Castle of Deception bt-1 Read online

  After what seemed an eternity to the bardling, Lydia returned to Kevin’s side. “Three invitations to ... ah ... bed, two to sic and party a while, one to buy you—” she grinned at his outrage—” but no useful information. Besides,” the woman added teasingly, “the price for you wasn’t nearly high enough!”

  She scurried out before he could find an answer.

  The third tavern was almost as murky. The furnishings consisted only of a few splintery tables and chairs, and the thin layer of sawdust covering the floor was sticky with what Kevin prayed was only beer. The customers were an ugly lot, quite literally, hunched over their drinks like so many bitter predators, making the crowd in the last place look almost wholesome.

  Not a one of them showed the slightest interest in kidnappers or a missing noblewoman. But before Lydia and Kevin could leave, a hulk of a man, big and ugly enough to be almost all ogre—lurched to his feet and staggered towards Lydia.

  “H’llo, b’oot’ful. Come ‘n have uh drink.”

  “Some other time, handsome.”

  “I said, have uh drink!”

  “And I said, some other time.”

  As she turned to leave, the man caught her arm in a meaty hand. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, b’oot’ful.”

  Lydia sighed. “They never learn,” she murmured.

  Before the bardling could even start to move, the woman whirled on her captor, knee shooting up with devastating force and deadly accuracy. As the man doubled over in speechless agony, Lydia pulled free and smiled sweetly at Kevin, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  “Shall we leave?” she asked.

  The bardling glanced warily around the room. No one seemed to have noticed what had just happened. Even so, he had to fight the urge to back out of there, hand on sword hilt. Once they were safely outside on the street, Kevin exploded:

  “What in the name of all the Powers did you think you were doing?”

  “Avoiding an unwanted drink.”

  “But—but he might have been armed! He might have killed you!”

  “And the roof might have caved in on us all. It didn’t He didn’t. Kevin, credit me with enough wit to know when someone’s carrying weapons. Or is sober enough to be dangerous. The poor idiot had it coming to him, and I just hope his less-than-friends back there don’t slit his throat while he’s helpless.”

  “But—you—”

  “Look, kid, this son of thing happens all the time when you happen no be both a warrior and a woman.‘’

  “Well, maybe it wouldn’t happen so often if you just didn’t dress so—so—”

  “So what, Kevin?”

  He shook his head, miserably embarrassed, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut “You know.”

  “Ah, our little bardling is a prude!”

  “I am nod But you—”

  “Go around asking for it? Is that what you’re trying to say? Listen to me, and listen well: I am a woman in a man’s world. I’m not complaining; that’s just the way things are. And as a woman, sure, I could wear a nice, proper gown that restricted every step I took, the sort of thing a lady wears—and get killed the first time I needed to move quickly. I could wear full armor, too, always assuming I could afford the expensive stuff—but I spend a lot of my life on board ships. People who wear full armor on ships tend to have really short lives if they fall overboard!”

  “I... uh ... never thought of that ...”

  “I realize that!” All at once, Lydia grinned. “Besides, when I do have trouble, the fools are generally so busy looking at my ... ah ... endowments that they never see my knee or fist coming. So now, enough lecturing. We still have some rat-hunting to do!”

  She strode boldly away. Kevin gulped and followed, deciding that Lydia wasn’t as dumb as she looked. She might be rough in manners and language—but she certainly wasn’t dumb at all.

  Kevin sank wearily to a bench, hardly caring that the cheaply made thing creaked alarmingly and threatened to collapse. How many taverns had it been now? Ten? Fifty? A hundred? By this point he’d seen so many roughnecks, so many weird, ugly humans and Others, so much emptiness or depravity in so many eyes, that he didn’t think anything could shock him any more. If Death Itself came up to this table, the bardling mused listlessly, he’d probably just tell It to go have a nice day somewhere else.

  Lydia, who in the course of their hunt had dealt with a half-dozen would-be suitors, showed not the slightest sign of weariness.

  Well, sure. She’s probably used to tavern-hopping. This is probably tame to her!

  He looked down in dismay at the warm, watery beer in the flagon before him. At least he wasn’t expected to finish the stuff. How anyone could actually want to—

  “Hey, kid, look who I’ve found.”

  Lydia was returning, pulling someone with her. Kevin stared. An Arachnia! But clearly one that had fallen on hard times. Where D’Krikas had been an elegant figure, spotlessly dean, dark chitin shining with health, this being was downright shoddy, its compound eyes lacking any trace of animation, its tall body folded into a weary stoop chat left it no taller than the woman. The gray cloak that seemed to be an Arachnia trademark was worn and ragged, so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed, and the being’s chitin was so dull and scaly Kevin wondered if it was possible for an Arachnia to have the mange.

  Lydia didn’t seem to care. Slapping the Arachnia on its back, making the thin being stagger, she said heartily, “This is ... what did you say your name was, pal?”

  “D’Riksin,” the being murmured.

  “D’Riksin,” Lydia echoed. “Sit you down here, D’Riksin, my friend, and have a drink with us.”

