by E. M. Foner
“Focus,” Meghan replied with a sigh. “Just be thankful I thought of buying the chest. I don’t see how we would have made it out of there otherwise.”
“I can think of a few ways,” Bryan grumbled. He’d been in a bad mood ever since Meghan made him leave his sword behind for the outing, though when he had seen the other visitors checking their weapons at the guardhouse in the main gate, he had to admit she was right. “Just let me carry it by myself, you’re slowing us down. We have to get back in time for our show with Laitz, if you’ve forgotten.”
Meghan gladly gave up her end of the awkward load, which Bryan then heaved onto his shoulder. The thin wood on the bottom of the chest made a cracking sound in protest. They continued in silence under the suspended portcullis and crossed the drawbridge into the run-down area of houses at the foot of the castle.
“This whole place is a dump,” Bryan continued his rant about everything related to the Green Duke’s castle. “And it stinks. You had better sanitation back at the castle where you lived, and your guy was only a baron.”
“I don’t know much about kingdom politics, but they do say that the Green Duke is a bit of a miser. Hey, why are we turning in here?”
“There’s no point carrying this chest all the way back to the fairgrounds, it will fall apart by then anyway,” Bryan said. He set his load down in the narrow alley between two wooden structures, and took off the long peasant’s coat he’d borrowed from the props wagon to wear in the cold morning air. Then he laid the coat out on the ground. “I’ll wrap the silk up in here and tie it with the sleeves, and then I can just carry it like a pack. It doesn’t weigh so much, it’s just bulky.”
Meghan took a quick look around to make sure they weren’t observed, and then watched as Bryan poured the silk out onto the open coat. Together they pulled the coat closed around the fine fabric and made up the buttons.
“Let me,” Meghan said, stopping Bryan from knotting the sleeves around the mass to prevent the silk from falling out of its crude packaging. She ran her finger over the bottom edge of the coat, murmuring, “Hold together.”
Bryan picked up the load, letting the weight fall on his back and holding a sleeve in each hand in front of his chest.
“Thanks, that’s much better,” he said. “Hey, this whole quest business is turning out to be a lot easier than I thought it would be. We get to see the kingdom, eat good food, and earn plenty of tips. I could get used to this lifestyle.”
Chapter 54
Following their performance of Dueling Dragons, the two latest additions to Rowan’s players took advantage of the empty stage to examine the contents of the improvised backpack while the players were all at dinner.
“I still say this could have waited for another time,” Bryan complained, unfolding his end of the silk bundle towards one end of the stage. “We could have done it after the evening performance.”
“And then everybody would have seen light coming from the stage and been suspicious,” Meghan retorted. “Nobody hangs around here in between shows so it’s the perfect time. Don’t worry, I already asked at the kitchen wagon for them to save us extra.”
“What do you mean extra?”
“I mean, more than the leftovers they always save that I give you before bed,” the girl explained. “Hey, there’s no way this thing is a tent or a tablecloth. Look at what we’ve pulled out so far.”
“Kind of like a snow angel built backwards,” Bryan observed. There was still a pile of silk at the center of the stage, but each of them had pulled out a broad tubular section that got narrower as it went. “We need to find some weights so we can hold these ends down while we untangle the middle.”
“Stay,” Meghan commanded, smoothing the broad swath of silk onto the stage. Then she carefully walked around to Bryan’s side and arranged the fabric he’d stretched out on the stage. “Watch, now,” she said, and repeated the simple incantation. “Did you get that?”
“What?” Bryan asked, looking back over his shoulder from where he’d moved to unravel the mess of folds in the center. “Hey, I think I found the bottom.”
Meghan shook her head at her own credulity that her dragon could pay attention long enough to learn anything magical he considered to be mundane. A great deal of the girl’s adolescence had been spent mastering the broadest possible array of magical manipulations through study of the scrolls and the natural world. It bothered her that Bryan now seemed to take all of her skills for granted, at the same time relegating them to a body of “women’s magic” that was mainly handy for keeping house.
“The body is upside down for a snow angel,” Bryan complained, backing towards the front of the stage and spreading the silk as he went. “It’s getting narrower rather than wider at the bottom. Check for a head.”
“What’s this snow angel you keep talking about?”
“You know, when you lie on your back in the snow and work your arms up and down to make wings.”
Meghan approached what Bryan was calling the top of whatever they were dealing with and found there was little silk left to spread out.
“This seems to be the end of it,” she said. “It’s a tube shape that’s doubled up for reinforcement, almost like a collar. Wait, there’s some sort of label with a word in your language. Stop! Don’t walk on it.”
Bryan groaned and detoured around one of the wing-shaped extensions. Then he crouched and read out loud, “Long.”
“I can see that it’s long,” Meghan said in exasperation. “Did we need a label to tell us that? Let’s get it picked up before somebody returns. If we start from the bottom and fold it up neatly before crossing the wing things, I bet it will take much less space than it did all crumpled together.”
“Going by the size, it looks like an undershirt for a dragon,” Bryan said. “What I don’t get is how anything big enough to wear it could put it on. I mean, maybe I could get my shoulders through the opening at the bottom and crawl inside like a tent, but there’s room for ten of me in there.”
