[Lyra 03] - Shadow Magic Read online

  The two men stumbled toward the cottage with their burden and Alethia stepped out of the way. She took one quick look back to see that one of the Wyrds had taken charge of the horses and ponies, and followed into the house. Behind her came the other Wyrds in a small mob, and the last one in the door was Jordet himself. He looked white and tired, and he sank almost immediately into a chair by the table and covered his face with his hands.

  Alethia hardly noticed the background activity. By the light of the lamps in the front room she could see that the man Har and Tamsin supported was Maurin. As they helped him to the bench, Alethia saw that her brother’s sleeve was stained red. She started, then saw that Har was not wounded after all; his sleeve had been stained as he helped his friend.

  Curiously, the knowledge that the blood was not her brother’s own did not bring the relief she would have expected. Automatically, she moved toward the fire, to the kettle of water Jordet had put on for tea after supper. She grabbed a towel hanging next to the fire to protect her hands from the hot iron handle and swung the support out so she could reach the kettle. As she brought it carefully to the table, she said, “Jordet, do you have any bandages?”

  Jordet looked up and shook his head numbly.

  “We will have to use something else then,” Alethia said. She looked around the room, and her eye fell on a pile of folded linen on top of the cupboard. “Those napkins?”

  The Shee nodded wearily, and Tamsin rose and brought them to her. She set him to tearing them into useable strips, while she herself knelt and began carefully cutting the stained and tattered remnants of Maurin’s shirt away from his side.

  Alethia’s self-appointed task was interrupted almost immediately by the patient himself, who opened his eyes at that moment. “Alethia! This is no fit job for you,” Maurin protested. He pulled away, but exhaustion and loss of blood had taken their toll, and he nearly toppled over.

  “Who’s to do it if I don’t?” Alethia demanded, looking up. “Caring for a wounded man is fit enough task for a soldier’s daughter! Hold still; you’ll never stop bleeding if you keep moving around like that.”

  “Har…” Maurin’s head turned to him for support. The young noble shrugged. “She’s right. She is experienced. There are houses in Brenn where the healers take the wounded guards; they’re always short-handed and Alethia goes there with Mother all the time.”

  Har reached for one of the napkins, but was ordered off summarily by his sister. “You look exhausted,” she said as she worked. “Go eat, and then get some rest. Tamsin and I can take care of this.”

  “Alright,” Har replied meekly, and moved around to the other side of the table. He seated himself next to Jordet, helped himself to the lukewarm stew, and began eating intently. Looking up a few moments later, he saw Jordet’s eyes on him. A little green demon seemed to dance in delighted amusement within their slanted depths. Undisturbed, Har returned a smile. “I fear we put a strain upon your hospitality, sir,” he said.

  “Indeed not. I have not seen so much excitement in months,” Jordet replied. “Besides, it is entirely proper for kin to claim shelter.”

  Har’s jaw dropped. “Kin?”

  “We are related through your mother, the Lady Isme. Can you look on me and doubt it?” Har gulped and shook his head, and Jordet went on, “In any case, my function here is the warding of this border. How could I see you so beset and not offer my help?”

  Har glanced toward Alethia, but she was too busy to pay attention to the conversation. He turned back to Jordet. “What was it?” he asked in a low voice.

  “It was a voll, a wight of the mountains. I have not seen one since my father killed one when I was a child, and even that was not so large.” Jordet sighed. “It took nearly all my strength just to drive it away. It is a good thing that you were here where I could help you.”

  “I am not sure of that,” said Murn’s voice behind him. The group of Wyrds had ended their conference in the corner, and except for Murn, Worrel and Rarn they were leaving the cottage. Rarn surveyed the scene briefly, and after a quick word with Alethia she moved on into the north bedroom. Murn came over to the table, arriving in time to hear the last of Jordet’s comments.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jordet, turning to her.

  “I think that if we had not come here, you would not have needed to weary yourself so dangerously against that wight, and perhaps this other one would not be hurt,” Murn replied. “Nay, do not start! I have only a suspicion, and no clear ideas. But something opposes us; Krowlan brings news of strange stirrings in the forest ever since we left this morning, and I do not believe it was an accident that you had not heard of Alethia’s kidnapping.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Jordet said. “But what then?”

