Deborah Hale (19 page)

On and on they rode until Maura began to nod and reel with fatigue. Then a faint cluster of lights appeared in the distance. Hearing one of the guards call something to the other, Maura thought she heard the familiar name “Venard” among all the other unintelligible words.

Shifting the quickfoil leaf with her tongue, she worked it between her back teeth and began to chew. Gradually the fog of weariness lifted from her mind and her pulse quickened. She hoped Delyon had been paying attention and recognized the time had come to revive himself.

When they reached the gates of the city at last, the watchman called down a wary challenge. Maura’s guard responded in a tone of angry impatience. A few moments later, one of the huge metal gates swung open to admit their party.

The winding streets of the city were nearly deserted as they
rode through them. Maura had never seen a place this size before. Would she and Delyon be able to find their way out again once they had completed their mission? Save that worry for its proper season, she reminded herself.

A while later the party came to a halt before another, smaller gate that Maura guessed must lead to the High Governor’s palace. Once again they answered a challenge and were admitted.

By now, Maura’s heart was pounding hard and fast against her ribs. Her throat felt as if she were wearing one of those high-collared Vestan tunics Rath complained about. She wriggled her hands and feet to work out the stiffness before she had to call upon them. Would the risk she had taken prove inspired or dangerously foolhardy?

T
hey rode into a huge courtyard with a fountain in the center that reminded Maura of the villas on the Vestan Islands. She had managed to get them delivered right to the doorstep of the High Governor’s palace. If she and Delyon managed to escape custody, she would congratulate herself.

The two Hanish guards reined their mounts to a halt, then climbed down. One shook his head hard, as if to banish his fatigue. The other one yawned. They approached Maura and Delyon and began to go through the familiar motions of untying them from their saddles. First release one foot, then move to the other side of the horse, untie the other foot, then the hands.

“Let’s go,” muttered Maura’s guard, stepping back to let her climb down. “You don’t want to keep the Echtroi waiting.”

Maura pretended to sag in her saddle from weariness. The moment her hands were free, she reached into her sash for the
genow
scales and chanted the invisibility spell under her breath. “Gracious Giver, hide me from the eyes of my foes.”

Sprinkling the scales over herself, she scrambled down on the other side of the horse and staggered as far away as she
could so no one would blunder into her. She looked around for Delyon, vastly relieved when she could not see him.

Shouts from the guards told her they’d realized something was wrong. They raced around the horses looking for their vanished prisoners, making the beasts whinny and rear. If the situation had not been so dangerous, Maura might have been tempted to chuckle at their bewildered frenzy.

“Delyon,” she called softly in
twaran,
“meet me by the fountain.”

As soon as the words had left her lips, she scooted away in case the soldiers homed in on the sound of her voice. But they only looked around, more confused than ever. Their noise drew more and more of the palace guards until the whole courtyard fairly boiled with confusion.

“Delyon?” Maura called again in an urgent whisper as she circled the fountain hoping to bump into him. “Where are you?”

She
must
find him so they could stay together. Otherwise they would waste precious time blundering around the palace looking for one another. Just when she was about to risk calling louder, the commotion among the Han intensified, drawing her gaze to that part of the courtyard.

The soldier who had been guarding Delyon was flailing about, one hand clasped around the end of a stick or…a scroll. It took only an instant for Maura to realize Delyon must be pulling on the other end—the fool! How hard would it have been to have waited until all the fuss died down and someone left the scroll lying on a shelf or a table, ripe for the plucking?

Though tempted to let Delyon suffer the consequences of his folly, Maura got a firm grip on her anger and launched herself into the fray. As she slipped between the horses, she gave each a good hard swat on the rump. One beast reared, hooves churning. Two others took off running around the courtyard.

While this drew the attention of the palace guards, Maura sprang at the Han who was using Delyon’s scroll for a tug-of
war. She grabbed the long plume of flaxen hair trailing from the top of his helmet and yanked on it hard.

With a loud bellow of shock and pain, the Han lost his balance and fell backward, arms thrashing. Maura skipped out of his way, her gaze fixed on the scroll, which he had let go. She must act fast before the other soldiers noticed it had not fallen to the ground with him.

She pounced on it, relieved to feel the solid shape of Delyon and smell the faint aroma of Vestan wildflowers that clung to his cloak.

“Hide the scroll under your cloak!” she hissed, groping for his hand. “Let’s get out of here before someone trips over us!”

Keeping a tight grip on him, she fled to a deserted corner of the courtyard. With all the noise and fuss, she doubted it would stay deserted for long.

