Betrayal (18 page)

Hands flew eagerly into the air, desperately trying to catch the maestro’s attention, while parents desperately tried to ensure they went unnoticed.

‘I think we should ask Master Saxon to choose, don’t you?’ asked Zorros.

‘I wish he would choose me, Sorrel,’ Alyssa yelled, recklessly throwing her own arms into the air with all the other would-be trapeze novices.

‘Sit down, child, I beg you. Truly that’s the last thing we need. I don’t think my heart could bear any more excitement today.’

Saxon descended, graceful and strong, down the ropes which his wife—as Alyssa guessed she must be—began to spin harder and harder from the ground. In doing so the woman moved him in an ever-widening arc around the tent until he was circling wide and low above the audience.

‘Choose!’ commanded Zorros.

The audience picked up the chant. ‘Choose…choose…choose…’ they chorused.

Alyssa was yelling along with everyone; she dug Sorrel with her elbow to encourage her to join in, and drummed her feet on the boards.

Saxon Fox continued to fly through the noise. With almost imperceptible adjustments the woman slowed the rotation of the ropes until he skimmed just above the audience’s heads. Just when it seemed unthinkable that he could slow down any more without falling out of the air Saxon made one final, impossibly low pass and grabbed Alyssa’s outstretched hand, lifting her smoothly with him. Alyssa knew it was Sorrel shrieking below.

‘He chose!’ bellowed Zorros and the audience roared its approval.

Alyssa looked down and almost gagged.

‘Don’t look down. Look ahead, or at least at me,’ Saxon said. And when she turned to look at her captor’s handsomely lined face with its dark violet eyes, he smiled widely and whispered across a link he sliced open in her mind.
Don’t be scared
.

Then they were climbing into the highest reaches of the tent. Alyssa was disorientated by the height and the fact that Saxon had slung her over his back like a sack of flour. She must be mistaken. Surely he had not spoken using a link? She must have imagined it in all the excitement.

Saxon plonked her next to his two strapping lads and then swung off towards a distant platform.
Trust me!
he called into her head.

She was not mistaken. Fox had linked with her. Goth was sitting in an inn five hundred steps away and this madman was using magic on her.

‘Don’t look down!’ Oris, the eldest, repeated, steadying her as she swayed.

His brother Milt, who looked disarmingly like his father, squeezed her arm. ‘He won’t drop you. Just make your body go slack and look forward to wild applause.’

Alyssa’s fear caught up with her. ‘Are you all mad?’

Both boys laughed. Just like their father, she thought.

‘We do this in every town. There’s always one empty-headed victim like you who wants to fly. Just don’t panic and he…’ Oris pointed to Saxon, who
was some way below them now and swinging furiously on his beam, ‘…will catch you.’

‘Catch me?’ Her voice had become squeaky. ‘You’re going to throw me to him?’

‘What did you think we were going to do?’ they said in unison, each grabbing one of her arms and jumping off their platform on a large swing.

Alyssa screamed her protest. Below, the audience echoed her terror. The drums were rolling loudly and she could smell the wax of the candles and soot from the sconces. She dangled from the boys’ arms, feeling them pulling her hard and forcing her body to swing to precisely the right momentum.

‘Get ready!’ Milt called to her ominously.

Come, Alyssa
, whispered Saxon oh so gently in her head.
Trust me, I’ve been sent to protect you
.

Alyssa wondered in that sharply held second what he meant but before she could reply Oris and Milt swung her hard, upwards and outwards. They let go. Her body began to spin into helpless somersaults and so she tumbled, shrieking and plummeting to certain death she was sure.

Tor!
She cast out wildly but the noise of the audience lifted towards her, she felt strong arms plucking her from the air and cradling her, then she and Saxon were swinging back and then forwards together.

He was upside down, hanging onto his beam by bent legs. She had no idea which way up she was but she looked into his eyes and the terror stopped.

Who are you?
she pressed into his mind.

I’m yours
, he replied, deliberately vague.
Now take your applause, my lady
.

Miraculously Alyssa found she had been lowered to the ground and watched Saxon being pulled back upwards, hanging now by his feet.

Curtsy for the people
, he reminded as he drew away.

