Her Knight's Quest: A Warriors of the Mist Novel (11 page)

His wry comment had her wanting to join in with his laughter. “Duncan,” she chided, “this is serious business, not something to be taken lightly.

“Believe me, I have good reason to never take speaking with the gods lightly, Lady Lavinia.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at him, wondering at the sudden change in his tone. His eyes, so pale in color, stared at her with such pain and a wisdom that was far older than he should’ve possessed at his age.

Then he blinked, breaking the connection. “Would you prefer that I leave you alone?”

“No, I want you to stay.”

Which was true, and preferably for far longer than a simple scrying.

*  *  *

Duncan decided it was cowardly to stand behind Lavinia rather than at her side. He should’ve realized that the bowl was not intended for birds to bathe in. Even now, the glass hummed softly with the magical vestiges of Lavinia’s prior scryings. How had he missed that earlier? Perhaps he was more aware of it now because he was so aware of her.

“What should I do?”

“Stand still and stay quiet. If you lean closer, you should be able to see whatever the gods choose to show me.”

He nodded and watched Lavinia prepare herself for another attempt to query her gods. It should bother him. None of the Damned trusted magic. But just as Gideon had accepted Lady Merewen’s gift as something pure and clean, Duncan had come to the same conclusion about Lavinia’s.

He could only hope that he was thinking with his brain and not letting his personal desires overrule his common sense.

As she softly chanted, her always lovely face took on an otherworldly glow, peaceful and stunning to behold. She took his hand in hers and grasped the edge of the bowl with her other one. She gave him a pointed look and then turned her gaze to the opposite side of the bowl. Following her unspoken directions, he twined his fingers with hers and then gingerly clasped the edge of the glass.

The quiet hum he’d been hearing increased in volume enough to give him gooseflesh on his arms. Determined to see this through, he ignored the slightly unpleasant sensation as he waited to see what came next.

The water splashed over the edge onto his fingers. He realized he was holding the glass with too much force. As he eased up on his grip, Lavinia arched an eyebrow and smiled at him, he hoped in approval. If calm was what was needed, that was what he would give her.

Abruptly, the water stilled, its dark surface resembling a miniature of the deep pool where the Damned slept as they waited until the gods needed them to defend their people again. He fought the urge to back away, hating the reminder. Days were steadily passing, one by one, ever shortening the time he had left before the water would once again steal away years of his life.

When next he awoke, Lavinia’s life would be only a dim memory, a woman long gone from the world. Rather than think about her death, he concentrated on this moment, taking comfort in the warmth of her fingers touching his.

Lavinia finished whispering her words of power, leaving the garden silent except for the beating of their hearts and the ebb and flow of air in their lungs. The tension continued to build as they waited to see if the gods would speak.

A small ripple at the center of the bowl slowly spread, leaving in its wake a picture of a room, one filled to the brim with books, manuscripts, and scrolls. It was as if he were seeing the room through the eyes of another, slowly turning to reveal more detail. A man was seated at the table beside the window, holding up a page to the sunlight streaming in through the rippled glass as if trying to get a clearer look at the writing on the page.

It wasn’t hard to recognize himself, even if he wasn’t used to seeing himself through another’s gaze. He was speaking, although the water didn’t share the sound of the words with Duncan and Lavinia. She stepped into sight, joining him at the table to look at the passage that held his attention. When her hand came to rest on his shoulder as they studied the page, Duncan could’ve sworn he felt the phantom weight of her palm as they stood there in the garden.

The picture dissolved, flashing to another scene, this one more familiar to him. Murdoch was walking in a hall that Duncan recognized from Lady Merewen’s keep. His friend was moving slowly, as if in great pain. Duncan frowned. By now, Murdoch’s injuries from the battle should’ve been long healed. Did the gods show a jumble of the future, the past, and the present?

It was a question to ask Lavinia when this was over.

Once again the water stirred. This time the chamber was unfamiliar to him, although it bore some superficial resemblance to the one where he and Lavinia had destroyed the coins that morning. He had no doubt he was looking into a mage’s lair. But whose?

