Castle of Deception bt-1 Read online

  “Come on,” she shot back. “No laggards,”

  “Such a caring, gentle friend,” Lydia muttered.

  She and Kevin followed after as best they could. Naitachal, dazed and exhausted, somehow managed to keep pace with them—

  But if we don’t find shelter soon, Kevin realized, he’s going to collapse—and w with him.

  But just when the bardling had decided they must have died and been condemned to an eternity of dark and wet and endless, thorny paths, Tich’ki came fluttering back. She landed on Lydia’s shoulder, panting, wings drooping wearily. But Kevin saw her sharp little teeth flash in a grin.

  “Shelter,” she crowed. “Just up ahead: a big old shell of a tree. Hurry up, you’ll see.”

  She was right The oak must have been truly ancient, incredibly vast in girth and all but dead. Time and age had worn a deep hollow in the base, a natural cave just big enough for two humans, one elf and a fairy to fit inside. It smelled strongly of animals and decaying wood, but it was blessedly dry and carpeted with a thick layer of crumbled leaves. Kevin, sure he was soaked to the very bone, couldn’t make up his mind whether to remove his cloak and freeze or keep the soggy thing wrapped about him and stay wet. Hopefully, he thought, the combined body warmth of four living beings would warm the tree-cave soon enough.

  “Naitachal—”

  The Dark Elf had fallen to his knees with a faint groan. Lydia hastily dropped to his side. “All right, I know you’re hurt. Let me see that arm.”

  “In here?” Tich’ki cut in. “Thought you humans couldn't see in the dark.” She added in sudden alarm, “You’re not going to try lighting a fire?”

  “In a tree? D’you think I’m mad?”

  “I—No. That’s too easy a jest”

  Kevin bit his lip nervously, just barely able to make out Naitachal’s crumpled form in the darkness. “I’ll try the Watchwood Melody again,” he said in sudden inspiration. “You know, the light-spell. I... think I can get it to last longer this time.”

  There wasn’t much room to take the lute out of its case, let alone play it, but by squirming his way back into the tree-cave, Kevin managed to hit the proper notes and chords. He began to sing, hesitantly at first, his singing voice feeling rusty from disuse, then more strongly, secure that the storm outside would drown out the sound and praying that his small magics wouldn’t be noticeable to Carlotta.

  And Bardic Magic stirred within him—The tree-cave began to glow with a feint, steady light, and Lydia nodded in satisfaction.

  “Now,” she told Naitachal, “you will let me see that arm.”

  The Dark Elf, eyes closed, made no move to stop her. Kevin winced at the sight of the long slash running halfway down Naitachal’s upper arm, but Lydia didn’t seem particularly worried.

  “Arrow just grazed you. That arm’s going to be sore for a time, but hopefully that’ll be about the worst of it.” She paused. “You aren’t hiding any other wounds, are you?”

  “No.” It was a weary whisper of sound. “My cloak cook most of the damage.’’

  “Ah, so it did. Look at those holes.” The woman held up a fold of black fabric and gave a soft whistle. “You were lucky, my friend.”

  Naitachal winced. “Another was not,” he murmured faintly.

  “Ah. Well. I—uh—don’t think Eliathanis would begrudge us a chance to take care of the living before the—before we—’’

  “Before we mourn the dead. Lydia, do what you think necessary to this slash, then let me rest”

  She blinked at his suddenly cold tone. “Sure.” The woman hunted through the pouches hanging from her belt for a time. “Oh damn. My healing herbs are all back in the castle. Some oh so helpful lady’s maid must have tried to ‘neaten up’ my stuff when I wasn’t watching.” Lydia paused, holding up a small flask. “I do still have this, though.”

  “Water?” Tich’ki piped up. “Should think you’d had enough of water by now.”

  “It’s not water, believe me.”

  “Ah, the brandy! How’d the maid miss that?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a good thing she did. Naitachal, you want to take a good swig of this, then bite down on something. This is going to hurt like hell, but at least it should ward off wound-sickness.”