It was true, the crowd had gone wild. Even Sorrel was on her feet and clapping. Alyssa curtsied but when she looked up all she saw was Goth’s ruined face twisted into a scowl. He knew she had seen him so he licked his lips deliberately. She felt a chill crawl across her body and all the excitement shrivelled in her stomach.

She cast, no longer afraid of him scrying her out.
Goth’s here, Sorrel!

Sorrel was careful not to whip her head around too quickly.
We’ll be careful to get lost in the crowd. Calmly come back here now
, she said.

Alyssa nodded. As she turned to watch the family taking its applause, Saxon caught her look and winked, making her blush. In her embarrassment she did not notice the three people pushing into spaces behind Sorrel, eyeing Alyssa rather than the entertainment.

‘Let’s steal out now,’ Alyssa whispered as she found Sorrel again.

‘Once we’re through the curtains put this on,’ the old girl said, handing Alyssa a large shawl. It was drab and brown. ‘Cover up as much of that dress as you can and hide your hair with this.’ She gave Alyssa a thick leather thong and a bonnet.

‘Where did you have all these hidden?’

‘In my bag of tricks.’ Sorrel patted the battered cloth bag she habitually carried. ‘Now, let’s go.’

Alyssa felt less nervous once her hair was safely hidden beneath the bonnet and the surprisingly large shawl was draped to disguise her yellow skirt. She stopped trying to glimpse that terrifying face and allowed herself to relax and walk amongst the crowd, even chatting to strangers about the evening’s entertainment.

Sorrel too began to feel less threatened now that they were anonymous in the crowd. At the yell of ‘Fire!’ though she felt a claw of fear grab her. She turned to see the sumptuous awnings of the circus tent, just steps behind them, licked by flames. People began to scream and those still trooping out from the tent began to panic, and then they all began to run, shoving and trampling those in front. In seconds the southern entrance was ablaze and in the space of a heartbeat Alyssa’s hand was torn from Sorrel’s grip and the girl was pushed sideways in a surge of people.

Get to the inn!
was all Sorrel could think to say across the link in the panic, though she realised that Alyssa’s retreating back was being carried away from the town as people desperately tried to escape the fire which was eating its way ferociously towards the tent’s peak and across its ropes. The crying of terrified animals joined the panicked screams of people. Sorrel saw a child fall; when she tried to grab the small girl she was pushed over herself. Feet trampled her.

Light preserve you, Alyssa
was her last thought before something hit her head and she plunged into darkness.

Sorrel awoke groggy. She looked around and could not place where she was. It took a moment or two before she recognised the concerned face of Saxon Fox peering into hers.

‘Welcome back,’ he said gently. There was no bright grin on his face any more.

She sat up as quickly as her old bones would allow and was rewarded with pain. She winced.

‘Easy, old woman. I’m Saxon Fox, from Cirq Zorros. What’s left of it anyway.’

‘I know who you are,’ she croaked. ‘Where’s my granddaughter?’

‘I hoped you’d tell me.’

She shook her head gingerly. ‘We became separated in the panic. What happened?’

The performer sighed. ‘Who knows? One minute we were taking our bows, the next the tent was on fire.’ He shrugged in the distinctive manner which could belong to only one race of people.

‘You’re Kloek,’ she said, now recognising the height, golden hair and light eyes so common to that race. Hearing the gentle brogue in his voice, she felt sure.

He looked offended. ‘Of course. Which other race is this handsome?’ It was an attempt at humour he
did not feel. ‘We’ve lost almost everything tonight. Many of our exotic animals perished. The tent is ashes, though our caravans are safe. A small generosity from the gods. Six of our troupe are dead.’

He stopped talking as Greta—the woman from the act—arrived with a tray of cups.

‘Here, drink this.’ She was angry, which, under the circumstances, Sorrel considered fair enough.

She took the cup. ‘What is it?’

‘It will soothe,’ was all the woman said before turning and walking away.

Sorrel looked around. There were many people sitting or lying on the ground, dazed and confused. She could see one of the beautiful brangos lying dead, its body twisted and charred. She sipped the concoction and recognised the herb rimmis within the fiery liquid. It was the right choice and would help.

‘Is that woman your wife?’

Saxon laughed harshly. ‘No. She is my dead brother’s wife.’

