The Wizard's Ward (Queen's Quests Trilogy Book 1)

by Deborah Hale

  Rath did not flinch before Vang’s noisy fury.

  Maura tried not to either. “Then you will want to allow your challenger a good night’s sleep and a full belly before you fight him?”

  “So I will! No one will dare say Vang Spear of Heaven must starve his opponents to beat them. Tomorrow, then, Wolf, after you have slept long and eaten full.”

  Rath nodded his agreement. “You are a worthy foe.”

  A wave of relief threatened to overwhelm Maura. At least this way if Rath fought the bandit lord, he would not be at quite so great a disadvantage. More importantly though, her challenge to Vang’s outlaw code of honor had bought her some precious time. Time to dissuade Rath Talward from risking his life for her.

  Though it warmed her heart to know that he was willing, she could not let him make that kind of sacrifice for her. Langbard’s death already weighed far too heavily on her conscience.

  “What do you mean, not fight Vang?” Rath struggled to keep his voice to a whisper as he lay in the rain-soaked grass at the base of the ruined castle, his face pressed to the tiny window of Maura’s cell. “I have no choice if you want to get out of here. And you do want to get out of here, believe me!”

  “Of course I do!” Maura’s urgent whisper floated up to him. “More than you can possibly know. But not at the cost of your life. Surely there must be some other way.”

  “I tried to find another way. Did you not hear me? I tried to call on my past acquaintance with Vang. Tried to convince him you would be more bother than you were worth. We are lucky he accepted my challenge rather than just tossing me into one of these cells and doing as he pleased with you afterward.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Her question wafted out of the darkness to pierce his heart. “What happened to caring about nothing beyond your own survival?”

  What had happened to it? Rath was not certain. Perhaps it was only submerged in a passing wave of madness. Surely once he got Maura safely to Prum and out of his life, everything would go back to what it had been.

  Rath tried to believe that. He tried even harder to convince himself it was what he wanted. “You were the one who told me such a life was not worth living.”

  “No. I asked you to look into your heart and discover if you thought it was.”

  Rath did not reply straightaway, but held himself still, scarcely breathing, listening for footsteps of a guard on patrol. All he heard was the patter of falling rain and the ghostly rustle of the wind high up in the ancient, towering pines. Perhaps in so isolated a spot, Vang thought such precautions unnecessary.

  Rath would have been more cautious. Especially after what his recent lack of caution had cost Maura.

  “I did not come here to quibble with you,” he said at last. “We do not have time for it.”

  Some compulsion he did not understand made Rath slide his arm through the tiny opening, extending his hand down to Maura. “You risked your life for me that day in Betchwood. Like it or not, that put me in your debt. Last night, I failed you. You are in this cell, now, because I let you down. I need to make up for that, though damned if I understand why.”

  Maura must have seen or sensed him reaching toward her, for her hand found his and clung. “You did not ask for my aid, that day. Twice you told me to leave you. No harm came to me on account of what I did. At least nothing worse than a sore back. I cannot bear the thought of having your blood on my conscience. Whatever debt you owe me, or think you owe me, I deem it cancelled.”

  “But...” It did not work that way. A debt of that kind had more to do with him than with her. It blighted his solitary independence. To free himself, he must be satisfied that he had done enough to repay it.

  “I know if you try you can find some other way out of this than fighting Vang.” Her grip tightened on his hand, conveying the urgency of her plea and her confidence in him. “Even if you defeat him, how do you know he will honor his promise to let us go? Your wits are sharper and more powerful than your blade, Rath Talward. For my sake and your own—use them.”

  He tried to muster a halfway persuasive argument, but he could not shift his stubborn thoughts from the sensation of her hand in his. Her skin was so smooth, her bones so delicate yet perversely strong. His fingers moved over hers in a restless caress, far more intimate and provocative than a simple joining of hands ought to be.

  Kneading the tender pads of flesh at the base of each finger. Lightly gliding his thumbnail over the warm, creased valley of her palm. Circling her dainty wrist with his thumb and forefinger.