After a few seconds, a man strode into sight. He stepped up to what had to be an altar, but one adorned with shackles. That alone was enough to send a shiver of cold dread racing up Duncan’s spine. Judging by the death grip she now had on his hand, Lavinia was no happier with this image.

She stared down at the water as if her worst nightmare were playing out before her. The man held a knife up, and his lips moved as he chanted a spell. Despite the silence of the scrying bowl, Duncan felt the darkness and evil intent in the mage’s words.

Without warning, the man slashed open the palm of his hand and then laid the blade of his knife across the gaping wound. Instead of the blood dripping down onto the altar, the bright silver of the steel turned crimson and pulsed with a heartbeat of its own.

Lavinia whimpered, her face now a frozen mask of horror.

Abruptly, the mage in the water jerked his head up to stare at the ceiling in his room—or possibly at Lavinia. Acting on instinct, Duncan yanked his hand free and used his arm to drag Lavinia back from the scrying bowl. Shoving her behind him, he grabbed the bowl and heaved its contents at the flowers.

Then they both stood in horrified silence while the water sizzled and steamed. As they watched, it blackened all of the plants it had touched, leaving a path of destruction in its wake as it dripped down onto the ground.

Chapter 12

“D
rink this.”

Duncan shoved a full goblet of wine at Lavinia and then poured a second one for himself. Right now, he wasn’t sure there was enough wine in all of Agathia to numb the memory of what they’d just witnessed.

Lavinia sat on the bench in the garden, staring warily at her scrying bowl as if it would leap out and attack her at any second. At least the wine had put some color back in her cheeks. For a while there, Duncan had been afraid she was going to faint on him.

Granted, swooping in to catch her in his arms held a certain appeal, but he never wanted to see that look of utter terror in her eyes again. She hadn’t said a single word since they’d both watched the water smolder and burn its way down the wall, killing everything in its path. The terror of the experience had silenced her.

Duncan hated that his efforts to break the connection to the mage had left a mark in her garden, a visible reminder of the evil they had witnessed. He tried not to hover, but he wouldn’t leave her alone until he was sure that she was all right.

Later, he’d write a summary of all that had happened for Gideon. He hesitated to send Kiva so far from his side, but it was imperative for the captain to know what was going on. The separation would weaken Duncan’s ability to fight, but Kiva would be gone only two days, three at the most. It was a risk worth taking.

“How did you know?”

Duncan had been staring down into his wine as if the Lady of the River would reveal her truth to him. He’d settle for a brief glance of her purpose for placing him in Lavinia’s path. Drinking down the rest of the wine, he set the empty goblet aside. “How did I know what?”

Although he understood exactly what she was asking.

Lavinia shot him a look that made it clear she found his attempt at subterfuge disappointing. She clarified her question anyway. “How did you know to break the connection? That he could see us?”

“Because I saw you.”

He meandered closer to where she sat, pausing to admire a rose. He’d only seen such color before in the heart of a fire, yellow fading to orange and then to a deep red.

“When I was on the road coming here,” he continued as he sat down beside her. “The first time I sensed your scrutiny I was riding along lost in thought when my horse acted startled. Although I couldn’t see anything threatening, I had the uncanny feeling that someone was watching me. It passed, so we continued on.”

He couldn’t help glancing toward the blackened plants. “That night, I was sitting at my fire when the feeling came back, but stronger this time.”

Lavinia drew his attention back to her. “You jumped to your feet and pulled your sword.”

“That I did.” He offered her a small smile. “I probably looked a proper fool, but the feeling was so real.”

She smiled back. “Not at all. I thought you looked very manly, ready to do battle.”

“Jumping at shadows is not manly,” he countered, but her remark pleased him anyway.

“When I didn’t see anything near me, I happened to look up at the moon and saw your face reflected there. Well, I didn’t know it was your face, just that I saw a beautiful woman looking down at me. It was but a glimpse, one so fleeting that I wasn’t sure I’d actually seen it at all.”

