Wandering Lark (28 page)

Alaric nodded and led Vagner through the opening then looking around to make certain he was not seen, he pretended to unbuckle the girth and bridle. Vagner figeted and stamped one hind foot.
“That tickles,”
a voice whispered inside Alaric’s head. He had to pretend not to be startled when the saddle and bridle just disappeared into the demon. For good measure, he opened the tack box, reached in and rattled the tree stool a bit, then closed the lid.

Just in time too. Talena suddenly appeared at the stall opening. And almost as quickly, Philton called, “Heads up,” and tossed down a load of hay from above. Alaric barely dodged it, frowning up at the surly lad. Talena smiled.

“You’re fast on your feet when you need to be, Lark,” she said.

“When I’m not tripping over them,” he said before he could stop himself. Inside him, Ronan chuckled.

Vagner was eying the hay.

“You surely don’t expect me to eat that,” the demon muttered aloud.

“What?” Talena looked at Alaric. “Did you say something?”

“I said I expect he will eat that when we have left,” Alaric said as he walked around and glowered at Vagner. “He’s rather shy about feeding, you see.”

The demon bared horsy teeth in a mock smile. Talena cocked an eyebrow. Her expression was pure disbelief as she said. “I see.”

Alaric saw her dip her hand into her jerkin. By instinct, he pushed mage senses out to see just what she was harboring there, and was met with a most peculiar vibration.
Magic!
Talena seemed to stiffen and quickly pulled her hand out of her jerkin and looked around.

“Is something the matter?” Alaric asked as he stepped out of the stall to join her in the corridor.

She shook her head. “Just had a chill,” she said and looked away.

Alaric scried her head to toe then, and was rewarded with several magical vibrations. She was carrying things that were bespelled, and her own essence hinted magic blood as well.
Horns, I should have scried her before now,
he thought.

“Better late than never,”
Ronan said in Alaric’s head.
“It’s about time you noticed something was wrong, not that I have not tried to tell you so all along.”

Alaric would have asked Ronan what he meant by that, but Master Gloster was at the entrance of the stables.

“Come,” he called to his new guests. “My daughter-kin has prepared you rooms. Your horses will be well fed.”

Alaric whisked a glance towards some of the other stalls. Several were occupied by horses, and they were moving restlessly as Vagner leaned his head out of his stall and bared those horsy teeth in a leer. It occurred to him that what Vagner might want would not be to their host’s liking.

Behave yourself!
Alaric flung that thought at the demon, hoping it would be heeded.

“I will behave myself as befits a demon,”
Vagner threw back.

Don’t you dare eat anything that is inside this stable!”
Alaric ordered.

“As you command,”
the demon said.

Alaric and Talena left the barn to follow their host.

Hobbler’s wooden mount was the first
to collapse. The Dvergar had been in the lead, and he gave a startled cry as his “hobby horse” became a pile of rotten wood and tossed him over its head. Gareth’s mount went stiff, as did Fenelon’s. Then both of them collapsed into heaps of firewood. Gareth landed on his back, and was not happy to see that Fenelon landed on his feet with the agility of a cat.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of them,” Fenelon said. He was looking towards the sides of the road where rune carved stones stood like sentinels. “Marked to stop all spells at this point.”

“Yes, very unkind of them,” Hobbler agreed as he crawled to his own feet, and then offered Gareth a hand.

“Did you know this?” Gareth asked as he glared at Hobbler then at his son.

Hobbler shrugged and wandered over to examine the stones. “I told you, I’m not exactly welcome here. But I would say these were erected sometime in the last...oh...fifty years.”

Gareth shook his head. Well, it had been some time since
he
had been this way as well.

At least they were close enough to the gate to make the distance on foot now.

“Well, come on now,” he said and gathered his pack from among the rubble of wood. He shoved the logs into the ditch and started on. Fenelon was at his side in an instant. Hobbler lingered just long enough to grab his possession, and then followed.

There was still enough light when they finally reached the massive gates. Folk were moving in and out now, most of them stockier than Hobbler and about as short. At the sight of Fenelon in his new clothes, two of the guards stepped forward and crossed their pikes in his path.

“State your business, long shanks,” they said in unison.

Fenelon glanced sidelong at Gareth. Hobbler cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“We are travelers seeking shelter for the night,” Hobbler said.

One of the guards sniffed unappreciatively. “Half-kin,” he muttered.

“I say we turn the long shanks away and feed the half-kin to the dogs,” the other said.

“Well, at least we know they have more than one brain between them,” Fenelon muttered so only Gareth could hear.

Gareth pushed his son aside as stepped forward to glower on the pair. “I am Magister Gareth Greenfyn,” he said, “and I have come to seek an audience with Lord Bloodtooth the Bone Eater. Tell me where I will find him NOW.”

The two guards suddenly traded worried looks. Behind them, several voices whispered in awe.

“Long shanks knows Lord Bloodtooth,” the first guard muttered.

“Long shanks is mageborn,” the other said.

“And long shanks has little patience,” Gareth intoned with a glower.

“Pass and be welcome,” the guards said in unison, and drawing back their pikes, they stepped aside. “Enter freely, Magister.”