  Maura’s hand did not remain passive beneath his touch but roved with a will of its own. The trusting innocence of her caress stirred Rath in a way no other ever had. He bit back a soft groan of longing that could never hope to be fulfilled.

  When the sounds of approaching footsteps intruded on this strange, sweet moment of communion between them, Rath could barely keep from surging up and throttling Vang’s men.

  “I cannot stay!” he whispered, pulling his hand back with bitter reluctance. “If I am found here it could go ill for us both.”

  He felt the tension in Maura’s flesh as she strained upward, trying to maintain contact with him until the last possible instant. “Promise me you will think about what I said?”

  “I promise.” Not that it would change anything.

  With all the stealth of a wild creature, Rath scrambled up from the base of the tower and disappeared into the rain-drenched shadows.

  He could not do what Maura asked and still win her freedom ... could he? After what had just passed between them, he wanted to, more than ever.

  And not only to repay a debt.

  Chapter Twelve

  WITH EVERYTHING AT stake, had she been a fool to press Rath for a less violent solution to her predicament?

  Maura pondered that question from the moment she woke after a nightmare-plagued sleep, until the moment Vang sent his guards to fetch her so she could watch the fight. She wished she had been spared that honor.

  If Rath’s challenge to Vang was going ahead, that could only mean he had not been able devise another plan... if he had even tried. It also meant she had failed to convince him that he owed her no further obligation.

  Could that be because her intrepid words had communicated one thing while her clinging hand had told quite a different story? Her hand tingled as the guard bound it behind her. She had slept all night with it pressed to her cheek and her lips, convinced it still carried a whiff of Rath’s scent, however faint.

  She could not escape the feeling it also carried an echo of his touch. If she ran her fingers through her hair, it would be as though he had done it from a distance. If she cupped her cheek with her palm, it was easy to imagine his hand in place of her own.

  “That too tight?” asked the guard.

  Shaken from her musings, Maura murmured, “It is not uncomfortable, thank you.”

  “Let’s go, then, if you please, my lady.”

  The guard’s use of that courtesy title shook Maura. She had no business entertaining tender thoughts about Rath Talward. No business touching his hand the way she had last night, or allowing hers to be touched. The darkness, their jeopardy, and the impossibility of it going beyond hand holding, all had lulled her sense of right and wrong.

  If she believed Langbard, which she must, she had a destiny to fulfil. Beyond getting her to Prum, Rath Talward could have no part in that destiny, nor would he want to. If they both escaped Vang’s clutches, which seemed unlikely at the moment, Maura vowed she would do nothing further to confuse Rath about her feelings.

  If only those feelings did not confuse her so badly!

  The guard led her through the half-ruined castle to a large courtyard. Sometime during the night it had stopped raining, but the ground in the courtyard was still muddy.

  Vang’s outlaws lounged around the walls, clustered in small groups, talking together. The loud murmur of their voices quieted as Maura entered and was led toward a small, backless bench that s
tood to one side of a wide, arched entrance way. Though she kept her gaze fixed forward, she sensed heads turning as she passed.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Turgen watching her intently. The bruises he had inflicted on her face began to ache as if on some wordless signal. A similar malevolent energy urged her to turn and look at him, but Maura refused to surrender to it. Instead she tilted her chin a little higher, straightened her shoulders and kept walking. When she reached the stool, she slowly lowered herself onto the seat.

  No sooner had she done so than Vang strode into the courtyard through the entrance beside her. Somehow he looked even bigger than he had the previous day. He wore about him an air of confidence, bordering on smugness that sent a quiver of dread through Maura.

  When Rath arrived, a moment later, ducking under the archway through which Maura had entered, he appeared preoccupied, not even sparing a glance in her direction. Certainly he did not look as though he had benefited from the sleep she’d secured for him. Had she destroyed any slight advantage he might have gained by selfishly keeping him talking late into the night?

  Once he’d left her, had he tossed and turned until daybreak, trying to contrive a means of escape other than fighting Vang? The result of her well-intended meddling would likely be Rath beaten bloody or worse.

