Senrid

by Sherwood Smith

  “Just so that my tender-hearted uncle never finds her, I’m content.”

  “Then let’s get busy. Sooner we do it, sooner you’re gone. And good riddance.”

  He laughed, and held down a hand to pull her up behind him.

  Kitty backed off, frightened. “I don’t like horses—”

  A black shadow swarmed across the pale, gleaming snow, and Kitty cried in relief. “Meta!”

  And so they departed as they had come, one on horseback, and one riding a leopard.

  NINE

  At first the plan progressed exactly as Senrid had outlined.

  They left the animals some distance from the castle—outside the first perimeter, whatever that was. Kitty didn’t want to know.

  She hadn’t talked on the long ride. Once they were on foot Senrid led, even though this was supposedly her territory, but she kept quiet, and was soon glad that she had because he used a way that she’d never seen before.

  It meant following along a creek bed, with lots of stones, in the dark, but she did not complain, even when she almost fell twice, twisting her ankle with sudden, painful wrenches when she stepped on the sides of loose stones that shifted. He didn’t have to warn her about the guards on the walls: she could see their silhouettes moving back and forth, making the red torchlight wink and stream.

  When they were close to the castle, he said softly, “Behind me, and hold on.”

  She stepped behind him, and touched his arm. He muttered under his breath, and she felt that hum again, but briefer, weaker. The air around her seemed to glitter darkly. Illusion—she knew that much—the spell would cloak them both as long as they touched. The spell was on her, not him, which was why her vision had smeared.

  She also knew the spell did not really make them invisible, though it was called ‘invisibility illusion.’ It mirrored their surroundings, but if anyone looked straight at them, closely, they would see a suspicious smear, especially if they were moving. So they must not make noise, or tracks, and cause anyone to look closely.

  She felt exposed and defenseless as they laboriously made their way toward the castle; Senrid stepped in hoof prints, and Kitty in turn stepped where Senrid had, making certain she never lost her grip on him.

  Their progress was slow, and Kitty jumped, her heart thumping, every time the men in the gleaming helms on the wall stopped in their constant pacing, or turned the nosepieces her way.

  She and Senrid finally reached the old garrison supply entrance, which Kitty had never been through, though she knew where it was. And there they stopped.

  After standing motionless for what seemed forever she leaned toward him to speak, but he raised a hand warningly, and she bit her numb lips, and huddled into her cloak except for her one icy hand, still gripping him. Senrid whispered another spell.

  Not long after that she heard horsehooves, and then the gate opened. Riders galloped out, the horsetails on their helms tossing in the wind. They passed within a stone’s throw of the two kids; some of the horses turned their heads Kitty’s way, the huge dark eyes gleaming with starlight, but the riders clucked at them, and they moved on.

  When the last one was past, Senrid nodded once and they ran inside, no longer having to bother about their prints as the horses had thoroughly churned up the snow into mud.

  Once they were in, Senrid walked her to the archway leading down to the dungeon. They slipped past the two guards standing on either side of the archway, and Senrid motioned for Kitty to stay in place.

  She nodded, knowing that she had to wait for the door to °pen before she could get inside.

  Senrid slipped away. He was now visible, but he stepped hastily into the shadows and then moments later winkled out of sight: now he had an illusion spell on himself. Yes, she could see a vague, kid-sized distortion of the wall that he stood in front of, which rippled slightly when he moved, but she had to concentrate to make it out.

  Kitty stood where she was, hands in her armpits, the stones cold through her mocs. She tried to keep her breathing soft, for the guards did not talk, nor were they inattentive. They swept their gazes back and forth every so often, and once she even saw one turn her way. A faint gleam from one of the torches reflected in his eyes, but then he faced outward again.

  Her throat closed against a whimper of fear. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. How long would that stupid brat take?

  Just then a huge, thunderous boom made her jump—her and the guards. The clatter of falling rubble followed, then an even louder boom, and a third: only in black magic could one deliberately transfer something into space already occupied. It took a tremendous amount of work, the spells were dangerously volatile, but three big boulders slammed into the wall from within, with spectacular results.

