“Playing innocent is never wise, heretic,” Corran said.
“Heretic? You have me mistaken for someone else,” Alaric said. “I’m a bard. Lark is my name, and I play and sing songs and travel, and nothing more.”
“Why, of course, and I am the King’s Mistress,” Serapha said.
“You are?” Alaric said.
“No, but she wishes,” Corran muttered with a sardonic smile.
Serapha glowered at him. “No, you wish,” she said and turned her attention back to Alaric. “Look, bard. Last night, we saw you speaking to Talena.”
“The mercenary woman?” Alaric said.
“Yes, and Talena never shows the slightest interest in anyone unless they are a heretic,” Corran said. “All the Temple Bounty Hunters in this area know that Talena wants to be one of us, and that she has been collecting heretics to prove to the Temple that she is worthy of a place among us. So if Talena watching you, then you must be one of the heretics.”
“And that’s your proof?” Alaric asked. Then realized those words were from Ronan. “A woman speaks to me because she finds me attractive and wants to see if she can get into my bed, and you assume I am a heretic.”
Whatever game Ronan was playing seemed to be confusing the pair. They traded looks. Then Serapha turned back to Alaric and started to speak...
When the door opened to her back. She and Corran both stepped away from Alaric, turned and bowed.
The man who entered the chamber was chubby and round-faced and had a pleasant smile. He wore richly adorned robes of saffron silk, finely embroidered. Behind him came two acolytes in their simple tan outfits. One of them carried a chair.
The man looked straight at Alaric and crossed the room. He gestured, and the small chair was placed so it was facing Alaric. The man sat down and motioned for everyone to step away.
“Hello, my son,” he said.
Alaric started to deny the relation, but he stopped himself.
“Permit me to introduce myself. I am High Lord Patriarch Gwillian, and I will be your confessor.”
“But I have done nothing,” Alaric said softly. “I was only staying at the inn...I played music there...nothing more.”
“Talena was watching him, High Lord Patriarch,” Serapha quickly said.
“Talena? Oh, yes.” He nodded knowingly. “Are you a friend of Talena’s, my son?”
“I only met her last night,” Alaric said. “She bought me a drink.”
“I see. You do understand why you have been brought here, do you not?”
“Not really,” Alaric said, trying to keep his voice calm. “They keep calling me a heretic, but I’m not. I swear to you.”
The Patriarch nodded again. “I see. Many heretics swear this to me, but few of them are telling the truth. So I hope you will not mind if I question you further before I make a judgment. And I would suggest you be honest, because if I do not like your answers, I will have to resort to more frightful means of gaining the truth. Do you understand?”
Alaric took a deep breath and nodded. Inside him, Ronan whispered, “Just stay calm and let me handle this.”
For the moment, Alaric was more than willing to comply.
NINETEEN
Desura received the summons just a few hours after Talena had come to tell her about the bard. She had sent Talena out, telling her to wait in the square, but now she wished that Talena were here. Her cousin’s presence was a comfort in some odd way—when she wasn’t putting off the essence of anger that seemed to continually smolder under her aura. Especially when the one who summoned her turned out to be the dreaded Lord Patriarch Rothanan. The sight of him dredged up old anxieties and made her tremble. The way he looked at her, she felt like she was still the frightened child he had first tortured then trained to be “his Watcher.” Even now, she hated seeing him come into the chamber.
He was a tall man, dark haired and pinch-faced, yet handsome in a cruel way. The curve of his mouth, even when he smiled, always had a downward cast. Even now, as he stood at the entrance of the chamber, his cold presence reached out and seized her. His eyes—the color of granite—bore a calculating stare. She thought of him as hard, grey and unreadable.
“We have a task for you, my Watcher,” Lord Patriarch Rothanan said. “A heretic has been brought in. No doubt, your cousin Talena has told you this. Too bad she was not swifter to bring him in. He could have been the prize to bring her our trust.”
