Shadow Magic (7 page)

The noise subsided, and Maurin reappeared, grinning broadly. “Here is our spy,” he said, lifting up a small, squirming boy about six years old.

“Lemme go!” the prisoner cried. “I didn’t do nothing! It wasn’t me. Lemme go!”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Har as Maurin set his captive on the ground once more. Without a word, the child darted toward the courtyard, only to have Maurin scoop him up a second time.

“Lemme go!” the boy wailed.

Maurin set the boy in front of him, this time keeping a strong grip on one skinny arm. Squatting down to look directly at the child, he said, “We aren’t going to hurt you. What is your name?”

“Ancel,” sniffed the boy.

“Well, Ancel, what are you so afraid of?”

The boy trembled, but under Maurin’s steady gaze his eyes fell, and he mumbled, “The guy with no face that took the lady.”

“Took the lady?” Har burst out, and then bit his lip. If they frightened the child any further, they would likely be hours getting any useful information from him.

Maurin’s fingers tightened on Ancel’s shoulders, then relaxed; he gave no other sign that the boy’s words had affected him. “Tell us what you saw,” he said in a firm tone.

The boy gulped twice and began. “Cook told me to get out of the way, so I came out here. Then a lot of men sneaked around the corner, and I hid. They waited for a while, and then one of them made a noise. The lady from up in the house came out to see what it was and they put a big cape over her and took her away. She looked awful pretty, all in green. Then one of the men stuck something in the door and they all rode away. I was scared so I stayed hid. Then you came.”

“What did these men look like?”

“Like the traders when they come in, except their hair was all chopped off around their ears. I didn’t like them. But the big one didn’t have no face. He made it dark. They were all scared of him. I was scared too.”

The boy began to cry again. Har looked at Maurin, stunned. “Lithmern! But how could they get through the city, and the castle guards?”

“I don’t know,” Maurin said grimly, “but they appear to have done it, and kidnapped your sister into the bargain.”

“The one with no face made it dark,” Ancel said between sniffles.

Har and Maurin exchanged glances. “Ancel,” Maurin said, “did they say anything?”

“They didn’t talk much and I didn’t understand what they said. They didn’t talk right.”

“At least we know who they are,” Har said. “Maurin, take him up to Father’s study and tell them what’s happened. I’ll start the guard saddling horses for a pursuit.”

“Tell them to saddle an extra one for me,” Maurin called over his shoulder.

Arranging for a suitable force to pursue the kidnappers took only a few minutes, and Har caught up with Maurin and Ancel at the door to Bracor’s study. As they entered, they saw that Bracor had been joined by his guests, and from the look of things the lords were not in the best of tempers.

“—will not stand for it,” Armin was saying angrily. “This girl is making fools of us all.”

“Har!” Isme said. “Have you found Alethia?”

All heads turned toward the three in the doorway. “Obviously not,” Armin said with a snort of disgust.

“She isn’t here to find,” Har said, nettled.

“What do you mean?” Bracor stepped forward, frowning.

“Alethia has been kidnapped,” Maurin said baldly.

Isme turned as white as her hair, and the two visiting lords looked at Maurin in consternation.

“We found this jammed in the door,” Har said, holding out the bent silver badge. “I believe it belongs to one of your men, First Lord.”

Gahlon held the clasp without looking at it for a full minute as the implications of that statement sank in. “Are you accusing me of this?” he asked quietly.

“No, but we were meant to,” Maurin said. He pulled Ancel forward. “Fortunately, this boy saw the whole thing. Alethia was kidnapped by Lithmern, who deliberately planted First Lord Gahlon’s insignia to throw suspicion on him and cover their traces. Possibly they also intended to make us waste time arguing among ourselves.”

Bracor nodded thoughtfully. “Such an accusation would ruin all chance of an alliance between Brenn and Meridel for years. The Lithmern would seem to be well informed; I had thought your purpose here was unknown.” He gazed absently at the other two lords for a moment; then, abruptly, he came back to the present. “Under the circumstances, speculation can wait. I trust you will excuse me, my lords, but I must go after these men.”

“Our horses should be waiting now, Father,” Har said. “We only came back to tell you.”

