Falconfar 03-Falconfar (37 page)

Mori stepped cautiously around the tree he'd been hiding behind, bent to peer past one of the trees in the yard, nodded, then came back through the boughs to rejoin Tethtyn, pointing behind him. "That black wagon, with all the lights quenched?"

"Aye," the underscribe from Hawksyl replied. "I watched two of the uniformed men—the ones with the caps—get into it. It's the same one they came in. I think they're watching, in case someone tries to go into the ruins. See that box they set up, and the posts? Those are tripwires, just like the some of the lords use along their fences, to fire bows at intruders with no archers to man them. No bows here, but yon wires'll trigger some sort of warning, if we go through the gate and walk up the yard, I'll wager."

Mori nodded slowly. "A book in the library had drawings of those trip-bows; I only got a glimpse, though, just once, when old Urvraunt had it out. It was one of the tomes he kept locked up."

He smirked. "I wouldn't mind casting a few appropriate magics in the direction of Urvraunt's backside, when next we meet."

Tethtyn felt something cold and malicious in the darkness at the back of his mind. A deep glee flooded through him like a chill flood. Lorontar evidently approved.

He found himself nodding and saying, "We leave that wagon be and take ourselves away from here, though, or it'll be like a lord's army sent after us. I'd rather not spend the rest of our time in this otherwhere fleeing like a hunted stag."

"Uh, w-who's there?"

It was a third voice, coming from just the other side of the trees. Around the rear, where the little track ran along behind all the backyards on Bridlewood Lane.

Mori and Tethtyn stiffened, and crouched down, out of sight.

It was unfortunate for Maxwell Sutherland that he'd happened to blunder back home at this precise time, bewildered and exhausted but so governed by curiosity that upon hearing voices in the trees just behind Rod Everlar's gate—and registering the smell of burning—he had to go and investigate.

Mori and Tethtyn exchanged glances, and smiled unpleasantly.

They stepped out of the trees together to face the lone, disheveled man standing before them, raised their hands, and began to cast the same deadly spell.

Max blinked furiously, but the two men—smiling wolfishly and gesturing much like Muriel had, after the one and only belly dancing class she'd attended—did not disappear.

So he settled for letting his jaw drop, and staring at them in utter disbelief.

Yet despite the misfortune that had led him into this imprudent meeting, Maxwell Sutherland's fortunes were taking an abrupt turn. Earth is not Falconfar, and some magics—not all, but some— do not work quite the same way in the vicinity of Bridlewood Lane as they do in the Falcon Kingdoms. Or, in fact, at all.

So the bolts of magic that should have slain Max merely set his sweat-soaked shirt on fire—so swiftly that it was down to collar and cuffs before he felt the heat, or any pain. A brief fall of ash down his bared front marked the loss of much of his thick pelt of chest hair.

"Cultists!" he stammered, finding his voice at last, and raising a shaking arm to point at the strangers. "That's what you are! Sus- susssatanic cultists!"

He meant to scream Muriel's name and run to her, plunging past her into the house and safety as she flung open the door with shotgun in hand to deal with this latest horror of modern life. Then he would dial the emergency number and be a hero. He would... he would...

Maxwell Sutherland settled for bravely rolling his eyes up in his head and fainting. He collapsed into a noisy, untidy heap in the trodden weeds.

Mori and Tethtyn traded glances again, shrugged, and turned away.

Their spells had worked, after all... after a fashion. Things were different here.

Yet perhaps not too different.

ROD GROANED. "THIS isn't going to be a comfortable night," he muttered, starting to take off his clothes again.

Taeauna's hand fell across his busily working ones. "Why are you disrobing, Lord Rod?"

"I—uh—well, to give you something to lie on. There's nothing here but stone, and—"

"While you lie there bare and shivering?"

Rod shrugged. "Well, it's only right—uh, the chivalrous thing to do, you know, and..."

Taeauna put her arms around him, and murmured into his ear. "You are one of the kindest men I know. And one of the most prize idiots, too. Which of the two of us is more valuable to Falconfar? A healer and Shaper, the Lord Archwizard foretold... or one Aumrarr who has no wings?"

"Well, uh... ah, but—"

Taeauna put her fingers across his mouth. "But nothing. Now keep silent and spare me your protests. We won't be sleeping here. Just stand very still until I return."

She walked back to the doorway that Glorn had led them in through. Crouching low, she peered out into the night, crawling forward as slowly and patiently as a cat.

And was gone, only to rejoin him after a minute or two, as stealthily as she had departed. "Good," she murmured in his ear. "There're no watchers looking in at us. Glorn—and Gorongor and the rest who served Malraun—are good friends."

"How so?" Rod whispered. "And where will we be going?"

"To Rauthtower."

"Rauthtower? But that's a ruin, in Galath, in the forest far from anywhere! It'll take us days—"

"It'll take us a few steps. And it's not far from Galathgard. Going through Rauthtower was Malraun's favorite way into the kingdom."

"Galathgard? Another ruin!"

"No longer. At least, not all of it. King Brorsavar will be holding his first—very likely his only—Great Court there. They've been fixing it up for months."

"'They'?"

"The nobles who support him—and some who want him dead and have been busily preparing traps in the place, before all the rest of the nobles arrive to see them at that treason. Now hush; enough chatter. Take my hand."

"Where—?"

"There's a gate in yon corner. One that Glorn and the others who served Malraun know very well, though it's far older than Malraun. It links Malragard and Rauthtower."

