Binding Spell (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms) (2 page)

After I had seated myself, he called out something in his own language, and a moment later another strange man entered the room, holding a cup of glazed earthenware, which he handed off to me without a word before disappearing once more. I looked down into the cup with some suspicion, but from the smell it held nothing more dangerous than hot spiced cider.

Still, now that I was finally more or less comfortable, I could attempt some magic in my own defense. I murmured the quick words of the spell under my breath, but the liquid in the cup remained the same. If it had been tainted in any way, it would have turned black as the night outside.

So I lifted the drink to my lips and took a swallow, then another. The heat of it coursed through my chilled body.

“Better?” the stranger asked.

“Yes,” I said, slanting a sideways glance at him through my lashes. He continued to watch me with that intent stare, but what precisely he was looking for, I couldn’t hazard a guess. Surely he didn’t expect even the Crown Princess of Sirlende to be at her best after the sort of journey I had just suffered.

Then he stepped around in front of me, blocking the light from the fire. In silhouette like that, his expression was difficult to see clearly, but it seemed to me he frowned, dark brows pulling down over the gleaming honey-colored eyes. After a few seconds he shifted once more so that the fire light shone full upon my face. His frown deepened as he stared down at me. For a few seconds he stood there, jaw clenched, and then he uttered something I couldn’t understand but which probably was some sort of oath — and not the politer sort I’d heard my mother make when the cook burned a batch of bread. No, it sounded more like the profanity I’d once overheard down at the docks when one of our porters dropped a wine barrel on his foot.

I stared up at the stranger, uncomprehending, as he strode away from me to the door, which he opened at once. Apparently my erstwhile kidnapper had taken up guard duty just outside, for he peered in, eyebrows lifted. The young man snapped out an angry question. His subordinate hesitated, then made some sort of reply, looking very much like he wished to be someplace else. But something in his words caught my attention, unintelligible as they might have otherwise been. I was quite sure I caught the word
Arkalis
as a form of direct address. The family name of the Marks of Eredor? It came to me that this angry young man must be Kadar Arkalis, the ruler of North Eredor himself.

My eyes widened, and I looked down at once into my mug of cider so he couldn’t see my expression.

After a few more heated remarks, he slammed the door shut once again and turned back to me. “Very well,” he said, and although his tone was still taut and angry, he appeared to be back in control. “I know you aren’t Princess Lyarris. Who are you?”

I wanted to ask him how he knew for certain, but obviously something in my face had given me away. No doubt Princess Lyarris’ and my features were not terribly similar, despite our general resemblance to one another. Of course I had never met her, while it was possible he had actually seen the Crown Princess at the Sirlendian court once upon a time. I had heard that her eyes were dark, while mine were sea-grey, the same color as my father’s. But I knew better than to let my curiosity get the better of me. I would have to tread cautiously.

Perhaps if I told the Mark who I really was, he would simply let me go. If he’d been angling to capture the Crown Princess, then ransom — at least of the ordinary sort — clearly wasn’t his motive. I had not given any hint that I had guessed at his identity, so perhaps there was a chance, if however slim, of getting out of this unscathed.

“My name is Lark Sedassa,” I said, after a perceptible pause.

The level brows lifted slightly, but his expression did not change. “The exile’s daughter?”

I felt somewhat surprised he had heard of my father, or of me, but I only nodded. “Yes.”

For a moment he was silent. He crossed his arms and then seemed to nod to himself. “Do you know who I am?” he asked at length.

I shook my head. “No, my lord.”

He actually laughed. “You are a poor liar, Lark Sedassa. I saw your face as I was speaking with Lamakh. You may not understand the
corraghar
tongue, but you caught something.”

The
corraghar
. Of course. The hill tribe of North Eredor, sometimes referred to as the “people of the wolf.” This Kadar Arkalis’ father had been one of them, and that was why the sight of Kadar’s golden eyes had awoken a whisper of memory within me. I had never seen one of the
corraghar
in person before, although I had read about them.

Denials rushed to my lips, but I had a feeling they would be useless. So I faced him squarely and replied, “You are the Mark of North Eredor, my lord.”

“Very good, Lark. So let me ask you another question. If our places were reversed, what would you do?”