  Two breaths later the garrison courtyard streamed with Marlovens, all of them putting on helms, pulling weapons free, and lining into neat defensive squares. Kitty pressed against the wall. As yet the dungeon door hadn’t opened.

  Then she heard Tdanerend. His harsh, angry voice echoed weirdly, punctuating orders with vile curses.

  Someone dashed her way, his light brown hair stuck sweatily to his forehead. He banged on the dungeon door, which opened—and Kitty was almost on his heels. She knew she was supposed to wait until the guards came out, but what if they didn’t?

  She crept to the side, against the inner wall, as the young man’s voice echoed down the stone corridor, “Assemble. Assemble!”

  And then she had to flatten against the wall as Marlovens boiled out of the corridors. An elbow struck her cheek and she bit back a gasp. The man glanced back, and Kitty caught a brief, terrifying glimpse of a broad, puzzled faced framed by short lemon-pale hair, but someone shoved him and he straightened round again and kept going. She pressed herself flatter, not daring to breathe, until she knew they were past, and she was alone.

  Her fingers closed over the key that Senrid had given her as she ran down the corridor he’d told her to use. Of course it was the last hall, the one that took longest to get to.

  But she made it, her hands shaking so badly and her fingers so numb that she fumbled the key and dropped it not once but several times. She had to bite her lips hard to keep from whimpering in terrified frustration when at last she got the door open. Leander stood in the bare cell, lit by the torch behind her.

  The sight of him made her stop still.

  “Is that you, Kitty?”

  “I—I can see,” she mumbled, touching his wrist so he would be able to see her. “Oh, you look awful.”

  Leander smiled—as much as he could with a blackened eye and split lip—and said, “I’ll heal. If I can get out of here. Is this a trick, or a rescue?”

  Kitty gulped in air. “Rescue! Come on!”

  “How—”

  “Illusion,” she said quickly, bracing herself against questions she couldn’t answer. But Leander looked down at her fingers on his wrist, and his brow cleared, as though he’d managed to figure out why she’d grabbed him. “But I don’t know how long it’ll last,” she added tentatively.

  Leander nodded and started out.

  She matched Leander’s pace, which wasn’t very fast. His breath hissed between his teeth at every other step.

  But they made it to the door, and out. Kitty firmly gripped Leander’s hand, according to instructions, and they ventured through the archway, though Marlovens dashed about in every direction.

  Tdanerend began yelling from the wall above them.

  Leander whirled around. So did Kitty, her arm wrenching badly. But she managed to keep her grip on Leander, and not to cry out. Leander looked up, and so did she. Tdanerend was having his arms, pronouncing magic spells—

  “Uh oh,” Leander whispered.

  Kitty realized that the dark glitter at the edges of her vision, which she’d gotten used to, was gone. Astonished faces turned their way.

  Someone shouted, “The prisoners!”

  “Run,” Leander groaned.

  “I am!” />
  They each managed about five steps in the direction of the gates before they were surrounded.

  Someone shouted a warning up to Tdanerend, who looked down, and then back over the wall, and then down again. “Stash ‘em! Until I deal with this traitor!” he snarled.

  Kitty’s eyes burned with tears of rage, but anger gave way to fear when she saw how Leander had fallen into the snow. Had someone knocked him down? He seemed unable to get up. Two Marlovens grabbed his arms and half-carried, half-dragged him toward the tower, which was closest.

  Leander almost slipped from their grasp. He seemed unconscious. What had they done to him so quickly? The Marlovens hustled the two kids into the lower cell, and slammed the door. Bang! The bar thunked into place.

  Leander grunted with pain. Kitty felt around for him in the complete darkness, wondering how she could revive him.

  But then he whispered, “Hurry!” And she heard the muffled creak of a rusty hinge.

  “What?”

  “I hoped if I acted extra decrepit they’d dump us here rather than lug me all the way to the top, or back inside the old storage rooms. Here, Kitty. Trapdoor behind the rotting hay bales. They never even looked,” Leander said. “Giving me hope for the other end. Come on, Kitty!”

