by Deborah Hale
How did all these small clues fit together to explain what had happened here? Scores of possibilities clamored in his thoughts. Some quite innocent. Others too alarming to dwell on. Rath forced them all from his mind.
Whatever had happened, Maura was no longer here, so he must waste no more time here, either. He must pick up the trail again and follow it until he found her. Then she could satisfy his curiosity with the whole story.
After making a rapid circuit of the area, Rath picked up some clear tracks again, still pointing south. Unless he was much mistaken, more people had joined the party.
The clouds began to spit fat drops of rain. Rath hoped it would not turn into a full-fledged storm and wash away the tracks he was following.
Slightly rested from his short pause, he set off, torn between the conflicting needs for haste and stealth. If only he had a few of those feathers Maura had used to make him invisible to the Han. And might there be some herb that lent a man the ability to run faster and farther?
Giving a wry shake of his head, he muttered under his breath, “Never thought I’d live to see myself hankering after sorcery!”
A chuckle froze in his throat. He dove to the ground.
He had just mounted the crest of a low ridge that overlooked Aldwood. The great forest stretched off to the east as far as he could see and for some distance to the west, as well. Around the fringe of the wood, Rath could make out several men coming and going. He hoped they had not marked his presence.
From some distance within the borders of the forest, slender plumes of smoke rose above the tree tops. Rath guessed they came from the cook fires of a large and well-organized camp.
But, whose?
The sound of voices behind him sent Rath scrambling for cover. If the two men who strode into view a few moments later had been more alert, he might have found himself in a vat of boiling trouble. Luckily they were deep in talk and never spared a glance his way.
“That will have Turgen in a temper, no mistake!” said the taller of the pair, who carried a short bow over his shoulder. “I’ll wager Vang had a fine laugh over it, the three of ’em laid out cold like that.”
“I’d have paid good coin to see it,” replied the other fellow. “How do ye reckon she did it?”
The bowman shrugged. “Witchery of some sort. I would not meddle with her but Vang is bound to get to the bottom of it. Mark me, he is looking over his shoulder these days. Anything that bids fair to help him hang on, he will use it.”
“Aye, he’s a cunning one.”
Those were the last words Rath could make out as the two men moved out of earshot.
Crouching in the thicket, staring toward the ancient towering pines of Aldwood, he tried to make sense of what he had just overheard. It seemed his worst fears had proven true. Somehow, Maura had fallen into the clutches of the notorious outlaw lord, Vang Spear of Heaven.
For many years, Vang and his man had operated out of the Blood Moon foothills, sweeping down to prey on farmers and travelers in the Long Vale. Rath wondered what had brought them this far east.
By the sound of it, Maura had not come willingly with Vang’s men. A brief flicker of amusement and pride stirred within him, imagining her bewitching three of her captors. That would explain the strange signs he had read upon the heath.
The swift flash of levity quickly burnt itself out, leaving behind dregs of bitter ash. Maura’s valiant defense had not been enough, after all. She was now Vang’s prisoner.
How could he free her? Rath asked himself as he gazed toward the vast forest, as forbidding as the man who now ruled it.
Did he even dare to try?
So much for oracles and legends!
Maura paced the small stone cell into which she’d been thrown, trying not to think about what Vang and his men would do to her and how soon they would begin.
The damp stone walls seemed to close in on her with the suffocating tightness of despair. Being captured by outlaws had long been one of her worst fears. Now it had come to pass.
If she lived to be as old as Langbard, which at the moment seemed unlikely, she would never forget the leering looks she’d received from Vang’s men as she’d been marched into his camp. Hard as she had tried not to let them see her naked terror, she doubted they’d been fooled.
Once again Maura made a circuit of the cell, searching in vain for any possible means of escape. But it looked no more promising than it had before. The stone walls were as stout and unyielding as they could be.
What business did a stone castle have in the middle of a forest in the first place?
