Wandering Lark (32 page)

Fenelon rolled his eyes when the tavern keeper arrived with a bowl of gruel and some bread and ale, and these he set before Fenelon without a word. Fenelon eyed the gruel. It looked unattractive and unappetizing. He glanced at the landlord.

“Got any honey?”

“Extra,” the tavern keeper said.

Fenelon glanced at Gareth who nodded to the tavern keeper. The Dvergar grunted and hurried away. He returned with a small bowl of honey and put it down next to Fenelon with a definite thump. “Soft as butter in the head, these man things,” the tavern keeper muttered and marched back to his bar. “Ruin a good gruel with honey...”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Hobbler said. “Rockbottom there takes offense when anyone tries to sweeten his gruel.”

Fenelon sighed. “When are we leaving?” he asked as he poured honey over the gruel.

“As soon as you have eaten and we can get supplies for our packs,” Gareth said. “So eat hearty, my son. That may be the only meal you see today.”

Fenelon frowned and tore the bread apart. He dipped it into the honey bowl and began to eat.

Ross-Mhor was a long way,
Etienne reminded herself as the dark hour passed. It would take a great deal of power to travel so far through a gate spell. She had rummaged around earlier and found a couple of old lunari stones left over from some Fenelon had given her long ago. As she clutched them in her hand now, they held a fainter essence than she would have liked. Perhaps she would be able to borrow some power from the essence that would soon fill this place once Thera and Wendon began their part. And of course, her own essence was strong at the moment.

But a gate so far would weaken her, and she would have to depend on Shona and the others to get them to a place of safety once they reached her home land. She dared not go to her own village, for knowing Turlough, he might expect her to do that. So she would have to go to one of the others, like Greenwillow or Maplelea. That would buy them time to get rested and then see if they could trace Fenelon.

Etienne pondered this as she stood at the windows overlooking the garden and peered out. There were twice as many guards on the walls, and half of them were watching her balcony.

“No lights,” she whispered to herself. “The spell must have no lights.”

She had extinguished all lanterns so it would seem that they were asleep. The only light to filter in came from the mage globes set around the walls. Pale so they did not disturb sleepers, but enough to let the guards with their mage sight see.

The others were in the main room, huddled before the fire when she pulled herself away from the window and returned. Shona still looked pale, but she was dressed in her warmest clothes and wrapped in her common plaid tartan cloak. Her family colors were more cheerful, as Etienne recalled, but they would make her more obvious to anyone on the way who might hear of their escape.

Assuming we do manage this,
Etienne thought.

Thera had been awfully quiet. She had not disagreed with the proposal. Still, her face had yet to rise from staring at her own hands as she sat close to Wendon. They had slept for a while because Etienne thought it would be a good idea.

The plan was simple enough. They would make love so that their passion filled the chamber, and while they were making love, Etienne would open her gate spell. She and Shona would pass through first then Wendon and Thera would follow. The tricky part, Etienne imagined, was going to be getting the lovers apart for their escape.

But it was worth a try, and she suspected they would only get one chance.

And if we fail, we will likely be confined to the towers as Fenelon was.
While Fenelon might figure a way to escape that place, she doubted she could. He was more powerful than she.

She took a deep breath now. Small packs of meager supplies sat nearby. A small partition stood to one side. Behind it was a pallet. Etienne was wearing her money belt. She had stashed as much gold and silver sgillinns as she could find into it, and now it hugged her hips. Wendon was wearing one of Tobin’s loose robes, since he was too stout to comfortably wear the young man’s breeches.

We will clothe him when we get to Ross-Mhor,
she thought and offered an encouraging smile.

“Is everyone ready?” she whispered.

There were nods.

“Then shall we begin?”

Again, nods. She sat down on a chair near Shona.

Wendon took a deep breath now. He gently guided Thera behind the partition. Moments passed. Nothing seemed to be happening. She glanced at Shona who had opened a book and was reading it. The idea struck her as a good one...there was no telling how long it would take Thera and Wendon to get into the right mood. But she wanted to be ready.

More moments passed, and now Etienne worried that having her and Shona so near might be interfering...

But then, she felt it, the swell of passion. Faint at first, it built. Gentle moans filled the air too, along with mutters of endearment. Etienne glanced at Shona whose face had turned just a little red. The lass bit her lip.

The passion welled to a greater height, and it filled the chamber like a cushion. Etienne walked over to the door, testing with mage senses. It was going just to the edge of the room. Much further, and the guards might notice.

All right then, she thought. Standing, she picked up her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. Shona grabbed her pack as well and came to stand at Etienne’s side. Taking a deep breath, Etienne drew the lunari stones out of her belt pouch. Clutching them, she coaxed power from them. She whispered the words of her gate spell, and of a cloaking spell to hide its destination, and gestured and thought of the village of Greenwillow. At first, the gate was reluctant to form, and she knew she was lacking the power to do it. She risked drawing essence from the passion in the air and it whirled about her senses with drunken giddiness. Shona gasped. Etienne strengthened her concentration, drawing her own essence into the spell.

The world before her looked wobbly when she opened her eyes. But the gate was forming like a dark whorl. Beyond, she could see a bit of daylight. Early morning light, by the look of it. But it needed to be wider before they could get through.

