Deborah Hale (23 page)

“She did,” said Rath. “Thanks in part to your help. Now she is off looking for something else in a place even more dangerous. I hope she finds someone as brave as you to aid her this time, if need be.”

“I don’t know about brave, Highness.” The tanner flashed him a weak grin. “It’s one thing to do a bit on the sly against the Han, but to come out in the open and take up arms? Right now my guts feel like jelly and my palms are so wet I’ll be lucky not to drop my blade.”

“You’ll do fine, I reckon.” Rath laid one massive hand on the man’s shoulder. “Beforehand is always the worst. Once the fighting starts, you’ll be too busy to fret.”

“I hope so.” The tanner pushed open the door. “After you, sire.”

Rath drew his sword as he charged out to meet his foes.

The sun shone bright and warm as he made his way toward the center of town, but the breeze coming down from the north carried a crisp promise of autumn.

When he caught sight of a cluster of Hanish soldiers, he raised his enchanted voice and bellowed in Comtung, “Filthy, slinking cowards! Vile murderers! Are you afraid to take on a foe who can fight back?”

For an instant the Han stared at him, stunned. Then his insults goaded them to action. With roars of outrage, they raised their weapons and charged toward him through the milling crowd. If they all reached him at once, Rath would be in for the fight of his life.

But they did not all reach him, let alone at once.

The milling throng in the street hardly seemed to take notice of either Rath or the Han. But when the soldiers started toward him, two of them only got a few steps before clumsy feet thrust into their paths, sending them sprawling.

That still left three. Out of the corner of his eye, Rath glimpsed reinforcements coming.

“Folk of Southmark!” he cried, bounding forward to engage the first of his attackers. “Rise up and claim your freedom!”

He had no time to watch and see if his rallying call worked, for he was soon fighting as hard and as desperately as he ever had in his life. Back and forth his blade flew, parrying blows. Once he caught the rhythm, he could keep two enemies busy. The third was a problem that would only grow worse as he tired.

He landed one hit, but it only dented the Han’s armor. While his sword arm was raised, he felt a Hanish blade thrust in and strike him below the ribs. His enchanted leather armor stopped the worst of the blow that might have slain him otherwise. But the force of it knocked him off balance and his flesh felt the bite of Blood Moon iron.

Rath might have faltered then, but he heard the Han who had struck him give a bellow of pain as Boyd Tanner cried, “That’s one less for you to worry about, sire!”

Someone else leaped in to divert his second attacker. He was down to one now—hardly a fair fight for his foe. Except that he was beginning to feel his wound. The movement of his sword arm slowed and the force of his attack waned. To make matters worse, his opponent was young, strong, swift and fierce. Rath staggered and just barely managed to deflect a powerful blow.

Then, as the two blades caught, Rath felt his gaze drawn to the young Han’s helm. There was something odd about it. Only a short stub of flaxen hair rose from it, rather than the usual luxurious plume. Perhaps he had been a fool, letting this whelp live to fight him now. But he didn’t feel a fool.

At that moment, the Han recognized something familiar in Rath’s relentless glare. His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack. “You!”

“Me.” Rath grinned and fresh strength surged through him. He shoved the young Han back and gripped the hilt of his sword harder for a renewed attack. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, boy. I showed you mercy once. Do not expect it again.”

“Maura, is that you?” Warm with relief, Delyon’s voice wrapped around her as she slipped into their hideout. “Praise the Giver’s mercy you’re safe!”

Through the darkness, he groped his way toward her and clasped her in an anxious embrace. “I feared so for you after what happened. What
did
happen? I still do not understand.”

The revulsion Maura had not dared vent before would no longer be contained. Delyon’s show of concern shattered her self-control. She began to tremble as harsh, dry sobs shook her. Her knees gave way, and she would have collapsed to the floor if Delyon had not borne her weight.

“What happened?” He sank down slowly as she clung to him. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” It felt like a lie. True, she had come to no bodily harm, but she would rather have suffered the Echtrois’ worst torture than endure this torment of heart and mind. Her only crumb of comfort came from the warm arms that held her and the concerned voice that whispered in her ear.

