by Wendy Palmer
He knelt beside a dead DarkElf—who knew where the rest of them were?
Trick came to his senses then. He felt again that moment his head had broken above the water and air had rushed into his lungs. For Mizzle, he had walked back towards DarkElves, who could only be angry if they were not dead from her latest onslaught. He had volunteered for her to take life force from him. His shivering grew worse as he remembered that brief press of her lips to his. When he had pulled himself from the river, he had not thought for a second about Mouse or about Faustus, never mind his cousin had almost succeeded in killing him.
And Faustus was the besotted one? Trick had never even noticed when he had fallen.
He got up and went back the way he had come. Half of him still desperately wanted to find Mizzle. But he decided on Kiara Valley as his next best move and determined to follow the river and turn west when he judged he had come far enough south. He could only hope Mouse and Faustus had survived to meet him there. He could not wish Mizzle dead, but he could not hope to see her again—not if he wanted to stay free of her.
He picked his way along the river, still thrumming fast and high towards the sea. Torn trees, dead animals, great boulders, and even shaped masonry from some unlucky dwelling, littered both banks. He made his way steadily. The further he went, the more chance he had of being picked up by a Ranger patrol. That had been his greatest worry about following the river into Ardmore. Now he hoped for it, so they would carry him to Kiara.
He walked until dusk was falling and his knees were shaking.
He was about to collapse when he saw a dead horse ahead.
Exhaustion forgotten, he ran to it.
It was Coal, Faustus's ill-mannered stallion. Beyond it, footsteps and hoofprints and drag marks led away from the river. He followed the tracks into the forest.
* * * *
Trick harboured the hope that the tracks showed two of his companions dragging the third to safety, but he walked carefully anyway, staying in shadow and silence. He scented woodsmoke before he saw the camp he was tracking, and went to his belly.
Creeping to the edge of the clearing, he looked out. Not Mouse, and not Faustus. But—his heart leapt—Mizzle lay by the fire, eyes closed, hair tangled and clothes ripped. Bloodstains bloomed on the grey cloth but her chest moved slightly.
Rangers had discovered her, and only Fortune's intervention had made both Rangers human, for Mizzle would be dead if one of the LightElvish Rangers had happened upon her.
A plump blonde woman sat by the fire, three horses tethered behind her. One of them was Bet. They must have found her with Mizzle and Faustus's dead horse.
He looked then for her partner, and saw him coming in with firewood, one arm turned awkwardly. His heart twisted again. The bright red hair shone like a torch in the light of the fire. Mizzle was prisoner of Sparrow Saint-Beauve, and Sparrow would never, never, harm a defenceless thing.
Linnet had had the same gentleness about her.
In the shadows of the undergrowth, Trick hid his face in the crook of his arm. He was sore, cold to the bone and weak. He could count Mizzle safe now, and need not give himself up to her.
But he could not leave Sparrow to such a fate. Anyone else he might have sacrificed, but he owed Sparrow more than that.
Still, just for the moment, he could not get up.
Then the woman spoke. ‘We have to kill it before it wakes, Sparrow.'
Her voice was sharp and frightened.
Trick didn't move.
Sparrow said, ‘No, Brieti, she's in no position to hurt us.'
Trick smiled into his arm. Softhearted Sparrow, too often named a fool. He bet his friend had one hand on his crossbow.
'It's a DarkElf,’ said the woman, Brieti.
Trick lifted his head and peeked out again.
Sparrow shrugged to her concern, eloquent in his silence.
Brieti fretted with her sword laid across her lap, but she did not look the type to take the matter into her own hands.
Both of them wore the green and brown of the Ardmore Rangers. An honest profession—to think Linnet's brother had once joined him as part of the Company.
Sparrow never had liked the turn towards thieving that Trick had led him on.
Brieti tapped her fingers on her sword. ‘She's got a death sentence just for being in Wyvern Forest, Sparrow. You think the LightElves will say ‘poor thing’ and let her go?'
'We can't make that decision,’ said Sparrow. ‘Only Lanerol can.'
Brieti sighed and Trick sighed. He pushed himself to his feet while the woman said, ‘So you'll drag this fiend into Kiara and think he'll allow her to live?'