If she were the size of a hare, she might be able to wriggle through the narrow slit of a window that let in a small amount of light and air. There would still remain the problem of reaching it, though, since it was set high in the wall, just below the ceiling. From outside, the tiny window opened at ground level. At the moment Maura could see two pair of booted feet wandering past. There would be no escape that way.
Given the right tools and enough time, she might be able to gouge a useful sized hole in the sturdy timbers of the door. But she had neither. There was a small slot at the bottom, probably for pushing food and water through. But its dimensions were even smaller than the window’s.
Heaving a sigh of defeat, Maura sank to the floor. If she were ever to get out of here, it would not be by her own efforts.
“Giver,” she whispered, “I cannot do your will without your help.”
Outside her cell she heard footsteps approaching. They halted at her door. Then Maura heard the scrape of a heavy bar being lifted.
Inhaling a deep breath, she rose to her feet and adopted a stance of poised stillness completely at odds with the stew of feelings churning inside her.
The door swung open. A short but burly outlaw entered with a length of rope in his hands. Behind him, two others crowded in the doorway training short bows on her.
All three moved in an awkward, jerky manner as if they had the palsy. Their gazes faltered before hers. Were they afraid of her? That preposterous notion made Maura give a burst of nervous laughter.
“There now, what is so funny?” demanded the man with the rope. “Vang wants to see you and that is no laughing matter.”
Maura had never supposed it might be.
“Turn around,” ordered the outlaw. “If you please,” he added in an uncertain tone that suggested he would not know what to do if she refused. “Your hands are to be bound behind your back. Vang’s orders.”
So even the Spear of Heaven himself considered her dangerous. That absurd possibility gave Maura the tiniest crumb of confidence. She clung to it.
“Very well.” She feigned haughty assurance. “If you leader is so wary of a single defenseless woman, I will humor him.”
Imagining herself a regal lady from one of Langbard’s stories, she turned slowly, holding her wrists behind her for the outlaw guard to bind.
The rope rasped against her skin, making her feel more vulnerable than ever. But the poor man’s fumbling fingers and stammered apology fed her tenuous sense of power. And something else, too, that she had not expected.
A sense that these men were also creations of the Giver, no matter how badly the ills of the world had marred them.
“There you go, my lady.” Where Rath had gently mocked her with that title, this fellow sounded sincere. “That rope is not too tight on you, is it? I might be able to loosen it. Just a bit, mind, or Vang will have my head.”
“Do not fret yourself.” As she turned around, Maura caught the man’s eye and smiled. “I know you are only obeying the orders you were given.”
The man’s rough features softened and his squinty eyes seemed to glow. How long had it been since anyone had spoken a kind or forbearing word to him?
“W-will you come, then, my lady?” He made a sweeping gesture toward the cell door with an air of awkward courtliness.
“I will.” She inclined her head in the way she imagined a queen might do to acknowledg
e a respected courtier. “Thank you.”
The bowmen drew apart to let her pass, while the other guard scurried ahead to show her the way.
“What is this place?” Maura gazed around her as she walked down a long hallway lit by flickering torches. She had been too overcome with fear to take much notice when she’d first been brought here.
“Some old ruin of a castle,” replied her guard. “Vang found it and brought us here from out of the hills. Some of it’s fallen down but parts are still good. Even the worst of it is better than living out of doors or in caves.”
Maura recalled some things Rath Talward had said in bitter jest. “Your life is not an easy one, I know.”
What tragedy or ill-chance had brought him here?
Maura did not get an opportunity to ask, for they now entered a large room that might once have served as a royal banquet hall. Its vaulted stone roof had fallen over the centuries, but the outlaws had made shift a crude replacement of timber. Though it looked out of place atop the wall’s fine stonework, no doubt it kept the rain out just as well.