"A gate linking here with... no, this isn't anything from my writing," Rod muttered.

"There are other Shapers and wizards of Falconfar, Lord. I know not whose hand crafted this gate, but it was long, long ago. Which means others, perhaps many others—noble families of Galath among them, even—may have heard of it. Perhaps they know precisely where its ends lie, perhaps not, but that it exists, yes. So if I knew a way to swiftly do so that I could work, I'd destroy this gate the moment we were through it. 'Tis a back door into the heart of Galath any foe of the realm can use, if they know how. Yet we may need it to depart again, in haste—after someone kills Brorsavar and all the fun starts."

"Fun," Rod muttered, shaking his head, and took Taeauna's hand. "I like Brorsavar."

"So do I," she said grimly. Then she turned back to the open doorway, and stared hard out into the night.

After what seemed to Rod a long time, she nodded as if satisfied, turned back to him, and murmured, "Mharraubrath elue maristru!"

And the darkness around them... changed.

They were standing now, not in the dark corner of a bare stone room, but in a roofless, moonlit hall that had once been very grand. In the soft blue-white light Rod could see that it was long and narrow and high-arched, with balconies above them on both sides and ranks of soaring pillars stretching away down a cracked, stained, and branch-littered floor.

"Behold Rauthtower," Rod murmured, half-mockingly and half in admiration. "So, given its name, where's the tower?"

"Destroyed, long ago. A dragon was involved."

Taeauna's hand was smooth and warm and comforting around his, and Rod made no move to pull away. "Whither now?"

"This way," she replied, keeping her voice as low as his. "'Ware, Rodrel; forest beasts sometimes roam these halls."

She led him briskly between two pillars and through an arch beyond, out of the long hall and up a narrow flight of stone steps. Rod felt a tingling in the air as they stepped through another doorless archway at the head of the stair. Magic, of course.

Archways in various walls led out of the room in different directions, but Taeauna ignored them all. An alcove across the room started to glow the moment she approached, and Rod saw that it was crowded with neatly arrayed clothing.

Well, well. A wardrobe, in a hold that had been a ruin for centuries.

Taeauna took her hand away from Rod's and started calmly stripping off her clothes. "Get rid of those rags you have on," she commanded. "There are suitable leathers here."

Rod obeyed without hesitation, turning his back out of polite regard for her modesty—and, he supposed, his. That prompted a sigh of exasperation and a firm hand on his elbow, turning him back to face her.

"Lord Idiot," Taeauna told him, "you can't find the right clothes if you don't use your eyes!"

She plucked the nearest garment from a hook and held it out for his inspection. "Or you'll find yourself trying to put on something like this."

It was a one-piece feminine garment, of glossy blue-black leather intended to cover a wearer from shoulders to mid-thigh—with the notable exception of the crotch and the tips of the breasts, where large holes gaped that were crossed by arcs of fine chain. Barbed fine chain. Thongs were sewn into the small of the back, dangling now but obviously intended to be laced up tight around the midriff. Rod felt himself blushing.

"Malraun had it made to fit me," Taeauna told him expressionlessly, "and other things like it." She thrust it back where it had come from.

"But for us, now, by 'suitable' I meant battle-leathers. Look well; there's harness here to fit Gorongor and Tarlund—and Glorn and Eskeln, too, and they're both about your size. Now stop being modest, get down to your skin, and I'll help you get dressed. I'm tired, even if you aren't—and 'tis a long walk from here to the armory, because Malraun felt it prudent to hide it. Yes, we'll be sleeping in our clothes, because that's what I feel is prudent."

Not for the first time, Rod did as he was told.

"BEHOLD GALATHGARD," JUSKRA said wearily.

Garfist peered down at distant moonlit towers. "We walk from here? Wouldn't it be quicker just to fall off?"

"Iskarra, kick him," Dauntra murmured.

"Listen, fat and heavy and incredibly foolish old man," Juskra snarled. "We flew all this way instead of taking the rest we should have—in part because you can't empty two tankards without getting into a fight. We're all going to go to get a good long sleep now, in yonder cave, and fly the rest of the way after dusk on the morrow. I thought it a better plan than trying to cross Galath in easy flights, as army after army of nobles and their bodyguards— many of whom are archers, just itching for something to put a few shafts into—converge on the same place we're heading for. Make any sense to you? Any at all?"

"Uh, aye. Aye, that it does. My apologies," Garfist growled.

"Well, he's learning," Dauntra commented. "Slowly."

Iskarra nodded. "It's taken me years to get him this far—but I've managed to keep him alive in the meantime, mind."

"If ever you change your mind about the wisdom of doing so, Isk," Juskra said, dagger in hand as she headed for the cave, "remember: we can change all that."

"MALRAGARD GOT THEM, right? Or some hungry monster, loosed from its cage when this place got blasted apart? Or are there secret passages all over this place that we don't know about?"

Askurr sounded angry.

"Fancied her, did you?" Roreld asked quietly.

"Of course I fancied her! Didn't all of us? Falcon Above, I'm only human! She's beautiful enough to make your mouth water, she fights as well as any man—"

"Better," Bracebold muttered, glaring into the empty chamber one more time, as if by doing so he could somehow summon the missing man and Aumrarr. They were all staring into it, except the raging Askurr.

"—and has spirit and wits and all of that, and she's the only woman within reach!"

"Harlhoh's right down there, actually," Olondyn said, waving his hand. "Lots of women there. And Taeauna's not a woman, she's an Aumrarr."