Again, Sparrow shrugged, hair falling into his eyes. ‘He's half-human. Surely he will control his LightElvish revulsion of her and give her a fair hearing.'
Trick stood in the sheltering darkness of the trees and cursed Sparrow and his unfailing trust. He could not possibly think he could hand Mizzle to the Ranger Council and expect she would survive it.
He drew his sword and Mizzle sat up and turned in his direction.
Brieti gave a frightened shout and fell away from her. Then she leapt up and forward.
Sparrow grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her and her sword away. His other hand held his crossbow trained on Mizzle.
Mizzle's silver eyes turned from searching the forest and focussed on them. She looked from Brieti's sword to the crossbow Sparrow held. Then she levered herself to her feet with a complete loss of grace that made Trick wince to watch it.
He stood still in the trees, not sure if he was waiting to help her or Sparrow.
Sparrow let her get up but his crossbow didn't waver.
'What is it you want, child of Mermaid?’ she asked. Trick straightened. But of course she would recognise the significance of the otherworldly red hair.
'I need you to come speak to the Ranger Council,’ Sparrow said without a blink. He had never tried to hide his heritage like his brother did.
Mizzle tilted her head to one side. ‘I know this weapon,’ she said. ‘You have just one shot.'
Trick clearly heard Brieti's intake of breath. If she had held the crossbow, she would have fired it right then.
'But I'm very good,’ said Sparrow, earnest, sincere, and warning, not boasting. ‘And I think you might be hurt already.'
Mizzle took her weight on her back foot and looked in Trick's direction again. He stiffened. Did she know he was there? She looked back and he watched her face in profile. It slipped into that thoughtful considering expression as she weighed her options. His grip tightened on the hilt of his blade.
At last, she said, ‘I will come with you.'
Trick was so surprised he almost dropped his sword.
But Sparrow did not think it all that extraordinary. ‘Thank you.’ He lowered the crossbow.
Trick expected her to attack or flee then, but she sat back down.
'Do you want food?’ Sparrow sat too. ‘Or something for your wounds?'
Brieti remained on her feet, sword in hand, pale and staring.
'I am well,’ said Mizzle. ‘Come sit by the fire.'
Brieti jumped and obeyed, but Trick knew the command had not been directed at her.
He came out from the trees and went to the DarkElf. His heart beat so hard in his chest it hurt him, but Mizzle said nothing.
'Trick,’ said Sparrow, so like his sister Trick could have wept. He stood and embraced Trick and made him sit beside him by the fire. ‘I knew you were near, because of Bet. Are you with the DarkElf?'
Trick met Mizzle's eyes across the fire. ‘Yes,’ he said to her. Had he thought himself free of her? ‘Her name is Mizzle.'
Sparrow cleared his throat and Trick jumped. ‘Have you found anyone else?’ he asked. ‘A boy? An Ullwyn?'
'No,’ said Brieti. ‘We found enough trouble, thanks.'
'There's other patrols,’ Sparrow said. ‘We're looking for damage after the flood.’ He pushed bread and meat into Trick's hands
, and held the same out to Mizzle. ‘Perhaps your friends are in Kiara already.'
'Mizzle,’ said Trick. ‘You can't—'
'Do not think to tell me—’ She stopped as Brieti jerked away from her. She walked the edges of a frayed and dangerous temper and still did not use the stone. ‘I must,’ she said.
'You'll ask their permission to go to Wyvern?'
'What will happen if I go direct to the LightElves?’ she asked.
Mizzle could be so obliquely subtle. Lying as dead by the fire, she must have heard that this Lanerol, Chief of the Council, was half-human. He was a better bet than an attempt at the heart of Wyvern Forest.
Mizzle had her DarkStone as an offering and did not mention it. Either she did not trust herself to be able to give it up, or she did not rate it as enough of a prize to win her safety.
He agreed on both counts and did not trust the LightElves not to kill her for it if she did throw it in as a bargaining chip as she had originally planned.
'Fine, go to Kiara Valley,’ he said, leaning away from her and the fire with more petulance than he felt. ‘But this won't end well.'
'How could you have thought it would?’ asked Brieti.