“Well done. We go, then.” Turning to his guests, Bracor continued, “You are welcome to stay and enjoy the feast that has been prepared for you. I must hold myself excused; do not think me a poor host, I pray.” He bowed and started for the door.

Armin cleared his throat, and Bracor paused and looked at him inquiringly. “I may not speak for First Lord Gahlon,” the Lord of Lacsmer said rather gruffly. “But for myself, I would consider it a poor return for your hospitality if we were to remain here at our ease while you ride out to danger. I would join you.”

“I also.” Gahlon spoke quietly, but there was no doubt of his sincerity.

The grim expression on Bracor’s face lightened a little. “I accept.”

Har and Maurin moved aside to let the lords take the lead, and then followed them. As they started down the stairs, Har caught a last glimpse of his mother’s white, strained face, heading for the north tower. He hesitated, then followed the others. The best thing he could do now was to help catch the kidnappers before they got too far ahead.

A troop of guards was mounted and waiting in the courtyard when they arrived. Three riderless horses stood beside the door; Bracor and his two guests mounted them immediately. Cursing his lack of forethought, Har sent one of the stable boys off to saddle two more horses for himself and Maurin. Bracor exchanged a few words with the gatekeeper and the captain of the guards, then motioned the mounted men forward. Har walked back toward the doorway where Maurin stood frowning.

“The Styr gatekeeper swears he didn’t see anyone come in or go out since the last of the guests arrived late this afternoon,” Har informed him. “But there are signs of a struggle in the courtyard outside the kitchens, and traces of several horses.”

“Never mind that. What about us?” Maurin asked, indicating the departing party of guards.

Har’s reply was drowned for a moment by the noise as the pursuers started out the gates of Styr Tel into the city. Then he said, “They are saddling horses for us now. We should be able to catch up without too much trouble, once we’re clear of the city.” He shrugged. “It’s my fault; I should have thought that First Lord Armin and Lord Gahlon might want to go along, and Father could hardly insult them by asking them to wait.”

Maurin snorted disgustedly. “Politics at a time like this! I’d never make a noble, that’s certain. Well, come on. We’ll get started faster if we don’t wait for the horses to be brought to us.”

The two walked across the courtyard to the stables. A groom met them just inside the door, leading two horses. With a nod of thanks, Maurin took the reins and led the animals outside.

“They’ll head for the West Gate,” Har said as they mounted. “It is closest, and the kidnappers wouldn’t want to attract attention.”

Maurin nodded, and with barely a backward look he and Har galloped out into the city.

Outside the West Gate of Brenn, the trail of the pursuers turned northwest, toward Lithra. Har turned his horse to follow, but Maurin reined in suddenly. “Wait a minute,” he said. Har obligingly brought his mount to a halt and turned to look inquiringly at his friend.

Maurin sat bolt upright in the saddle, staring at the sky. “We are going in the wrong direction,” he said slowly.

“Why do you say that?” Har asked.

“The Lithmern were trying to throw the blame on Gahlon, and Gahlon’s troops wouldn’t head for Lithra the minute they were out of the city. Suppose they went east, toward Meridel, to lay a false trail instead? They wouldn’t need to go far before they doubled back toward Lithra. If that’s what they’re doing, Bracor and the rest will never catch up with them.”

“Maybe,” Har said, running a hand through his hair distractedly. “But do you really think they would take such a chance? It means they will have to slip past Brenn on their way back, with the whole city looking for them.”

“Not if they go through the Wyrwood,” Maurin said grimly, swinging his horse’s head around.

“What good will that do?” Har said. “Brenn sits right in the middle of the only major gap in the Snake Mountains. Going through the Wyrwood will keep them off the main road, but they’ll still have to sneak by the city to get back to Lithra.”

“No, they won’t. There’s a pass to the north, up where the Snake Mountains meet the Kathkari.”

Har stared in disbelief. “A pass? Are you sure?”

Maurin nodded. “The Traders used it in the days of the old Ciaronese Empire, to trade with the Wyrds and the Shee. It has been abandoned for at least two hundred years.”

“Wyrds and Shee!” Har said impatiently. “My sister’s been kidnapped, and you talk about children’s tales.”

“I suppose the Wyrwood gets a bad reputation by accident?” Maurin asked politely.