“What now?” Delyon whispered.

“We must make our way inside and find a hiding place before we become visible again. That door looks as good as any. Come.”

They had almost reached the entrance, when a dark-robed figure stalked out. The green wand in his hand gave off an aura of menacing power. Maura could not stifle a gasp as she checked her stride and yanked Delyon out of the death-mage’s path.

Perhaps he heard her or sensed her presence, for he came to an abrupt halt and looked around. Maura held her breath, clamping her lips together to stifle a whimper of terror. Though she had fought others of his kind, she knew with certain dread that they had not possessed half his power.

A desperate litany rolled over and over in her mind—the words of the invisibility spell.
Gracious Giver, hide me from the eyes of my foes.
The death-mage stared straight at her, and for an instant Maura felt his icy gaze stripping away the flimsy protection of her vitcraft spell.

Then one of the soldiers ran up to the death-mage and began jabbering in Hanish. When he turned his attention from her, Maura hauled Delyon toward the door. Long after they
had found a safe hiding spot in a distant, quiet corner of the palace cellars, her heart continued to race and her hands to tremble.

“Where are the death-mages?” Rath muttered to himself as he sheathed his blade and stared around the mining compound his army had just liberated.

Off in the distance he could still hear scattered sounds of fighting as his army overran the last fierce pockets of resistance. Miners were emerging from the depths of the mountain, dazed and shielding their eyes against the daylight. Rath had a detail of men out scouring the mountains for freshwort to help wean them off the slag.

“Another glorious victory!” Idrygon sucked in a great draft of the cool mountain air. “I’ll admit, I had my doubts about venturing into the mountains, but you were right to insist. Attacking the greatest symbol of Hanish domination—I hear it has inflamed the whole kingdom with a spirit of rebellion!”

“You make it sound like a stunt staged for effect.” Rath stared out over the plain of Westborne. “It was meant to be more than that.”

“Of course it was, Highness.” Idrygon’s agreement sounded exaggerated. “It
is.
We have rescued the most oppressed people in all of Umbria. It is a heroic deed. One that will be told and sung of for generations.”

“Worthy it may be.” Rath shook his head. “But heroic?”

When his small band of miners had risen up to gain their freedom against impossible odds, that had been the true stuff of legend. This well-planned campaign had seen some hard fighting, but the outcome had never been in question. At least not once it became clear the Echtroi had deserted their posts.

“This has been too smooth a ride for us,” Rath warned. “I smell a trap.”

“Perhaps the Han are hoping to lure us down to open combat in Westborne,” said Idrygon. “If so, the surprise will be on them.”

A young Vestan soldier approached Idrygon. “My lord, some mainlanders wish to speak with His Highness.”

Rath glanced up to see three men standing a ways off, staring at him with a look of amazement and awe he had come to know too well since his return to the mainland. It never failed to make him uneasy, for he did not deserve their homage. The success of this invasion was Idrygon’s doing, not his. His imposing appearance was nothing but a trick. There were times when he felt a stirring of King Elzaban within him, but he was not the Waiting King legends had led these men to expect.

“Tell them the king has important matters to oversee.” Idrygon tugged on Rath’s arm to pull him away. “He cannot be disturbed. If it is urgent I will speak with the mainlanders.”

As Rath turned away, something about the men stirred his memory. Could it be? Anulf, Odger and little Theto?

Rath felt the first sincere smile in weeks warm his face. Shaking off Idrygon’s hand, he strode toward them.

He only got two steps when Idrygon leaped into his path. “Highness, what are you doing?”

“It’s all right, Idrygon. Those are my mates from the Beastmount mine. To think they came here.” His throat tightened.

“They know you as Rath Talward?” Idrygon’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “Get them out of here!” he ordered the young soldier. “I will come and speak with them shortly.”

He hauled Rath away to a distant outcropping of rock, muttering curses. “You were going to talk to them? Have you gone daft?”

“What’s daft about it? Of course I mean to talk to them. Invite them to dine and drink with me tonight. They are good fellows—the best. If I had a whole army of their kind, we could defeat the Han with or without that Staff of Velorken.”

“You
have
gone daft!” Idrygon shook his head so hard and so fast, Rath wondered he did not swoon from dizziness. “It must be this thin mountain air. You know we cannot afford to have anyone recognize you as the outlaw Rath Talward.”

“Is
that
all you’re fretted about?” Rath chuckled, his humor buoyed by the unexpected appearance of his friends. “Anulf and the others will keep quiet if I ask them to. I would trust any of them with my life.”