“I’d let me go,” I said at once.

That reply elicited another laugh. “No doubt you would. But if such a thing were not feasible?”

Despite the warmth of the room, another of those trailing fingers of cold ran down my spine. “You certainly have no need of a ransom.”

His smile faded. “You might be surprised. Unlike Sirlende, my kingdom is not overburdened with wealth. However, that was not my intent, as you may have guessed.”

“It would seem you are at an impasse, then, my lord,” I remarked.

“Perhaps…perhaps not.” He ran a thoughtful finger along his chin and gave me an appraising look. “Your family is very powerful.”

“A family of wine merchants?” I asked, my tone all innocence. Of course I knew he could not be referring to the prosperous but simple folk on my mother’s side of the family. True, my great-grandfather on that side had been the second son of a baron, but I doubted that mattered much to Kadar Arkalis.

“Don’t be disingenuous. Your mother’s kin are of no import, of course, but the Sedassas…the duchy of Marric’s Rest is one of the greatest in Sirlende. And your brother has already ridden forth to take control of the Sedassa estates and titles?”

“You are very well-informed, my lord,” I remarked, but I found I did not like at all where this conversation seemed to be heading.

“I make it my business to know things. So perhaps I gambled and did not win the prize I sought, but that does not mean I cannot console myself with a lesser reward.”

The nausea of the ride reasserted itself. I swallowed the sour lump of fear before replying, “I fear I do not know what you mean, my lord.”

“Do you not? If you would prefer that I spell it out for you, then I will do so.” Kadar stepped closer and stared down at me, and once again I realized how thin my shift was. I had to fight to keep myself from crossing my arms over my breasts; I did not wish to attract his attention any more than I already had. “I sought to take the Crown Princess for my own, but fate seems to have deprived me of that prize. However, I have you, sister to the man who will soon become one of Sirlende’s greatest lords. Who would willingly give up the chance at such a connection?”

Who indeed? I sat there, mute, fearing what was about to come next and desperately hoping he meant something else altogether.

“You are weary, and so we will pass the night in this lodge,” he went on. “Have no fear — you will not be compromised. My guards will attest to the fact that I spent my night here in front of the fire, while you slept in the bedchamber.”

The smallest sensation of relief crept over me. Perhaps my fate wouldn’t be quite as terrible as I feared. But then my hopes crumbled into dust at Kadar’s next words.

“After all,” he said, “I want my bride’s virtue to be unimpeachable. We will ride tomorrow for my capital, where we will be married. And then the great lords of Sirlende will be forced to treat with me as an equal.”

I found I had no strength to reply. I could only continue to stare up at him, my mouth dry, and wonder what on earth I could do to extricate myself from this impossible situation.

K
adar was
as good as his word. After our exchange, he showed me to the lodge’s one sleeping chamber, whose door he locked firmly behind me. I saw little of use in there, although the low chest at the foot of the bed did yield a clean shift to replace my dirty one. A further search revealed nothing else, not even a gown or a pair of shoes. Surely he had known I — that is, the Crown Princess — would have come here directly from her bed and would need to be outfitted. But perhaps those items were being kept elsewhere, held until the moment of leave-taking. No doubt he had supposed that a woman of high birth would not dare to make an escape attempt while wearing only her chemise.

He hadn’t counted on me, however. I’d walk out of there naked if I had to. Not that I hoped things would come to such a pass. The Mark also hadn’t counted on his captive having certain forbidden talents; much care had been taken over the years to ensure that knowledge of my magical gifts was limited only to my immediate family. True, I often wished I possessed more skill, and that the spells in my arsenal were more powerful, but oftentimes outright force is not necessary, when the same goals can be accomplished by stealth.

The sleep charm was simple enough, and used very little of my energy. I lay down on the bed, closed my eyes, and began the deep breathing exercises my father had taught me to center myself and collect the power I needed to effect the spell. Because I had to radiate calm for the charm to work, I thrust all thought of Kadar’s intentions out of my mind, and instead concentrated only on the soothing solace of deepest sleep.