  Murn shrugged. “Anarmin returns with Krowlan to Glen Wilding this evening; you have not room for so many here, in any case. The rest of us remain, for the time being. Unless you have other suggestions?”

  By this time, Alethia had finished cleaning and binding up the deep, ragged gashes in Maurin’s side. After his initial protest, Maurin had made no further sound, but he balked when Tamsin and Alethia tried to help him to the bedroom. “I can walk without your help!” he snarled at Tamsin. Cheeks flushed, he hauled himself to his feet and swayed toward the doorway. Alethia followed, a frown of concern on her face, but she said nothing before they disappeared into the room.

  Tamsin stood staring after them for a moment, then silently joined the group at the table. Outside there was a brief flurry of noise as the Wyrds left, and he looked up in surprise until Worrel explained their decision. Tamsin frowned. “Is it really safe?” he asked. “After seeing what that thing can do…” He nodded in the direction of the bedroom.

  “It was a voll,” Jordet told him. “It can do far worse than you have seen, for they can wield magic as well as force, and their wounds are often poisoned. They usually do not come this far out of the mountains; I was surprised to see this one. But you need not fear that it will remain around this area; it is not their way.”

  Har’s face took on a worried look at this speech, and he glanced anxiously toward the closed door of the room where Alethia and Rarn were closeted with Maurin. Murn smiled reassuringly. “Do not fear for your friend,” she said. “Rarn has a great deal of talent in healing.” With that Har was forced to be content.

  A few minutes later Rarn came out of the bedroom to find the group conversing earnestly over the cold remains of supper. “He is sleeping,” she said in response to Har’s look of inquiry. She stood for a moment surveying the party, then put her hands on her hips. “As you should be! I hardly need another patient on my hands, what with only Alethia to help. And another is what I’ll have if you don’t rest after this night’s work.” She glared indignantly at Jordet and Har.

  “Oh, and I thought it looked like you were the one helping Alethia,” murmured Worrel provocatively.

  “Indeed I was, and would you have me let her wear herself out doing it all alone?” she snapped back. “Not that you would be thinking of any such thing; just look at the way you have been keeping these two sitting with your chatter, when it is as plain as the Tree they are both exhausted. You’d do better to make yourselves useful clearing up,” she finished with a sweeping gesture that included Tamsin, Worrel and the cluttered table.

  Tamsin shifted uncomfortably, but the small fury’s attention had already turned elsewhere. Despite a few half-hearted protests, Rarn managed to shepherd Jordet and Har into the second of the back rooms, where she left them with strict instructions to go to sleep at once. She gave them one final glare and closed the door firmly behind her as she left.

  In the front room, Tamsin and Worrel had taken the hint, and the dishes were being neatly stacked in a large bucket near the door. Rarn observed this with satisfaction, and informed the two men that she, Alethia and Murn would be taking turns watching over Maurin all night. Then she vanished once more into the first bedroom.

  “Whew!�
�� Tamsin commented with a chuckle. “I would sooner face a Lithmern patrol!”

  “The trouble is, she is usually right,” grinned Worrel sympathetically. “In any case, it looks like the floor for us tonight, my friend. And we had best turn in as well; it has been a long day’s work.” The two rolled themselves in their cloaks and settled in front of the fire.

  “At any rate, it is only for one night,” the minstrel murmured sleepily after a few minutes of trying to find a comfortable position on the stone floor. “Tomorrow for Brenn.”

  Midmorning of the following day found the travelers still firmly ensconsed in the cottage, and with few prospects of setting out that day. Maurin’s wounds had indeed been poisoned; he was delirious with fever. Once Alethia was obliged to summon Tamsin to help keep him in bed, for he insisted that they were under attack by Lithmern and tried to get up to fight them.