  Kevin winced in sympathy, nearly losing his hold on the light-spell, as she poured the brandy on the arrow-gash.

  Naitachal never made a sound. Instead, endurance finally exhausted, he simply fainted.

  “There, now,” Lydia said after a moment. “That’s bandaged as best 1 can manage, what with nothing really dry. You can stop singing now, Kevin.”

  The light was already fading, because the bardling’s voice was quavering so much he could barely hold the tune. He broke off abruptly, and the tree-cave was plunged back into darkness.

  “Kevin? What is it, boy? What’s wrong?”

  “I d-don’t ... I... Eliathanis ...”

  “Oh hell, kid, don’t be embarrassed. Nothing wrong with grieving, be you woman or man.”

  But Kevin battled with himself till he’d fought back the tears. “I—I don’t understand him!”

  “Who? Naitachal?”

  “How can he suddenly turn so ... cold? Eliathanis was his friend! Why isn’t he grieving?”

  “Ach, Kevin.” Lydia’s voice was very gentle. “He is. That coldness was to hide his real feelings. Look you, I’ve seen a lot of people die. Too many,” she added softly. “That’s part of being a warrior. I’ve mourned a lot of them, too, and that’s also part of being a warrior. True grief isn’t something you can command. It comes out when and where it will.”

  All at once Lydia gave a long, tired sigh. “You know something? I enjoy traveling and all that but, times like this, I really wish I had a place to come home to.”

  She stopped for a thoughtful moment, then added with an embarrassed little laugh, “Like that castle we just left. If it wasn’t already inhabited by that bitch-witch and her buddy, it might make a good place to settle. Despite all the hassle, the place itself had a nice homey feel to it. Or do you think that’s too crazy?”

  “Not at all.” Kevin straightened, staring in her direction in the darkness. “There were times in that casde when I was really miserable; I admit it. But underneath it all, even with those two running things and those spoiled brats of squires, there really is something there that could make it a good place to live!”

  Working by touch, he fit the lute back into its case. “Ah well. Let’s not dream about catching the moon, as Master Aidan would say.”

  Lydia chuckled softly. “Oh, I don’t know about that Dreams aren’t such a bad thing to have. And sometimes—who knows? Sometimes you do catch that moon.” Kevin heard the dried leaves rustle as she stirred. “Come on, kid, enough talk. 1 have a suspicion we’re going to be leading an active life in the next few days, so let’s try to get some sleep while we can. If we huddle together with Naitachal, we should be warm enough. Hungry, bruised and battered,” Lydia added wryly, “but warm enough.”

  “Kevin!”

  The fierce hiss brought the bardling awake with a start. “Naitachal?” The tree-cave wasn’t as totally dark as it had been, but even so, the Dark Elf’s eyes still glinted with their eerie red light. “What—” Kevin sat bolt upright. “Carlotta! Has she—”

  “She hasn’t found us. Not yet. But I felt her sorcery brush us just now. And she has set loose her hunters.”

  “Not human hunters,” Tich’ki added, perching beside Kevin for a moment, “not all of them. I sensed that, too.”

  “And I don’t think we care to meet any of them,” the Dark Elf added wryly, “so come! We must hurry.”

  At least it had stopped raining; they were given that much of a boon. But the day was a waking nightmare of being forever on the run, slipping on mud and wet leaves, struggling through underbrush so dense it seemed impassible, with hardly a chance to snatch a sip from a stream, hardly a chance to swallow a handful of berries. Lydia, experienced hunter that
she was, led the way, showing them how to throw off anything that might be following by scent by crossing and recrossing streams, how to avoid leaving footprints by running along rock or fallen trees.

  “Ha, why didn’t I think of this before?” Tich’ki suddenly exclaimed during one of their brief pauses to rest. “I can help! I’ll hide our trail altogether!”