“A couple of travelers get killed by robbers, somebody has a nightmare, and all of a sudden the woods are filled with Wyrds,” Har muttered. “I hope this pass of yours is not some minstrel’s tale as well.”

“Traders don’t lie about making money. Not in their own logs, anyway.”

“All right, then. We’re too far behind the others to be much help there; we might as well cover the opposite direction, just to make sure.”

The two paused briefly to leave a message with the gatekeeper, then urged their horses to a faster pace. When they reached the other side of the city, Har dismounted and studied the ground carefully, but he rose shaking his head.

“Too much traffic,” he said. “If the Lithmern
did
come this way, their tracks are buried. We must head further east to learn anything,” He remounted and they moved away from the city at a slow trot. Har dismounted frequently to study the tracks in the road, but always remounted with the same negative headshake. Both men were growing frustrated, and Har was about to suggest they turn back, when he caught sight of something lying in the middle of the road, glinting in the moonlight—a noble woman’s dancing slipper, sewn with green spangles.

W
HEN
A
LETHIA REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS
, it was nearly dawn. Her captors had stopped, and she was propped against a tree at the edge of a clearing in a forest, her hands and feet tied. One of her shoes was missing. Despite her aching head, the stiffness of her muscles, and the cold seeping from the ground through her thin silk dress, she forced herself to think.
A forest
—
we must be north of Brenn. There aren’t any woods this dense to the south, not for half a hundred miles, anyway. And they couldn’t have gone so far in one night, especially since they’d have had to cross the river.
She craned her neck, searching for familiar landmarks, but there were none.
I thought I knew all the land within a day’s ride of Brenn. Perhaps I’ll be able to recognize something once it’s gotten lighter.

A boot prodded her side. Suppressing a squeak of surprise and indignation, she turned and found one of her captors looking down at her. At least, she thought he was looking at her; his cloak was muffled up around his face, and the brim of his hat hung down far enough to hide the rest of his features.

“Awake at last, Mistress?”

The man’s voice was very like a croak, and Alethia could not place the accent. Fighting down her fear, she replied with some energy, “No thanks to you, I’m sure! I do not like people who abduct me and then whisk me off to nowhere. Where are we, where are you taking me, and what do you intend to do with me when you get there? Oh, and by the way, who are you?”

The cloaked man laughed. “I care naught for your likes nor dislikes, and less than naught for your questions. I tell you only this: Hope neither for escape nor rescue. We stand a full two days’ hard ride from the place you call your home, and dangers fill the forest around you.”

“Dangers worse than you and your men?” Alethia said with as much polite skepticism as she could muster. “Anyway, I don’t believe you. Those horses are nothing special—” she nodded at the animals tethered to the bushes on the far side of the clearing, “—and a blind man could see that they haven’t been ridden hard.”

“Believe or do not, as your wishes lead you; whatever you believe, we shall reach Mog Ograth in another day and a half. I have given warning, as I was bidden.” The cloaked man started to turn away.

“And do your instructions include starving me to death?” Alethia put in quickly. “I am ravenous!”

The cloaked man burst into laughter and bowed mockingly. As he bent, Alethia saw clearly into the dark space between the hat brim and the cloak, and stifled a scream of unreasoning terror. There was nothing there, only shadows.

To her relief, the cloaked man walked away and did not return. Apparently her final comment had made some impression, however, for after a few minutes one of the other men brought her a piece of hard bread. She thought that he looked nicer than the others; he seemed younger, barely thirty, and he did not have any of the scars that the rest of the party seemed to flaunt. When she looked at his eyes, however, Alethia felt chilled. They were brown and cold, and remote as the icy blue peaks of the Kathkari mountains, as though their owner roamed in other fields. She did not try to speak to him.

Eating with her hands tied was awkward, but she managed. As she ate, Alethia watched her captors. There seemed to be about a dozen of them, including their shadowy captain, but they moved constantly about the clearing and Alethia could not be positive of the exact number. They had already started a large fire in the middle of the clearing, which meant that they were confident of their safety; had they feared pursuit, they would not have done anything so obvious. Could the captain have been telling the truth? But how could they have come two days’ ride in a single night? She was sure she hadn’t been unconscious for two days; she didn’t feel sick enough, or hungry enough.