King's Man and Thief (15 page)

At last, he stumbled out and promptly fell without the support of the maze's hedge walls. He hit the ground hard, too dazed with grief and pain even to put his arms out to stop his fall. His breath was knocked out of him and he gasped, his mouth opening and closing as if he were a fish on the deck of a ship.
Lorinda, Lorinda
...
someone help me...

As if in answer to his unvoiced plea, strong hands were suddenly there, helping him sit up. The movement, gentle though it was intended to be, sent waves of pain through him. Dimly Pedric realized that he had probably broken his nose. The only thing that upset him about this was the fact that the blood pouring down his face kept getting in his mouth, making speech difficult.

He gazed up at his rescuer and relief flooded him. It was Deveren, who flashed him a reassuring smile before turning and crying, "I've found Pedric!" Turning back to his friend, Deveren said in a softer voice, "Where's Lorinda? What happened? We've been searching for you since Death's hour!"

"My daughter!" came Vandaris's voice, tense with fear and anger. "What have you done with my—" The big man came into Pedric's view and, seeing the young nobleman's condition, somehow managed to tame his outrage.
That's what makes him such a good diplomat,
Pedric thought disjointedly. Other footsteps running, other voices shouting. Grayness seeped into Pedric's vision as Damir came up and knelt beside him.

"Lord Asakinn," said Vandaris, his etiquette not faltering even under this extreme pressure, "what happened to you? Was my daughter with you?"

Pedric opened his mouth, spat out blood. His lips moved, but nothing came out. He cried out in protest as the gray haze darkened, deepened, and the concerned face of Lorinda's father was replaced by blackness.

Deveren swore. "We've got to get him to a Healer," he told his brother.

Damir nodded, his dark eyes on Pedric's slack, ghastly-pale face. "I've sent for one already. I only wish we knew what had happened."

Deveren thought that was clear enough, and he said so. "They were assaulted!" "I have deduced that, little brother," replied Damir tartly, frowning with irritation. "But by whom?"

"Your Lordship," interrupted Vandaris, "I grieve for the boy, but at least he is alive and will survive the night." His beautifully resonant voice caught, but he forced himself to continue. "I do not know the same to be true of my little girl."

Deveren glanced back and forth, from the pudgy, ruddy, yet commanding, visage of Braedon's Head Councilman to the thin, ascetic face of his older brother. He hesitated, then said, "You could find out, Damir." To Vandaris he said, "He's got mind magic. He could read Pedric's last thoughts."

The keen hawk's gaze of Damir turned upon Deveren. "Not without his consent. There are rules, you know."

"He'd tell us if he could," protested Deveren. "He —" he glanced over at Vandaris, and directed his words to the councilman. "He loved your daughter, Lord Vandaris. I'm sure that when he regains consciousness he'll thank us for probing his thoughts. Gods alone know when this occurred. Every minute is precious."

"Dev, I cannot simply—"

"I'll take the responsibility then," snapped Deveren. "Lord Vandaris, I call upon you to witness: if Pedric Dunsan deems this a violation rather than a blessing, he can blame me. I'll pay whatever he asks."

"You're that certain?" asked Damir.

Deveren nodded, his gaze dropping to Pedric's face. Dear gods, he looked dreadful, but Vandaris had the right of it—he would live. Lorinda might even yet be dead.

"Do it."

"So be it," acquiesced Damir. He moved closer to Pedric, who lay limply clasped in Deveren's arms. Gently, he brushed aside the blood-clotted hair and placed his long, thin fingers against the youth's temple. He closed his eyes to aid his concentration.

Deveren watched intently, hardly daring to breathe, his eyes flickering back and forth from Pedric's face to Damir's. He knew that, in reading another's thoughts, the reader would experience everything as if it were happening to him. A slight smile touched Damir's lips. Watching him, Deveren felt like a voyeur. What had happened between Lorinda and Pedric probably had been intimate. Maybe Pedric might be angry with him, in truth. But no, Deveren reasoned, if Pedric truly loved Lorinda—and he was certain that the hitherto feckless young man did—then he would be grateful for the intrusion if it helped them find her.

Now the older man's high brow furrowed, as if distressed. Suddenly he gasped and cried out. The little crowd of guards and concerned citizens that had formed gasped in sympathy. As if he were physically hurled backward, Damir lurched away, severing the contact. Vandaris went to him, steadied him. Damir blinked, then his gaze focused. His voice, when he spoke, was raw with pain.