Desura said nothing. Rothanan clapped his hands and the litter was brought in. Rothanan hated Talena, but he had not been able to stop her bid for a position because the High Lord Gwillian thought highly of Talena’s skills.
If only he knew how her cousin really felt.
Sometime Desura suspected Talena did not actually forgive the Temple. But she seemed interested in become a Bounty Hunter, for all that had happened to her family because of the Temple.
For that reason alone, Desura did not entirely trust her cousin. There was a side to the mirror she had not told Talena about. Desura could find Talena wherever she was so long as the mirror was on her person.
She sensed it now, moving out of the building by way of the kitchens.
The attendants assisted Desura onto the litter so she could be carried out of her home in the Deep. The prisoners were generally taken to the level above hers for questioning. As a Watcher, she was unable to walk that far without fainting. So she welcomed being lifted by the guards and carried from her chambers.
What she did not welcome was Rothanan’s dark presence. He could spoil all her plans if she was not careful.
She could not wait to see this bard. Talena had described him as handsome and pale of coloring. And said that he had a sweet voice. Were Desura able, she would have told the guards to hurry. But she was not allowed to speak to them, nor they to her unless there was danger.
So she held her tongue and hoped it would not take them too long to ascend the levels.
They kept asking the same questions over and over. Alaric thought he would go mad, but Ronan kept whispering soothing words of encouragement from within. Without, it was Ronan who steadfastly answered them.
“And your name is?” the High Lord Patriarch began again.
“Lark the Wanderer,” Alaric heard himself say for the sixth time.
“And you are from?”
“The village of Tynandale in the West of Garrowye.”
“And your reason for being so far from home?”
“I am a free bard and travel where I will. I seek to learn new songs and share those I know to earn a living.”
The High Patriarch sat back and nodded as he had after each session of questioning. His expression never changed from the kindly smile, which Alaric was finding more and more annoying as time passed. If he knew the Gate Spell, he would have long ago wrenched himself out of this place and damn the consequences. But Ronan was determined that Alaric would keep his head and reveal nothing.
“Well,” the High Lord said. “At least, you are faithful to your answers.”
“Because I know no other answers to give, High Lord,” Alaric said.
The old man nodded and looked at the two Bounty Hunters. “What was your proof again?” he asked.
“He was seen speaking with the mercenary Talena,” Corran said. “All who know Talena know that she is quite good at spotting a heretic.”
“If that is so, then why did she not bring him here herself? Talena has often brought us heretics that she has found. She is a good hunter, and we would welcome her as one of our number.”
The two traded uncertain glances.
“Well...I am still not convinced one way or another,” the High Lord said. “But in a moment.”
He glanced at his attendant. The young acolyte said nothing, but went to the door and opened it.
Alaric became aware of a sense of magical essence out in the hall. It started as little more than a tickle then grew. It was like the faint magic he felt everywhere in this land, only stronger. What the
.
“Careful,” Ronan warned.
First through the door was a tall man in priest’s robes whose very presence was frightening enough to make Alaric tremble. He could have been Tane Doran’s twin, for he had the same look to him, but he was dark-haired instead. He raked Alaric with a stare as cold as stones in winter then calmly stepped aside.
A litter was borne through the open doorway, carried by two guards, and sitting on the chair was a woman so pale and frail looking, one would have thought she was ancient. Her hair, her skin, all looked white and wrinkled...and yet, Alaric could tell she was not as old as she appeared.
She’s mageborn! he thought.
“A Watcher,” Ronan said. “We are doomed! She will betray what we really are.”
Alaric tried not to frown. Ronan’s words were filled with despair.
“Ah, Desura.” The High Lord Patriarch rose and walked over to her chair, offering her his hand. She took it and bowed her forehead to touch the hand in a gesture of respect. “How are you this day?”
“As well as to be expected, High Lord Patriarch,” she replied. “You have sent for me, Lord Gwilliam?”
“Yes,” he said. “We have to be careful, as you know. While our position is strong on how to root out the evil of the heretics when we find it among our people, we must also be cautious that we do not send innocents to their doom.”
