Song of the Beast (36 page)

“Greetings, good friends,” he said, slurring his words ever so slightly and bowing to the stocky blond pair at the end of the table. “Please excuse my intrusion on this happy occasion, but I could not hold back my congratulations and best wishes for the bride and groom—not when I am so blessed myself.” He pulled his elbow inward. I took the hint and clung to him. “Innkeeper! A round for these good Udema. And a toast”—he drained his mug with a flourish and tossed it onto the pile of empty ones littering the table—“to the happy union. May Tjasse bless them with ... all her blessings!” To my astonishment he threw his arms around me and, with tenderness quite at odds with his performance, he kissed me on the left side—the scarred side—of my face. “I am reminded of a verse from one of your great poets. ...” Softly he pressed my horrid cheek to his chest as he began speaking in the tongue of the Udema rather than the common speech. I did not know the words, but he did not slur them; rather he caressed them with his beautiful voice as gently as his hands were unbinding my hair. Before he was finished every eye among the Udema was swimming with tears. I was on the verge of panic.

As the wedding guests wiped their eyes and murmured their thanks, Aidan leaned over and buried his face fiercely in my neck. I had to wrench myself to pay attention to his whispered words. “What about the time I was practicing on my flute while riding my horse and knocked myself silly on a tree branch?”

I buried my disbelieving laughter in his chest, while a large, soggy Udema woman next to me snuffled and said, “Tjasse's gift ... you lucky, lucky girl.” In an instant we were blanketed with daisies and milkweed, and amid sentimental blathering about Ule's seed and Norla's womb, we ran out the door.

“To the left of the road,” I said, trying to recapture my wits. There were fewer trees to the left, which meant the watchers were farther apart. And it was hillier, which meant it would be easier to get out of sight. “And make likely noises.” With as many sighs and moans and giggles as we could muster, we hurried into the trees. At about the right distance for the Ridemark perimeter, I yanked MacAllister toward a broad-trunked oak, pushing him down on his knees to mask his height. I pulled his head up against my belly and draped my unbound hair over his head. “We're going to push farther into the woods,” I said. He did not answer. His breath came fast, and he must have felt the Riders close, for he was trembling. After a moment we ran on, stopping twice more as if we could not contain our desire, until we found a dark, grassy hollow sheltered with monkberry bushes. We rolled onto the ground, and I draped his long cloak over us, making sure that no observer would hear or see anything to question.

I tried to keep my mind on the deception, on the mockery we made rather than the living man who knelt beside me doing his best not to touch me again. But after only a few moments more we stopped. Just as if we had done the thing we mimed, we suddenly lay still and quiet in the darkness under his cloak, all merriment fled, all cleverness exhausted. No satisfaction, though. Only the lingering kiss on my scarred cheek was left of our playacting. I had never felt anything like it.
Lucky, lucky girl.
Foolish, stupid girl.

I shifted to sit up, and, when my arm brushed his, Aidan jerked away as if it scalded him. Disgusted with myself, I threw off the cloak. “We've got to hurry. If we're lucky, they'll think we've fallen asleep. Davyn said to go south and that you'd know the path. Is that right?”

“I'll know it.” His voice was husky, and he wrapped his cloak tight, strange for a warm night, as we scrambled through the woods toward the southern guide star just visible through the trees.

When we reached a narrow, rutted track, he pointed to the right, still without words. Too much hung between us, like the sultry nights of summer when you need a thunderstorm to clear the air. “A good ruse,” I said. “Better than chains and whips, at least.” He didn't answer even then, and I dismissed the remembrance I carried on my face. We hurried through the night, ready to bolt into the trees when the inevitable pursuit would catch us up.

Chapter 25

Three times we were forced to duck into the trees to avoid Ridemark search parties or messengers racing down the road toward Aberswyl. We had to hide a fourth time when a party passed us from the other direction and set up a checkpoint two hundred paces behind us. Their commander gave them the order to spread out and search the woods, and we took our chance and ran, keeping to the edge of the trees, hoping their noise would mask our own. Just about the time we thought it was safe to get back out on the road instead of clambering through gullies and over fallen trees, we came on a second checkpoint. Torches blazed to either side of the road, but only three men stood guard. We dared not proceed through the woods lest the rest of their party be waiting for us, yet we could not fight three. Trapped. If the two search parties converged we'd be caught.

