Witch Of Rhostshyl s-3

by J F Rivkin

“Nothing, only… an echo,” Nyctasia murmured. “A memory of something that perhaps never happened.”

  ’Deisha stared.

  Abruptly, Nyctasia shook herself from her abstraction. “Holding to the rope for guidance,” she explained. “It was a Manifestation of the Principle of Recognition. In just such a way must one follow, blindly, to seek what is within.”

  “Oh, I see,” said ’Deisha, who didn’t. Like most professed believers in the Indwelling Spirit, ’Deisha did not spend a great deal of time pondering the mysteries of the Vahnite faith. Leaving Nyctasia to her revelations, she went to confer with the ostler.

  It was the barking of the dogs that finally drew Nyctasia’s attention back to the mortal world. They had been sniffing suspiciously at a stall filled with fodder, growling deep in their throats, and now they set up a clamor that brought ’Deisha and the stablehands running. Nyctasia reached instinctively for her sword, and found only the small pearl-handled knife that she used to sharpen her quills.

  “It must be rats, mistress,” said one of the grooms, but ’Deisha waved him aside.

  “They’d not raise such a noise over a few barn rats.” Addressing the heap of hay she ordered. “Come out of there, or we’ll have you out with pitchforks.”

  Nothing stirred except the two hounds, pawing at the ground and snarling. At a sign from ’Deisha they leaped forward and dug furiously into the hay, fangs bared.

  There was a shriek of pain from their quarry.

  The boy looked no older than Jenisorn. He was thin and ragged, with one hand wrapped in a crude bandage, and his shoulder bleeding where one of the dogs had seized him. He crouched shivering in the straw and gazed about him desperately.

  ’Deisha had called the dogs off at once, but they now stood guard between him and the door. “Let me go, lady, please,” he appealed to ’Deisha. “I’ve not stolen anything-”

  “Go? Certainly not,” ’Deisha said sternly, and Nyctasia smiled to hear her sound so much like Mesthelde. “Where are you to go, in this weather? Come along to the house now, and we’ll give you a meal. You’ll have to stay until this storm passes over, at the least.”

  Her words were not an invitation, but a command, and the boy saw that he had no choice. He rose to his feet stiffly and limped to the door, hugging his thin cloak around him. Nyctasia took up a horse-blanket and wrapped him in it.

  Looking into his grey face and bright, frightened eyes, she thought, Fever.

  Perhaps frostbite, and said, “He must have some mulled wine, ’Deisha. He’s half frozen.”

  “I could do with some myself,” ’Deisha agreed. When she pulled open the barn door, a fierce, piercing wind rushed in, making the horses stamp and whinny in protest. “We’ve not had a storm like this in Vale for years. Not since-”

  “Vale?” gasped the boy, turning to one of the grooms. “I was nearly to Amron Therain! This can’t be Vale?”

  “You must have circled back in the snow, lad. This is Edonaris land.”

  “No-no, it can’t be,” he cried. For a moment he stared wildly out at the storm, then suddenly he pushed past ’Deisha and disappeared into the swirling snow.

  7

  corson was in a much better temper when she returned from her meeting with Ioseth ash Ondra. Soon she’d be on the road again, and this time for a fee that would make it worthwhile to brave the winter weather. Her new employer had revealed very little about the job he offered, but he had been particularly clear about the price the Merchants’ Guild was willing to pay her for her services. Corson, who knew better than to ask too many questions, was quite satisfied with what she’d been told.

  One of the young scullions, who slept in the kitchen, recognized the familiar sound of her cursing and kicking at the door, and rose reluctantly to let her in. When Corson not only thanked him, but actually gave him a silver penny for his trouble, he thought he must still be asleep and dreaming.

  Corson stood in the doorway of Steifann’s room for a few moments, watching him sleep. He lay to one side of the large bed, as if to leave room for her, and one arm was stretched out over the space where she usually lay. The sight of him was so inviting and reassuring that she felt a pang at the thought of leaving him again so soon. “Asye, I’ve not gone yet, and already I miss him,” she sighed.