  She was feeling her way across the floor as he spoke, guided by his voice. She bumped into his knee. He caught her hand and guided her through a low crawlspace.

  Spider webs brushed her face. She whimpered, shuddering, but forced herself to keep crawling, trying not to sneeze though thick dust tickled her nose. They crawled down the passage at the base of the castle wall, Leander’s breath hissing.

  Finally they reached the end. Leander fumbled about, then they squeezed through another opening, this time under an old, moss-ruined table; there was a faint, sharp smell of burned wood. “We’re in the old stables,” he whispered. “Tack room at the very back, the only space that didn’t burn.”

  Mara Jinea had rebuilt the stables when she’d taken over, making more space for her new guards; she’d knocked down the adjacent wall and rebuilt it to include the new space, leaving the old stables outside the castle, where no one had to see them.

  “That trapdoor and passage is where we used to get in and out during your mother’s day. The passage used to be all enclosed inside the castle, but when she made the new wall, it opened to the outside. It was such a great way in we left weapons here even after she was gone.” Leander sighed. “I don’t think I ever believed she wouldn’t come back.”

  After the darkness in the passage, the starlight and the faint reflected torchlight through the open roof seemed almost like day.

  “Is this why you never fixed all this old burned stuff?” Kitty whispered.

  Leander uttered a soft laugh. “Partly. I also didn’t fix it because we can’t afford that kind of reconstruction yet.”

  As he spoke he shoved empty boxes out of the way, lifted a blanket green with mildew, and pulled up something cloth-wrapped. In silence he unwrapped it, and Kitty gazed at a sword and dagger.

  He offered her the dagger. Her fingers closed around the hilt. The world was fast becoming more and more unreal and dream-like; from the distance came a shout. It sounded like a kid’s voice.

  Leander stilled, listening, then shook his head. The sounds now were all men’s shouts, and horse hooves, and clanks.

  “Tdanerend wiped out the black magic illusion spell, which means those wards are gone—” He murmured, made signs, and winked out of sight.

  Kitty gasped.

  From the air next to her came a soft murmur, and again that magic-dazzle twinkled subtly at the edges of her vision. Leander took her hand, and he blinked back into view.

  “Now we get away,” he said.

  And—slowly, carefully, steadily—they did.

  Leander also felt that sense of unreality, as if he’d wandered forever into a nightmare and could not waken. The escape was too sudden to believe. He kept looking over his shoulder, bracing for Tdanerend to emerge, sneering, from every copse of willows, or from behind a cottage, torches flaring, his Marlovens waving swords.

  But no one followed them, no one saw them, not even after the illusion magic wore off. Leander wondered tiredly if he ought to renew it. The spell would hold for an even shorter period this time; he had very little strength left.

  His job now was to put one foot in front of the other, and hold onto that blade, which he used as a cane. Kitty walked in silence beside him. He was grateful for her lack of complaint, and lack of questions that he hadn’t the strength to answer.

  He had no strength—he also had no answers.

  It was then that he realized that he had not brought about the escape. He’d not done anything. It was Kitty who had rescued him.

  He drew a breath, which hurt—when had breathing not hurt? He couldn’t remember—and decided that questions could wait.

  By the time they reached Mara Jinea’s old house outside of Tannantaun, Leander could barely walk. Dawn grayed the east as they plodded down the lane, their footsteps cracking the thin layer of icy snow. Anyone who came along the road would see those prints and know they were there, but he was past caring.

  They saw the house, and reached it, and found it had been left unlocked. It was deserted. Leander managed a zaplight, and in its weak blue glow Kitty led the way to the kitchen, where she found a pair of candles and a sparker in a cupboard.

  He leaned against a wall, swallowed a couple of times, and said, “How did you get your sight back?”

  Kyale looked up, her pupils so large her eyes looked black.

  Her lips parted, then she gave her head a little shake.

  “And the illusions? And who made that noise I heard before you came? Was it Alaxandar and the others?”

