Senrid

by Sherwood Smith

  Senrid entered at his usual quick pace, but his hands flexed and gestured with nervous energy. His hair hung down in yellow fangs in his eyes, as if he’d been running his hands through it without being aware.

  “Well, that’s that,” he said. “For a while. You awake? C’mon, let’s go get some air.”

  How strong was the urge to kick him out! But Ndand would never do that. Besides, I’d better hear what he had on his mind, in case he said something I needed to know.

  So I got up. “Okay.”

  A few minutes later we sat together on a couple of battlements high on one of the castle towers. Senrid perched there in his black uniform, kicking the heels of his riding boots against the stone. The wind was chilly and rainy-smelling, the stars overhead glittering with all the warmth of ice chips, except in the north, where the blue glow faintly revealed a long, low band of clouds. I hoped the others were all right—wherever they were.

  Though I shivered the wind revived me a little, so I could think.

  “So what did you get done?” I asked in Ndand’s flat voice.

  “Not as much as I’d like. As much as I could have if I’d been alone. He kept cursing, messing up the spells.” Senrid shook his head. “Hadn’t realized how very bad he is at magic when there’s an emergency. His temper gets in the way of accomplishing anything. You can’t threaten magic with death for not cooperating the way you can with people,” he finished with cheery sarcasm.

  Great ruler, I thought.

  “I have an idea for a tracer,” he continued. “Didn’t get a chance to try it because he kept insisting it wouldn’t work. When am I going to remember he only likes me successful with his ideas, not mine? I should have taken the time to lead him to discovering the idea, but I thought speed was necessary. I was a fool.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, not daring to repeat ‘fool’—I would not have been able to keep my tone flat. He was beyond don’t-tell.

  He drew in a deep breath. I heard it hiss between his teeth. Then he said, “I don’t really care if they get away, though I know I have to search. Weak of me or not, I like Faline. Kyale is harmless. And 713 is walking, talking evidence of what Keriam’s been insisting all along, how poor our foot warrior training really is, how lax the overall maintenance of regs. What was the use of my father overhauling the regs if they aren’t universally enforced? Promotion isn’t really on merit, it’s on threat and favoritism, and it’s at its very worst right here.” He jerked his chin back toward the rest of the castle.

  I didn’t care about Senrid’s army problems. What’s more, I knew Ndand wouldn’t either. Senrid’s acceptance of my lack of reaction had made it really clear that she mostly sat in uncomprehending silence while he talked. But she hated her father too, so she was a safe confidant.

  Well, my part was now done, and his careless I know I have to search killed any vestige of sympathy I might have felt for him. Our plan to save lives was to him just a puzzle to be solved as quickly and neatly as possible. You don’t cross their kings and live.

  “Go to sleep,” I said. “You can plan better in the morning how to make him try your spell, with your usual winning ways.”

  Had my tone been too flat?

  His head turned quickly, and though it was too dark to see his features clearly, his manner was alert. “Heh,” he said. “If you weren’t my cousin and on my side I’d say that last comment was loaded. Deadly, even. Well. You’re right.” He slammed his hands on his knees, then got up.

  I did too. We walked sedately past the ever-vigilant sentries, Senrid flipping up a hand in greeting. No one questioned us, I was glad to see, so there wasn’t a curfew except when Tdanerend set it and enforced it himself.

  After Senrid left me outside Ndand’s room I stood inside the doorway listening. His door clicked shut. I counted slowly to one hundred, and then backwards.

  At least, I made it to 39, then tiredness made me fumble. Since I had an all night ride ahead, I decided I’d better get started.

  I opened the door and slipped out. No one in sight. Light glowed under Senrid’s door; I wondered if he’d ever sleep. Then I thought, who cares? Let him sit up all night figuring out his stupid tracer, as long as I never hear his voice again.

  I moiled grimly down a few thousand long, torchlit hallways, and down to the stable. Ironic that I’d finally learned my way around in time to leave.

  There’s a symbol in that somewhere, my tired mind yammered. Or maybe a joke. Faline would know. But I’m not laughing until I’m out of this nightmare.