  Making no attempt to be quiet, she shut the door behind her and sat down on the bed to pull off her boots. Steifann stopped in the middle of a snore, mumbled something, started to snore again, then changed his mind and woke up instead. He rolled onto his side and lay watching with drowsy approval as Corson undressed by candlelight. “So her ladyship honors me with her company, eh?” he rumbled.

  “What do the Ondra want with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Corson admitted, “and I don’t much care-it means fifty crescents in gold, and they paid half in advance.” She leaned over and jingled her money-pouch in his face.

  At this, Steifann woke more fully. “Fifty-! Corson, they’ll want murder done.”

  “Nothing so simple as that, I fancy. My mission’s sanctioned by the Guild.”

  Though Chiastelm was ostensibly governed by a council of its nobility, it was no secret that the powerful Merchants’ Guild really made the town’s laws and saw to their enforcement. Members of the Guild represented Chiastelm in the Maritime Alliance, while maintaining a purely formal fiction that they were acting in the name of the aristocracy.

  “They’re paying for my silence as much as for my sword,” Corson continued. “The matter’s so secret that I don’t yet know where I’m bound, much less what I’m to do when I get there. A few days’ ride to the south was all he said-and that was probably a lie. I expect I’ll be guarding something precious, or accompanying someone important-an imperial emissary to the Alliance, I shouldn’t wonder.

  They’re worth a fortune in ransom, so I’ve heard.”

  “Well, if you don’t know where you’re going or why, do you at least know when?”

  Corson hung her sword-belt over the bedpost. “Tomorrow morning,” she said ruefully, “but I’ll be back within the week.”

  “Tomorrow? Then why in the Hlann’s name didn’t they give you your instructions tonight?”

  “They don’t mean to let me have time to sell the secret. They’ll not give the game away till we’ve started out. Every bandit between here and Ochram would be watching the roads, if word of this business got out, and the Guild’s taking no chances that I’m in league with them-that’s my guess. They even made sure that I wouldn’t be seen going to this meeting by summoning me in the dead of night.”

  Corson unpinned her long braid and shook out her hair, taking up her fine silver brush. “I thought I’d come back tonight and find you in bed with Destiver-with my comb.”

  Steifann chuckled sleepily. “Not likely, when Annin’s in the mood. Those two are old flames. But how she could prefer anyone else to me I’ll never understand.”

  Corson couldn’t understand it either, though she wasn’t sure which woman he meant. She quickly finished brushing her hair and admired her reflection in a basin of water. “Well, anyone who’d want that scarecrow harridan Destiver deserves her. I’m worth three of her.”

  Steifann yawned. “You’re three times as big, to be sure.”

  “Nyc says I’m beautiful as a dream,” Corson said smugly, and blew out the candles.

  Steifann pulled the blankets up around his ears and turned away. “Speaking of dreams, I need some sleep.”

  Corson grinned vengefully as she climbed into the warm bed. Turn his back on her, would he! She was still quite cold from the out of doors, and when she slid in beside him she suddenly clamped one icy hand to the back of his neck, and clutched at his stomach with the other.

  “Arrh! Get away, you’re freezing! Rutting bitch!”

  Steifann rolled over and tried to push her out of the bed, but Corson clung to him, laughing. “I thought you didn’t want me to catch a chill.”

  “Let go-”

  “You
said you’d keep me warm,” Corson reminded him, dragging him over on top of her.

  Once she had his attention, she soon changed his mind about sleeping. “Well, since you’re going away so soon…” he said.

  8

  “nothing to concern you, Father,” ’Deisha said briskly. “Just a stray, hiding in the stables-a thief, I daresay. The little fool bolted off into the storm as soon as we discovered him. But he can’t have gone far, his legs would hardly carry him. ’Cacia and the boys will find him. He’ll still be in the yard somewhere.”

  Jenisorn, Tepicacia and Nicorin had already taken the dogs out on field-chains, long chains used for measuring plots of land. With one end fastened securely to a pillar of the porch, they could search the length and breadth of a field in safety. By this time, they were thoroughly tangled up with the chains and the dogs, and enjoying themselves immensely.

  ’Deisha led Nyctasia off to the kitchen. “Come, Nyc, we’ll see to that mulled wine. They’ll all be wanting some.”