“I understand,” Desura said. She cast a look up at the tall man as she spoke.
The High Lord Patriarch’s gaze followed her own. He reared back and looked at the tall man. “Lord Patriarch Rothanan,” he said as though acknowledging the presence of the other with only a thin veil of courtesy.
Lord Patriarch Rothanan bowed. “I merely wish to observe,” he said. “I hope that my presence will not be an intrusion. But as you know, I am always interested in seeing my Watcher at work.”
“Indeed,” Lord Gwilliam said with a slight arch of his brows. He took a deep breath and he looked back at Desura. “Then let us delay no more. I would ask you to tell me this.” He stepped aside so Alaric and Desura could meet one another eye to eye. “This man says he is nothing more than a bard. These two accuse him of heresy. How say you? Is he one of the heretics, or is he an innocent bard as he so repeatedly claims?”
The High Lord gave her his hand once more, this time to assist her from the litter to his own chair. Desura sat down and locked eyes with Alaric. He could feel her power as a drain on her own essence. She is dying by inches because she does not use the essence of other things to feed her power. He wondered if she even knew how, for he could feel her scry him in a clumsy manner.
At length, she sat back and shook her head.
“This man is no heretic, High Lord Patriarch,” she said softly. “He is what he says and nothing more. A bard.”
Ronan’s puzzlement surged through Alaric, but he held his tongue. Even Alaric could not believe what he was hearing, but he smiled. But behind her, he could see the Patriarch called Rothanan. The man’s face had gone dark with blood. Clearly, he did not like her response.
“Thank you, my lady,” Alaric said. “I am pleased to know there is someone who is able to see truth.”
One of her white brows arched, and a hint of amusement crinkled her lips. “Truth is what I am told to see,” she said. “Live and be well, master bard.”
She tried to rise, but could not, and Alaric regretted that he was still bound and could not assist her. Still, High Lord Patriarch came to her side, and aided by an angry looking Rothanan, he assisted Desura to her litter. He once more offered her his hand, and she repeated the gesture of respect before wearily closing her eyes. The chair rose and the guards carried her from the chamber in silence. Lord Patriarch Rothanan looked at Alaric then followed the litter.
The acolyte closed the door in their wake. High Lord Patriarch turned and fixed a stern eye on the Bounty Hunters. His smile was gone.
“It would seem that the two of you owe this bard an apology,” he said quite firmly.
“His dog killed Malthorne,” Serapha said.
“Malthorne was a fool to listen to the pair of you, and it is you two who shall pay the wyregeld to Malthorne’s family. Now untie this man at once.”
Alaric dared not move. The two Bounty Hunters looked angry in spite of the humble expressions they wore. He could sense their anger in their auras. But they did as they were told and untied him.
“Walk with me, my son,” the High Patriarch said. “I will guide you back to the light.”
Alaric nodded. He crawled out of the chair and walked unsteadily towards the man. The High Lord Patriarch nodded and the acolyte opened the door. Alaric was allowed to leave first. The High Lord followed next, and then the acolyte closed the door.
The last thing Alaric saw of the Bounty Hunters was the sneers that they traded before he was guided through twists and turns and up the stairs, back to the grand foyer. The High Lord Patriarch was gravely silent the whole distance, and Alaric was not sure he knew what to say. Inside him, Ronan was shifting about, muttering in confusion. “She saw what we are...and she let us go...I do not understand.”
“We ask your forgiveness, my son,” the High Lord Patriarch said once they were there. He held out his hand to Alaric.
“Oh, you have it,” Alaric said as warmly as he could muster. And he took the hand and pressed his forehead to it as he had seen Desura do. “I am just sorry that my dog caused that man’s death, but he was only defending me...”
“We understand,” the High Lord said and gestured to the doorway. “Be at peace, my son, and good journey to you.”
Alaric managed a small bow before he hurried out of the Temple.
