Darkspell (39 page)

“Here, Jill,” Bocc said. “Since you’ve been over in Yr Auddglyn—”

“We’ve been discussing that,” Ogwern broke in. “She—”

Someone knocked loud and hard on the door. As the innkeep hurried over, some of the lads moved closer to the windows. The innkeep peered out and shook his head. Everyone relaxed.

“It’s not the wardens, you see,” Ogwern whispered to Jill.

The innkeep stepped back, admitting a tall, broad-shouldered man in plain gray brigga and a sweat-stained shirt, pulled in by a heavy sword belt with an expensive-looking scabbard and sword. The easy, controlled way he moved told her that he knew how to swing his blade, too. When he strode over to Ogwern’s table, Bocc hastily moved out of his way. Jill could understand his reaction. She’d never seen eyes like this blond stranger’s before, ice-blue, utterly cold, utterly driven, as if he’d looked on so many sickening things that there was naught left to him but to see the world with contempt. Hardly thinking, she laid her hand on her sword hilt. When the stranger caught the gesture, he smiled, a thin twitch of his lips.

“Er, good eve,” Ogwern said. “I take it you wish to speak to me?”

“Perhaps. It depends on what this silver dagger has to say.”

His voice was not particularly unpleasant, merely cold and dry, but Jill shivered when he turned to her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, good sir,” she said.

“We haven’t. But I understand you’re carrying a stolen jewel. I’ll pay you for it in gold.”

Jill was aware of Ogwern watching in amused surprise, as if thinking she’d duped him earlier.

“You’re wrong,” Jill said. “I don’t have any jewels for sale. What do you think I have?”

“An opal. A rather big opal. I know you thieves haggle, but I promise you I’ll pay a good bit more than any midnight jeweler. It’s in that pouch around your neck. Get it out.”

“If I had this opal, I’d sell it to you.” Jill felt another
force put words in her mouth. “But the only piece of jewelry I have is a ring brooch.”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. Jill brought out the pouch, opened it, and took out—a ring brooch, just as she’d known would be there, a rather plain brass one, at that, set with glass for want of gems, but strangely light in weight for its size.

“Don’t trifle with me, lass,” the stranger snarled.

“I swear to you, this is the only piece of jewelry I own.”

The stranger leaned onto the table and stared directly into her eyes. His glance pierced her in a way that reminded her of Nevyn, as if he were boring into her very soul.

“Is that truly the only piece of jewelry you own?”

“It is.” She found it very hard to speak. “It’s the only piece I have.”

His eyes seemed to darken, and she felt then that he was trying to go even deeper into her soul. With a wrench of will she broke away, tossing her head and taking up her tankard, ready to heave it at him if he tried tricks on her again. The stranger set his hands on his hips and looked around, honestly baffled.

“Now, what is all this?” Ogwern snapped. “Jill’s telling you the truth.”

“I know that, hog fat! Do you have the stone? Do you know where it is?”

“What stone?” Ogwern laid down his chicken leg and wiped his hands on his shirt. Jill saw the little gleam that meant he’d palmed a dagger. “Now, here, you can’t come blustering into an honest inn like this. Kindly state your business, and we’ll see if we can help you.”

The stranger hesitated, spitting Ogwern with his glance.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I’m in the market for a particular opal, as big as a walnut but perfectly polished. Now don’t try to tell me you haven’t heard of it. These things spread around.”

“So they do, and I won’t lie to you. The last I heard, it was in Yr Auddglyn. If it was anywhere in Cwm Pecl, I’d
know, and it’s not. I wouldn’t mind having a look at it myself.”

Again the stranger hesitated, glancing round him with his driven eyes. For all that he was keeping himself tightly under control, Jill could feel the trace of fear in him, feel it so clearly that she knew he’d made some kind of bond between them when he’d stared into her eyes. She felt as revolted as if she’d reached into a nest of spiders.

“Now, listen, you,” he said to Ogwern. “It has to be on its way to Dun Hiraedd. When it comes through, you get your fat paws on it, and you sell it to me. I’ll pay you well, but I’m the man who gets it, or you die. Do you understand?”

“My good sir! All I’d want from it would be the profit, and since that’s what you offer me, you’ll have it for sure. No need to threaten.”