  As she predicted, it was not long before the three returned, snow-covered and sneezing, carrying with them the still form of the dazed boy. They came down the low passage leading from a back door to the scullery, then up a short flight of stairs to the kitchen, preceded by the dogs, who bounded in and enthusiastically shook snow and ice on everyone. Greymantle, much relieved to find that Nyctasia had survived an hour without his protection, leaped up to greet her, knocking her against the table. On his hind legs, he was a good deal taller than she.

  ’Deisha swatted him. “Down, you brute. It’s your own fault, Nyc, you encourage him. He’ll be unmanageable soon. Ah, here they are,” she said, as the others came in with their burden. “Lay him down by the fire, and get those frozen clothes off him.”

  “He was by the paddock, half buried in snow,” said Nicorin. “’Deisha, I think his feet are frostbitten.”

  “Rub them hard, ’Corin. And Jheine, rub him all over with tallow. ’Cacia, hot poultices. Nyc, is the wine ready?”

  “Yes, just.” She had poured out bowls of the steaming, spiced drink for the others, but brewed the boy’s portion a little longer, adding herbs to ease pain and give a healing sleep. Now she knelt beside him and raised his head gently.

  Greymantle crowded in beside her and licked his face to show that he was forgiven for being a prowler, nearly spilling the wine Nyctasia was trying to hold to his lips. Jenisorn pulled the hound away.

  Revived by the heat of the hearth, the boy managed to drink some wine, despite his trembling, and stammered a few words of thanks.

  ’Deisha stood over him, frowning. “That was a fool’s trick, running out into the open like that. You’d have soon frozen out there.”

  The youth closed his eyes again. “Yes,” he whispered, “I knew that, lady. The snow is kind, but I don’t know if you are…” As feeling began to return to his numb limbs, he gasped in pain, twisting his head helplessly from side to side.

  ’Deisha turned away. “We’ll do what we can,” she said. “Try to rest now.”

  “He’s getting some color back,” said ’Cacia.

  Nicorin paused. “Is it enough, ’Deisha?”

  “Soon. When the mash is hot for the poultices you can stop rubbing. Never mind if it hurts him-if he can feel it, he’s lucky.”

  “He’ll not feel it for long,” Nyctasia murmured, “He’ll sleep soon.” She had heard and read of frostbite, but never seen it, and certainly did not know how best to treat it. It was strange to her to stand by uselessly and watch others tend to the afflicted. But she was well able to care for injuries, and she soon set herself to cleaning and dressing the boy’s dogbite wounds. He hardly seemed aware of her, but when she took his hand and began to unwrap the dirty cloth bound around it, he suddenly cried out and pulled away from her, shielding the bandaged hand against his chest.

  “If it’s as painful as that, it must be seen to,” Nyctasia said. “I’m a healer, I shan’t hurt you.”

  He tried to ward her off with his good hand, clutching the other to him. “No, don’t,” he said weakly.

  “Don’t be afraid, child, let me see your hand. If a wound’s not properly cleaned it will never heal.”

  She reached for him again, but ’Cacia barred her way, leaning over him protectively. “Don’t, Nyc. There’s no need.”

  “But-”

  “Nyc, let be,” ’Deisha said firmly. Taking Nyctasia by the arm, she pulled her to her feet and drew her away from the others. “Let them tend to him. They know what they’re about.” She picked up a bowl of wine and took a deep drink, then handed it to Nyctasia. “Here, even a devoted Vahnite like you can drink this.

  Hot wine’s as weak as water.”

  Nyctasia sipped at the wine and watched as her young cousins applied the poultices to the boy’s feet and calves, then wrapped him in furs and blankets.

  He seemed limp and lifeless in their hands, and Nyctasia realized that the sleeping-draught had taken hold of him.

  “You can take it in turns to watch him tonight.” ’Deisha was saying, keeping her voice low. “If you lay a hot stone beneath his feet you won’t have to change the poultices as often. Use sacking to wrap it in, and see it doesn’t burn him.”

  “We know how, ’Deisha.”