He suspected the flush of color in her cheeks was due to his compliment rather than the wine. She nodded as if something he’d said had just solved a puzzle for her.

“That was why you recognized me at dinner the first night you were here.”

“Yes. It was quite a relief, actually. I thought perhaps my mind was addled. Perhaps it is, but at least I know the lady in the moon was real.”

It was time to ask harder questions. “Who was the man we just saw?”

“Duke Keirthan himself.” She shuddered. “It was clear from the power in those coins that he has grown in strength since we last crossed paths. That blood-eating knife is definitely something new. I’ve never heard of such a weapon. Have you?”

“No, and I’m guessing it’s not a good thing. Have you ever had such a connection with someone through scrying other than with me and Keirthan?”

“No, and I’ve never read anything that would even hint that such a thing was possible. I should go research the matter right now.”

Duncan caught her arm before she could stand. “No, you’ve done enough for one morning. Your hands are trembling, either from weakness or from fear. Either way, you need to rest for a while and then eat a hearty midday meal before you take on anything else.”

She tugged her arm free of his grasp. “Knight, scribe, and now nursemaid. Do you have any other talents I should know about?”

Good, the tartness in her comment meant that her spirit was on the mend. He wondered what her response would be if he mentioned a few other skills he’d like to demonstrate for her. Another kiss would be a good start, and his imagination provided some heated images of where it could lead to. He gave the only answer he could, his words truthful but full of regret.

“Nothing we should explore right now.”

She bit her lip again in the way she did when she was thinking hard about something. “That is too bad, but no doubt you’re right.”

This time when she tried to stand up, he didn’t interfere. “I think I will do as you suggest and lie down for a short time. After we eat, perhaps you would care to join me in the library. I can show you around and then you
will
tell me what exactly you hope to find.”

He nodded, acknowledging her demand. He would tell her everything he could and hope that it would be enough to convince her to help him.

“I will be honored to join you, my lady.”

He put a little more room between them. “I should return to my own quarters until then.”

She walked away. Unlike earlier, this time she looked back and smiled. “Thank you for saving me again, Duncan. It’s becoming a habit of yours.”

“It was my honor.”

He offered her a quick bow, falling back on the safety of formal manners. As much as he appreciated the invitation to join her in the library, he would’ve liked being invited into her personal quarters even more. He trusted that was an unworthy thought, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

For now, he’d take advantage of her absence to tear out the dead plants. She didn’t need the reminder haunting her garden just as the memory haunted her eyes. He pulled them out by the roots just as the Damned would soon destroy the last trace of Duke Keirthan, or die trying. If it took the last breath in his body, the last drop of blood in his veins, he would make this world safe for Lavinia.

*  *  *

Murdoch woke up feeling . . . better? Not good, exactly, but definitely a vast improvement over the past few days. He moved slowly, just in case he was mistaken. No, his body did what he asked of it without complaint and without pain.

Excitement won out over caution as he stood up and took several strides back and forth across the confines of his room. The patter of his feet on the cool stone of the floor sounded strong to him, no longer the weak, old man shuffle he’d been limited to since the night of the battle.

What should he do next? Get dressed and then maybe he’d walk down to the great hall below. He was tired of his own company, and the man in the next room wasn’t the jolliest of companions.

First off, though, a bath was high on his list, provided his wound had finally closed completely. He pulled up the long shirt that had been his sole attire since he’d been wounded.

Facing the window to catch the morning light, he stared down at the jagged scar that stretched across his stomach. Next he poked and prodded at it. Tender but not painful. All good. Yes, a bath could be on the list.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.”

The mumbled words were followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. Running footsteps, actually. A woman’s steps.

Damnation! Murdoch yanked his bed shirt back down to cover his nether regions. He prayed it had been one of the servants who’d walked in when he was checking out his injuries, leaving more than just his scar open to view.

His luck had obviously run out. More footsteps were coming his way, this set much heavier. Murdoch turned to face his latest guest.