  The Wyrds could not delay their departure. After consulting with Jordet, Murn agreed to allow Worrel and Rarn to remain while she and Shallan went on to Eveleth with the Talisman. For this she apologized to Alethia, but getting the Talisman to Eveleth took precedence. Alethia, remembering her brief encounter with its powers, had to agree.

  Rarn was more disturbed by the development of her patient’s illness than she cared to show. After some thought and a conference with Alethia, she sent Har and Worrel out to gather wallas roots for an herbal concoction that she hoped would bring the fever down. Meanwhile, she and Alethia made do as best they could with cloths soaked in cold tea.

  It was a good walk to the hill where Jordet had said the wallas grew. Mindful of the urgency of their errand, the two hurried on in spite of the temptation to linger in the sunlit forest. The trees here were not the enormous growths of the Wyrwood, whose branches and leaves had so completely blocked out the sunlight. Here, the forest was almost open, and frequently they passed small openings, not quite large enough to call clearings.

  “There!” Worrel said suddenly, and pointed. Ahead of them the sun beat down on a hill, bare of trees but covered with a dense shrubbery of deep green, dotted with tiny, star-shaped yellow flowers. Har grinned and strode forward. In a few moments he was knee-deep in greenery, digging at the foot of a likely specimen.

  “Take care not to bruise the roots,” Worrel called from lower down the hill.

  “I will,” Har promised. He lifted the plant carefully and placed it in the bucket. Dusting his hands, he looked up and was surprised to find that his companion had vanished. “Worrel?”

  “Here,” came the response, but it still took Har a moment to locate him. When he did, he realized what the problem was. The deep green foliage matched the color of the Wyrd’s tunic and cloak almost perfectly. Coupled with his short stature and brown fur, the Wyrd had only to step onto the shrub-covered hill to disappear almost completely. Har laughed. “Take care not to get lost!” he called down. “I doubt I could find you if you fell asleep.”

  “Well, I doubt if I could miss you, even if you tried to hide,” the Wyrd retorted easily. Jordet had loaned Har replacements for the bedraggled finery in which he had arrived, and he was now attired in a tan costume that stood out strikingly against the dark colors of the hillside.

  “How much of this does Rarn want?” Har asked.

  “She gave us each a bucket; I suspect she wants them both filled,” Worrel replied. “Come, don’t waste time!”

  Har climbed further up the hill. There was no breeze. It was hot in the sunshine, even after he discarded his cloak, and the drone of the insects among the wallas-flowers was hypnotic. Once a wasp circled his head speculatively, but it soon departed for more profitable areas. The roots were not large, and filling the bucket took more time than Har had expected.

  Straightening up from digging the last root, Har wiped his forehead and looked around for Worrel. At that moment the Wyrd’s voice cut across the drowsy atmosphere of the hill from behind and above him. “Har!”

  Automatically Har’s head jerked in that direction. As it moved, something swished by his ear and hit the ground in front of him with a solid thunk. Simultaneously he heard the twang of the Wyrd’s bowstring.

  For a moment Har stood frozen, staring at the foot-long dagger buried halfway to its hilt in the sandy soil of the hillside. Then he turned, and was just in time to see Worrel leaping down the hill, bow in hand and another arrow already nocked. At the edge of the woods, the shrubs and lower branches of the young trees were waving in unmistakable sign of the recent, hurried passage of some large animal or person.

  Har immediately started toward the Wyrd, but he was hampered by the bushy wallas plants. By the time he reached the foot of the hill, Worrel had vanished. As Har stood indecisively, the Wyrd reappeared. “He is gone,” Worrel stated matter-of-factly.

  “Why not follow?” Har demanded.

  “First, he has a lead on us already,” the Wyrd replied. “Second, we must get these herbs back to Jordet and Rarn. And third, there are hoofmarks ten feet further in. It would be folly to follow a horseman on foot.”

  “Oh,” said Har, crestfallen.

  “I think it would be wiser to return at once. And your ear is bleeding.”

  Har raised a hand to his head and felt something sticky. Evidently he had not escaped completely scatheless. He shrugged; it could not be more than a scratch. He wiped it clean with his handkerchief and looked back to his companion. Worrel was already up on the hill, collecting the buckets of wallas-root. As he returned, Har saw that the Wyrd had also retrieved the dagger. This he handed to Har with a single word, “Lithmern.”

