Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (15 page)

“Xain loved a woman well, even before he rescued the Lord Prince. Her name was Trill, a daughter of a noble house.”

“Trill?” Loren laughed. “That is a sound, not a name.”

Jordel shrugged and gave her a small, secretive smile. “Her family hails from Hedgemond, an outland kingdom where customs are strange. But regardless, she was a kindly woman, and her heart belonged to Xain. But her father spurned their love, for he was a cousin of the Dean whom Xain condemned to death by rescuing the Lord Prince. He forbade them to marry, arranging instead for her to wed one from the family of Yerrin, who offered a mighty dowry.”

Loren thought back to her mother and father, who had sought a suitor who they hoped would bring coin of plenty. “That is an awful fate.”

“Indeed. Made more so by the fact that she was already with child. The bastard boy was given to Xain at birth, and forbidden from seeing his mother ever again. High King Enalyn gave him a wetnurse to care for the boy, but the child never had a mother.”

Loren raised a hand to her mouth. “You cannot tell me the High King permitted this. Bastards were rare enough in my village, but never were they taken from a mother who wanted them.”

He frowned, his face dark and solemn. “As I said, in Hedgemond customs are strange. Trill’s father is a spiteful man, and he sent her home to be wed and live in her home kingdom. Though the High King might have helped them upon the Seat, where her word is law, she cannot cast aside every decree across the nine lands at her whim. And you need not worry that the boy was unloved, for Xain treasured him above all else. I think he saw the boy as a reminder of the woman he loved, and so treated his son like a prince. The High King herself would entertain him on occasion. Even now with Xain a criminal, one of her guards is with his son at all times.”

“But then why do Xain’s eyes turn so easily to sadness and melancholy? If a parent loves their child, can that not temper even the hardest heart?”

“Yet now that child has been taken away. And he might never see him again.”

At last Loren saw it: the bitter fate that had befallen Xain and set him upon the King’s road also stole that which he held most dear. She imagined herself with a child taken away. Or worse, meeting her end in some far off corner of the nine lands while they awaited her return, forever staring down the road in vain hope of seeing their mother again. It made her want to weep.

She looked at Jordel curiously, for in his tales she had seen a thread that needed pulling. “Are you kin to the High King, Jordel?”

The Mystic seemed at a loss for words. Then he found a smile and slowly shook his head.
 

“You surprise me, Loren of the family Nelda, and that makes me a fool. From the start you have seen and known much more than most, for your wits are sharp. Tis why I enjoy you beside me.”

Loren smiled. “I could tell by the way you spoke of the Lord Prince, and the High King herself. It is clear you revere them, as do all good men, yet you speak with familiarity. Moreso than could be expected even from one who frequents their courts.”

“You are correct,” Jordel nodded. “My family of Adair has close ties to many in the royal family. I am third cousin to the Lord Prince on my mother’s side, and often we spent time together in our youth. Though he is my lord, and we cannot go riding or climbing as we once did, I love him dearly. My heart broke with his capture, and sang with his rescue. But there is more you have not guessed. Can you tell me what it is?”

Loren thought hard, her brow furrowed. She could think of nothing more, no clue in the Mystic’s words now or before. “I cannot.”

Jordel gave her a sad little smile. “You do not think it is only the Lord Prince’s rescue that endears me to Xain, do you? I did not tell you the Trill family name, the woman he loved. Did you not wonder?”

“She is a daughter of Adair?”

“My sister,” said Jordel sadly. “And his son my nephew by blood.”

“But … but this cannot be! You told me you only knew
of
Xain. And the wizard said the same of you, when first he learned of your pursuit upon the King’s road.”

“And neither of us lied,” said Jordel. “I was a Mystic when Xain courted my sister, long before their son was born. He did not know me for Trill’s brother when we met after he rescued the Lord Prince. We cast off all ties to family and king in our order, ruled as we are by our masters alone. Often seeing our kin is not encouraged.”

“Yet you traipse across the nine lands to rescue your sister’s beloved. How do your masters feel about that, I wonder?”

“I have told you often: I am odd amongst my brothers. No doubt they would look down upon my actions, if they had not already cast me from their company.”