Still with my eyes shut, I let my consciousness move away from the room in which I lay, out to where the Mark of Eredor slept on the divan in front of the fire. I murmured the words, and his slumber deepened to the point where one would have to drop a heavy weight on his head to stir him. Then I moved on to where Lamakh stood guard outside the front door. Although awake, he was very weary from his long ride. It took little enough effort to work the charm on him as well. His eyelids drooped, and he sagged to a messy heap across the doorstep.

The last two men I found in the kitchen, and again it was but the work of a moment to increase their natural weariness to the point where they both succumbed as well. Both their heads fell with an audible crack against the kitchen table. Oh, dear. Well, they might have a few bumps and bruises in the morning, but otherwise they would awaken unharmed.

Once I knew the household would not be roused by my movements, I climbed off the bed and went to the door. Yes, Kadar had locked it, but it was a simple mechanism, and I knew I could bespell it with little problem.

“
Sorichar
,” I whispered, and at once I heard a clink as the lock released and the door swung outward.

So far, so good. I moved out into the short corridor and then on into the front room, where Kadar’s snores emerged from behind the high back of the divan. His high boots tempted me as they dangled over the worn upholstery. It was cold outside…so very cold. Even a pair of over-large boots would serve me better than to go barefoot in the freezing mud. In his spelled sleep, he would never know of the theft until long after I was gone.

I grasped one boot and began to tug…only to have a bronzed hand grasp me by the wrist. Kadar Arkalis sat upright and demanded,

“What, precisely, were you planning on doing with my footwear?”

I
let go
of the boot as if it had scorched my fingertips. Kadar sat upright, those odd golden eyes surveying me with a sort of amused suspicion. “Planning a little expedition, were you?”

“I — ”

His gaze flickered past me to the bedroom’s open door. “That was locked.”

“It didn’t catch,” I lied. The last thing I wanted was for him to suspect me of possessing any powers out of the ordinary; he might have caught me now, but I refused to give up. My magic could still possibly help me…as long as Kadar didn’t know anything about it.

“Indeed.” He swung his still-booted feet off the arm of the divan and stood. “If you are so eager to leave, then we might as well set out now.”

He couldn’t be serious. “But your men have had no time to rest — ”

“Your solicitude does you credit, but it is of no matter. They have ridden farther on less sleep, I assure you.”

His raised left eyebrow mocked me. Of course he must know that my reluctance to set forth had absolutely nothing to do with the sleepless state of his servants and everything to do with my desire to delay our arrival in North Eredor for as long as possible.

“And what of me?” I asked — quite coolly, I thought. Or at least I hoped. “Am I to have no rest?”

“I believe your attempted theft of my boots proves that you require no further sleep.”

I knew then I could say nothing to change his mind, so I only set my chin and looked away from him. He had fairly caught me. Why my spell had fallen so lightly on him, I did not know. Such things were never foolproof, even in my father’s far more capable hands. Perhaps I had forgotten a syllable, or spoken the words too quickly.

Or perhaps Kadar Arkalis’ will was simply too strong. According to my father, some people could be notoriously difficult to enchant; their spirits were not easily bent. I hoped that was not the case here. My future would be bleak indeed if it turned out my captor was one of the rare few immune to those helpful little charms.

He strode away from me and flung open the front door of the lodge, then prodded the prone form of his retainer none too gently with the toe of his boot. “A fine guard you make!” he snapped.

Lamakh rolled over and stared up at Kadar with bleary eyes. Realization must have set in, for after a second or two he scrambled to his feet, stammering what sounded like apologies.

“Enough,” said his master. “We ride within the quarter-hour. Splash some cold water on your face and get moving.”

At once Lamakh nodded. Without looking at me, he hurried off toward the kitchen, calling out something in the rough
corraghar
tongue.

“It would seem that your ride has wearied my servant,” Kadar observed dryly. But the golden eyes narrowed a bit as he surveyed me.

“We did ride very hard and fast, my lord.” Despite my present circumstances, it was only with difficulty that I kept my lips from quirking.

“Indeed.” He sent me another one of those quick, sidelong glances before continuing, “You, of course, will require something a bit more substantial for the journey.”

As I watched, he moved to a large chair pushed up against the room’s far wall. I noticed that the chair was heaped with saddlebags, as if someone had dropped them there in haste. He pushed two aside, then undid the buckles on one and pulled out a wad of blue cloth.