“That is all very well.
I
do not trust them with the success of this war.”

“Are you forbidding me to speak to my friends, Idrygon?”

“Yes! I mean no. Not forbidding, Highness—begging. Once the war is won, then you can drink all night with them or anyone else you fancy. For now, you agreed to play the legend and it is working. Do not balk at the most critical moment and put all we have worked so hard for in jeopardy.”

Rath looked from Idrygon’s compelling stare to Anulf and the others being led away. He felt like a frayed rope in the middle of a fierce tug-of-war.

Beyond Idrygon, he could make out the distant shape of Umbria’s capital. Was Maura down there now, risking her life to find the Staff of Velorken? What business had he to fret about delaying a drink or two with his friends?

“Very well.” He gave a resigned nod. “Rath Talward will trouble you no more. But see those fellows are used well and treated with respect.”

Idrygon bowed. “I knew I could depend upon your loyalty and discretion, Highness. I will make certain your friends are treated with the honor they deserve.”

“Good.” As Idrygon strode away, looking vastly relieved, Rath called after him, “If they should ask about…Talward, tell them he is on a special mission for the king, and that he will be pleased to see them when his task is done.”

“A politic message, Highness. I shall be pleased to convey it.”

For some time after Idrygon had left, Rath stood on the outcropping, staring down toward Venard.

“Giver, keep her safe and bring her back to me,” he murmured. “Do I trespass on even
your
generosity to ask so much?”

Perhaps, for he had not properly cherished the gift of her pres
ence when he’d had it. Now he swore to himself that he would never make that mistake again if he should be granted the most priceless gift of all—a second chance he did not deserve.

“We cannot afford any more mistakes like last night,” Maura warned Delyon the next morning. “We cannot assume we will get a second chance if we do not take care.”

Delyon looked up from the scroll, which he was studying by the light of a greenfire twig that had almost spent itself. “What I did last night was not a mistake or carelessness. I had no intention of letting this scroll out of my sight. What if it had fallen into the hands of the Echtroi? I hear they make it their business to know things.”

“Not those kinds of things.” Maura tried to keep her mind off her empty stomach.

“How can you be sure?” Delyon squinted at the markings on the scroll as if willing them to reveal their meaning to him. “They might have thought this was some coded message being sent to the Waiting King. I doubt they would have left such a thing lying around for us to recover easily.”

Maura sniffed the air. The kitchens must be nearby. The aroma of roasting meat made her mouth water and her stomach rumble worse than ever. “Perhaps you are right. You might have warned me, though, so you didn’t catch me all fumble-footed.”

The twig in Delyon’s hand gave a final flare of pale green light then went out, plunging the cellar storeroom into darkness.

He sighed. “I thought you would say it was only a fool piece of parchment, not worth risking our necks for.”

“I know this scroll could be very important.” Maura groped her way toward the sound of his voice, moving carefully so as not to knock anything over. “But without you to decipher it or me to use the spell, it will not be much good to anyone, will it?”

She sank onto the floor, wishing they had found a nice cozy larder to hide in. The first place she intended to hunt for the Staff of Velorken, tonight, would be the kitchens!

Delyon’s voice wafted out of the darkness, edged with bitterness. “I may not be the great planner and leader my brother is, but I have worked every bit as hard to see the kingdom reclaimed and restored to its former glory.”

“You can keep your glory.” Maura yawned. “As long as we can have peace and good harvests, I will be content. Now let us sleep while we have the chance so we will be fresh and alert for our search tonight.”

“You sleep.” Softly, Delyon chanted the greenfire spell. A faint pale glow began to shine from a fresh twig he clutched. “I doubt we will find the staff with an ordinary search, though you are welcome to try. What I intend to look for tonight are samples of Hanish writing. I wonder if they might have one of those signs about with both Hanish and Umbrian letters.”

“Perhaps.” Maura settled herself on the floor beside him. The rush of fear from their escape had finally ebbed. Now a warm drowsiness stole over her. “I will keep a lookout for one when I search tonight. Or perhaps we could find the engraver’s shop in the city where they were printed.”

“Yes, of course!” cried Delyon in an excited whisper. “That would make sense. You are a very clever woman, Highness!”

“Do not call me that?” she murmured. “We are not on Margyle anymore, needing to convince the Council of Rath’s and my claim to the throne.”

To think this palace belonged by right to them. Maura had never felt
less
like a queen than she did now—curled up on the floor of a cellar storeroom.