Rough-hewn trestle tables and benches lined the sides of the hall, at which sat a small host of the most desperate looking men Maura had ever seen. While the sight of them still struck fear in her heart, it did not provoke the swooning panic it might have done an hour ago. For she saw each man as the Giver might—an individual with vices and virtues, regrets and fears.
At the head of the room, sat their leader, Vang. The bandit chief rested on a chair that had been carved from a huge tree stump. Some of the roots spread out beneath it, like tentacles. Across his lap rested the sash that held all Maura’s spell ingredients.
He beckoned her. “Come, witch, and give an account of yourself.”
Maura willed her voice not to tremble as she walked up the aisle between the tables. “You mistake me, sir. I am no witch, only a traveler who means you no harm and begs leave to be allowed on her way.”
Vang paused for a moment and appeared to ponder her request, then he shook his head. “You give yourself too little credit.”
He held up her sash. “Tell me, what is all this?”
Part of her was tempted to bluff about her powers, so the outlaws might be too frightened to keep her. Yet she heard herself reply, “Nothing that will do any harm. Herbs, mostly, for treating wounds and sickness. Shall I show you?”
“Like you showed Turgen and his lads?” Vang clutched the sash as if he expected Maura to wrest it from him by force. “It was more than a few herbs struck them all down.”
To either side of her, Vang’s men began to mutter feverishly among themselves.
“I did nothing to hurt them.” Maura turned her head to show her bruised cheek. “I fear they cannot say the same for me.”
“My men only did as they were bidden. Watching out for anyone who trespasses on our territory and bringing them here for questioning.”
Maura seized on an elusive wisp of hope. “If you find such travelers pose no threat to you, do you send them on their way?”
Again Vang appeared to consider the notion. “Not often, no. Where were you bound when my men found you?”
A warning of Rath’s flashed in Maura’s mind. Claiming she was headed for Tarsh would be too obvious a falsehood, and she did not know the names of any towns in the Long Vale.
So she answered, “My destination is my own business.”
Vang leapt to his feet and marched toward her, shaking the sash in his fist. “Since you are here and I am asking, that makes it my business, too, witch.”
As he bore down on her, Maura struggled to hold her ground.
“Now leave off toying with me,” Vang roared. “Else I will give you a matching bruise on the other side of your pretty face! And a few other places that show less but hurt worse!”
As the outlaw loomed over her, his breath hot on her face, Maura discovered there were depths of fear she had not yet begun to plumb. Her knees began to tremble and her insides seemed to collapse into a bottomless void.
Then from behind her came the most welcome sound in the world—Rath Talward’s impudent, mocking voice. “Have a little respect for the lady, Vang. If she has to look at a face as ugly as yours, she deserves fair words to make up for it.”
Vang’s hulking head snapped up to stare past Maura. The whispering around them rose like the menacing buzz of a shaken wasp’s nest.
“It has been a long time since we have seen you in these parts, Wolf.” Vang’s voice took on a note of baiting banter. “Who let you in?”
“Why? Am I not welcome?” Maura could picture Rath’s look of feigned surprise. “No one tried to stop me from coming here... at least not hard enough for me to take seriously.”
A muted crunch followed, that sounded like the cracking of knuckles.
Vang seemed to forget Maura altogether. “You have tidied up since we last met, Wolf. Getting soft?”
“Try me.”
The audacity of the challenge made Maura catch her breath. To her surprise, Vang did not press it. “What brings you here? Come to join us at last? I heard you had some trouble with the white heads. Heard they chopped you in little pieces and fed you to their hounds.”
Maura risked a backward glance. Even if she’d known Vang would flatten her for it, she would not have been able to resist.
A strange, sweet spasm gripped her heart when her gaze fastened on Rath. His wet hair was short, but by no means tidy. A stumble of whisker bristled on his chin. Beneath that brazen grin, his face looked drawn, as though he had gone too long without sleep. Was that a drop of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth?
Never in her life had Maura been happier to see anyone. She could barely keep from running to throw herself into his arms.