He had almost forgotten they were not alone. ‘Stay out of it.'
'Trick,’ said Sparrow, his voice soft and distressed.
Trick sighed and looked to the sky. How quickly they fell back to their old roles. Sparrow, his conscience, his morality. His old friend filled the same function Mizzle had needed from him.
'I haven't seen you since that night,’ said Sparrow. His hand touched his knee. That night, they had met Filipe for the first time, at a meeting of the Company to discuss the actions of the Cult. That night, the Cult had burst in on them. That night, Sparrow had jumped off a first-floor balcony to escape. Trick had been Luckier, as he always was, and had been taken forcibly out by the Ullwyns while his friends had fought for their lives. That was the last time the Ullwyns got their hands on him until Faustus found him. He had read their opportune appearance as suspicious at best.
That night, Sparrow's family, already grieving two sons, had packed up and fled for Ardmore and Sparrow's father had told Linnet to leave Trick and come with them or be forever forsaken by her family just like her sister.
She had made her choice. The wrong one, as it turned out. Stetson Saint-Beauve had been proven right in his assessment of Trick as a fatally bad influence on his children.
Trick couldn't face it. He lowered his head to his knees.
Sparrow said in his ear, ‘I know about Linnet, Trick.'
Something cracked inside him and he wept. Sparrow held him while Mizzle watched from the other side of the fire.
Brieti, on the other side of Sparrow, shifted uncomfortably and Trick controlled himself. When he looked at Mizzle, she was expressionless.
'How did it happen?’ asked Sparrow. ‘Your letter didn't say much.'
He didn't even remember writing a letter. He didn't remember much from the first few months afterwards. ‘The Cult,’ he said, his voice husky and shaking, no matter how he tried to steady it. ‘The Dragon came through. I don't think you want to know more.'
He couldn't tell Sparrow that Trick had had to cut his sister down, that her throat had gaped wide and her dress had been drenched with her own blood. The edges of the cut had been white and very clean.
Sparrow looked at him. He seemed calm but his green eyes shone bright with unshed tears. Trick saw his own pain mirrored back at him. ‘I have to know more. She was my sister, Trick.'
'She was my wife,’ he hissed. ‘She haunts me. Is that what you want?'
Sparrow's courage failed him. He looked down.
Trick turned away and again met Mizzle's eyes. He folded his arms and waited but still she said nothing.
* * * *
Mizzle rode Sparrow's horse. Sparrow walked beside Trick, leading Bet, too scratched and exhausted to ride.
Trick would have liked a turn on Brieti's horse, but apparently he was not injured enough.
As they rode, Mizzle combed and braided her silken hair, and clipped in two tiny beautiful silver swords. Trick had his suspicions about that.
He saw Sparrow watching her closely. ‘Sparrow,’ he said. ‘Won't this Lanerol just refer us straight to King Rouen?'
Sparrow frowned a little, the way he did when he was worried. ‘You know about his daughter?'
He had to think. ‘That was twenty years ago.'
Sparrow shrugged. ‘He still grieves. You understand that, don't you?'
It was Trick's turn to shrug, embarrassed.
Sparrow went on, ‘Lanerol acts as his regent. And anyway, this is more a LightElf thing, isn't it?'
Mizzle gave no indication that she would rather the human king heard her case. ‘What is it that happened?’ she asked.
She would not know. Sparrow said, ‘A man named Duke Moraine asked for the hand of King Rouen's only daughter. Rouen refused.'
Brieti chimed in. ‘So Moraine laid siege to Kiara Valley with his army. They broke down the gates, took Princess Shier, and killed Rouen's wife and son. Rouen was destroyed by grief. Since then, some twenty years, Lanerol has ruled in his stead.'
'Why did he not take the child back?’ DarkElves had clear ideas of justice and retribution.
'We tried,’ said Sparrow. ‘But his fortress is impenetrable and the LightElves would not help.'
They arrived at Kiara Valley in the mid-afternoon. The capital city of Ardmore was little more than a town, streets unpaved and houses ramshackle. The group did not get many second glances until they got closer to the Keep. Now other Rangers became part of the throng and they turned and they stared. But no LightElves were among them and Sparrow led them through the gates unchallenged.
