Shadow Magic (12 page)

The Wyrds evidently intended to make only a brief stay, for they did not even glance at the stacked wood. Instead, Worrel and Rarn unpacked huge quantities of bread and slabs of cold meat and cheese from the saddlebags, while Murn spread a cloth on the ground to receive it. Anarmin disappeared into the woods even before Shallan had the horses tethered. He returned just as the other Wyrds finished laying out the meal, carrying a large honeycomb.

“The little ones are generous today!” Anarmin called as he came into sight. “See my hard-won sweets!”

“Hard-won, indeed!” Worrel grinned at him. “Stay by some time and learn the meaning of work! I’ll wager you find some other excuse to be gone come time for packing up. Give it here!”

“You wrong me; indeed, you wrong me!” Anarmin responded in an injured tone. “Why! Was it not I who single-handedly prepared dinner for twice this number when last we passed this way?”

“Yes, and single-handedly ate most of it, too!” Rarn replied tartly. “Come on, we haven’t got the whole day to stand about talking.”

Anarmin snorted, but passed the honeycomb down to Worrel, who placed it with the rest of the lunch. There was some further good-natured bickering among the Wyrds as they laid out the food, but in a short time all was ready, and the party sat down on a springy bank of moss to a meal of cold venison and cheese and dark bread spread with honey.

When they finished eating, the Wyrds packed the remains in the saddlebags once more. Despite the efficiency of the Wyrds and Anarmin’s grumbles, the party again started forward nearly an hour and a half after they had stopped. Rarn set a quicker pace for the afternoon ride, and there was less talk exchanged. They rode with an air of tension, for they had passed outside the boundaries of the land known and controlled by the Wyrds of Glen Wilding, and the danger was increased.

The strained atmosphere subdued even Alethia. She rode for some time in silence beside Tamsin, and watched the shadows warily. The browns and dappled greens that had seemed cool and refreshing that morning now looked sinister and gloomy. The ground was covered inches deep in mold, built up by years of leaves rotting undisturbed, and the horses’ hooves made no noise on the crumbling surface. For the most part, there was no cover between the ancient tree trunks, but from time to time a break in the thick foliage overhead had allowed a dense group of shrubs to spring up.

The Wyrds detoured around the first two thickets, but at the third Tamsin suggested that the two horses go first to force a passage for the Wyrd’s ponies. Murn was growing concerned at the extra time the detours had cost them, and she agreed.

Tamsin and Starbrow went first, and Alethia followed. Forcing a path through the dense growth was difficult even for the horses, but it was still faster than going around. When they reached the other side, Alethia turned in the saddle to observe the Wyrds as they made their way through the thicket.

Suddenly something struck her squarely in the middle of her back. The force of the blow spun her from the saddle, and she fell to the ground barely clear of the bushes. The fall knocked the wind from her, and for what seemed an eternity she lay there fighting for breath. Then she pushed herself up and looked back.

Only a few seconds had passed. Tamsin had pulled his sword free and was swinging it down in a vicious arc that ended squarely in the middle of Alfand’s now empty saddle. Alethia screamed once in protest, and then there was a small squishing noise as the flat of the sword landed. The frightened mare jumped forward, but Starbrow had already moved to bar her path. The Wyrds came quickly up to them, and Anarmin and Shallan quieted the mare while the others stopped by Alethia.

Tamsin dismounted and leaned against Starbrow’s side. A thick black goo dripped slowly from the end of his sword, but he did not seem to be aware of it. He looked a little white. “Alethia, are you all right?” he asked.

“I think so. What happened?” Alethia asked.

Rarn answered her. “A janaver dropped from the trees. It would have landed on your head if Tamsin had not seen it in time and pushed you out of the way. It is dead.”

Alethia shuddered, and looked at the mare. She could see three of the thing’s ten legs still hanging from the saddle, the claws dripping green poison. The globular, black-tufted body had been smashed by Tamsin’s sword. Murn and Rarn examined Alethia carefully; Anarmin performed the same office for the mare.

“She has not been touched,” Rarn declared at last. “Which is fortunate; there is no antidote for a janaver’s poison. Now you, minstrel.”

“What?” asked Tamsin, a little dazedly.

“The blood of the janaver is as poisonous as their claws,” Worrel explained, “though it does not act as fast. Did any strike you?”