Sorrel sat up properly. ‘She makes a good tea. I must leave to find Alyssa.’

‘I will help you,’ he said firmly.

‘Why? You seem to have enough chaos here to deal with.’ She looked hard at him. What was his interest in Alyssa?

‘She is a beautiful girl…and she flies nicely,’ he replied with no guile in his voice that she could detect. ‘I am no use here for a while. Let me at least walk you back to your dwelling.’

‘We don’t live here, Master Fox. We are travellers.
But you may walk me back to The Wheatsheaf. I would be grateful for the assistance.’ Her head hurt horribly.

‘I prefer Saxon,’ he said, helping her to her feet.

At the inn, people were milling around in confusion. Fragglesham was in shock. Nine townsfolk had lost their lives in the fire as well as the six circus performers. Alyssa was not in the inn nor had anyone who might have recognised her seen her.

Sorrel noted that Goth was nowhere around either. That alarmed her most of all. She cast to Alyssa but there was nothing. It did not surprise her. Like most sentients, she could only communicate on a link if she was relatively close to the person she wanted to talk with—unless she was bonded, of course, as she was to Merkhud. She had never heard of anyone other than them casting over great distances.

She pulled the circus man aside. She would have to trust him.

‘Saxon, are you familiar with Inquisitor Goth?’

The man spat through two fingers onto the ground. It was another peculiar habit of the Kloeks. ‘Who isn’t!’

‘Well, he’s in town and has shown more than a passing interest in Alyssa. This afternoon he contrived to…er…well, shall we say, compromise her.’

Saxon’s violet eyes blazed and told his companion more than he wished. So, she thought, there is more to this than just helping a stranger find her family.

‘You think he has her?’

It was her turn to shrug. ‘Perhaps.’ Sorrel could not allow herself to believe Alyssa had been killed in the panic, though that had already crossed her mind. But with no body as evidence she clung to the hope that her precious cargo was alive.

‘Then I will find him. Stay here, old woman, I’m faster without you.’

‘Find her! You must keep her safe,’ she said harshly as the rimmis took its effect and her mind began to blur.

She did not hear Saxon mutter under his breath: ‘That’s what I’ve been sent to do.’

When the panic began and Alyssa was pulled from Sorrel she realised it was no use fighting against the tide of people. It was easier to run with them. She was shocked by the flames which jumped so rapidly, consuming the tent they had all been sitting under minutes ago. She heard Sorrel telling her to go to the inn but for now that was impossible. She would have to run to the safety of the fields surrounding Fragglesham first and then walk back around them into town. She slowed to a walk within the small group around her; although dazed they seemed to know in which direction they were heading.

She heard a single rider cantering up behind them. The four people she was walking alongside parted and stepped back to the side of the road. As they did so the rider came into view and stopped.

He looked down at her. ‘Is this her?’

Alyssa’s brow wrinkled as she tried to make sense of it. One of the men she had been walking with moments earlier stepped up and, before she could react, pulled her arms behind her back where a woman tied them together. Struggling, she yelled but they ignored her and addressed the rider instead.

‘The money?’

The rider tossed a pouch of coins at the man who then turned to face her. ‘Enjoy your night,’ he said. His mirth was infectious for they were all laughing now.

She swung around to the woman she had been talking with. ‘Help me…’

The woman smirked. ‘She needs help, Fil.’

The man grabbed Alyssa by her waist and hoisted her up onto the horse behind the rider. Then they were moving fast as he whipped the horse into a gallop, riding not back towards Fragglesham Green but out into the darkness of the countryside.

It suddenly became clear to her. Alyssa knew that Goth would be waiting for her at the end of this journey.

‘Welcome, my dear.’ His voice made her feel ill. ‘Thank you, Drell.’

The rider nodded and left. She listened to the sound of his horse disappearing, along with her only hope of escape. Alyssa felt the cold touch of despair
and allowed it to consume her before she turned it into hate. Hate for this filth, who poured himself some wine as he contemplated what horror to visit on her for his pleasure.

He sipped, allowing the dry wine to roll around his deformed mouth. ‘Come, drink with me. We have a long night ahead together. Why not make it enjoyable?’ The mouth contorted into its hideous sneer.