  She pushed. The Arachnia sat with a thump, as though already too far gone to resist. Kevin glanced sharply at the woman, wondering what was going on, but she was busy flagging down a barmaid. “A bottle of Mereot for my friends and me.”

  Mereot turned out to be a dark red wine, so sweet that Kevin nearly gagged on his first sip. He noticed that Lydia wasn’t drinking much other flagon, either. But D’Riksin guzzled down the sweet stuff with undisguised delight.

  “Good,” the being murmured.

  “Have another, pal, on Kevin here.”

  D’Riksin clicked its beak in what was presumably an Arachniad smile. “Thank you, friend.” It swilled down the second flagon almost as quickly as it had the first and clicked its beak with more abandon. “Good stuff. Good friends. Not like some others.”

  “Someone betrayed you, huh?” Lydia leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting her head on her fists. “That’s tough.”

  “Betrayed me,” the being echoed.

  “Why don’t you tell us all about it, pal?” Lydia’s voice oozed concern. “Troubles are a lot lighter to bear when they’re shared.”

  The Arachnia helped itself to more Mereot. “It’s the king’s fault,” D’Riksin whined. “All his fault.”

  “How so?”

  “Shouldn’ta supported him—Big mistake. No one’ll hire me, ‘cause they know I backed King Amber.”

  Huh? That doesn’t make sense! They won’t hire a supporter of the king? But Westerin is a crown city! There can’t be that many foes of King Amber here!

  Lydia didn’t seem to be bothered by the weird logic, or lack of logic. “I know how it is,” she purred. “Can’t trust anybody, can you? Here, pal, have some more Mereot.”

  “Don’ min’ if I do.” D’Riksin chittered an Arachnia giggle. “Show ‘em. Show ‘em all. Know something they don’t know, any of them, none of the fine humans.”

  “Sure you do.”

  The Arachnia straightened slightly. “1 do” it insisted. “Know all about the girl.”

  Kevin tensed. “What girl?”

  “Hee hee! The girl! The one who was swiped, ‘course, the daughter of that fool of a count.”

  “Charina!”

  D’Riksin tried to shrug, hampered by the lack of true shoulders. “Eck, whatever. Know who took her?” It paused, staring at
them with the idiot slyness of the truly drunk. “It was Princess Carlotta, that’s who!”

  “That’s impossible!” Kevin snapped. “Carlotta’s been dead for over thirty years.’’

  “No, no, no, no! That’s what she wants everyone ta think! Dead, dead, dead ... whee! Sorceresses don’t die, not so easy, not she!” D’Riksin took another long swig of Mereot, then leaned forward as much as stiff chitin would allow, whispering confidentially, “It was rebels took the girl, rebels led by Princess Carlotta.”

  “But why?

  The Arachnia chittered to itself, then tried to pour itself another drink. Nothing happened. It upended the bottle, looking blearily inside. “Empty,” it said sadly. “No more Mereot for poor D’Rikish—D’Rishkin DTfffaw.”

  But Lydia had already ordered a new bottle. “Here, pal. Drink up. Tell us why Princess Carlotta stole the girl.”

  D’Riksin chittered and drank, “Wheeee!” it laughed. “She wants to use the girl against King Amber!”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Kevin said. “Charina may be Count Volmar’s niece, but she’s not all that important.”

  The Arachnia blinked and leaned forward again, studying the bardling closely. Kevin stared back, trying not to flinch at this close-up view of the being’s compound eyes. “You’re the one was copyin’ the manshu —manshi—the book.”

  “How would you know—Ow!”

  Lydia had kicked him under the table. She glared at the bardling, warning him to keep quiet. D’Riksin continued, heedless, “Wanna know a secret? Bet you don’ know the stuff you were copyin’ had a spell hid in it” The being nodded, pleased with itself. “Yup, did!”

  It fell silent, staring moodily into its flagon. Lydia asked, very gently, “What kind of a spell, pal?”

  chidden spell!”

  “Well, yes,” she said with more patience than Kevin would ever have believed, “we gathered that. What fund of a hidden spell?”

  “Don’ think I should tell ya.”

  “Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you’re making this all up.” Lydia folded her arms in pretend indignation. “A fine thing when you can’t even trust a drinking buddy to tell the truth.”

  “I am. tellin’ the truth,” D’Riksin whined. “Not sure, y’unnerstand. But rumor is, it’s a spell to keep Princess Carlotta from changin’ shape—’Cause if she did, if the spell works, she’d be stuck in her true self forever ‘n’ ever.”

  “Her—.. true self,” Kevin said warily.

  “Sure! Din’cha know? She’s not human, not altogether. Naw, she’s more fairy ‘n’ anythin’ else. And she’d be stuck as a fairy!” The Arachnia chittered in laughter. “No way a fairy can sit the throne. Not legal! Gotta be a human.”

  “You sure about that spell?” Lydia asked.

  “Eck, who knows? Thing’s never been tried, never been tested. Might work. Might blow up in the user’s face!”