Tamsin denied it, but the Wyrds were not satisfied until they had examined him themselves. This task Worrel and Anarmin performed, while Rarn and Shallan hunted through the saddlebags. Eventually they emerged with a small bottle of dark green fluid with which they carefully cleaned every drop of the janaver’s blood from Alethia’s saddle and Tamsin’s sword.

When the Wyrds were satisfied at last, the party set off once again. “At least we aren’t likely to come across another one,” Worrel said as they left. “The janaver do not like to hunt close together.”

“There should not have been one here,” Murn murmured with a frown. “Janaver are tree dwellers; they avoid the sun-openings and keep to the thickest parts of the Wyrwood.”

“Perhaps this was a young one traveling to find a new territory of its own,” suggested Shallan. “They frequently wander through unexpected areas before they become established.”

“Perhaps,” Murn said, but she was very thoughtful for the remainder of the ride.

Janaver were not the only danger, and the party proceeded carefully. For the rest of the afternoon, however, they saw nothing more alarming than a deer fleeing their passage. Despite the delays, they reached the first low hills of the mountains late in the afternoon. The light was fading as the Wyrds urged their companions through a maze of trees and vines. Tamsin was a little behind Alethia as she reached the top of the second hill and exclaimed, “Oh, is that where we are going?”

Tamsin rode up beside her. “No wonder you are intimidated. I have never seen anything so dark in my life! Why, you can’t see two feet in front of the horses.”

Alethia looked at him in bewilderment. “I don’t understand you. It is a little dark, but the path to the house is clear. We shall be there in a few minutes. Look, Rarn is halfway down already.”

Now it was Tamsin’s turn to be puzzled. “I don’t see anything at all,” he said slowly.

“But you must!” Alethia exclaimed. “There is a little stone house ringed by a wall, with a garden and a well and all the windows lighted. And there is a stable in back. Oh, come on!”

With that she turned Alfand down the hill. Almost immediately she vanished from Tamsin’s sight. Tamsin frowned and pressed S?arbrow forward, but he got only a short distance. Horse and man stopped short in total blackness, unable to see anything ahead of them. Even the footfalls of the ponies sounded muffled and far away. Then, from behind them, Worrel shouted, “Jordet! Lift your curtain!”

A moment later Tamsin sat blinking in the normally dying twilight of the forest. He looked down to see Alethia a little ahead of him, waving him toward a small cottage of gray stone, just as she had described. Smoke from the chimney blew toward the hillside, bringing with it an inviting aroma of meat roasting, and the cheery glow of the windows cast a dim halo of light within the encircling wall. Somewhat bemused, Tamsin clucked to Starbrow, who shook his mane and proceeded down the hill.

Rarn and Shallan had already reached the cottage and dismounted when Alethia and Tamsin rode up with the other Wyrds. As they slid down from their horses, the door of the cottage opened and a tall young man stood framed in the doorway. Alethia and Tamsin could not make out his face clearly, but his voice was light and merry as he welcomed them. “What brings you here, and at such a time, my friends?”

“We have an urgent errand to Eveleth, Jordet,” Murn replied.

“An errand to Eveleth—with humans in your company?” The Shee’s tone remained friendly, but his curiosity was evident.

“This is Alethia of Brenn, and a minstrel, Tamsin by name. They are bound for Brenn and we escort them this far. We had planned to stay the night, if it will not trouble you, though it is not the best of manners to descend on you without warning.”

“Indeed, it were small thanks for the past kindnesses of the Wyrds of Glen Wilding to let you spend the night outside this shelter, so close to the Kathkari,” Jordet replied. “And it would be smaller honor to allow one of Alethia’s lineage to seek refuge elsewhere.”

“I thought as much,” Worrel muttered under his breath.

Murn shot him a sharp look and inclined her head. “The Keeper of the South Ward is the image of hospitality.”

“Besides, I have never known that the South Ward is on any common path to Brenn,” the man said. “It should make an interesting tale, I think. Now, tell me of this errand.”

“Not now,” Murn said. “This is not the place for such talk. We will answer your questions inside when our ponies have been stabled.”

