Wandering Lark (7 page)

Reassured that her command would be obeyed, Desura allowed the attendants to take her out of the scrying chamber and into a small alcove. There were no windows for this place was underground. They made her comfortable on the soft pallet and slipped away. Only when they were gone did Desura let the pain show.

Gareth started at the hut
in the Ranges. The most obvious place, of course. He knew from Turlough’s accounts that it was here that Alaric was gated away to parts unknown.

Standing in the doorway, Gareth let his mage senses touch the currents of magic still lingering in this place. Etienne’s gate, and the magic of the mageborn who had followed her path were more obvious. Indeed, it was a wonder that any other magic could be felt here, considering how powerfully Etienne had invoked her gate. Of course, he already knew where it opened, and he had no intention of following that same path. He could swim, but he was not in the mood to be drenched.

It took some effort, drawing essence and carefully prying back the layers of Etienne’s spell and that of Turlough’s assistant. Etienne was usually more careful about her spell work, but then, she had been purposely trying to deceive the other mage into thinking it was she who had invoked the gate.

“Clever woman,” Gareth said. He had a lot of admiration for her, and had often hoped she would get Fenelon to settle down and be serious about life.

Might as well ask for the moon,
Gareth mused. He had long ago resolved himself to the fact that his only mageborn son, middle child of the three he had sired, was never going to be anything but a rake and a rogue. Yet it was those very qualities that Gareth secretly admired. He too had a streak of that nature in him, though his late wife had threatened him with castration often enough to keep him faithful. Only a fool did not stop and consider that wives were very experienced in the use of kitchen knives.

Gareth continued to peel away the spell layers. He knew what to look for, having trained Fenelon himself in the more rudimentary aspects of magic. And his patience was soon rewarded with a glimmer of essence so pale he could see why it had been missed by the others. Fenelon had used Etienne’s essence as the foundation.

“Clever, my son. Very clever.” Gareth would never have thought of that. Using Etienne’s essence disguised the spell. In fact, all that gave it away was the slap-dash manner in which it had been invoked. That was Fenelon through and through. He could weave a spell as intricate as a spider’s web when he wanted to, but this had been done with just enough haste to leave a lingering trail. Faint though it was, Gareth was able to hone in on it and trace it to its end.

Damn, son, you threw him to the far ends of Mallow?

But then, why not?

Gareth nodded. All right. So now he had a trail. The next step was to follow it and see where it opened up. Drawing essence from earth and air, Gareth invoked his own gate spell, linking it to the path Fenelon’s spell had taken. Magic flickered and shimmered the air, and a simple whorl opened in the fabric of the world. Cautiously, Gareth stepped through.

He was inside a hut, and it took him but a moment to determine that he was alone. Marda’s hut. Gareth knew it. He’d been here a few times in his life. He also knew that Marda had trained Alaric in the rudiments of spell work. But of course, Marda was dead, though a hint of her mage spirit lingered. When he tried to focus on it, her essence faded like smoke on the wind. He searched for the young man instead.

But no sign of Alaric or his pet demon.

Gareth sighed. Well, this was not failure. Just the first step, he told himself, and once more, he let his mage senses stretch and test the currents around him for signs of magic or Alaric’s presence.

What he found, however, was not what he had expected. Ronan’s essence was everywhere, masking Alaric and the demon, as though the bard had taken over.

“Horns, no,” Gareth whispered. “Please don’t let it be so.”

If Ronan had taken over Alaric’s body, there was no telling what dangers the bard would lead Alaric into. And the worst of it was, Alaric might “lose” himself. He might become Ronan, and that would be a physical strain on his body, having two masters in one flesh. One might actually destroy the other...

This made it all the more important, in Gareth’s mind, for him to find Alaric. Gareth knew that Ronan was not always truthful. Granted, he had said that he had good reason to leave his old life and come to Ard-Taebh, to spend his days wandering, hiding his magic, and pretending to be little more than a bard. But not all of Ronan’s motives were as pure as Gareth would have liked. There were times Gareth suspected that Ronan was more than he admitted to being.

It was all too well known that a mageborn who lost life and tasted it again in mageborn flesh, was sometimes tempted to regain what they had lost.

If Ronan decides he wants to continue living in Alaric’s flesh, Alaric might find himself forced from his own flesh.

That would not be a good thing at all.

Gareth cast about. The hut was in a bit of disarray, and he noticed that the bedding of Marda’s pallet had been shoved aside and left off kilter. Lifting it, he discovered the hole in the floor. It was empty, except for one small coin. Gareth picked up the coin, rolled it about in his fingers and frowned. A brass farthing. There were no farthings in Ard-Taebh where sgillinns were the main means of bartering. Gareth had seen very few such coins at all, but he knew where they came from, and it was not the High King’s mint.

He sighed and pocketed the coin. It was a clue he preferred not to contemplate. Standing, he let his mage senses test the hole, and detected some small tinge of magic that was not like anything he knew.

That magic had risen from the hole. It had been carried outside. Gareth honed in on it and followed it. Apparently, they had left on foot. The trail was fading, but it was just enough for Gareth to pick out, and so he followed.

A wise move...leaving this place to cast magic. He only hoped that whatever that item was, it held its power enough for Gareth to keep tracking them until he found Alaric.