Part of her wished it was Rath who held her, or Langbard. Another part rejoiced that it was not. What would either of them think if they knew? How would it change their feelings toward her? Rath had changed toward her during their last days on Margyle…becoming gruff and suspicious. Small wonder.

Delyon raised one hand to stroke her hair. “If you have come to no harm, then what is wrong?” He tensed. “Have the Han found the Staff of Velorken?”

“No!” Maura gasped, glad to be telling the truth about that at least.

“Thank the Giver!” The tension eased out of Delyon as quickly as it had come. “But what has happened to upset you so? It must be dire, for you have been a tower of strength—even when the Han captured us. I know I have been more burden than aid to you on this quest, but whatever is wrong, I promise I will do anything in my power to help.”

“You…already have helped.” Maura choked out the words. “More than…you will…ever know.”

“About time I made myself useful, isn’t it?” Delyon’s soft derisive chuckle had a strangely soothing effect. “Come now, tell me what grieves you. Keeping it all inside you will only make it worse—I know.”

She had no intention of telling him or anyone else—at least not yet. No doubt there would come a time when she’d have to confess the truth. For now she only wanted to protect her shameful secret as fiercely as her mother had—to death and beyond, if need be. But the shielding cloak of darkness and the protective intimacy of Delyon’s touch tempted her to unburden herself.

What if she was wrong? False hope added its seductive whisper to the call. A scholar like Delyon might be able to weigh her evidence with calm reason and reach a less damning conclusion.

“The death-mage—he called me by my mother’s name.” Caution tried to silence her, but she could not stop once she’d begun. “He knew her.”

“You think he might have been one of her captors?” Delyon’s arms tightened around her. “Perhaps the one who killed your father?”

Maura began to tremble again. In a hoarse whisper she confessed, “I do not believe Lord Vaylen
was
my father.”

“What? But he must have been. I mean…who else?”

Her silence gave Delyon the answer she could not bring herself to speak.

“He…the
death-mage
…?” His tone betrayed the grimace that must be on his face. “You think he…defiled your mother?”

That would be easier to accept by far!

“From what I overheard, I believe she may have…seduced him…to gain her freedom.”

“There must be some other explanation.”

“If you can think of one, tell me, please,” Maura begged him. “For I could abide almost anything better than this.”

She told him what she had seen in her vision, as well as what she had learned from her mother’s family and from Langbard. The only thing she could not bear to tell about was the secret revelation Rath had received from the Oracle of Margyle.

“I’ll admit,” said Delyon after a moment’s thoughtful silence, “what you say does make sense of an appalling kind.”

A weight on her heart that had eased a little now pressed down, heavier than ever, but Maura did not resume her weeping. Repulsive as the whole idea was, some small part of her had already begun to accept it. If it was true, all the denial and tears in the world could not change it now.

Delyon’s hand brushed down her cheek to cup her chin, “But even if it is true, that does not change who you are. Your parentage and the manner of your getting does not make you one of them and it never will! It is what you believe and how you put those beliefs into action that make you Umbrian.”

It was just the kind of thing Langbard might have said if he’d been there. Maura’s eyes misted with fresh tears, but of a different kind. These were healing tears.

“Please, Delyon, do not tell anyone else of this. I know it will have to come out, but I want to break the news in my own way and my own time. When it will do the least damage to our cause.”

“As you wish. But none of this will matter if we fail in our quest. You said the staff was not in that secret chamber or anywhere in the palace. How can that be? According to the old writings, Abrielle hid it in the castle, and this is the only castle in…”

“No.” The back of Maura’s neck rippled with an eerie chill. “There is another. A very old one, scarcely more than a ruin now. In Aldwood. I have been there. That must be why it looked familiar.”

Could it have been the nearness of the staff’s powerful magic that had sparked her courage when she’d been captured by the bandit lord who now occupied the ancient castle?

“Aldwood?” said Delyon. “Over the mountains, you mean?”