“My flesh must not have agreed with their delicate bellies.” Rath swaggered deeper into the hall, toward Maura and the outlaw chief. “And when did Vang Spear of Heaven start paying any heed to Hanish boasts?”
“I did not say I believed them.” Vang shrugged. “I was only telling you what I heard.”
“As for what brings me here, I did not come to join you.” Rath swept a glance around the hall. “Though your new quarters are a vast improvement over the old.”
“It suits me.” Though Vang’s tone sounded indifferent, Maura could see his chest puff out under his thick fur vest.
Rath strode toward Maura then wrapped his hand around her upper arm. “I came because you filched something of mine and I want it back.”
The instant he caught a good look at her face, outrage flashed in his eyes. He was quick to conceal it from the outlaws, but Maura recognized it.
Tilting her chin with his fingers, Rath inspected her bruises. He clucked his tongue. “And you have damaged it.”
A few days ago, Maura might have bridled at such casual handling. Not to mention being spoken of as if she were his possession. Now, she knew he was only doing what needed to be done to win her release.
When their gazes met, she sensed a plea for patience and responded with a wordless assurance that she understood.
“Turgen struck the wench.” Vang pointed toward his lieutenant, who glowered at Rath and Maura. “If you have a complaint, take it up with him.”
Rath glowered back. “I may do that.”
“How were my men to know she was yours?” Vang strolled back to his rustic throne. “If you wanted to keep her, you should have kept a closer eye on her.”
“A man can only do so many things at once,” said Rath. “I doubt even the mighty Spear of Heaven could hunt and stand guard at the same time.”
“That is why I keep this lot around.” Vang made a sweeping gesture that took in all the men sitting at the tables. “So I do not need to hunt or keep watch. But enough bandying words. We hold the wench, now. That makes her ours. Have you forgotten the outlaw code? What I take and can hold belongs to me.”
Maura tried to keep silent, but the words burst out of her. “If you ask me, that sounds more Hanish than Embria
n.”
Vang looked from Maura to Rath. “You have not taught her proper meekness, Wolf.”
His gaze flicked back to Maura. “No one asked your thoughts, wench. Nor ever will as long as you remain here.”
“She does know how to scold.” Rath gave an exaggerated sigh. “I would be doing you a favor by unburdening you of her company.”
“Never fear, I can cure her of that quick enough.” Vang kneaded his fist into the palm of his other hand. “Besides, she could be of use to me, if she can do to my enemies what she did to Turgen, Orl and young Jaro.”
“That kind of power is like a blade with two edges, Vang. A man must always be on guard that it does not turn and do him an injury.”
Vang rose from his chair again and marched toward them. “The trick for wielding such blades is to keep a good firm grip.”
With those last words, he reached for Maura’s other arm, clenching his fist around it with such brutal force that she cried out in pain.
“Unhand her!” Rath threw himself between the bandit lord and Maura, driving the edge of his hand against Vang’s arm, just behind the elbow.
At once the cruel pressure of Vang’s grip broke and Maura was able to pull her arm away.
“You will pay for that!” Vang snarled.
Rath shoved his way further between Maura and the bandit lord. “Take care it does not cost you more to collect than the debt is worth. Since you will not give the lady up, I will fight you for her!”
“You? Challenge me?” Vang laughed. “Very well, then. I have not had much sport of late. An hour from now?”
Before Rath could answer, Maura cried, “No!”
“Curb your tongue, witch!” Vang fixed her with a fierce, one-eyed glare that would probably have silenced any man in the room. “This is none of your concern.”
Maura ignored the pleading look Rath directed at her. “Since I am the one being fought over, I cannot think whom it concerns more. What satisfaction is there in besting a foe who labors under a disadvantage? Or do you fear to fight fair with Rath the Wolf?”
The bandit lord shook his fist in Rath’s face and his voice thundered through the hall to echo off the stone walls. “Vang Spear of Heaven fears no foe!”