“You might well be approached by someone else. Understand? Sell it to anyone but me, and I’ll cut you open and trim out some of that lard while you beg me to let you die.”

The calm way he spoke made it clear the threat was no idle one. His jowls trembling in terror, Ogwern nodded agreement.

“I’ll return every now and then to see if you have it. Save it for me. It should be soon.”

The stranger contemptuously turned his back and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Bocc tried to speak, but only gulped.

“By all the hells,” Ogwern whispered. “Did I truly see that?”

“I’m afraid you did,” Jill said. “I hope he’s not staying at the Running Fox. I don’t want to go back only to find him in the tavern room.”

“We’ll find that out easily enough. Bocc, take a couple of the lads. Don’t risk following the bastard; just ask around.”

“Someone must have seen him,” Bocc said. “I’ll wager he stands out in a crowd.”

With a couple of friends, Bocc left by the back window.
Ogwern sighed and contemplated the remains of the fowl.

“I’ve quite lost my appetite,” he said. “Do you fancy a bit of this, Jill?”

“None, my thanks. It’s a marvel and a half if you’re not hungry.”

“Kindly don’t be rude.” He laid his hand over his injured heart and sheathed his dagger with the same gesture. “A man can take only so many insults. Lard? Hah!”

It was over an hour before a more than usually furtive Bocc returned. His face was quite pale as he told Ogwern that search as they might, he and the lads had found no trace of the stranger.

“Are you daft?” Ogwern sputtered. “Dun Hiraedd’s not very big.”

“I know, but he isn’t here, and no one ever saw him come in or nothing. And here’s the cursed strangest thing. We caught one glimpse of him, walking toward the city wall. Then he turned down an alley and just seemed to melt away somehow. Da, I swear it! He just disappeared.”

“Oh, by the pink asses of the gods,” Ogwern said feebly. “Let us pray that this jewel turns up soon so we can take his wretched gold and be done with him.”

Soon after, Jill went back to her inn. She walked quickly, keeping close to buildings and looking constantly around her, pausing at the door to make sure that the stranger wasn’t waiting for her before she went inside. Once she was up in her chamber, she barred door and shutters alike from the inside. Although she slept with her sword beside her on the floor, nothing disturbed her but her dreams, which were full of severed heads, dark caves, and the eyes of the stranger, glaring at her.

Rhodry passed that same day in a fury of impatience. There was Jill, off alone and in danger, and here was he, honor bound to play nursemaid to a wounded merchant and his stinking mules. Since he’d given his word to Seryl that he’d escort them to the city, he saw no alternative but to stay with him until he was fit to ride. Toward noon the
wounded bandit died. Rhodry helped bury him just to have something to pass his time. Finally, about an hour before sunset, the patrol returned.

“We followed them toward Yr Auddglyn,” the captain said. “I can’t go over the border without authorization, so we’ll have to wait until his grace gets a message to us.”

“Then by every god in the Otherlands, I cursed well hope it gets here soon.”

The message arrived more quickly than anyone expected. Just as the patrol was sitting down to dinner, Comyn led in fifty men with as many spare horses. In the confusion it was easy for Rhodry to slip away. The last thing he wanted was for Comyn to recognize him. For want of a better hiding place, he went into the kitchen hut, where the frantic servants were too busy getting fifty unexpected meals to notice him standing in the curve of the wall by the hearth. The fire blazed up hot as a servant stuck a spit full of pork chunks on to roast, and grease dripped down.

Rhodry watched the dancing flames and cursed his wretched Wyrd. Here he was, hiding from a man he respected and who once had honored him. The golden play of flames seemed to mock him as they flickered this way and that, flaring up only to die in an instant, just as a man’s honor and glory could do. The glowing coals seemed to form pictures, as if in them he could see Aberwyn and his beloved Dun Cannobaen. As if he could see Nevyn. Rhodry suddenly felt a cold shiver down his back. He
could
see Nevyn, or rather a clear image of the old man’s face, floating above the fire. A thought came to his mind, the sound of the old man’s voice.