  “What else?” Har thrust the dagger grimly into his belt, and the two started back toward Jordet’s cottage. In spite of the loaded buckets they carried, they made much better time on the return journey. As they came within sight of the house, they saw to their relief that it looked as quiet and peaceful as when they had left.

  Rarn met them at the door. “At last!” she exclaimed, and without ceremony took charge of their buckets. She already had a pot of water hanging over the fire, and after rinsing the dirt from the roots she tossed them whole into the boiling water. Soon the front room of the cottage was heavy with a thick, sweet odor that drove the others into the clean air outdoors.

  “Ugh!” said Har, last to exit the cottage, as he waved away the last lingering traces of the aroma that had followed him. “I don’t envy Maurin one bit! It’s enough to make a man get well in self-defense.”

  “You were quick enough about your picking,” Jordet commented from where he lounged against the stone wall.

  “We had encouragement,” Worrel replied wryly. “A Lithmern knifethrower.”

  “Here?” Tamsin asked incredulously. Worrel nodded.

  Jordet gave the Wyrd a sharp look. “Continue,” he said.

  Har drew the knife from his belt and handed it hilt first to Jordet, who examined it and passed it to Tamsin. “Someone threw this at me this morning; if Worrel hadn’t shouted, it would have gone through my head. He got away on a horse.”

  “Unquestionably Lithmern work,” Jordet commented as he handed the knife to Tamsin. “It would appear that one of you was followed from Glen Wilding.” He looked first at Tamsin and Worrel, then at Har.

  “How could they know that we would send the Talisman on so quickly?” Worrel objected.

  Har snorted. “With two parties leaving Glen Wilding within a few hours of each other, it would not be hard for anyone to guess,” he said.

  Worrel looked at him with disfavor. “No one can watch Glen Wilding without betraying himself,” he said. “We know the forest, and we do not leave our home unguarded. There was no sign of any watcher; Murn asked before we left.”

  “No sign of a physical watch, perhaps,” Jordet said quietly. “But should the Lithmern have a seer, that would be unnecessary. Such a one could know all your councils from a comfortable distance, and you would not be likely to guard against such a threat unsuspected.” He paused for a moment, considering.

  “Fortunately,
the posts of the Keepers of the Wards must be protected at all times against such things,” Jordet went on. “They cannot know much of what has passed since your arrival.”

  “Here they would seem to be relying on physical observation,” Tamsin pointed out. “So they must know that Murn and Shallan left for Eveleth this morning.”

  “True, but is it likely that they will believe we have sent the Talisman on with only two to guard it?” Jordet said. “They must think the Talisman is still here, or they would not have attacked Har.”

  “You may be right,” Worrel admitted. “But in that case, what can we do?”

  “If they discover their error, the Lithmern will go after Murn,” Jordet said. “We must convince them that the Talisman remains here, and that Murn and Shallan are only messengers. If they are watching us with magic, I think I can foster that illusion. There may be some danger, but I think I can protect you until you leave for Brenn.”

  “That may be sooner than you think,” broke in a voice from the direction of the cottage. Heads turned to find Alethia standing in the doorway. “Maurin has drunk Rarn’s potion and is resting. I had no notion anything could work so fast; the fever has left him already.”

  “Wyrds are healers as well as woodwise,” Jordet commented. “Their manner of magic is suited to it more than ours. When do you think Maurin will be able to travel?”

  “It is too early to say,” Alethia replied. “Under normal circumstances, at least three days, but I have never worked with Rarn before, and it may be sooner. Is there need for haste, now that the Talisman is gone?”

  It was Har who answered, explaining briefly his encounter of the morning and Jordet’s suspicions. Alethia nodded. “Yes, we must go soon, and I am anxious to be home. But it would only delay us further if Maurin collapsed along the way.”

  “I suppose so,” Jordet said with a worried frown, and on that unsatisfactory note the impromptu conference ended.

  CHAPTER NINE