But as we crouched low in the scrub, debating how to proceed, two horsemen passed by very slowly ... slight, with blond, curly hair ... Elhim. “Hsst, Davyn,” I called softly. They were listening for us. Tarwyl slid off his mount and stepped into our hiding place, proclaiming loudly that he had to relieve himself—though Elhim truly had very different habits than humans and were far better at controlling such urges.

“You two take the horses,” said Tarwyl. “They'll not expect you mounted, and they'll assume you've already passed through the first checkpoints if you've made it thus far.”

We had no time for planning or deception. The longer we delayed, the more likely the searchers would stumble on us. “Ride hard and don't stop,” I whispered to MacAllister. Our only advantage would be surprise. We could not risk stopping for the checkpoint in some vain hope to convince the clansmen that we weren't who they thought. So Davyn dismounted as if to take his turn in the trees, and Aidan and I mounted up. The Elhim spoke to their clever horses, slapped them hard on their rumps, and Aidan and I shot forward between the two guards like bolts from a crossbow. We left the warriors scrambling for their horses and screaming for their comrades. I would have sworn I heard the Elhim laughing from the forest.

The little horses from Cor Talaith raced through the night, up and down the rolling ribbon of road, and in no more than half an hour we were slipping through the quiet lanes of Aberswyl. MacAllister led me into a small, muddy stableyard behind a dark shop labeled,
Mervil, Tailor
.

“We've been staying here,” said the Senai, pointing me up a wooden staircase stuck onto the back of the tall, narrow building. “There are beds in the room upstairs. If you're as tired as I am, you won't mind the clutter. We've been preparing ... Ah, well, you'll see in the morning.”

“And what of you?”

“I ... think I'll stay down here. Unsaddle the horses. Wait for the Elhim.”

“I'll help.”

I reached for the buckles, but MacAllister tugged on the reins to move the beast away from me. “Please go. I'll do it. I need—Please.” His voice was tight, his eyes averted. I was too tired to argue or question. If he preferred to sleep with the horses rather than in the same room with me, that was his affair. Perhaps he thought I would ravish him. Or perhaps he had finally realized how close he was to being dead.
He's a madman. Who cares what he thinks?

The hot little room over the tailor shop had five pallets on the floor. Every other bit of space was crammed with gaudy, useless junk: piles and rolls of silk and satin, boxes of thread and lace and beads, a long worktable littered with scraps of silver wire, fabric, and thread. Various articles of clothing, fit for no one but whores and princes, hung about the walls. I saw no evidence of my companions' preparations for our assault on Aberthain Lair, but I was too tired to be curious, even when I laid down my head and stared into the empty eyeholes of a silver mask.

 

I woke up in early afternoon and found Davyn and Tarwyl occupying two of the pallets. Davyn's eyes opened just after mine, and he sprang off of the floor as if he'd slept fifteen hours instead of five. “Ah, Lara, it was good to find you safe last night.” He yawned, peered out the tiny window, yelled, “Sausage!” to someone in the yard below, and then kicked Tarwyl, who was sprawled on the pallet next to the door. “Up, lazy wretch. We've slept away the morning, which leaves us less than ten hours to finish this.”

Tarwyl groaned and pulled a blanket over his head. In Cor Talaith Tarwyl had been well known for sleeping like the dead and never speaking a word until he'd been awake for an hour. Davyn started to kick him again, but thought better of it. Instead, he poured water from a flowered pitcher onto his friend's head, blanket and all. While Tarwyl leaped up, cursing and rubbing his dripping hair, Davyn grabbed a biscuit from a plate of them on the worktable. He grinned at my curiosity and waved his biscuit about the room. “Have you guessed how we're going to get you into Aberthain Lair?”

“If you think to put us in a delivery wagon or play some stupid impersonation like MacAllister tried in Cor Neuill, give it up,” I said. “They'll be waiting for just such a thing now they know we're here. The warriors of the Twelve Families are not idiots.”