  My heart clomped faster as I walked up to the stable. The huge exercise yard was mostly deserted, but not completely, and the sentries were alert.

  “I’m going for a ride,” I said to the guard at the stable door. “Have my horse readied.”

  He marched inside to roust up a stablehand, and very soon there was Ndand’s favorite mount before me, fresh and energetic—and fast.

  Feeling a spurt of energy at the prospect of getting away, I mounted up and rode out, keeping the horse at a slow pace while we exited the castle and then the city. My shoulder-blades crawled; any second I expected Senrid or Tdanerend to come tentacling out to zap me.

  No hurry, I thought. Don’t get anyone’s suspicions up, because these crazy people think midnight rides relaxing. Well, who wouldn’t, in such a home? Sheesh!

  Out the gates. Wave at sentries.

  One lifted a hand in salute.

  Ride at an easy pace over the hill, around the next.

  Slow, slow. Look back…

  And the moment the towers were out of sight I urged the horse into a gallop, and we pounded to the northeast, me watching the stars to keep my bearings.

  What a long, miserable ride! I don’t need to describe it—I don’t want to describe it. A long cold night of riding through pre-winter Marloven Hess was bad enough without adding in the danger. Mindful of searches (not to mention the fact that the illusion over me ought to be fading any time now) I stayed near shrubbery and trees as much as I could. I did encounter a couple of patrols, but I heard them well before they heard me, and both times I was able to get behind cover; I think both were returning from long fruitless searches, and they were tired and expecting no one from my direction, or I might not have had that much luck.

  It was dawn, my horse stumbling with weariness, when I reached Latvian’s region, and I had to ask at a farmer’s cottage where Latvian the Sorcerer lived. The people were rising to begin their day, but gave me directions readily enough.

  Just before I reached it I topped a hill in time to see a foot patrol on another hill.

  They called out to me to stop, but I wheeled my tired horse and set her moving quickly across someone’s unharvested Winter barley, which was tall and waving in the wind. In the middle of it I slipped off the horse and hid; in a frighteningly short time a mounted posse came flashing by, following the path of trampled barley-stalks as the horse cantered away back toward home.

  I trekked on as fast as I could, and soon spotted the turreted castle silhouetted against the gray eastern sky, the way Faline had described it.

  My eyes were so tired and gritty I was afraid I was dreaming it, but I put my head down and ran.

  Moving silhouettes on the castle gate indicated a pair of guards. I figured I would have to circle around to the back, where I could see the tallest tower, which Faline had said was Hibern’s. Finding a smooth, flat stone, I tossed it up; the stone tapped squarely in the middle of her window.

  A minute or so later the casement opened and I saw long dark hair framing a pale face. “Someone out there?” called a soft voice.

  “I’m Faline’s friend—CJ.”

  A few seconds later I stood in a warm room goldenlit by a welcome fire in the fireplace. When the transfer woozies faded I saw before me a tall, dark-haired girl who looked at me in some perplexity.

  “Illusion,” I croaked. “Illusion—to look like Ndand Montredaun-An. Will they trace that spell you just did?”

  “No,�
� Hibern said. “I already have protective wards here, laid down by my mage-tutor’s direction. I can transfer in and out of this castle, and transfer people in and out.” She smiled. “As for my reaction, it’s that black-and-goId gown, and those spectacles perched on the end of your nose.”

  “Spectacles!” I’d forgotten about the horrible things. I pulled them off and threw them savagely to the floor. “The gown I can’t help, but these I’m done with! Rotten torture devices. Can you get me to Faline and the others?”

  She bit her lip. “I can, but I’ve been unsuccessful at keeping transfer-tracers dissolved. The Regent has my father helping, and his abilities are considerable.”

  “You mean they might find me?”

  “I don’t know. I did dissolve the previous tracer, and I don’t sense the negating of my spell, but that doesn’t preclude another way around it. I feel I ought to tell you these things,” she added in a quiet voice, her expression apologetic, and I nodded, repressing a groan of annoyance.

  My head swam, and I was hungry, thirsty, and tired. I wanted—badly—to go home. But she was doing her best—she, too, had been up all night.