  Rage and despair at her own helplessness seethed inside her. If only she’d still had her sash and her hands free, she would show Vang and his outlaws a thing or two! On the heels of that thought came a twinge of shame. Did she rely too much on magic, the way she had accused Rath of overrelying on his blade? Whatever happened in the next little while, she must find some way to help Rath and herself.

  Behind her back, Maura flexed her wrists against the rope that held them, then strained to lift one middle finger so she could probe her bonds for weakness. The knot felt tight and solid. She doubted she could have worked it apart with her hands free.

  But, wait... the cord had been looped several times around each wrist and not too snug. Perhaps if she pulled it very tight on one side, the rope would loosen enough on the other for her to wriggle that hand free. Then, if a chance came for her to aid Rath or create a distraction, she would be ready to seize it.

  “Rath the Wolf!” Vang’s deep raspy voice boomed out, hushing all the others and making Maura give a guilty start as she struggled against her bonds. “You challenge me for the freedom of your woman, who is my prisoner?”

  The rope squeezed tighter and tighter around Maura’s left arm, until her fingers tingled and began to go numb. But still she could not work her right hand through the bottom loop.

  “I do not!” cried Rath.

  For a moment, Maura forgot her bonds, bewildered by Rath’s answer. Had he found a way to do what she’d asked? The possibility made her blood course faster and a rush of swift, urgent energy surge through her, as if she had drained a draft of potent quickfoil elixir.

  Rath’s words sent a drone of muted muttering around the fringe of the courtyard. All the outlaws sounded as surprised by this new development as Maura felt.

  Except, perhaps, Vang?

  Maura waited for him to question Rath or bid him be gone, even have him seized and bound. Instead the outlaw chief seemed to hesitate, as if waiting for an explanation.

  He did not have to wait long.

  “After thinking on it,” Rath announced, “I realized my quarrel lies not with you, but with the fellow who stole and mistreated my woman in the first place.”

  His gaze raked the crowd until he found the man he sought. “I challenge Turgen to reclaim her!”

  The noise in the courtyard swelled as the outlaws set up a feverish mutter. Maura’s fragile optimism flattened as quickly as the froth on cheap ale.

  The prospect of Rath fighting Vang for her had been bad enough. But Vang had only the one eye—that must be counted an advantage for his opponent. Though he was a big, powerful man, he looked less nimble than the swift, lean Wolf.

  Turgen, on the other hand, appeared far too well-matched for Rath in both size and agility. He had also proven his ruthlessness. If Rath must fight one of the outlaws, Maura would have favored Vang.

  Just then her left arm throbbed, reminding Maura of her own modest, and possibly futile, plan. With the outlaws around her all distracted, she redoubled her efforts to work her hands free.

  “To the Pit with you and your challenge, Wolf!” Turgen snarled. “I took the woman under orders. We spied the smoke from your camp and were sent to fetch whoever we found. I gave her a warning smack to quiet her.”

  His lip curled. “It worked well. You should try it... if you ever get another chance.”

  Rath chuckled as if he found the scornful quip amusing. “I believe I will.”

  The next instant his hand flew up, clouting Turgen with a blow to the head that rocked the outlaw sideways. Those standing near him jumped away as a great gasp went up from all the onlookers. Maura flinched back with a sudden jolt that tore her right hand free of the bottom loop of rope.

  Turgen recovered quickly from the shock of Rath’s blow. “I will have your hide for that, Wolf!”

  He lunged at Rath, who danced aside from his onrush at the last instant, leaving only an out-thrust foot to send Turgen sprawling onto the muddy earth of the courtyard.

  Loud shouts went up from the crowd. Some sounded hostile to Rath, but most rang with amusement at Turgen’s expense and admiration for Rath’s skill. Maura worked her hand free of the second loop.

  Turgen scrambled to his feet and went for Rath again with a swift swinging fist.

  Twisting into a crouch, Rath caught Turgen’s wrist and jerked the outlaw over his shoulder. When Turgen staggered back up, bright blood steamed from his nose and his eyes blazed with murderous rage.