The Mystic turned toward camp, but Loren put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I think your actions are honorable, Jordel of the family Adair. My thoughts might not count for much, certainly not against your former masters. Yet that is how I feel.”

“I thank you,” said Jordel, bowing his head. “Words of honor mean more coming from another who possesses so much.”
 

They headed for camp together. Loren thought of a final question as they came upon the others. “If you are third cousin to the Lord Prince, where does that put you in line of succession?”

Jordel laughed out loud, the sound ringing clear in the mountain air. “Worry not about that, for I am nearly as far removed from the throne as you are. And Mystics do not become kings.”

They reached the others, who had already readied themselves for the day’s journey. Loren found her mind occupied by Jordel’s stories, and looking at Xain lying bound, she could not help but see him in a new light. When Jordel moved the wizard atop his charger, Loren went to help him. Together they lifted Xain and laid him across the horse, gentler than Jordel had done before. The Mystic nodded in silent thanks. Loren smiled, then climbed atop Midnight, ready for another long day’s ride.

eighteen

EVEN WITH HER MIND OCCUPIED, Loren eventually noticed something to distract her. Albern would stop every once in a while, letting the others pass on the road while he stood looking behind him. Then he would ride back to the front, and guide them around the next bend. He did this twice an hour or more, seeming more troubled with every pass.
 

Loren stopped beside Albern and turned to look. She saw nothing, for the path was empty, and not a creature moved upon the valley floor. Yet Loren thought she could feel what Albern must have sensed: a curious tension, something she could not identify, raising the hairs on her neck.

“What is it?” Loren had not meant to speak so softly, but her voice left in a whisper.

“I do not know,” said Albern. “Only that I hear no birds.”

He was right. No birdsong drifted up from the valley floor. Loren chastised herself for not noticing earlier; she prided herself as a daughter of the forest, yet clearly the last few months had not been kind to her woodcraft. “Is something following us?”

“That is my guess. Mayhap the satyrs. But if so, they are skulking in shadows and corners.”

“Perhaps that is a good thing. It means they are frightened.”

“Satyrs do not stalk travelers. They are either angry and willing to fight, or they avoid men altogether. This is new. And that is not all.”

“What else?” said Jordel, riding up behind them.

“You remember what Tiglak said when he attacked? He spoke of a Lord. But satyrs have only elders, no lords that I know of.”
 

Loren shrugged. “Sounds like a different name for the same thing.”

“Details tell secrets,” said Albern. “And I tell you that hearing a satyr speak of a lord — especially, as it sounded, a lord who is not a satyr himself — is like hearing a bear speak before it attacks. The bear is no more dangerous than it was before — and yet you should be more frightened, for it should not be talking.”

Loren wanted to say that she did not understand, but saw a dark look on the Mystic’s face; clearly he took Albern’s point, and she did not wish to look a fool. “What should we do, then?” she said instead.
 

“We can only ride on,” said Albern. “And be on our guard in case they attack beyond this careful stalking. It would be almost a relief if they did.”

“I might not go that far,” Jordel said. “Yet I, too, dislike the silence.”

“Fortunately our journey will not be much longer,” said Albern. “Soon our road will take us down and out of the mountains. In two days we shall come to a small town where we may freshen supplies, and mayhap rest.”

Jordel frowned. “We will fill our saddlebags, but cannot afford any time off the road. Let us quickly make for the town, for already this journey has stretched overlong.”

Soon after they reached a fork in the road. One way ran straight ahead, continuing their precarious path along the western mountains’ side. The other way turned east and crossed a narrow chasm, then vanished within the mountains to the east. A stone bridge crossed the divide. It was old and worn, but still looked sturdy.

“That is the way east,” said Albern with obvious relief. “Come, let us make haste.”

They spurred their horses and swiftly rode for the bridge. But no sooner had their horse’s hooves touched the first stones than there was a great cry from the other end. Many satyrs appeared from hiding spots among the rocks, some bounding from cliff faces on the other side. Arrows screamed toward them.

“Get back!” Jordel turned his charger in retreat.
 