“Maybe if you crawled in there you’d grow real wings and a long tail, and then it would fit you perfectly,” Meghan said thoughtfully. “Why else would the map have sent us looking for it?”
“Some other time.” Bryan began rapidly folding the giant silk garment from the bottom. “If we hurry, I’ll bet we’ll make it back in time for dessert.”
Chapter 55
The lead wagon rumbled to a halt before reaching a small detachment of soldiers who were blocking the coastal road. Behind an officer on a flashy white charger, the eight soldiers were arrayed four across in two rows. In addition to the short swords at their belts, the troopers carried large shields slung across their backs, and an assortment of pole arms. A tall man wearing a white hood walked beside the horse. The officer was armed with a sword, and he wore a cuirass and helmet with a feathered crest.
“Halt in the king’s name,” the officer declared self-importantly. The troopers looked almost embarrassed by their leader’s performance, but Rowan took it in stride. He separated himself from the group walking at the front of the wagon train, which included Storm Bringer, Hardol, and Jomar, and approached the detachment slowly, with his hands spread in a peaceful gesture.
“Now, why would the king’s name want us to halt?” the giant troupe leader replied in a friendly tone, as though he were chatting with the men in a tavern rather than being confronted on the road. “We’re on our way to play the Middle Festival and we’re on a tight schedule.”
“You must be Rowan,” the officer said with distaste, ostentatiously placing his right hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve heard that you players are no better than outlaws, but I’ll give you a chance all the same. My mission is to arrest a girl who fled Castle Refuge without permission of her baron. She’s said to be traveling with a young man she claims to be a cousin or husband.”
“You’ll arrest no such person with us,” the giant replied easily. “You have my word of honor on that.”
“
He is telling the truth,” the man in the white hood responded to the officer’s unspoken question. “He also hides something.”
“Is that so,” the officer drawled, looking down on Rowan from horseback. “I’ll give you one chance to do this the easy way, and then we’ll put you down like mad dogs.”
“Not this again,” one of the troopers muttered, shifting uncomfortably and signaling to the other soldiers to be prepared.
“Well, your conversation has gone downhill in a hurry, boy,” Rowan replied in cold voice. “I’m sure you won’t be offended if we defend ourselves from both your slander and your troops.”
Bryan arrived at a run, remembering Hardol’s instruction to stick with Rowan if things heated up, but Storm Bringer grabbed his arm, stopping the young man in his tracks with surprising ease.
“Curtiss!” the officer barked without bothering to turn his head. “Take this man into custody. If he resists, cut him down.”
The trooper who had muttered earlier moved up alongside the officer’s horse and said, “A word, Captain.”
“What is it this time?” the officer almost screamed, a fine spray of spittle accompanying his words. “Have I offended your professional abilities by asking you to deal with strolling players? Are my instructions too complicated for such a straightforward fellow as yourself? If the pay and responsibility of your august position weigh so heavily upon you, I’m sure one of the other men will be willing to step up.”
“Over there, in the woods, Captain,” Curtiss replied in a tightly controlled voice. “Four men with longbows, the kind that will punch an arrow right through that shiny cuirass of yours at this range.”
“Seeker,” the captain barked, turning to the man standing at the other side of his horse. “I assume you can stop arrows?”
“This isn’t the place to find out,” the man replied nervously, his eyes flitting from Rowan, to Storm Bringer, to Bryan. “I sense powerful magic in this group and it’s not the kind I understand. Let them pass on my authority as King’s Seeker and I’ll send for instructions.”
“On YOUR authority?” the officer yelled, narrowly escaping being dumped from his horse, which was starting to dance about nervously as its master lost emotional control. “Am I in command of imbeciles?”
“They strike me as reasonable fellows,” Rowan offered conversationally.
“Shut up, you big oaf!” the captain screamed.
“If you’re going to insult me, I’ll be forced to challenge you.”
“I am Torone, the second son of Baron Massey, and I don’t duel with strolling players or outlaws.”
A hawk chose that moment to dive into the scene, coming in for a landing on the shaman’s shoulder. Storm Bringer communed silently with the bird before calling out in a cheerful voice, “No other soldiers on the road within an hour’s walk in either direction.”
The captain turned white at the implication of the shaman’s words. “Kill him,” he shouted, drawing his sword and pointing it at Rowan.
Curtiss moved forward, bringing his pole-axe around in a wide sweep and smashing the flat of the blade into the side of the captain’s helmet. Torone toppled from his horse, unconscious, one foot trapped in the stirrup. The white stallion turned and bolted down the road, scattering the troopers and dragging the unfortunate captain after him.
“Sorry about that, sir,” Curtiss addressed Rowan. “Wearing a helmet in the bright sun makes some of the young officers a bit crazy. I’m sure he’ll see things from a new perspective if he should ever wake up.”
“He won’t be waking up,” one of the other troopers said darkly. “It’s said that falling from their mounts while showing off is the leading cause of death for young officers. My brother died fighting for bloody Baron Massey.”