“Perhaps not as fine as what you’re used to, but it will keep you warm on the ride to Tarenmar. Come, take it.”

I stepped forward and took the bundle from him. It turned out to be a gown of blue wool, plainly made, with no embroidery or trim to enliven the design. But the fabric itself felt soft and warm. I knew I would be grateful for it once I was back out in the cold air.

But I had no intention of thanking him for this small bit of courtesy. I only nodded and began to head back toward the bedchamber, where I could clothe myself in privacy. Kadar followed, and I paused at the doorway and inquired in acid tones, “Do you intend to watch me dress, my lord?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “Only that, as the latch on this door seems to be somewhat unreliable, I felt I should stand guard here so that none of my servants might walk in on you by chance.”

A very transparent ploy, but one I didn’t feel inclined to protest. Without another word I went into the bedchamber and shut the door firmly behind me. As it closed, I heard Kadar let out a low chuckle.

How wonderful that I should be such a source of amusement to him. I scowled, but at the moment there was very little I could do save pull the gown over the clean chemise I had donned earlier. At least the borrowed dress had side lacings, and so I was able to fasten it myself. Perhaps a spell existed that allowed one to back-lace a gown without help, though I had never heard of such a thing. But I would have invented one on the spot rather than ask Kadar to assist me with the procedure.

Luckily, such lengths were not required. It only took a few minutes for me to be more or less properly attired, although I would have given quite a lot for a pair of stockings and some sturdy shoes. I guessed that my captor would be unlikely to grant such a request; no doubt footwear and escape attempts were already connected in his mind.

I had no hairbrush and no mirror, but I ran my fingers through my tangled curls and tried to sort out the unruly mess as best I could. If I’d had even a leather thong I would have braided my hair back to save it from further depredations on our journey, but I had a feeling that Kadar would not trust me with such a thing. Most likely he would suspect me of trying to use it on him as a garrote.

He gave me a mocking little smile when I re-emerged. “You are speedy. I appreciate that in a woman. The horses are ready — come with me.”

As no other options presented themselves, I did as he bade me and followed him out of the lodge and into the freezing night. At once I wondered if he expected me to ride without the protection of a cloak, but it seemed he had thought of that as well. He approached a tall horse that was only a greyish blur in the dismal pre-dawn dark and pulled something from a saddlebag.

“You may have need of this,” he said, and draped a heavy fur-lined mantle across my shoulders.

I said nothing, but only shrugged the garment into a more comfortable position so that its fur collar rode closely against my neck. It did feel good. I could almost ignore the icy ground beneath my bare feet.

Lamakh moved toward me, even as Kadar swung into the saddle of his dapple-grey. Only one other horse waited out in the cold, a dark shape that might be a bay in daylight. Was Lamakh not coming with us?

I understood why there were only two horses soon enough; the manservant took me firmly by the waist and planted me on the saddle in front of his master. At once Kadar’s arms tightened around me.

“What on earth are you doing?” I demanded, and began to wriggle in his grasp so that I might free myself and drop safely down to the ground.

But those encircling limbs might have been made of iron for all the good my struggles did me. “You did not think, my Lady Lark, that I would allow you your own mount? Not when you’ve already proven that you are likely to flee at the earliest opportunity?”

He must be mad. “I can’t possibly ride hundreds of miles like this!”

“It is not as far as you might think. You may wish to refresh your knowledge of geography, once we are in my capital.”

How he knew that impugning my education was the thing that would infuriate me the most, I had no idea. In stony silence I ceased my writhing, and his grasp eased somewhat. He said a brief word in the
corraghar
tongue to Lamakh, and we set out at a brisk trot.

Even with my sturdy gown and the fur-lined mantle, the air felt as chilly as a grave. Or perhaps shock and exhaustion had finally caught up with me. Back in the lodge my situation had felt almost unreal, or at least something I might have the power to change, but now…

…now every mile brought me closer to Tarenmar, the capital city of North Eredor, and to Kadar’s stronghold. The little magic I had learned could not help me here, for I knew no spells that would allow me to strike at my captor. I had learned meditation and protection, not the great magics that had sundered Eredor north from south and which had led users of magic to be hunted almost to extinction. My gifts, which once had been a source of some pride to me, now seemed as nothing. I would have been better served to have my brother Thani show me a few tricks with a dagger.

