Wandering Lark (25 page)

Thera was climbing the stairs
to the prison tower when she heard the snarl of the Lord Magister echoing from above.
Oh, Blessed Brother, no,
she thought. It was quite clear that Wendon had been discovered, for she heard him saying his name.

She turned, retreating down the stairs as swift as being quiet would allow.

She just hoped she could reach Magister Savala in time to warn her that the ruse was foiled.

Shona was looking much better
in Etienne’s opinion. Oh, she was still lacking color in her cheeks, and her hair hung limp about the oval of her face. But her eyes were brighter than before.

Thank you, Blessed Brother,
Etienne thought. Shona was, of all her students, the favored one, though Etienne would admit that only to herself. She was the daughter Etienne knew she would never have time to birth. Her loss would have been nearly unbearable.

“Do you think they will find him, then?” Shona asked as she sat up in the bed. Etienne had just finished administering some of the strengthening herbs Thera had left behind.

“I am certain they will,” Etienne said.

“And what then?” Shona asked almost apprehensively.

“That, I fear, will depend on whatever plan Fenelon has put together in his head,” Etienne said and smiled wanly.

Shona sighed. “I just hope Alaric is all right,” she said.

Etienne nodded. “So do I. Now, do you feel up to a bath?”

“I suppose I could use one,” Shona said and wrinkled her nose.

Etienne was about to respond when she heard the outer door open and close. Frowning, she turned. Hurried footsteps were coming down the corridor that led to the bedchambers.

“Mistress Etienne,” Thera called. “Where are you?”

“We are here,” Etienne said.

She had hardly risen when Thera burst through the door. Her hair was bedraggled, and she was out of breath, but she managed to blurt, “We are lost!”

“What?” Etienne said. “What do you mean?”

“I fear the High Mage knows that it is Wendon who stands in the tower and not Magister Fenelon.” Thera croaked those words out. Etienne took the young woman by the arm and pulled her into a chair, and then offered her a glass of water. Thera took a deep slug, swallowed and went on. “I was going up to the tower to check on Wendon when I heard the Lord Magister shouting and demanding to know who Wendon was. And Wendon told him.”

“Oh, dear,” Etienne said. “Then the spell must have been unmasked. But I thought you were giving him essence so he could keep it going.”

“I did, and I was on my way there to do so again,” Thera said. Her cheeks flushed from more than exertion in Etienne’s opinion. “I don’t know what could have gone wrong. When I left him, he was fine. What shall we do?”

Etienne frowned. “There is little we can do.”

“Except leave,” Shona said with such conviction, it made Etienne gasp. She turned and looked at her apprentice aghast.

“You are in no condition to go anywhere,” Etienne said. “And besides, the moment we try to leave, we will be stopped. There are guards at the door and mageborn probably scry these chambers even as we speak...”

“But if we stay here, they will just make it harder,” Shona said. “I, for one, do not wish to be sundered. I know many places in the Highland Ranges where they would never find us...”

Etienne waved her hands in the air, hoping to still her apprentice’s enthusiasm. “But we cannot leave Wendon to suffer at Turlough’s hands. After all, we are to blame for his involvement, and it would not be fair. We must wait and see what is going to happen before we make any rash decisions.”

She saw relief flood Thera’s expression. And Etienne was about to ask the lass what was wrong when she heard the door being slammed against the wall. She motioned for Shona to lie down and close her eyes.

“Mistress Savala!” Turlough shouted. “Where are you?”

“Oh, bother,” Etienne hissed. “Thera, stay with Shona—administer to her—look busy!”

Thera leapt over to the bedside. Etienne pulled forth her most dignified and irate expression and hurriedly abandoned the bedchamber, storming the hallway like a fury.

“What is the meaning of this racket!” she said as she plunged down the corridor.

She stopped short. Turlough stood just at the entrance to her sitting chamber. Behind him were several guards, and clutched by his arms was Wendon whose apparel looked as though it had been savaged by wild cats.

“Mistress Savala, I’m sorry,” Wendon said. “Truly, I am.”

With their hands on Wendon’s shoulders, the guards pushed him to his knees and held him down. Turlough passed him without a glance and stepped up to Etienne, towering over her like some bird of prey. “Where is the healer they call Thera?” Turlough asked.

“She is attending Shona at this moment,” Etienne said.

“Good. Then all the guilty parties are in one place.” Turlough stepped back and looked at the guards. “No one enters or leaves this place without
my
permission. I want three guards on every entrance.”

“There is only one entrance,” Etienne said.

“Two,” he said gesturing towards her garden way. “And you are forbidden to use either. If the guards so much as see you outside either set of doors, they have orders to stop you by whatever means of force is necessary. Do I make myself clear?”

“As water in a mountain pool,” Etienne said.

“Good! Once I have captured Fenelon, you will all be sundered of your powers, and then I will determine what the future holds for each of you.”

“Without Council?” Etienne retorted, darkening her expression. “You will never get their approval.”

Turlough leaned closer. “You forget, my dear, that I am the power here. The Council will never know.” His smile reminded her of a skeleton’s grin.

She took a deep breath and clamped her mouth into a line. Turlough drew back and gestured to the guards. They released Wendon and left the chamber in Turlough’s wake. The door slammed solidly behind them.