  “Not by magic,” Naitachal warned sharply, gashed arm cradled against his chest. “Carlotta will surely sense the use of any spells.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand! You know the trick I have of influencing minds? The way I did with the guards back in Westerin? Well, that’s not magic, strictly speaking, not really; it’s a—a skill of the mind, sort of an unmagic to make people unthink.” She shook her head impatiently. “I can’t put it more dearly in human terms. But I should be able to make the trackers unthink the trail—and there won’t be a trace of magic for Carlotta to find!”

  “Carlotta,” Lydia reminded her dourly, “is part fairy. I’m not taking bets on anything she can or can’t do. Go ahead, Tich’ki. Try your unthinking unmagic. The rest of us are going to keep right on watching our steps.”

  Tich’ki grinned and darted off.

  “Eh, all right, Kevin, Naitachal,” Lydia snapped, getting to her feet. “Rest time’s over. We have some more hiking to do!”

  By the time darkness began to fall, Kevin was only too glad to sink to the ground in the rocky little grove Lydia had found. Beside him, Naitachal sat in weary silence, shrouded in his cloak, but the woman paced restlessly about, checking the lay of the land in her usual wary fashion.

  “We’re not likely to find a better place.” The Dark Elf’s voice rose eerily out of the shadow of his hood.

  “No,” she agreed, hands on hips. “It’s a pretty good spot for camping. Easily defended, too, what with the rocks making a natural wall on one side.”

  “And there is a stream nearby,” Naitachal added. “Possibly with edible water plants.”

  Kevin hadn’t thought anything could have gotten him to his feet, but the thought of something to eat made him scramble up. “I’ll go.”

  “No, kid. You wouldn’t know what’s safe to eat. I'll go.” She glanced around at the ever-darkening forest “You think you can manage some sort of smokeless little fire, Naitachal?”

  “Of course.”

  When Lydia returned with double armfuls of vegetation, it was to a rabbit cooking over the barely visible campfire the Dark Elf had concocted, “Where did that come from?’’ the woman asked.

  “It popped its head up to look at us,” Kevin said. He added modestly, “I threw a rock at it I was lucky.”

  “So-o!” Lydia’s teeth flashed in her indomitable grin. “Tonight, we feast!”

  A whir of wings marked Tich’ki’s return. “Just in time! I’m starved.”

  But it was a strangely somber meal. Now that he had a moment to relax even a little, Kevin found himself constantly expecting to see Eliathanis. He caught himself thinking. We must remember to tell him about—or I wonder what he would think about—and had to force himself not to keep looking over his shoulder for the White Elf.

  At last, after their scanty dinner was done and the fire had been banked to coals, the bardling couldn’t stand it any more. Hardly aware of the others, he took out his lute and let his fingers move across the strings. At the back of his mind Kevin was vaguely aware that he wasn’t trying for Bardic Music: he wasn’t even trying for any music worthy of a Bard at all. But somehow music took form beneath his fingers and here was Eliathanis stopping in surprise, the sun turning his hair to molten gold, and here was Eliathanis bending in worry over the fallen Naitachal, and here was Eliathanis grinning at the Dark Elfin sudden friendship ...

  And here was Eliathanis freely, joyously, giving his life so his friends might live.

  All at once Kevin’s vision was blurring and his hands were shaking so much he couldn’t play any more. Face wet, he stilled the strings to silence with a palm, then took a deep, shaken breath and dried his eyes, drained and a little awed by what his mind and hands had evoked.

  He glanced up, aware of the others only now, and slightly embarrassed at their regard. Lydia, too, was wiping her eyes, and even Tich’ki was sitting still, wines wrapped about her like an iridescent cape. Naitachal had his back to them all, huddled nearly double in his black cloak, so silent that the bardling wondered if he had even heard the music. But then Kevin heard the Dark Elf murmur fiercely, as though angry with himself:

  “There is no time for this!”

  ‘‘There never is,” Lydia retorted.

  The shrouded figure straightened slightly at that, and Kevin caught a Hash of anguished eyes. But instead of the sharp reply the bardling was expecting, Naitachal asked simply, “Does it always hurt like this?”