Gideon stepped through the door, a puzzled look on his face. “What happened to send Lady Alina bolting back to her quarters? Did Sigil do something to upset her?”

Murdoch wasn’t about to explain. “Maybe she forgot something.”

Gideon shrugged and ventured farther into the room. “You’re looking less like death and more like someone who needs to get back to work.”

His grin widened. “You know how I feel about my men getting regular weapons practice. I figure you owe me almost a week’s worth of opportunities to bruise you up for worrying us so much.”

Murdoch appreciated the rough sentiment. “Order me up a hot bath and some clean clothes. Once I’m presentable, I’ll follow you down to the bailey and watch you bang blades with Averel or, better yet, Kane. Maybe I’ll even give you some pointers, so that when I’m in the mood to pick up my sword again, you’ll be ready for me.”

For the first time in days he was actually looking forward to the hot sweaty work of weapons practice.

Gideon gave Murdoch a long look. “Truly, how do you feel today?”

Murdoch allowed a small smile to peek through. “Right now even guard duty sounds like fun. Anything is better than being stuck here in bed all day.”

The other man looked both relieved and happy. “That’s good news, my friend. Very good news. I’ll go let the servants know to bring you a bath.”

Then Gideon dropped his voice. “How about Sigil? Any progress there?”

Murdoch thought back to the chess game the two had played the night before. “Physically he is well on his way to full strength. His memory has yet to return. It’s odd the things he does remember: how to play chess, how to read—those sorts of things. I’m guessing if you put a sword in his hand, he would know how to fight. It is only the bits and pieces of who he really is and how he came to serve Keirthan that he cannot recall.”

“How convenient. Mayhap he simply doesn’t want to remember those things.”

That was what Murdoch thought, too, but then who could blame the poor bastard? If he did remember and revealed his true loyalties, then chances were he’d be executed for his crimes. If he didn’t remember, he still had to live with the knowledge that he’d served a master who dealt in death and blood magic.

Sigil was no doubt as sick of the same four walls as Murdoch was. “I’ll bring him down with me. It will do the both of us good to breathe some fresh air.”

“Fine, but keep him close. Not everyone will be happy that we’ve let him live.”

Murdoch made shooing motions toward his friend. “I will. Now run along like a good servant and order a bath and clean clothes for me and our guest next door.”

“Servant, is it?” Gideon flashed him a dark look. “You might want to remember that we
will
cross swords again.”

He headed for the door, still grumbling. “This is the last day I will play your servant, Murdoch. I have better things to do with my time, and a long list of people to worry about.”

Then he stopped in the doorway. “I’m glad you’re off that list.”

Murdoch nodded. “Me, too.”

He waited until Gideon was gone before checking on their prisoner. Sigil was out of bed, staring out the small window. It was doubtful he could see much through the thick glass, but Murdoch understood his need to see something—anything—beyond the confines of the room. The walls were closing in on them both.

Without looking away from the window, Sigil spoke. “Are you sure you really want to stand close to me if we venture outside? I wouldn’t want you to be hit by a blow aimed for me.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

Sigil finally turned to face him. “And why would you do something so foolish? You’re just now recovering from the kind of wound that would’ve killed most men outright.”

“True, but then I am not most men.”

Sigil considered Murdoch’s words and then nodded. “And I would guess that neither are your three companions—Captain Gideon, Averel, and Kane.”

“Actually, all told there are five of us. You were unconscious when Duncan left the keep.”

Sigil wanted to ask more questions, his curiosity plain in his dark eyes; yet he remained silent. That was all right. Murdoch wasn’t any more eager to share his truth than Sigil was to regain his own memories.

Before their conversation could continue, the first servants arrived, carrying a pair of tubs and buckets of water.

“Sigil, once we’re presentable, I’ll escort you outside. The sunshine will do us both good.”

“Mayhap something out there will bring back more of my memory.”

“Mayhap,” Murdoch agreed, although he wasn’t convinced that would be a good thing. But such things were better left to the gods to decide.

Rather than worry about it, he headed back into his own room. He had his own problems, such as how to apologize to Alina.