"I was —Pedric was—assaulted from behind. He never saw who hit him. He believes they have abducted Lorinda." His eyes found Vandaris's. "Sir, one thing I do know— there was love between them, true and deep. Pedric had asked for Lorinda's hand, and she had consented."

Vandaris's throat worked. He glanced over at the youth, raised a hand as if to stoke his hair in a fatherly fashion, then clenched his fist. Righteous anger now replaced grief. He stumbled to his feet, and his words were filled with command. All traces of sorrow had been banished from that sonorous voice.

"Jaranis!" The captain of the guards appeared. One hand had automatically gone to the hilt of his sword, and anger darkened his own face.

"Aye, sir!"

Vandaris clapped a commanding hand on the other man's shoulder, walking him away from Pedric, Damir, and Deveren. "I want you to put your best men on this. Someone has kidnapped my daughter. I'm not sure who or why. Be prepared to deal with a ransom situation. As for when, we believe it occurred sometime after intermission . .."

His voice faded. The crowd began to disperse, urged to do so none too gently by Jaranis's men. Deveren and Damir regarded each other.

"I'll see what my sources can determine about this," said Damir softly, for Deveren's ears alone. "Good idea," approved Deveren. "I'll get my—" he glanced around, amended what he was about to say "—my people on it too."

Damir's expression turned dark. "Why bother? It was probably one of them!"
Deveren rose to the bait. "What makes you say that? Pedric was one of their number!"

"Gods, Deveren, you speak as though the rabble had integrity. For the ransom they'd just as likely kill you!"

Deveren froze. Sweat broke out on his forehead as a memory of the events of the night, forgotten in the urgency of finding and tending his friend, came back full force. He could find no words to answer his brother. One of "his" thieves had tried to murder him already tonight. One or more of them could have tried to do the same with Pedric.

"Excuse me," came a feminine voice. It was soft, gentle, but the tone was of one used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Both brothers looked up and saw a tall woman with composed, attractive features. Her garb was simple, a plain, unadorned dress of vivid scarlet. Her head was swathed in a red wimple.

"I am Vervain, come in service to my goddess." Without another word, Health's Blesser dropped down beside Pedric and began to examine him with a knowledgeable, gentle touch. "What happened here?" she asked crisply. She opened Pedric's eyes, gazed into them, placed her fingers on his throat to determine the rate of the pulse.

"He was struck from behind by an unknown assailant," Deveren explained.

Damir rose. "Think you can move him inside yourself, Deveren?" The younger man nodded brusquely. "Then I leave him to your care—and yours, Milady Blesser." He bowed, shot Deveren another quick, angry look, and went to join Vandaris.

"The blood is dried," said Vervain. "When was he struck?"
Deveren shook his head. "We don't know. An hour, perhaps longer."

Efficiently but tenderly, the Blesser slipped one hand inside Pedric's doublet and shirt, pressing it, Deveren knew, over his heart. The other crept unhesitatingly behind the youth's head to cradle it directly on the injured area. Deveren sank back on his heels and watched. The Blesser closed her eyes and murmured something Deveren couldn't quite catch.

Hand magic was something Deveren had lived with almost all of his life. Mind magic was nothing strange to him, either; not with an older brother as accomplished in the art as Damir. But he had, thank the gods, little opportunity to witness heart magic—women's magic—in action. This was the third of the Four Magics, the final one being spirit magic, worked only by the gods themselves or their designated avatars. And to Deveren, heart magic was closer to spirit magic than the workaday sorceries of hand and mind magic.

Pedric moaned slightly under her ministrations, and his eyes opened. "Dev ..." he whispered. Deveren reached to seize Pedric's groping hand. "I'm here, Pedric."
"Found . .. Lorinda?"

"No," he said, wishing he could say otherwise, "but they're out looking for her. I'm certain they'll find her." It was a lie, but he couldn't bear to look at the agony in Pedric's face. It was too much like looking into a mirror seven years ago. He had to believe that Pedric would not lose his love to brutality as he, Deveren, had. Had to.

"Got to ... find ..." Pedric struggled to sit upright, but the Healer held him fast with a strong grip. She placed a hand on his temple.