Desura’s heart had yet to slow down its thunderous pace. She was grateful for the guards now even more than before, for she was not sure she would not faint before she reached her chambers. She could feel the heat of Rothanan’s rage the entire distance.
He is the one I saw in my vision! The very thought sent a thousand shivers across her nerves. He was the pale youth who had stood next to the White Dragon in Desura’s dream.
But far more. When she had looked into him, she had seen that he was not alone. That there was another inside him, and that other was what frightened her.
The like of that one has not been seen in this land since the ancient days. The essence she had sensed in the bard’s dog, that was nothing compared to what she sensed inside the bard.
Why had she not noticed before?
“So, he is innocent, eh?” Rothanan said, his voice as cold as his gaze.
“Yes,” she said softly. “He is but a poor bard and nothing more.”
“Then why would your cousin have an interest in him?”
Desura looked into the granite gaze and managed not to flinch as she had always done in the past. “Because even my mercenary cousin would find such a handsome young man desirable.”
Rothanan nodded, though it was clear he was having a hard time believing her. But there was little he could say or do. The High Lord Patriarch had declared the bard an innocent based on her word.
Now the bard was free to lead Talena to the real prize.
TWENTY
Alaric had hardly taken twenty paces out of the Temple and across the common, which was now teeming with more farm folk and venders, when he heard the landlord of the inn shout his name.
“Master Lark!”
Alaric stopped. What now? The landlord was stepping out of his doorway, carrying a large bundle.
“You forgot your meal sack,” the landlord said and held out the sack. “Would not be right to send a bard packing without a proper supply.”
“I cannot afford...” Alaric began.
“It’s on the house, sir.” The landlord stepped out and thrust the bundle into Alaric’s hands. He leaned close. “Good journey to you, sir, and be mindful of the Eastern Forest. Bandits are fierce this time of the year.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alaric said and slipped the bundle into the satchel.
“May the Triad bless you abundantly.”
The landlord looked startled to hear that, but then he smiled and bobbled his head and hurried back inside. Alaric sighed, rolled his eyes and turned to look across the market way. Was that the wrong response?
“Oh, no, it was the right one, Ronan said. “You’re doing well with the language, I see. Drips off your tongue like honey. Why I imagine that in no time you’ll speak it as well as I do.”
Alaric tried not to frown. There was something sardonic in the way Ronan made that remark.
“Let’s go,” Ronan said. “East Gate is towards the sun. We’ve a long road ahead.”
Getting longer by the moment, Alaric thought. The sooner he got out of this village, the safer he would feel. He still couldn’t understand why the woman Desura had told them he was not a heretic.
He glanced around, wondering where Vagner was.
“He is not far away,” Ronan said. “Call to him, and I am sure he will come.”
Alaric reached out with mage senses and felt the demon’s essence off in one of the alleyways. He called the demon by his true name, and whistled as though to summon a dog. Within moments, a great hairy stag hound came bounding around the corner and running straight at Alaric.
“They let you go!” Vagner’s voice echoed in his head and he plunged forward and nearly ran over the top of Alaric. “Or did you escape?”
“Uh, good boy, down boy...stop it!” Alaric said.
Vagner crouched, looking uncertain. Alaric sighed and patted the demon on the head. Yes, they let me free, he thought. And for the life of me, I don’t know why, but we need to get out of here as fast as we can before they change their minds.
“Agreed,” Ronan said. “Let’s find an alley first. In fact, it would probably be a good idea for you to turn Vagner into a horse. A bard on foot is more tempting to bandits because he cannot escape.”
Alaric and Vagner traded looks. “A horse,” Alaric said.
“There is an alley over there,” Ronan said.
Alaric sighed and headed in the direction Ronan “sent” him. Vagner trotted along, looking none too please, but not daring to protest aloud here on the streets where the residents were starting to make their presences known. But Alaric had a feeling he knew exactly what Vagner the dog was thinking. Horses were not predators. How on earth could the demon hunt game and feed himself as a horse?
Wandering Lark (The Demon-Bound Duology) Page 13