“Very well,” Jordet replied calmly. “You will not object to these others coming in, I trust? The evening air grows cold.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Alethia and Tamsin and motioned them into the cottage with a bow. “I must apologize for the inconvenience I caused you; if I had known you were coming I would have lifted the curtain before you arrived. It is a small spell and no hindrance to the Wyrds, but no human eyes can see in or through it. It is our major protection along the edge of these mountains, though here it is seldom needed. But come in, I keep you standing too long.”

As their host led them inside, Tamsin said in a puzzled tone, “Indeed, this curtain is effective, though I do not think it would prevent a determined man from penetrating it. But how is it that Alethia could see through it when…” His voice trailed off as Jordet turned to face them and he and Alethia got their first clear look at the Shee Ward-Keeper.

Jordet was tall and slender, and though he was a young man his hair was white as silver. He had high cheekbones, and green eyes that tilted upward markedly under thin, straight brows. The resemblance between the Ward-Keeper and Alethia was so great that it was almost anticlimactic when he replied simply, “But Alethia and I are cousins. The Lady Isme is my father’s sister. Of course the curtain spell would not affect her; she is half Shee.”

Practically on top of Jordet’s last sentence, the five Wyrds came piling through the door. “Ho, my friend, what about dinner for these weary travelers?” Anarmin sang out as he entered the room.

“I think I might manage to scrape up enough for your friends,” Jordet said solemnly, “but I am afraid I cannot supply such a feast as you would like.” He smiled across the small Wyrd at Alethia. “You have discovered the prodigious Wyrd appetite, no doubt.”

“That is no problem,” said Worrel from the doorway. With a triumphant gesture, he brought a large bag from under his cloak. This proved to contain the remains of lunch, and the Wyrds immediately set about laying it out on the table that occupied the center of the room.

By the door of the cottage was a wooden bench, and the Wyrds moved it to the table to supplement the two chairs that were already there. A fire burned brightly at the north end of the room; from the large pot suspended over it came a rich, spicy smell that made Alethia’s mouth water.

Suddenly realizing how hungry she was, Alethia stepped forward to help Rarn and Worrel ransack a tall cupboard for dishes. Jordet vanished through one of the two other doorways, and a moment later the tall Shee appeared with another chair. He then went to the fireplace and, after scorching his fingers moving the pot from over the flames, announced that dinner was ready. Jordet carried the pot to the table and began dishing up steaming bowls of stew while the others seated themselves.

Alethia was burning with curiosity about her newly discovered cousin, but her stream of questions was overruled as being of secondary importance. “For,” Worrel pointed out, “Jordet’s advice may save our lives yet, while I cannot say the same of your knowing more of your relations.” Murn frowned, but Alethia had to admit the force of this argument.

“Now,” said Jordet once the question of topic was settled, “about this mysterious errand of yours, Murn?” He passed a basket of rolls to Alethia and looked at the Wyrd woman inquiringly.

“We carry one of the nine Talismans of Noron’ri to Eveleth along with a desire for answers to our questions,” Murn said.

“A Talisman!” Jordet said. “How have you come by such a thing?”

“I think we must begin with Alethia’s story, since it was taken from the body of one of her kidnappers,” Murn said. “You were notified, of course, of her kidnapping, but you will not know what has happened since then.”

Jordet looked startled, then concerned. “I had heard nothing of this. There has been no messenger in the past four days. Continue.”

The Wyrds looked at each other with small frowns, but Alethia launched into her story. Jordet listened without comment, though his eyebrows rose when she described the vision she had had while riding away with Tamsin. She finished with her arrival at Glen Wilding and looked across at the Wyrds expectantly.

“Now, about your part in this?” Jordet asked.

“Two nights ago a swift came to Glen Wilding, a messenger-bird such as you of Eveleth use, with a scroll tied to its leg,” Murn said. “The message bid us keep watch for Alethia of Brenn, kidnapped by Lithmern from her home that very evening. You say you have heard nothing of this?”

“Nothing,” Jordet repeated, frowning.

“There’s yet more mischief in this somewhere, then,” Anarmin said. “I doubt your people would have sent word to us and not to you.”

“We can speculate later,” Murn told him. Turning back to Jordet, she went on, “When we read the message the swift had brought, we sent watchers to the western edges of the Wyrwood, where the kidnappers were most likely to pass. We had no thought then of why the Shee of Eveleth should look for the daughter of one of Alkyra’s Nobles.