"Rest," she commanded, and all the tension left Pedric's body. He collapsed limply into Vervain's arms. "He needs sleep. He will survive, but first, he must want to."

Deveren glanced at her sharply. She answered him with a tranquil, knowing smile. How old was she? She looked young, but she had a wisdom and a grace about her that made her appear older.

"I thank you, Lady Vervain. Pedric's a friend of mine. I wouldn't see him suffer if I could help it." "Then help me get him to a bed, sir...?"

"Deveren, Lord Larath. But my friends call me Dev. I don't tend to stand much on ceremony," and he grimaced as he hefted Pedric as gently as he could, "especially when a friend's in pain." "In that case, Dev, you can help me clean his wounds." She was already rummaging through the large sack she carried as she followed Deveren, bearing his sad burden, into the Councilman's Seat.

After conferring briefly with Vandaris and Jaranis, Damir excused himself. He mounted his horse and rode as swiftly as he could away from the crowd milling about the Councilman's Seat, away from the city of Braedon entirely. He followed the coastline, keeping the ocean on his left as he headed north, until he was a safe distance away.

Damir's horse, an intelligent little mare from Deveren's stables, was laboring. He regretted having pushed her, but it was necessary. The sooner he got here, the sooner he could begin searching for Lorinda. He reached the spot, a rocky section on a beach deserted save for the beasts that belonged here, and tied the mare to the withered, slim trunk of a tree that had somehow managed to endure the winds that blew in off the ocean.

Lorinda. Poor child. Pedric had not betrayed himself by word, look, or deed, but Damir had been in his mind tonight. He had tasted Lorinda's lips, had felt Pedric's love for the girl. And he had endured Pedric's fear of rejection when he was about to tell Lorinda that he was a thief. Slightly censorious, Damir thought that Pedric should have known better than to steal away so far from anyone else. Two young rich people, alone in a maze, were a tempting target for greedy thieves, and Pedric couldn't be sure that his "fellow" thieves would recognize him in time. But Pedric was young, and the blood in his veins sang sweet and hot, and Damir was not so old as to have forgotten what that song did to one's judgment.

He scrambled over the rocks, nearly twisting his ankle. Normally when he came here, he was dressed for the excursion. Soft boots and hose were hardly appropriate for scrambling over rocks late at night.

At last Damir reached the spot. Though it was summer, the breeze off the ocean was chilly, and he shivered. He hadn't even brought a cloak. He physically steadied himself on the rock as he mentally steadied himself to call on his finest spy.

The song he had been taught was not for the ears or voice. Damir thought the notes, extended his presence, felt the song shudder through the stone, the sand, into the waters of the sea itself. And in his mind, he heard an answer.

A distance away, a dolphin broke the surface, leaped into the air, and crashed back down into the water. When it next emerged, it no longer looked like a sleek fish-mammal, but a man, albeit such a man as never walked the surface of Verold.

"This is not our night for meeting," said Darshirin, his voice soft and velvety, scarcely heard above the eternal lullaby of the ocean.

'This is not a night for common talk," rejoined Damir.
Darshirin's slanted eyes narrowed and he swam closer. Damir gingerly sat down on a rock.

"Your heart is sore troubled, my friend. You have called; I answer. What may I do to ease your pain?"

As always, Damir was touched by the sea-being's genuine concern. Many years ago, when Damir was but a lad, he had been on a fishing ship—one of his father's. The late Lord Larath had wanted both his sons to know from whence came their wealth; know and treat those who labored in their service with due respect. They had caught Darshirin, in his dolphin form, in their nets. The young Damir had insisted the creature be set free, even though it meant cutting and damaging the net. Later that night, while Damir was on deck, Darshirin sang a sea-song of gratitude, and was shocked that Damir could hear it. They had been friends ever since, and Darshirin had more than returned the original favor by providing Damir with vital information about the sailing habits of other countries.

'There is a girl who has been stolen from her people," Damir told his friend. "I hope you do not see her, for if you do, it will be in the ocean depths. She is tall, fair as we of the land reckon beauty, and full of laughter." This last, he knew, would count the most in the eyes of one of the People of the Sea. These wise, gentle beings knew mirth far better than humans. He described Lorinda in detail, as well as what happened to her. "If you see her or hear tell of her, come to me."