She pulled more essence from her own core of power. The drain was making her dizzy, but she could not stop now. Behind the partition, she could hear the lovers climaxing, and their sudden ecstasy was the last bit she needed. “Go,” she whispered to Shona as the gap widened.

Shona stepped through first, taking Etienne’s arm and helping her to walk through.

“Come on,” Shona called back.

There was a general rustle. A squeak of laughter, a hurried snatching of the remaining packs. Wendon and Thera rushed at the opening. He was leading the way, dragging her along, and she was half into her clothes.

It was then that Etienne saw movement behind them, and it took her a moment to realize the door to the living chamber was opening and bodies were rushing through the gap.

“No!” someone shouted. “They’re escaping!”

It was a guard, and he was not alone. Several others were on his heels. He leapt out and grabbed the ends of Thera’s cloak just as Wendon plunged through the whorl. The sudden snatching caused her to let go of Wendon’s hand. She screamed, “Go on!”

“No!” Wendon shouted, and he started to turn back.

Shona had the good sense to knock him aside before he could go back through. A good thing too, as Etienne lost her concentration and the whorl collapsed on itself, closing the world of Ard-Taebh from her eyes. To step through a gate as it was closing would have been fatal.

“No!” Wendon shouted. “I have to go back! I have to rescue her! They will torture her. They’ll...”

Etienne sank to the ground. Exhaustion was taking her strength to stand away.

“We cannot go back now,” she whispered weakly.

“But we have to. Turlough will torture her to find out where we have gone.”

“She is not mageborn, Wendon,” Etienne said. “And she does not know where we are now. All they will be able to get from her is how we escaped.”

Wendon knelt before Etienne, fury shifting to remorse. “But, Turlough will kill her.”

“No,” Etienne said. “He will hold her hostage. He will send a message on every ley line in the world to let us know this. But he will not kill her. He cannot. To do so would violate his rules of never harming mortalborn without good cause.”

“But...”

“And besides, Wendon,” Etienne said, touching his face. “I have not the strength to open a gate to go back.”

She felt herself sinking into exhaustion.

“Come on,” Shona said firmly. “Help me get her up.”

“But where are we going?” Wendon said as he assisted Shona and helped Etienne to her feet.

“See that giant willow?” Etienne asked.

Wendon nodded looking at the massive tree that was just down the hill on the side of a river.

“Go to that tree. We will find sanctuary there.”

Wendon made a face to indicate that he was not so sure. Shona merely started them walking down the hill. They pushed through the forest of fronds and both of them stopped and stared in awe.

Around the massive base of the willow spiraled stairs that rose to a platform of wood with a wall and crenelations and even arrow holes. Two guards stood on the edge where the stairs joined it, looking down at the newcomers with mild suspicion. And up in the branches of the tree nested a village of small cottages.

“What...?” Wendon stammered.

“Welcome to Ross-Mhor and the village of Greenwillow,” Etienne said.

Thera sat quietly on the bench
as the mageborn and their guards moved around her. When they first laid hands on her, she had struggled, though not much. Admittedly, she had not anticipated being captured, but she and Etienne had secretly agreed that she should be the last one through just in case. In truth, she would rather she had been able to get away with the others, for though she did not fear that she would be harmed, she worried that Wendon might not take it so well. That he might try to return to rescue her.

Etienne will not allow him to try anything so foolish.
Thera felt certain of that.

The frenzy of magical activity was interesting to watch. Several mageborn were trying to ascertain where the exact gate had been. One of them was muttering that the place felt like a brothel. Thera wanted to slap him and tell him that he should mind his manners, but she suspected a show of rage on her part would not be wise.

Besides, as she watched, the crowd parted and the Lord Magister of Dun Gealach himself strode through their midst. He walked straight over to Thera, towering over her like some egret in his white and blue robes.

“Has she talked, Lorymer?” he said, glancing at one of the other mageborn.

“No, my lord magister,” the other replied. “She has been as quiet as a mouse.”

Turlough leaned down so he could look her in the eye. “She does not look like a mouse, Lorymer. She has the sharp eyes of a sparrow hawk. Well, we shall make a mouse out of her before this day is done. She will regret what she has done.”

Thera drew herself upright. “I have done nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” Turlough said. “You aided and abetted the escape of my prisoners. I would not call that nothing.”

“And how could I have done so, Lord Magister?” Thera asked. “I am but a healer, a servant of Diancecht. I have no power to open gates or conjure spells. I am not one of your mageborn. I answer only to the High Matriarch of the Temple of Diancecht in Caer Keltora, and as a servant of that blessed lady, I have a right to demand that one of my superiors be present at my questioning.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Turlough began.

The one called Lorymer cleared his throat. “Actually, my lord magister, she is correct. Healers from the Temple of Diancecht are not bound to answer to any of us without the presence of a Patriarch or Matriarch of their temple. It was one of the laws laid down by the earliest Council of Mageborn to assure that we were not interfering with or causing undue harm to any of the mortalborn.”

“And who made that stupid law?” Turlough snarled.

Lorymer’s face reddened as he took a deep breath. “Actually, my lord magister, it was you.”