In the courtyard, Sparrow held out a hand to help Mizzle down from his horse but she ignored it and slid down, landing steady and solid. Trick checked Sparrow for the expression Faustus had worn around Mizzle, and saw it only as a slight echo when he looked at Brieti.
Trick remembered Lithia's theory and guessed Sparrow was safe from Mizzle. But then a man with the same hair and eyes came over and kissed Brieti.
'My brother Kestrel is engaged to Brieti,’ said Sparrow, politely and with averted eyes as he handed all three horses over to a groom.
Trick remembered Kestrel and couldn't compliment Brieti's taste. Kestrel turned away from her and saw him.
'You!’ he said, and drew his sword. Sparrow started to step between them, as Trick had known he would. But then Mizzle was there, without sword, without even one of her daggers to hand, standing in front of Trick and levelling a cold-eyed stare at Kestrel.
Trick would never have predicted that.
Kestrel's eyes flickered. ‘Sparrow, did you bring this monstrosity here?'
'That's a little harsh,’ said Trick. ‘I know your family doesn't like me but I wouldn't call me a monster.'
He got Kestrel's attention away from Mizzle. The man looked murder over her shoulder at him. He had his father in him, and none of the nature of his landbound Mermaid mother.
Sparrow tugged on Trick's arm and he turned. Mizzle followed them up the stairs through the double doors and Brieti came with them.
More Rangers mingled in the inner room, but still no LightElves. Kestrel had followed them, but at least had sheathed his sword. He opened the far door and slipped in.
'Kestrel's on the Council,’ said Sparrow.
'Wonderful,’ said Trick. ‘I should have killed him.'
Brieti glared at him and he rolled his eyes at her.
'Careful,’ said Sparrow. ‘It might come to a general vote.'
Well-meaning Sparrow could always make him smile.
Kestrel returned. ‘They'll see you now.’ He stood aside with the door open, and Sparrow led Trick and Mizzle in.
Kestrel had to have warned the council of what waited outside the doors to interrupt their session. But when Mizzle stepped into the hall, a hundred simultaneous gasps dro
wned the sound of a hundred swords being drawn.
'Archers,’ said Trick sharply, and then Mouse threw himself out of the crowd lining the walls and flung his arms around Mizzle. At the other end of the hall, a man sitting behind a plain table raised his hand, and the Elvish archers standing guard overhead reluctantly lowered their bows.
Mouse left Mizzle and hugged Trick, but by that time Sparrow had set himself in front of her, effectively daring the archers to shoot him before they could shoot Mizzle.
'I'm glad you made it, Mouse,’ said Trick. ‘I'm certainly very glad you were so happy to see us.’ He glanced at Mizzle over the boy's head. Mizzle woodenly looked back.
The man behind the table stood. ‘Sheath your swords,’ he commanded. ‘This is not a lynching.’ He was human in stature and his hair was merely yellow rather than pure Elvish gold, but his eyes were blue flecked with gold and gave no doubt as to his parentage. ‘Come here, Sparrow and bring your guest with you.'
'Lanerol's a fair man,’ said Sparrow and he led them forward.
Lanerol turned his attention full on Mizzle. ‘Who are you here to kill, DarkElf?'
'Blunt but fair,’ said Sparrow to Trick.
'My name is Mizuasobi DarkChild, called Mizzle NightChild by the humans. I am here to join your people,’ said Mizzle, just as direct.
Lanerol had to bang on the table for quiet. ‘You wish to join the LightElves?’ Mizzle nodded. ‘By what right do you request such a thing?'
For some reason, Mizzle glanced at Trick. Perhaps she knew he appreciated surprises. ‘My father is a LightElf,’ she said.
Lanerol sat back down and stared at her until the uproar quietened. He ignored the shouts for his attention just as Mizzle ignored the abuse cast her way. He waited until he had absolute silence.
'Who is he?’ he asked then, as if merely curious. Mizzle shook her head and Lanerol sighed. ‘I will have one LightElf to represent the Light's interests,’ he said.
A LightElf, older than the rest, immediately stepped forward. ‘A LightElf would never participate in such an abomination of a union,’ he said, glaring at Mizzle.