“
You’re not going daft, lad. I truly am talking to you. Think your answers back to me.
”

“
I will, then. But what is all this?
”

“
No time now to explain. Our enemies might be able to overhear us. But you’ve got to get to Dun Hiraedd. Jill is in grave danger. Leave tomorrow at dawn.
”

“
What? I’ll leave tonight!
”

“
Don’t!
” Nevyn’s image turned grim. “
It’s not safe for
you to be on the road alone at night. Do you hear me? Wait for dawn, but ride!
”

“
Of course I will. Oh, ye gods, she doesn’t even have her gnome with her.
”

“
What? What do you mean?
”

“
The little creature disappeared somewhere along our way. Jill was worried sick over it.
”

“
As well she might be. I’ll look into it.
”

Suddenly the image was gone. Rhodry looked up to find a servant glaring at him.

“Somewhat you need, silver dagger?” he snapped.

“Naught. I’ll just get out of your way.”

As he walked outside, Rhodry was wrestling with his honor. For all that he’d given Seryl his sworn word, he knew that Jill was the one thing in the world that would make him break it. His mood disintegrated further when, as he was crossing the dark ward, he caught a trace of movement out of the corner of his eye. Reflexively he turned, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger—nothing there. Dim light spilled from the open door of the kitchen, and in the shadows again it seemed that something moved.

Rhodry drew the dagger and took one cautious step forward. For the briefest of moments it seemed he saw a tiny figure, vaguely human yet profoundly alien, standing in the shadows and grinning at him. The thing disappeared, leaving him wondering if he was going daft on top of all his other troubles.

Over the last few days Nevyn had at times wondered why the gray gnome hadn’t come to him, but he’d assumed that the faithful little creature merely feared to leave Jill’s side. Now he could guess that it had fallen afoul of the dark master. That night he was camping by the road down in Yr Auddglyn, with a cheerful campfire burning for his scrying. In his heart he thanked the gods that had made Rhodry stare into that other fire so far away. Although Rhodry had no true dweomer-talent, his elven blood made him highly susceptible to dweomer worked upon him from
outside. For just that reason Nevyn was as worried about him as he was about Jill.

Nevyn turned his mind firmly to the task at hand and laid his worry aside for a moment. When he called upon the Wildfolk who knew him, they appeared immediately, crowding round, an obese yellow gnome, blue sprites, gray gnomes, sylphs like crystal thickenings in the air, and salamanders leaping up in the fire.

“Do you know your little gray brother who follows Jill around the kingdom?”

They nodded, a vast rustle of tiny heads.

“And you know the bad man I’m chasing? Well, I’m afraid he’s gotten hold of your brother.”

A faint sound of anguish swept over him.

“Try to find where he is, but stay, very very far away from the bad man. Do you hear me? Be very careful.”

Suddenly they were gone, and the fire was only a normal fire again. Nevyn turned his attention to it and thought of Jill. He saw her at once, sitting in a filthy tavern next to an enormously fat man, but try as he might, he couldn’t get her attention, couldn’t influence her enough to make her look toward the fire. He could feel, however, how frightened she was, and her fear fed his own. Finally he banished the vision and got up to pace restlessly back and forth.

It was some time later that the Wildfolk returned, grinning and dancing in triumph. Nevyn hastily counted heads to make sure that they were all safe.

“I take it you found him.”

Rubbing his stomach, the yellow gnome stepped forward and nodded a yes. When he held up thumb and forefinger to define something small and square, Nevyn could guess his meaning easily.

“The bad man bound him into a gem.”

The gnome nodded.

“Now for the hard part, my friends. I have to know where the gem is. Does the bad man still have it?”

When the gnome indicated no, Nevyn sighed in relief. The gnome pointed to a salamander’s red face.

“It’s a red gem.”

It was, indeed. As the Wildfolk put on elaborate pantomimes and clever mimicking, Nevyn finally understood all that they had to tell him. The gnome’s elemental spirit was bound into a ruby stolen from the king himself; the dark master had given it to a bandit with red hair; that bandit had taken it to a town to sell. Although the name of the town was difficult, finally a sprite rode on a gnome’s shoulder while others indicated something big.

“Marcmwr! A big horse!”

In a swirl and dance they spun around him, then disappeared. Feeling a little weary from all that guessing, Nevyn sat down by the fire. It was just like a dark master to bind a spirit into a gem and then give it to someone who knew naught of such matters, thus trapping the poor thing there for all eternity. Fortunately, he would reach Marcmwr by noon on the morrow.