Thera had edged her way out of the chamber then. She looked at Wendon, and tears filled her eyes. She quickly disappeared back in the chamber, while Wendon stayed on the floor, huddled in his ragged clothes like a whipped child. Then Thera returned, carrying a blanket. She approached Wendon as though he were some wild beast, gently slipping the blanket around his shoulders.

Wendon suddenly pushed himself upright, snagging the blanket and jerking away from her ministering hands. He looked at Etienne. “Is there some place where I might be alone, Mistress Savala?” he asked.

“Tobin’s room is there,” Etienne said, pointing to the door.

Without another word, Wendon hurried that way. The door slammed shut behind him.

Well,
Etienne thought.
Now what?

“Let’s stop and rest the horses,” Talena said. “There’s a small stream over there.”

At first, Lark looked like he might argue with her, then thought better of it. Admittedly, Kessa’s frothy sweat was more equine fear and stubbornness than being tired. The little mare was of a breed well known for its endurance. Nor did that ugly yellow horse he rode look as though it was suffering in any way.  But Talena had yet to be presented with an opportunity to get in touch with Desura.

“Well, I’m not thirsty, but I could use a stretch...and a chance to relieve myself,” Lark agreed.

They stopped their horses and dismounted. Lark held back and looked around as Talena led Kessa down to the water’s edge. As she watched, he pointed to a copse. “I’ll be back,” he said and started off, dropping the reins of the yellow horse. It stood there as though trained to do so, pricking its ears in Talena’s direction and watching her.

By the Triad, that horse was creepy in the way it kept looking at her. Talena took a deep breath and ignored it. Opportunity was not something she was going to throw aside just because the bard’s horse was strange. She picked her way closer to the stream. There she struggled to keep the mare from foundering herself while crouching beside the flowing water. One quick glance over her shoulder assured her that Lark was no where to be seen. She reached inside her jerkin and found the little pouch sewn there for keeping packets and such, and drew out the small scrying mirror. Then taking a deep breath, she plunged it into the water and whispered, “Desura...Desura, can you hear me?”

Warmth flooded the silver glass and made the icy chill of the water more apparent. Talena gritted her teeth as the mirror shimmered and glowed. And then the image appeared. Desura’s face distorted by the motion of the water.

“I hear you, Talena. How goes the hunt?”

 “We are on the road now,” Talena said. “He keeps asking what lies beyond the Blacktooths. I think he seriously wants to go to Taneslaw.”

“Of course, he wants to go there,” Desura said a little crossly. “All heretics...what is that behind you?”

It took Talena a moment to realize that the medallion under her shirt was buzzing like a whole hive of bees. She was about to turn around when Kessa jerked at the reins and squealed in fright. “Stop that, you stupid...!” The mare’s sudden motion pulled Talena off balance before she could finish the threat. Had she not been wearing gloves, the reins would have stripped skin from her hand. Still, she could not keep from plummeting backwards into the stream. Water sprayed around her in a wide arch. Talena floundered, cursing when she realized she had dropped the mirror. Desperately, she glanced around in search of scrying glass and saw it shimmering in the shallows. She spent a few curses at Kessa as she reached in to fetch it. The mare bolted off to one side and stopped to paw the ground.

“Stupid great lug of a leather.” Talena was about to crawl out of the water when she froze. Leaning over her was Lark’s yellow horse. From her place on the ground, the beast looked quite large, and she swore he was smiling. The mirror went cold in Talena’s hand. She stuffed it into her jerkin and waited to see what the horse was going to do. From this position, he could have easily stepped on her. But he just stood there, and she swore he was arching an eyebrow.

“Get back,” she said. Carefully, she tried to stand up, but to do so she would bump her head into his nose. “Get back,” she said more firmly and waved a hand at him, hoping the gesture would suffice. It did not, so she splashed water, hoping to frighten the beast away. He did not move.

“All right,” she said. “Have it your way.” She got her feet under her and started to stand. The yellow horse still did not move.
So maybe he’s just stupid,
she thought.

She was nearly upright when he shook his head and snorted, and a splotch of horse slobber slammed into her face. And Talena was not exactly standing straight enough to take even that wet blow. She was thrown back into the stream.

Are we already near the border?
Alaric thought as he finished lacing his trews and bolted back towards the stream. It certainly sounded like a war had started. He could hear Talena’s string of obscenities coloring the air, as well as the frightened noises of her horse.

He came out of the copse and stopped. Talena was in the water on her knees, washing her face. Vagner was on the bank looking down at her.

“What’s going on here?” Alaric asked.

Talena threw water everywhere and she flung a glare up at him. “Your stupid horse shoved me into the stream!”

“Not the first time, according to Vagner,”
Ronan said in Alaric’s head, and he sounded amused.

“Why?” Alaric asked.

“You’ll have to ask him!” she said darkly and crawled out of the stream. “I was just trying to get a drink of water.”

Vagner had turned and walked straight over to where Alaric stood, and pressed his big nose against Alaric’s chest, rubbing up and down. He felt his bond with the demon tingle his senses.

“She lies,”
the demon said.
“She was talking to someone in the water.”

Alaric cocked an uncertain eye at the demon. Then with a shake of his head, Alaric pushed the demon aside and stepped over.