  “Always.” Lydia paused, frowning slightly. “What, have you never lost a friend before?”

  Naitachal glared. “Have you forgotten who and what I am? I have never had a friend before.”

  “You have some now,” Kevin reminded him softly.

  But the Dark Elf, plainly embarrassed by his own grief, pulled his hood savagely forward, hiding his face once more. “I intend to sleep,” Naitachal said shortly. “1 advise you to do the same.”

  Kevin and Lydia exchanged wry glances. The woman shrugged. “He’s got a point.” She hesitated for a long, awkward while, then added quietly, “Kevin, for the music and all that, I... Ah, hell. What I’m trying to say is, thank you.”

  The huddle of black cloak stirred faintly. “So am I,” Naitachal admitted softly, then was silent once more—

  Chapter XXIII

  Night passed into day, and day into night, and the fugitives continued to flee through the forest. Tich’ki’s “unmagic” did seem to be throwing off Carlotta’s aim when it came to any direct sorcery, but her trackers remained grimly on the trail. Once Kevin, hiding flat in the underbrush, not even daring to breathe, caught a glimpse of them: squat, powerful, sharp-fanged beings, monstrous human-ogre hybrids that sniffed the ground like so many deadly hounds. If he fell into their ugly hands, the bardling was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to worry about Carlotta any longer.

  That time, the trackers missed their prey completely. But no place was safe for long. Kevin thanked the Powers for Tich’ki, who confused those trackers as best one fairy could, and for Lydia, who somehow kept moving her friends from concealment to concealment without their getting caught, skillfully doubling back and forth on their tracks like some hunted wild thing.

  Which she is, Kevin thought wearily. Which we all are. I can’t remember the last time I had, a good meal, or a full night’s sleep. Ha, and if I don’t get a bath pretty soon, those trackers are going to be able to just nose me out!

  What was truly frustrating was knowing he bore the manuscript holding the spell to destroy Carlotta—and yet not being able to do anything about it. When they came to a temporary hiding place, a crushed-down thicket that deer had used for a bed, Kevin pulled the manuscript out in desperation and showed it to Naitachal.

  “What do you make of that?”

  The Dark Elf had grown almost haggard during the chase, skin drawn tightly over the high cheekbones and eyes glittering eerily from under the shadow of his hood. “Let me see.”

  He barely moved the arm the arrow had grazed, and Kevin felt a little pang of worry shoot through him. “Naitachal ...”

  “It’s nothing,” the Dark Elf insisted, as he had every time one of the others had tried to examine the wound. “Give me the manuscript”

  He studied it for a long, puzzled moment, then raised his head, frowning.

  “I can’t make anything of the text, Kevin. And I mean that quite literally. There’s magic here, all right, but it’s keyed strictly to you. The glyphs won’t hold still long enough for me to read them. Only if you can copy the spell out for me can I hope to do something with it.” The Dark Elf’s eyes glittered with a sudden cold rage. “And once the spell is decipher
ed, I shall be the one to deliver it” His words were made all the more chilling by being delivered in a quiet, totally controlled voice. “We owe Eliathanis this much; his death shall be avenged in full upon Carlotta and the traitor count her ally.”

  “Uh,y-yes. It shall.”

  Kevin was almost positive that the weird, unexpected words in elfish had to be the components of the spell. He could copy those out, all right. But on what? And with what?

  Wait ... when I was making the copy back in the library, I tucked the parchment into my lute case for safekeeping.

  Ha, yes, it was still there, in the pocket meant for music scores, and with it a small flask of ink as well. A twig should make a decent enough brush.

  And so, every time Lydia deemed it safe to stop, Kevin worked feverishly to extract the spell from the manuscript,, making as many copies as he could, hiding one each time the party had to move on—The trackers can’t possibly discover all our shelters. And hopefully someone will find the spell and be able to complete it if we’re caught or—or failed.