  The Arachnia swayed in its seat. “I was there,” it said confidentially. “I was in the guard, you know, guard of Count Volmar’s daddy. Yup, his daddy, that’s who it was, Count Dalant-1 saw the elves give the book to him, to ole Count Dalant. Told him to keep it safe. Guess they figured if Princess Carlotta went lookin’ for the thing, she’d think the elves had it”

  “But why leave it with the count’s father?” Kevin asked.

  D’Riksin started to pour itself another flagon full, then stopped, blinking thoughtfully. “I ‘member they said something ‘bout it bein’ too dangerous to leave with anyone who could act’ly use the thing. Yeah. Just in case Princess Carlotta did think to look there. Yeah, s’right. It’s keyed so only two folks can see it. One of ‘em a Bard. Ardan, Aydan, somethin’ like that”

  The bardling tensed, heart racing—”Aidan?”

  “Yeah! That’s it! It’ll only appear to him, or to his suchsec—shuchessor—successor!” the Arachnia finished triumphantly. “Wheeeee!” it added in glee, and fell flat across the table.

  “So much for that,” Lydia muttered. She glanced up. “Uh, Kevin, I think we’d better get out of here.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Now, Kevin.”

  Startled at the urgency in her voice, the bardling looked up. “Oh.”

  Six ugly ... things were peering through the gloomy tavern, looking for something.

  Things, Kevin decided, was definitely the word. None of the six was truly human, or a member of any other recognizable race, except for their leader, who was the most depraved-looking elf the bardling could ever have imagined. Pasty-skinned and gaunt, the man’s fair White Elf hair hung lankly to his shoulders. and his green White Elf eyes were flat and cold and empty. Kevin wondered what depravities could have so corrupted a creature of Light, and shuddered.

  “Guess not everyone liked the idea of D’Riksin talking to us,” Lydia murmured.

  “You don’t know they’re looking for us,” Kevin whispered back.

  Just then, the empty-eyed elf pointed their way and yelled something at the others. All six started stalking forward, radiating menace, sending customers scrambling out of their way.

  “Hell I don’t,” Lydia said drily.

  Chapter XII

  “All right,” Lydia said under her breath. “I’ve been in tighter fixes than this. Gotten out of them, too. Follow my lead. Kevin. Ready? Here we go!”

  She stood up, grabbed a customer at random, and flattened him with one mighty punch. The man staggered back into another table, which collapsed, spilling their drinks all over the men who’d been sitting there.

  “Hey, watch it, you stupid frticft!”

  “Frticft, is it?” growled an ogre at the next table—”I’m anfrticll, you idiot humans!”

  He dove into the humans, swinging wildly, sending men and chairs flying. For one shocked moment, Kevin froze. Then he realized exactly what Lydia was doing and grabbed another man, about to imitate her.

  No, no, I nearly wrecked my hand the last time I tried to punch someone! Can’t risk that again!

  What to do? The bardling snatched up a half-empty flagon instead, and whapped the man soundly over the head. Mereot splashed all over a heavy-set, scaly whatever-it-was at the next table. The creature sprang up with a furious hiss, only to collide with one of the men from the first table, who was blindly throwing punches right and left. The creature flattened him, and went looking for other prey. Those customers who hadn’t already taken cover found themselves caught in the middle of an ever-growing melee—and joined in with savage glee. The empty-eyed elf and his men swore helplessly as the brawl engulfed them in a whirlwind of fists and bottles.

  Lydia, standing safely out of the way, gave a sharp laugh. “Nothing like a good old-fashioned tavern brawl for a diversion. Come on, Kevin, let’s get out of here.”

  She slipped out through the tiny kitchen, Kevin close behind her, struggling past harried servants who were heading out into the brawl armed with dubs and broom handles.

  Hey, where had Lydia gone?

  “Out here!” the woman called, and the bardling scrambled out the narrow window after her. “Now you know why I’m always scouting for ways out of places! Come on, let’s put some distance between ourselves and those guys.’’

  More running, Kevin thought wearily.

  They made it all the way back to the shabby square. The bardling sank gladly to the lip of the dry fountain, panting, the lute an awkward weight on his back. He shifted it around in front of him, leaning on it. “Think we’re safe?’’

  Lydia straightened, listening to nothing but silence. She shrugged. “For the moment. By the time old Empty Eyes fights his way out of that tavern, our trail’s going to be cold.”

  We hope. “Now what do we do?”

  “Look for the others, I guess, and—’’

  “There you are!” a shrill voice snapped.

  Kevin glanced up to see the fairy fluttering fiercely overhead. “Hello, Tich’ki!”

  “Never mind ‘hello, Tich’ki!’ I’ve been flying all over the city. Where
the hell were you two?”

  “Hunting rats.” Lydia grinned. “Learned a lot from them, too.”

  The fairy landed lightly beside her. “And nearly got bit by them, I see. Oh yes, I heard all the fuss. What’s the matter, the guards weren’t good enough for you? Robbing a councilman wasn’t exciting enough?”

  “Ah, you’re a fine one to scold! It wasn’t me who set that inn on fire back in Elegian—”

  “An accident. I never knew the spell would backfire like that.”