  “Very well. And try to give him some broth later.”

  “Hush, you’ll wake him,” whispered Jenisorn. He sat with the boy’s head in his lap, lightly stroking his fair hair.

  Nyctasia joined ’Deisha and made a last attempt to be of help. “He’ll not wake,” she assured them. “And perhaps now that he’s asleep, I-we-could see how bad that hand is…?”

  The others exchanged a look, and ’Cacia shrugged. “Why not? He won’t know.”

  “Yes, show her,” said ’Deisha. “Then we’ll go.”

  ’Cacia folded back the furs, uncovering the boy’s arm. “It’s not a wound, Nyc,” she explained, carefully unwinding the bandage. “This is what he didn’t want you to see.” She held up his hand to show Nyctasia the dark scar of the slave-brand burned into his palm.

  9

  all during the ride back from Eske, Corson rehearsed to herself various ways of explaining what had taken place. Most of these accounts were true, but she doubted that Steifann would accept them, all the same. It’s not fair, she thought. Something like this always happens to me!

  When she’d set out with the Guild’s agent, she still hadn’t known her destination, though she had not been surprised to find her guide leading her north instead of south. But when they were joined by several other swordfighters along the way, she knew she’d been mistaken about the nature of her commission.

  If a small troupe of warriors was needed for the job, it was most likely a matter of clearing a nest of bandits out of the woods, to make the roads safer for parties of merchants. It would be bloody work, Corson knew, but she still hadn’t suspected how much trouble lay ahead.

  Talking with the others when they camped for the night, she found that they knew no more about the business than she did. Like her, they were not usually particular about their work, provided that the wages were satisfactory. Too much curiosity did not accord well with their profession. No doubt the Guild had taken such pains to be secret lest warning of the attack should reach their intended quarry. Corson took note that most of her fellow travelers were outlanders-southerners like herself or mercenaries from Liruvath-who were unlikely to have ties among the local brigandry.

  Her guesswork was not far from the mark, but she only realized exactly what they were hunting when their leader called a halt on the bluffs overlooking a small, rocky inlet near the fishing village of Eske. By that time, it was too late to do anything but see the job through to the end. Hidden among the boulders on the dark shore, she had waited with the rest, silent, watching for the signal to attack, and already trying to think of an explanation that would satisfy Steifann. When the time came, she did her part and earned her wages. She had no choice. To retreat or raise an alarm would be mo
re than her life was worth.

  “Take them alive if you can,” were the orders, and that had not proven difficult. The whole affair had been easy. Corson thought with distaste, like spearing penned and hobbled game, The three who’d arrived at moonrise had been hopelessly outnumbered. As soon as they’d signaled their confederates, they’d been seized with hardly a struggle, and their places taken by Corson and two of the others. It was just as simple to overcome the two who answered the signal, while they were busy hauling their boat onto shore.

  When the boat returned to the waiting ship it rode low in the water, with two rowing, two lying flat on the bottom, one crouched in the prow, and two towed along, holding to the sides. Corson, who couldn’t swim, stayed on shore to guard the prisoners and watch for anyone who tried to leap overboard and swim ashore.

  She knew that the ship would be taken quickly enough without her help. They were sailing shorthanded, after all. There could be no more than three of the crew left aboard, including Destiver.

  10

  “to aid a fugitive slave is theft, under the law,” ’Deisha explained. “That’s why it’s best left to children and those in their nonage, like Jheine here, who aren’t answerable to the law for their actions, If they’re discovered, the rest of us can claim that we knew nothing about it, and no one can prove otherwise.

  You and I, Nyc, only saw this runaway in the stables, for an instant, and we took him for a thief-remember that. He escaped from us, and that’s the last we saw of him. The youngsters went out to search, but they told us they couldn’t find him. If we’re asked, that’s all we know of the matter.”

  The three had come to Nyctasia’s tower-room to confer, where they were least likely to be overheard or interrupted. It was the most isolated corner of the great, sprawling stone mansion. Several days had passed since the boy had been found, but Nyctasia had not seen or heard anything of him since that night. Only the younger members of the Edonaris clan knew where he was hidden, and no one questioned them about it.