And fattening you with the most delicious food you have ever tasted!"
* * * *
The passage led to a secret stairway which took them up to the roof of the tower. There they found a table set with silver and crystal, and laden with food. Candles had already been lit against the coming night. The flames sparkled in Raccan's eyes as he took his seat across from Kyrlia and filled her goblet with wine.
The food was a simple stew, yet every bite filled her mouth with flavor. The bread was so light that it seemed to float, yet it also was filled with delicate essences that complemented the stew. As they ate, Raccan talked about Fullmich, a man who saw the world as a giant machine. The actions of one part changed another part, and the morality of man affected the machine. Although she did not understand half of what he said, his ideas still intrigued her.
"So what do you think?" Raccan asked at last.
Kyrlia blushed, knowing she could make no comment on his lecture. "This food is wonderful."
Raccan sighed, but quickly smiled. "Wells can take the simplest foods and turn them into gold. He's a perfect example of Fullmich's statement of compensation. When he fell off the roof and lost the use of his arm, he gained the magic of cooking."
"He fell off the roof?"
"In his own village. His friends, thinking I could cure his affliction, brought him to me. I've kept him for what I admit are selfish reasons." Fingering his napkin, he folded it into an odd shape.
From below the tower, Edor called out Kyrlia's name. Baylin shouted a challenge to Raccan. After a minute or two, they seemed to go inside a building.
"My cousins are searching for me," Kyrlia said. They won't stop until they find me."
"I would hope no less of them. But still..."
"Yes?"
"When you return to them, you must convince them that we should work together—and that life will be easier for all of us if they quit trying to kill me." He tucked the ends of the napkins into a fold. "There."
"What?"
He lifted his hand to show her his napkin, perched on his palm. He had folded it into the shape of a small bird. As she watched, it unfolded its wings and flew into the air. It circled her head and came to rest on her braid.
Kyrlia laughed and reached up to touch the linen bird. It darted off and landed by her plate. It pecked at her food; a brown stain spread up its beak. Away it flew, circling the table before perching on Raccan's white-blond hair. She laughed out loud.
He stared at her with wide eyes. "Did you see where it went?"
"It's..." Footsteps on the outer stairway made her turn. Baylin and Edor were coming.
"Tomorrow," she heard Raccan say, just as Baylin's angry face showed above the roof. When she looked back, all that remained was the now limp and lifeless linen bird. She cradled it to her chest.
"Where did he go?" Baylin's face was almost the color of Kyrlia's wine. "What did he do to you?"
"We ate dinner, and he talked." Kyrlia finished her wine. "There's still some left, if you're hungry."
Edor pulled a sausage from his pocket and bit it. "We found food in the great hall. Better than street grub."
"It's poisoned," Baylin shouted. "It's a trap. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"According to my stone..."
"Poison isn't a spell, you fool!"
Kyrlia tore off a piece of the bread. "This isn't poisoned. Raccan was eating it. Try it."
"When you two fools die in agony, I'll still be laughing. I'll eat at camp."
As he growled, Edor tasted a spoonful of the stew. "If this isn't good, then the world is an evil place. Why are you so convinced that he means us ill?"
"King Illich told us..."
Kyrlia put her hands on her hips. "He told us that the boy was being held prisoner here—but he isn't. Prince Salace controls the wall, not Raccan. He told us that the spell we carried would free the boy—but it doesn't. The spell turns him into a statue. And the king didn't tell us that the boy is strange."
"Strange? What do you mean, strange?"
"He doesn't talk to people, or seem to notice people. He put up the wall to keep people out. He's been that way since he was a small child."
"Raccan told you that?"
She shot Baylin a look of dark exasperation. "You left me with him all afternoon, remember? I watched the boy. It's all true."
"Then how do we get the boy out?" Edor asked around a mouthful of bread. He had already finished the stew and most of loaf.
"Raccan has an idea."
Baylin spat into the dust.
Swallowing hard, Krylia went on. "Raccan will help us, if we promise to keep the peace."
Baylin shook his head. "Why would he do that?"
"Because he wants Prince Salace to leave as badly as we want to take him."
"I can't trust you. I can't trust him. He's spelled you, Raccan has. He has you in his power."
Something cold touched Kyrlia's arm. She jumped. Looking down, she saw that Edor had pressed his seer stone against her flesh.
"Nope. Nothing," he said.
Baylin's visage darkened. "The spell he's used has nothing to do with magic. Let's go back to camp and pray that our cousin wakes up in the morning with a bit more sense."
* * * *
The next morning, as Kyrlia and her cousins approached the keep, they found Raccan waiting for them in the open archway of the gatehouse. He wore fresh clothes, Kyrlia noted, and his hair shone with the dampness of a recent bath. She felt grubby and unkempt.
"Draw your blade," Baylin
hissed. His own was in his hand, ready to attack. Edor had his own free, though he let it hang loosely.
Kyrlia looked at the weapons and saw that Raccan had raised his staff to a defensive position. "No."
"When I talk, you listen. Draw your blade."
"No. We'll have to trust each other if this plan is to work." Kyrlia drew a deep breath. "We have to swear not to attack him—and how can we do that with drawn weapons?"
"Will he swear not to attack us?"
"I so swear." Raccan's voice, apparently augmented by magic, floated to them. "I could strike you where you stand, if I wished, but I won't. I only mean to protect myself."
"How do we know this is true?" Baylin yelled back.
Edor checked his crystal. "There's a protective spell here, but nothing worse. Kyrlia's right. We'll gain nothing if we don't trust him."
"It's a trap."
Edor put away his sword. "I didn't die from last night's food, did I? You can stay here if you want, big brother. Kyrlia and I can deal with this by ourselves."
Flushing, Baylin snapped his blade into its sheath. "I swear I will not attack you today, Raccan, as long as you do not attack us—or take liberties with my cousin."
The wizard frowned. "I fear that it may seem that I will. Our plan is to bother the Prince until he flees home, and what bothers him are simple displays of affection. I will not hurt her. I would never hurt such a beautiful woman."
Kyrlia held in a snort, but Baylin bristled. "Silver-tongued bastards like you do nothing but hurt women."
"My intentions are honorable." Yet Raccan stiffened and raised his staff higher.
Baylin's sword eased from its sheath. "Then think of another way to do this."
"There is no other way as long as Prince Salace maintains his wall." The wizard shifted his feet to a more secure stance.
"There is," Kyrlia said suddenly, walking between the two men. She held up the linen bird, the toy that Raccan's magic had brought to life. "Could you ask Wells to bring him his food early?"
* * * *
Kyrlia positioned the linen bird so that it looked like little more than a slightly crumpled napkin on the edge of the tray. Wells grinned at her with one side of his face and took the tray up the stairs. After he returned, the rest of the small party went up to stand in the space outside the amber wall.
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXV Page 16