  “My friends’re close to the border, right?” I asked finally.

  She nodded. “I believe so. I don’t think they’ve moved, for the weather there has been terrible all night. We even caught a brief edge of it here, lightning, thunder, and hail.” She pointed out her window.

  “Then send me, please,” I asked. “I’ll take the risk. Use Faline as your transfer-focus.”

  She opened a hand, and performed the spell unerringly. I waved my thanks just before the magic wrenched me out of the physical world and then shoved me back in again. I wavered, stumbling in a shocking cold, wet place. The bleak, blue early-dawn’s light outlined the entrance to a cave in the middle of a mossy, wind-worn tumbled ruin. The ground smelled of wet rock and weeds; all the trees were bare, and thick shrubs dotted the western cliff-faces.

  I trudged to the cave entrance. Short as the distance was—you don’t transfer people right to someone else, which is dangerous, but fifty paces away—the nasty crunchy-topped mud made me glad of Ndand’s shoes.

  Since I couldn’t see anything I called out softly, “Are you in there?”

  “Is that you, CJ?” Leander’s voice was a whisper, easily heard in the utter stillness. He sounded as tired as I was.

  “CJ!” Faline appeared, sounding joyful. “You nearly scared my freckles off!”

  I snarkled, and heard a laugh from Kitty.

  “Listen, CJ,” Faline said, waving me inside. “There are some others here, but they’re sick in some weird way. Uh oh—hear that?”

  A tall shape slowly stood; 713. He was right by the cave entrance, looking groggy and half-conscious.

  All of us fell silent. We heard footsteps. Soft ones, hesitant, crunching gravel and swishing by the leaves of a shrub.

  My heart clomped again—but not from danger. A breath of flower scent tickled my nose, a familiar one, and I wondered if I was finally going nutso—uh, more than usual—but then the silhouette of a girl moved toward us from the top of the hill. She brought a sense of healing magic.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “CJ?” A familiar voice! “Is that really you?”

  “Autumn!” I exclaimed in total amazement. “What are you doing here? Bermund is a million miles away—everything is a million miles away—”

  She was too preoccupied to hear my blabbing. “They’re here.” She looked around, her face that I’d remembered as calm and merry now tense and anxious. “I feel I am being watched,” she whispered as she looked around at the silent hills. Then she sucked in a breath almost like a sob. “They’re here.” And she pushed past me.

  I remembered the story that she’d told me so long ago, and despite the danger I snapped a zaplight. The shadows jumped back, revealing Leander, and Kitty beyond 713, all three tired and grubby-looking.

  Autumn didn’t spare them a glance.

  She dashed inside, her distracted gaze on someone beyond. I followed, and saw to my amazement two thin, wraith-like kids curled up uncomfortably on the stone ground. They were impossibly pale and drained-looking, like shades, with color just barely visible in their hands and faces.

  Autumn was, as always, barefoot, wearing only a light shift, but she glimmered with her own inner light. The cave seemed to answer with its own light as she walked farther in. Now we could see them all clearly in the soft glow as she reached down toward each kid. The air filled with sparkles of gold and white and blue as she touched each dirty brow.

  Nothing happened for a long breath, though the air in the cave had filled with a scent like fresh summer-grown herbs, and it was no longer cold. I snorted that lovely aroma, feeling my headache diminish slightly, and the others with me sighed. Even 713 straightened up a bit, drawing in a long, deep breath.

  Meanwhile, color flushed through the strange kids’ faces. They opened their eyes and sat up, looked around uncomprehendingly, then the boy saw Autumn and his face changed from fret to wonder.

  “Lael, Laurel,” Autumn said kindly. “Wake up—Autumn’s here, and you are safe at last. The spell is broken, and I found you as I promised I would.”

  To our amazement both kids’ faces, so wretched and pale before, now glowed with health. Their bodies took on normal contours, as they rubbed their eyes and stood up. They looked as if they’d woken from a good night’s sleep.

  “Autumn!” Laurel exclaimed happily.

  “Where are we?” Lael asked. “May we go home now?”

  Laurel blinked around, shoving back light brown hair. Lael, tall, thin, with slightly darker hair, looked perplexed. “The Old One lost, then?”