A summons from the temple
was never something to ignore. Talena Elderwood could think of a dozen reasons not to, which were eleven more than she could come up with otherwise. But it was Watcher Desura who sent the summons, and Talena knew that her cousin would only send a message if there was something afoot that needed Talena’s skills as a mercenary.

Usually, a heretic had been sighted.

Of course, as soon as Talena got to the temple, she noticed that several of the Temple Bounty Hunters were milling about the courtyard. She tried not to trade looks with any of them, but set her eyes firmly on the door. To look would mean having to answer their questions as to why she was there.

She hurried into the Temple, surrendering her weapons to the guards there. Were she one of the Temple Bounty Hunters, she would not be asked to do so, but she was a mere mercenary.

Not for long, she hoped. She needed just one more capture to seal herself a commission. Bounty Hunters were usually selected by the Temple on the basis of loyalty, skill or connections. Talena was far better with a sword, but that did little to earn her the trust of the Temple Patriarchs. Her only connection was Watcher Desura. A lot of good that did, since the Watcher was little more than a tool. Loyalty...well that had to be proven. They knew who her father was.

Loyalty was the doorway she was trying to push her way through.

Ten captures, they told her.
“Ten heretics and you will be considered for a post as a Temple Bounty Hunter.”
She had heard that from the Lord Patriarch Rothanan himself. So far, she had nine captures to her name. She only needed one more.

So she was hoping that what Desura wanted was to send her after another heretic.

One more capture, and Talena would be a Temple Bounty Hunter. And once she was a bounty hunter, she would be allowed to carry her weapons into the Temple.

And that would be when she would enact her revenge.

Turlough came to see Etienne
later that day. She had rested and changed, and now sat at Shona’s side, savoring a cup of honeyed tea prepared by the healer, when the High Mage arrived.

Oh, what now?
Etienne wondered and fought the urge to roll her eyes.

Turlough asked the healer to leave them alone for a while, and she did so, though looking a little reluctant to obey. It was no secret that certain healers of Diancecht were not wholly approving of Turlough or his ways. But then, Etienne mused wryly, healers of Diancecht were quite disapproving of tyrants of any sort, and there were times when Turlough could not keep from being pompous and overbearing in their presence.

Of course, that could have been tied to the fact that Turlough forced all healers who worked in Dun Gealach’s walls to obey him, even though he treated them with a little less respect. “For all their skills,” he once confided to one of his assistants, “they are a nuisance, what with their desire to see to the needs of every being alive, no matter what station or principle...”

“Two visits in the same day,” Etienne said, feeling her old self now that she was rested and fed and clean. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Turlough ignored the sarcasm in her tone. He walked over and looked down at Shona. “She is such a pretty child,” he said. “And the most promising of your pupils, I have heard... I believe the Council will take her youth and innocence into consideration and find that she was led astray by the demon lover.”

Etienne arched eyebrows. “Really? Will that be your defense for me as well? And Fenelon too? That we are all victims of Alaric’s
evil
influence?”

Turlough frowned and claimed the chair the healer had deserted at his arrival. “Why do I get the impression that you hate me?” he asked. “I’ve only tried to keep your best interests in mind all these years.”

“Yes... my best interests,” she said. “And no, I do not hate you, but I cannot help but feel a certain amount of pity for you.”

He leaned forward. “Once, I thought you loved me,” he said.

“As one loves a father or a favorite uncle, perhaps,” she said, and smiled when his face twitched at the word “uncle.” “You were good to me, after all, when I first came to these strange lands. You saw to my comfort and allowed me plenty of time to readjust to this life, which was so different from that I led as a healer in training in my own lands.”

Turlough sighed and nodded. “I saw your potential, Etienne. You alone have what it takes to replace me when my time comes. You have a good head on your shoulders, so forgive me if I question why you would be so foolish as to dally with my rogue of a nephew and follow his way of thinking.”

“He intrigues me,” she said. “Love makes us do strange things, they say. Be it follow a man who is a little eccentric or seek vengeance against the innocent for a crime that is not their fault...”

That brought a glower to Turlough’s brow, but he swiftly changed let it disappear and shook his head. “I still do not understand what you see in him.”

She shrugged. “And I thought you had given up trying to sway me away from Fenelon. How is he, by the way.”

“Recalcitrant as ever,” Turlough said and leaned back once more. “I have been forced to send for Gareth.”

“Really?” she said. “Why? I think Fenelon is a little old for a paternal spanking to be of any use.”

“Gareth has certain... skills, and his knowledge of Fenelon’s spell casting has made him useful to me.” Turlough smiled. “Gareth is going to hunt down Alaric Braidwine, and either force him to return and face my justice, or kill him.”

It was Etienne’s turn to frown. “And what makes you think Gareth will comply?”

“Because his only other choice was to watch his son sundered and executed tomorrow at sunrise.”

Etienne sat up straight, thrusting the tea aside so that it sloshed over the rim of the cup and splattered the table beside Shona’s bed. “You would not dare,” she said.

“And what makes you think I would not?” Turlough said. “You and he have committed what amounts to treason against the Council of Mageborn and the Crown of Keltora. Our laws are quite clear where demons are concerned. Any found guilty of consorting with demons will be put to death. Now, quite frankly, you and Fenelon protected Alaric and his demon. You harbored them rather than report them to me and the Council, and that makes you part of the conspiracy.”