“You’ll have no trouble from me,” the seeker announced shakily, sensing that Rowan and the other players had shifted their attention in his direction. He found that he couldn’t keep his eyes off the small man with the crooked teeth who was toying with a throwing knife. “I haven’t even gone through the initiation. I’m just a probationary.”
“You know that the players have a history with seekers,” Rowan replied, moving towards the man, who began to tremble.
“Not with me, no history,” the seeker pleaded, sinking to his knees. “I’ve only been in the king’s service for a month. I haven’t even been paid yet.”
Rowan drew his sword and cut a vicious arc through the air, stopping the blade just short of the man’s neck.
“Swear on the sword. You’ll leave the king’s service immediately, and you’ll bite off your own tongue before you ever tell what happened here today.”
“I swear it,” the ex-seeker croaked, planting a kiss on the glowing blue blade. The man stiffened as the oath-magic entered his body, and Rowan resheathed his sword.
“You other men might consider a different service,” Hardol addressed the troopers. “Brom’s players should be just a few hours behind us, and I hear they’re hiring intelligent men such as yourselves. A number of new troupes are starting up as well, though I can’t say anything positive about their productions.”
“We’ll do that, sir,” Curtiss replied, looking at Rowan rather than Hardol. “I saw your performance of The Traitor three nights ago, and so did the men. It’s been bloody times for soldiers ever since the old king was overthrown.”
“Nothing lasts forever,” Rowan replied, motioning the lead wagon to start forward. “Not even kings and dragons.”
Chapter 56
“I don’t get it,” Bryan complained to Meghan as they pitched their tent. “I know that those guys were no match for all of the veterans working for Rowan, and I saw Theodric and his men grab longbows and head into the woods when the wagons halted. But why did that soldier knock his own leader off a horse with a pole-axe? If the officer wasn’t dead when he hit the ground, I’ll bet those troopers put him out of his misery when they caught up with the horse.”
“I guess it was that or they all would have died,” Meghan replied quietly. “Did men always follow stupid orders and run to their deaths in those games you keep talking about?”
“Sort of,” Bryan admitted. “They’d usually climb over the bodies of their comrades to keep attacking until you killed the last one for bonus points. But still, if word gets back to the king, the next time there’ll be an army waiting for us.”
“I don’t know who enchanted Rowan’s sword, but I’ve read about oath magic and that ex-seeker will never talk. The man who swears the oath will use his own magic to enforce the promise as long as he lives. The troopers won’t go back to their baron or duke again because they’re mutineers. They weren’t part of the royal guard or things would have gone differently. Phinneas told me that the household troops only travel with the king.”
“But there must be records. I don’t know, work permits and travel papers, things like that. People can’t just go wherever they want without somebody knowing.”
“Have you seen any of the things you’re talking about since you arrived here?” Meghan asked. “People are identified by their looks, their accents, who they say they are, and the companions who vouch for them. As long as those men don’t return to their castle barracks, nobody will be looking for them.”
“So soldiers only fight when they want to?”
“What gave you that idea?” Meghan held the tent pole straight and waited for Bryan to pull the ridge rope taut before continuing. “Soldiers fight for pay, and many of them die for pay, but there are certain things they have a right to expect. They sign up to fight against other soldiers with war mages in support. There must be battlefield healers and some chance of winning. Didn’t you say that the seeker spoke of unknown magic on our side? Why would a small group of soldiers attack a larger group of armed men who they obviously recognized as seasoned fighters, not to mention the likelihood that a hidden mage could burn them to a crisp before the bowmen turned them into pincushions? On top of all that, the traveling player trou
pes are well known to soldiers. Bethany tells me that they make up half of the audience for some of the martial plays, and even if they’ve taken the king’s silver, they’re men, not slaves.”
“It’s different where I came from,” Bryan told her. “We have volunteer armies, or at least, most of them are, and the men and women join because they care about their kingdoms. Damn, I didn’t mean kingdoms. If we ever see Hadrixia again, I’m going to ask for a refund on her translation magic. Our lands are ruled by the people. We vote for our kings.”
“You have women in your armies?” Meghan asked in astonishment, ignoring the young man’s nonsensical claims about government.
“Women these days do all sorts of stuff that used to be reserved for men. We even have women kings.”
“They’re called ‘queens’ here.”
“I know that. I just meant women on Dark Earth have more options in most of the kingdoms.”
“Like wearing see-through hose,” Meghan reminded him.
“That’s just—I really don’t get women,” Bryan cut himself off.
“Poor Bryan. If you work hard studying magic, maybe I’ll give you lessons.”
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he growled at her. He remembered girls who liked to flirt, but it had never led anywhere, at least not for him. “What’s the next castle on the festival circuit?”
“The Blue Duke’s.”
“Makers of brew, for men who are blue, heat the wart true, check in the flue,” he quoted from memory. “I’ve heard of burning warts off with a red-hot nail, but it doesn’t sound very magical. Does it mean that guys with warts get depressed so they drink a lot of beer before burning them off?”
“Wort, not wart,” Meghan corrected him with a giggle.
Bryan looked at her blankly.
“Wort is the liquid the brewers get from mash to make beer,” she explained. “I know you had beer on Dark Earth.”