  He made a flying tackle at Rath, who took only a glancing blow on the shoulder, then tumbled out of Turgen’s way, rolling to a stop at Maura’s feet. Leaping up, he checked for any immediate danger from Turgen. Apparently satisfied that he was safe for the instant, he swooped in to plant a kiss on Maura’s cheek.

  At least that was how it must have looked to Vang’s men.

  As his lips skidded over her face approaching her ear, he whispered, “Next time I roll this way, say the cuddybird spell!”

  Had she heard, right? Had she imagined it?

  When Rath danced back into the middle of the courtyard, Maura caught his eye and nodded. Then she twisted her hand out of the third loop of rope and felt it fall slack. Blood rushed back into her left hand, making the flesh burn and sting. Maura bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  In the middle of the courtyard, Turgen closed with Rath again. He feigned to pounce right, then made a quick shift left, seizing a handful of Rath’s padded leather vest. This time Rath was caught moving the wrong way. Before he could dodge, Turgen landed a solid blow to his jaw that rocked him back.

  Before Rath could recover, Turgen charged with his head down, plowing Rath back into the courtyard wall and driving his head into Rath’s belly. Maura jammed her eyes shut, but not in time to miss the grimace of pain that twisted Rath’s features.

  Would he get the opportunity to roll this way, as he’d planned? Maura feared he might not.

  Rath surprised her, though. And Turgen, too.

  Perhaps he had exaggerated how badly the blow hurt and winded him. For when Turgen pulled back, Rath moved after him with a deft pivot. Locking the outlaw’s head in the crook of his elbow, he threw himself back against the wall, battering Turgen’s pate against the stones.

  Once. Twice. Thrice.

  When Rath finally let him go, Turgen collapsed to his knees.

  The other outlaws roared their approval. Maura wondered if Turgen’s cruelty had made him enemies even among such hardened characters. Or perhaps Vang’s men simply enjoyed watching a fight between two well-matched foes.

  Rath gave a jaunty wave to acknowledge their cheers as he made his way toward Maura. But she sensed his pain in the stiff way he walked.
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  His hand moved toward a pocket of his vest. His gaze found hers and he gave a barely detectable nod. Grateful for the tumult around her that drowned out her words, Maura began to chant the invisibility spell.

  A blur of swift motion behind Rath drew her horrified gaze. Turgen lunged toward him, a dagger raised to strike.

  She tried to cry a warning, but her tongue got tangled between Old and New Embrian, and her breath stuck in her throat.

  Perhaps her face flashed a wordless warning, or the sudden hush of the outlaw audience might have put Rath on his guard. He dove to the ground, legs churning until they struck Turgen just below the knee.

  Turgen’s lethal rush swept him forward, though this time he had the presence of mind to tuck in his head and roll with the fall. Landing at Maura’s feet, he sprang back up in a menacing crouch.

  Now! Maura’s whole body seemed to vibrate with the need to act. Leaping from the stool, she whipped the rope that had bound her hands around Turgen’s throat and pulled with all her might. She did not want to kill him, only hold him... for as long as it took.

  “Now, Rath!” She cried the incantation at the top of her voice, as time stretched taut and thin.

  With one hand, Turgen tore at the rope around his neck. With the other, he swiped his dagger back at Maura. They ended up in a wild dizzying whirl, Turgen trying to strike Maura with his blade while she kept jumping sideways to avoid it.

  She was too occupied with keeping one step ahead of Turgen’s slashing dagger to notice what Rath or Vang’s men were up to. Then, all of a sudden, she could no longer see Turgen, though she felt the rope in her hands and the powerful movements of his body. A quick glance assured her that she was invisible, too.

  Letting go of the rope, she dropped to the ground and rolled away. Only then did she notice Vang’s outlaws rushing toward her. One tripped over her, crashing to the ground nearby.

  For a moment Maura feared she would be caught in the crush of milling bodies. But Vang’s men had been thrown into confusion by the invisible, thrashing Turgen and his lethal, unseen blade. Blood gushed, pain stabbed from out of nowhere, spreading panic among the outlaws. In the midst of such confusion, no one paid much mind if they tripped over or bumped into her unseen form.