“Yes. Near the eastern shore where a great army from Dun Derhan will be landing soon.” If troops from Westborne had been dispatched to the eastlands, it must mean the death-mage had received word that the time was approaching to spring their trap.

She jumped up, grabbing Delyon’s arm to pull him to his feet. “Come, we must not tarry here another moment! We have to get over the mountains before the army does, to warn Rath and your brother and to search for the staff.”

“Curse me,” muttered Delyon. “Why did I not think of another castle? Why did I not ask? If the rebellion fails, the fault will be mine!”

“Nonsense. If we had not come to Venard, we might never have known what the Han are planning.” And she might never have discovered the truth about her parentage. Could it have been destiny that had led her and Delyon here?

“Put any doubts out of your mind.” That applied to her, she realized, even more than Delyon. “We must not let anything distract us from racing the High Governor’s army over the mountains.”

It was one of the first lessons she had grudgingly learned from Rath when she’d started out on her quest to find the Waiting King. Now she put it into practice, almost welcoming the urgent, demanding mission that would distract her thoughts from the revelation that had turned her world upside down.

“How can we do that?” Delyon sounded defeated almost before they began. “The Han have a head start on us. They will block the high road through Pronel’s Pass and we dare not try to steal through their ranks. I doubt I have enough
genow
scales left to make a meadow mouse disappear.”

“There must be other ways through the mountains.” Maura shrank from the thought of a bridge like the one over Raynor’s Rift. “Paths too narrow for an army, but ample for a pair of wayfarers traveling light and swift. It is past dawn. We must start on our way before the invisibility spell wears off.”

Before he could protest, she pulled open the door and tugged him out into the passageway.

They found the palace and the city both astir with a great caravan of supply wagons marshaling on the outskirts to follow the army into the mountains.

“I wonder if they’re leaving behind any of the harvest in Westborne?” Maura muttered as she towed Delyon toward a low hill just outside the city. In spite of everything, her spirit lightened to be out in the sunshine and fresh air, with their days of hiding and searching behind them. “This looks a likely spot to take our bearings.”

“Take them quick,” said Delyon. “You are starting to become visible around the edges. I reckon I will, too, before long.”

“That road to the southeast—” Maura pointed toward it “—leads in the direction of the mountains but away from the high road the army is taking. At least we can follow it while we make our way through the fields and woods.”

“Lead the way,” said Delyon, “and set the pace. I will do my best to keep up with you.”

They moved steadily eastward all that day, not even pausing to eat what little food they had left from the High Governor’s larder.

As night closed in, Maura fretted the short distance they’d covered. “We need to move faster, or we will never find Rath in time once we reach the Long Vale.”

By now they were both fully visible, and there was still light enough for her to see Delyon’s rueful shrug. “I cannot walk any faster over this rough ground. Shall we risk taking the road?”

After a moment’s thought, Maura gave a grim nod. “We have spied little traffic on it, and I doubt the Han can spare many soldiers to guard the way. I wish I still had some powdered stag hoof to hasten our journey.”

They made better speed once they reached the road, though Maura kept glancing behind them when she was not peering ahead into the gathering darkness. She had been traveling in
stealth for so long, the prospect of meeting up with anyone on the road fretted her. She would have praised the Giver with a grateful heart to find a patch of hundredflowers by the wayside. But even if they did grow on this side of the mountains, their season was past.

The sun had set and the moon not yet risen in the star-dappled night sky when Delyon suggested they stop and make camp.

Though reeling with fatigue, Maura resisted. “Just a little farther, please? Our only chance to gain ground on the Hanish army is if we start earlier than they each morning and keep going later each night.”

“But if we exhaust ourselves now, we may not reach—”

“Shh!” Maura squinted into the darkness. “I think I see lights up ahead. If it is a farm, we might be able to barter some healing for a few supplies. Or at least get directions for the quickest way through the mountains from here.”

Her weariness lifted at the prospect of encountering another family like the one she and Rath had met in the south—folks hungry to relearn some of the old customs they had lost under the harsh rule of the Han. The gentle glow spilling from a small window beckoned her with a promise of rest and help.