“Well, one might argue that,” said Davyn, “but they certainly almost had us last night, and this will be far trickier.”

“What, then? Are you planning to weave us into a bolt of cloth?”

“Actually ... Here, let MacAllister explain.” The Senai, a sword belt draped over his arm, topped the last stair carrying a plate of sausage.

“Explain what? Oh, all this?” He jerked his head about the room as he set down the plate and dropped the sword belt onto the table. “We've another bit of playacting to do. Easier”—he was concentrating on the soupy porridge he was scooping into a painted mug—“easier than the last time, I think.” He filled three more mugs, and we settled down to the fine-smelling breakfast. “You said there was only one entry to Aberthain Lair, Lara, but in fact there is a second. The Aberthani purposely installed their dragons close to the palace. They see it as a measure of their wealth and privilege to have dragons, and they like to show them off. Makes them feel strong and safe. In fact, whenever King Renald entertains, he takes his guests to view his little flock. At midnight his servants open the gate onto a balcony that overlooks the lair. Though they're rarely used, steps lead from the balcony straight down to the dragons.”

“And you think to sneak into the palace and broach this gate?” I could not hide my contempt.

“Not at all. We're going to let King Renald open it for us.” He picked up something from the table and whipped it across his face as he gave me a sweeping bow. The silver mask. “Madam, may I request the honor of your presence at a masked ball given by King Renald of Aberthain in honor of his daughter's birthday? I've managed to come by an invitation, and I would very much regret going alone.”

A ball! At the royal palace of Aberthain! I had to force my mouth to speak instead of gape in disbelief. “You're mad. Absolutely mad. You couldn't possibly get in, and even if you could ... With me? No mask has ever been crafted that could pass me off as so much as a servant.”

Tarwyl bustled into a corner and returned holding a long gown of dark green silk, sewn with silver thread. “Mervil has only to finish the hem.”

“I can't wear anything like that.” It was a ridiculous garment. A ridiculous plan. “I won't.” In his other hand Tarwyl held a second silver mask, one designed to cover the eyes and the left side of the face.

“We won't be there long,” said MacAllister, tossing his mask to the table. “We'll arrive about eleven. The king always opens the gate at midnight. We'll go through with the rest of the guests, but we won't return with them. The Elhim believe they can hide your gear in the lair. Only an hour and we'll be in. They'll never think of us walking in the front door.”

“And how do we get out?”

The Senai hesitated only briefly. “I suppose Roelan will take us.”

Madness. “And if your dragon friend isn't there or you can't get its cooperation?”

“He's there,” Davyn broke in eagerly. “I've seen him—a dragon the age of Keldar with a malformed shoulder.”

“And you'll go whether I agree or not,” I said to MacAllister. “Whether you can get out or not. Whether you will be captured or go mad—or whether I will.”

“I have to go.”

How in the name of heaven was I going to stop it? “When is this ball? I don't even know how to dance.”

MacAllister grinned like a fool. “Tonight. So you've no time to figure out how to talk me out of it. As for dancing ... I'll teach you.”

Twice that day Ridemark search parties swept the Elhim districts of Aberswyl looking for a Senai murderer and an abducted woman of the Ridemark. Mervil's front door was kicked in by angry clansmen, and MacAllister and I had to hide in a cupboard with a false back. As soon as the searchers were gone, Mervil packed his family and his assistants off with friends who planned to take refuge in the new Elhim sanctuary in the hills south of Aberthain. “Bad times coming,” he said.

MacAllister disappeared in midafternoon, and Tarwyl left with my armor bag to deliver it to Aberthain Lair. Davyn attended to me, seeing me bathed and combed and measured so that Mervil could finish the hem of my gown. Ten times I gave it up. “Narim never made me promise to wear silk gowns, nor to scrub my fingernails with stiff brushes, nor to allow some filthy Elhim to wash my hair with stuff that smells of whorehouses.” When Davyn smiled and began scrubbing my feet, I kicked him and said I would wear my own boots or they could all be damned. “This tent of a garment will cover my feet well enough, and I'll not step into any dragon lair without my boots.”