  Kitty’s eyes flickered. “Yes—maybe—I don’t know.”

  “I think you’re lying,” Leander said, calm as a dream. Nothing seemed quite real any more.

  “Then don’t ask questions,” Kitty responded, sounding more like herself. “I want to go to sleep.”

  She lit the candles, handed one to Leander, and led the way upstairs. Leander wondered if he could make it up those stairs. Yes. One, two. Three. Four…

  Kitty scuffed to her old bedroom, disgusted at the dust and spider webs. He continued down the hall—still counting his steps—until he found another room with a bed, and quilts folded away in a cedar chest. He pulled those out, tossed the candle into the cold fireplace, lay down, and snapped out of consciousness with the speed of his candle flame.

  He woke up aware of someone else near him, and habit caused him to throw an arm up to ward a blow—a gesture that pulled painfully at his ribs, and thoroughly woke him.

  He opened his eyes and looked up into Arel’s somber face.

  Arel stared back, his mouth compressed into a line. In the bleachy light coming through the window, Leander looked bruised, thin and ill.

  “Pretty bad eh?” Leander felt the impulse to laugh, but easily squashed it.

  Arel shook his head, looked away, then back. “Worse than I’d thought.”

  “It’s all on the surface. Tdanerend wanted lots of pain. But no permanent damage. Like broken bones. Or worse. He wanted me still able to do magic. I think I might… have cracked a rib, though. Hurts to take a deep breath.”

  Leander hadn’t talked so much in what seemed weeks, though he knew it had only been a few days. A brief time without end; he shook his head slightly, and tried again. “Amazing…isn’t it…what you can endure if you know it won’t last…”

  Arel frowned. “I’ll get you some food.”

  Leander sat up. His head felt light, but he knew that was mostly hunger. The aches had not eased any, but freedom made them bearable. “I’ll come with you. I can’t just lie here…I have to know what’s happening.”

  He eased his way out of the bed. The dressing room adjacent had a cleaning frame. Feeling an intense pang of gratitude, he walked through it, and back again—just to feel th
e magic. It did nothing for his hurts, but the zap of cleanliness was good for the spirit.

  Arel gave him a half-smile. “That shirt’s got to go.”

  “Too bad frames don’t mend rips and tears. Maybe something will turn up here.”

  “What is this place, anyway?” Arel asked.

  “Didn’t you know? How did you get here? This is Mara Jinea’s old house.”

  “Faugh,” Arel exclaimed, glancing about the silent house in disgust. Then he gave Leander a puzzled look. “I got a message to meet you here. Thought it was from you.”

  Leander waved tiredly. “Not me. What—? Why—? No. I can’t think! As for the house, Mara Jinea was never in it, only Kitty, those last few years. Come on, let’s scout out the kitchens. My guess is, no one has been here since she was defeated. The locals would be afraid of the place, lest it have magic traps, and legally it belongs to Kitty.”

  The kitchen larder produced some nasty-looking objects that had sat for the last year, but there was also a chest or carefully dried and preserved herbs and steeping leaves including listerblossom, a wonderful healing brew. Another surprise appeared—a wax-sealed ceramic bottle labeled Sartoran Leaf, a rarity that might have sat there for at least a and Leander measured out steeping leaf for brewing while Arel, with brisk efficiency, cleared out the ruined foods and then retreated to what he strongly suspected was a vegetable garden.

  Leander, spent from so much effort, sat on a stool and leaned against the table to wait for the water to boil.

  Arel returned presently, triumphantly carrying a load of vegetables. “Ground hasn’t had time to freeze yet. Let’s get a soup going.”

  Their years of foraging in Sindan made both adept at imaginative cookery with a minimum of equipment and supplies. Mara Jinea’s unknown cook had taken most of the pots and pans.

  Arel set Leander up with a small knife that had fallen between two storage chests, and he used his own dagger to chop vegetables. He said, “Alaxandar is at Erban Mine. We worked all through two days, and last night we collapsed it.”