Gareth nodded and marched between them. Fenelon and Hobbler followed quickly as he crossed the long expanse of the gate tunnel and exited on a giant stone square. All around, the world was alive with color and noise and smells. Merchants shouted. Smithies clanged with the bell-tones of metal being beaten on anvils. What had appeared as a mere cleft in the mountainside and a small valley from afar was actually a series of stone buildings carved out of the rocks that rose high overhead. This was the city of Stanewold, one of the oldest known in the world. It had been here some said before the Great Cataclysm, and its strong walls had withstood earthquakes and invaders alike.

The Dvergar folk were here in mass, though humans were present as well. Stanewold was a trading city.

Gareth stopped long enough to get his bearings then pointed across the way. There was a tavern and an inn visible off to one side.

“You know Lord Bloodtooth?” Hobbler said with a twitter in his voice.

“Only in name,” Gareth said as he marched along.

“Clever,” Fenelon said. “But what if those guards find out?”

“No one sees Lord Bloodtooth,” Gareth said with a half smile. “He’s a crotchety old bugger and sees no one unless there are great quantities of gold involved. I doubt those two have ever met him.”

“Hope you’re right,” Fenelon said.

“We’ll spend the night here. Hobbler can lead us to Baldoran’s Pass tomorrow.”

“I’m starting to dislike my part in this,” Hobbler said mumpishly. “Feed the half-kin to the dogs...what were those two thinking.”

Gareth reassuringly patted the Dvergar on the shoulder and urged him on.

Life as it is,
Wendon thought ruefully,
is not life as it should be!

Day before yesterday, he was a free man, able to pursue his studies. Not a care in the world, except to wonder how long before he finally achieved the status of a master mage.

Now he was a prisoner, and for what?

Because I allowed myself to be deceived by a pretty face and words of promise.

Or the “little head” as his father would have said.

“Gullible, that’s what you are, Wendon,” he muttered aloud at the ceiling. He was lying on Tobin’s bed, staring at the supports and the stones. It looked enough like a dungeon to make him want to close his eyes and pretend he was elsewhere.

And what good would that do? He could not unmake what he had done. He did not dare harbor one instant of hope that he might find a way out of this mess and keep his powers and his name intact.

But he had lived in Dun Gealach long enough to know that the High Mage was a merciless man.

“There is no hope,” he muttered.

He was ruined, all because of...

A soft knock on the door disturbed his ruminations. “Who’s there?” Wendon called.

The door opened slightly, and a head of tousled brown hair slipped past the edge of the wood. Winsome eyes were luminous with unshed tears.

“What do you want?” Wendon snarled and turned his stare back at the ceiling.

“May I come in?” Thera asked.

Wendon sighed. “I suppose.”

He heard her sigh, and the click of the door closing again. Softly, her feet rustled the carpet of reeds as she crossed the stone floor and stopped beside the bed. He could see her now as she leaned over him a little.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

“To tell you how sorry I am to have embroiled you in this matter,” she said. “I never dreamed the spell would wear off. I thought that giving you essence would help, but...”

Wendon frowned. “The spell wearing off is not your fault,” he said curtly. “I let my concentration wander.” He stopped himself before he said “to you.”

“Still, I am the one who convinced you to take Master Fenelon’s place, and I would never have done so had I known things were going to go awry.”

Wendon turned his head so he could look at her better. She had her eyes lowered demurely, and her hands worried the hem of her tunic.

“I would never have involved you if I thought you would come to harm,” she added.

“And why should you care?” Wendon asked.

Her eyes rose damp with tears that were now slipping from the corners. The sight stung him just a bit. “Because I cannot help but care,” she said.

“The teaching of your Blessed Brother?” Wendon asked as he sat up on the bed.

“The Brother teaches us to do no harm,” she said. “To use our skills to help others. But...” She hesitated. “May I sit, please?”

Wendon raised an eyebrow then nodded, gesturing to the side of the bed. Thera lowered herself to the edge, clasping her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath and looked at him.

“I care for reasons beyond what the Brother teaches,” she said. “It is true that in the beginning, I wanted to gain your trust for a greater cause. I believed in that cause. I still do, and sometimes one must be a little deceitful for the good of all.”

Wendon rolled his eyes and leaned against the headboard of the bed. “And I fell for it, like the fool. Master class, indeed. I was so greedy, I believed you.”

Thera frowned a little. “You cannot hold yourself responsible,” she said. “Yes, I knew you were greedy, and yes, I knew you were eager to become a master mageborn because I had been told these things.”

Wendon snorted. “Then I was all the more easily fooled,” he said. “I thought for a moment, that you might have cared about me.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said and leaned, reaching to put a hand on one of his knees. He froze. The touch rekindled flames inside him. Wendon held his breath. “I care very much, and that is what makes it all the harder for me to say this. When I saw you there, in the conjuring chamber, I had expected an oaf and a bully. But I saw the sweet young man that you were...”

Wendon jerked his knee from under her hand and pulled his legs away so that he was out of her reach. “Don’t,” he said. “I’m not sweet. I’m a coward and a bully and a fool and...”