The party fell back in disarray, hiding themselves behind a great boulder at the fork.

“That was why they stalked,” said Jordel. “They meant to ambush us upon the bridge, where we were most exposed.”

“If that was their intent, they did a poor job,” said Albern, frowning. “They should have waited until we were mostly across and their archers had a clearer shot.”

“They are practically animals,” said Annis. “What would they know of such strategies?”

“Satyrs may not be wise in the ways of books and cities, but in mountain warfare they have no equal,” said Albern. “If their attack posed little danger, it is because they meant to drive us back.”

“Why?” But Loren guessed the answer as she asked. “They want us to take the north road. What lies that way?”

Albern shook his head. “Nothing of any importance — certainly nothing the satyrs would care for. There is only an old fortress, abandoned for centuries. The road turns east, leading from the mountains then back to the village we aim for. It would add a few days to our journey, but would not stop us.”

“Then we must push across this bridge,” said Jordel. “We shall ride out and charge them. I doubt they will stand against two fighters on horseback.”

Albern nodded and unslung his bow. Gem leaned forward from behind Annis, his eyes shining. “Let me ride with you. I still have my sword.”

“But you wear no mail,” said Jordel, “and cannot return fire with your own arrows. If things go poorly, you will leave Annis horseless and unable to flee. No, Gem. Your time to ride will come, but not now.”

So saying, he and Albern spurred their horses toward the bridge. Albern gave a great undulating cry, and Jordel a shout, their voices carrying far in the crisp mountain air. Xain jostled on Jordel’s horse as they rode.
 

Rather than shrinking from fright, the creatures had nearly doubled. They fired a fresh hail of arrows at their approach. The arrows all fell short, but forced the horses to skid. Then the front line of goat-men charged with their spears. Jordel traded a few hasty blows, and Albern felled three with arrows. The rest were undeterred.

Jordel cried out and turned his horse. Albern followed. Together they fled back to the others.

“A staunch defense,” said Jordel.

“More so than it should have been,” Albern agreed. “They are not used to facing a horsemen attack. Something is at work here, and I do not like it.”

Terrible jeers echoed from the other side of the bridge, along with guttural cries of
Men!
and
Trespassers!
Then, a wet
thunk.
The satyrs had thrown something heavy by the boulder. Loren peeked for a better look, then gasped and recoiled, as did Albern and Jordel. Gem and Annis covered their eyes.

It was the head of a satyr. The horns had been removed — not cut off, but yanked out at the roots. It bore many welts and bruises. Still, Albern stared in grim recognition.

“It is Tiglak. He made his parley with us, and his elders disapproved. This was his punishment. We bargained with his life, and they have rejected that gift.”

“They will not let us pass in peace,” said Loren. “And we cannot break them with war. It seems we must take the north road.”

“No,” Jordel said. “That will take too long.”

“What choice do we have?” Loren insisted. “What if one of the children takes an arrow, or their horse is stricken with terror and bolts off the bridge? It is not a warhorse like yours.”

“They mean to guide us toward Albern’s fortress,” Gem said. “If they want us to go there, I would rather not.”

“I share your sentiment,” said Jordel. “I dislike the sound of this place, and have never heard of it besides.”

“Is that a great wonder?” Albern shrugged. “Do you know every stronghold in the nine lands, including those where men have never set foot in a thousand years?”

“Enough that a lonely castle in the Greatrocks should have been known to me,” said Jordel.

“It seems that our choices are to make for the fortress, or fight the satyrs,” said Loren. “And I do not believe this is a fight we can win.”

Jordel still looked doubtful. He turned to Albern. “You are certain the place is abandoned?”

“I am certain of nothing,” said Albern. “I have not seen it in ten years. Yet if it had been occupied, I would surely have heard. The movements of Selvan’s armies are rarely unknown to me.”

“Very well,” said Jordel. “We will take the western fork. I will ride in the rear with Loren, to ensure the satyrs do not surprise us upon the road.”

They turned their horses and rode. Satyrs jeered behind them. As they rounded the first bend on the mountain pass, Loren looked back to see Tiglak’s head in the dirt. It seemed to her that his eyes held a warning.