  “He lost,” Autumn said. “It took a hundred years to beat him, and the world has changed, but I think you will like the changes, for there are places for kids like us now. You are the ones who broke the first enchantment, so it’s right that you break the last.”

  “Oh, let’s go home,” Laurel exclaimed fervently.

  “You may go any time you like,” Autumn said, opening her arms. “Nothing will happen to you now.”

  The two threw themselves into her arms and they all hugged, and for a time talked swiftly in their own language, but then Laurel tugged at her brother, and said, “Let’s go! Let’s go! I can hardly wait!”

  And so they took off, scampering up the trail to the hill, and over it, faintly glowing, protected by very, very old magic indeed.

  “I’m free,” Autumn said, sitting down on a rock. She looked around as if she’d never seen rocks before, or the ground, or her own bare toes.

  I killed my light, small magic that it was. “You aren’t bound to your search any more?”

  “No more. I am free to follow the wind,” she said, sighing happily. “But—it’s strange, I feel I ought to stay put, and not go home with them.” She looked around in awe. “This is a place of magic.”

  “I wish it was a place of beds, “ I said feelingly. “Magic’s great—and I’m so glad I bumbled in at the end of your quest—but we just finished a real nasty adventure, and we need to—”

  Leander heard it first.

  713 looked up sharply.

  Outside the cave torchlight flickered, red and glary, banishing the weak blue light of dawn. Leander stood there, arms crossed, gazing out into the night. Against the glare of the torches his profile was tight with anger.

  Now we all could hear the unwelcome sounds of clanking weaponry and bootheels crunching stones. The unmistakable sound of a patrol rekindled all my anger, and then came a familiar voice—one I detested.

  “Leander,” Senrid said, coming up the last of the trail at the head of a number of heavily armed hulks, all in those Marloven uniforms. “I didn’t expect to see you,” Senrid continued, his tone bright and cheery as always, though his voice was somewhat hoarse. “So much the better, for I decided tonight that the time has come for me to run my own affairs. Kyale—713—”

  He saw
me, and stopped, his hands going wide in surprise. “Ndand! So you did ride north. Why? Did they abduct you?”

  Sheer, hot, boiling, sizzling, steaming RAGE fazoomed through me with all the fury of a volcano.

  “Don’t you ever sleep, you boneheaded, oatmeal-faced, blob-eyed, splat-brained gabboon? I am NOT Ndand, and never will be!”

  “Who are you, then? I sometimes thought—never mind, another time. Who’s this?”

  “Autumn,” Autumn said politely. “Of Bermund.”

  “Are you with these others?” Senrid eyed her curiously, for she looked as she always had—barefooted, dressed in a light, shapeless travel-tunic, her reddish-brown hair crowned with a garland of summer blooms. Autumn’s flowers never faded or withered. When she was done with them she replanted them, and they always flourished wherever she put them.

  “I’m with CJ, yes,” she said, standing next to me. Her gaze was steady, as it always was, her smile friendly—but Senrid must have seen something in her face that I never had because for the very first time I saw him drop his own gaze, and look away.

  Toward me, as it happened.

  “CJ?” Senrid repeated, frowning slightly. He looked as grubby and tired as I felt, for he was still in that unmarked uniform, his uncombed hair hanging down in his eyes, and I loathed the sight of him so much I was hopping from foot to foot.

  “Faline.” Senrid addressed her in a normal voice, as if he hadn’t tried to have her killed half a day ago. “Didn’t you mention someone by the name ‘CJ’? I didn’t know she looks like Ndand.”

  “I don’t,” I snarled. “You stupid, rat-brained fatwit of a lying stench!”

  “Come along,” Senrid said to me, his smile grim at the corners.

  I started a transport spell, and the others pressed close, Leander grabbing 713’s thick wrist, and he too began the transport spell.

  Senrid started a counter, but I knew that spell and I was faster.

  So he reached forward, now weaving another spell—a powerful spell, one he’d worked on all night—his fingers grasping 713’s unresisting other arm as tangled, super-powered magic blasted us away.