Would Kadar at least show me the courtesy of a real wedding ceremony, or would he be content with a few quick words spoken in front of witnesses, followed by a bedding as soon as possible so he could lay claim to me forever?

At that thought tears began to sting at the back of my eyes. Or perhaps it was the wind. In any case, I blinked angrily and tried not to think of such things. But it was very difficult not to, with Kadar’s arms holding me in place, and my legs bumping against his with every movement of the horse. This was far more intimate contact than I had yet had with a man. It didn’t take much effort to go beyond those rough, almost impersonal touches to the even more intimate connection a husband and a wife would share.

But perhaps it would not come to that. Perhaps, despite his musings on the benefits of having a Sedassa wife, Kadar only desired a simple ransom, and the threat of marriage was merely that — a threat, and nothing more. After all, he had as much as admitted that his kingdom was not a wealthy one. But I knew better than to pin my hopes on such a meager promise.

I tried not to think of all the women throughout history who had been forced into marriage, whether by abduction or because of politics or simple greed. Indeed, I could count one such in my family tree, if I looked back far enough.

Seresa of Gathmir had been captured by a long-ago lord of Sedassa, in a time when many of the lands that bordered Sirlende proper had struggled to maintain their independence. Those small kingdoms were inevitably swallowed up by the burgeoning Sirlendian empire, sometimes through conquest, sometimes through diplomacy, and sometimes — as in Seresa’s case — by abduction and forcible marriage.

When I first read an account of her life I had found it quite romantic, just the thing to stir the imagination of a young girl who found her own existence to be rather dull. For although Seresa had been taken by force, it seems she was treated with great courtesy by the Sedassa lord who captured her. Young and handsome, Daranic Sedassa had vowed not to make her his bride in truth until she could declare in all honesty that she loved him. As she did, over the course of time, taking his name and joining Gathmir’s lands to his. In fact, she came to love her lord and her adopted homeland so much that in time she served as a protector for their estates when Lord Sedassa went off to war.

Now, how much of this was actually true, and how much of it had been embroidered upon by historians sympathetic to the Sirlendian cause, who could say? The passage of time tends to distort all tales, but I had always loved Seresa’s story, and found myself glad that her blood flowed in my veins. I had never stopped to think how terrifying it would be to find myself in that situation, to be at the mercy of a man who saw me only for what my lands or family connections were worth. Somehow I doubted Kadar Arkalis would show me the same consideration Daranic had given his bride.

At least my captor exhibited little inclination for speech; the miles flowed away behind us, even as the sun rose to our right and the landscape became clearer. Under less miserable circumstances, I might have enjoyed my surroundings, for the land had a majesty altogether alien to my Southern-bred eyes. Mountains, snow-capped even in early autumn, reared their granite-grey heights before the rising sun, and great forests covered the horizon to the left. A wide river ran parallel to the road; I guessed it must be the Arandor, swollen from the snow-melt of the Opal Mountains.

Off to the northeast I saw a dark blur on the landscape that, as we approached, resolved itself into a large village. As we clattered our way across a bridge that traversed one of the Arandor’s lesser tributaries, squawking geese and chickens announced our arrival.

Kadar slowed his horse to a walk, then murmured low in my ear, “We are now in North Eredor. These are my lands, and these are my people. You would do well to guard your tongue.”

I hadn’t thought he would ride so brazenly into a populated area if we were still in the hazy disputed border lands between North Eredor and Sirlende, but his admonition still irked me. Perhaps in the back of my mind I had thought I might be able to appeal to a stranger for help, but logic told me that no commoner would be likely to thwart the wishes of his own ruler. True, the Mark rode accompanied by only a single retainer, but he was safe enough within the borders of his own land. His late mother had been a beloved leader, and I had heard nothing to indicate that his people didn’t feel the same way about her son…whatever my own feelings on the subject might be.

We approached a sturdy two-story building of grey stone with a dark-shingled roof. At the tether rail outside, Kadar stopped his horse and gave me a not-so-gentle shove so that I slid out of his lap and down into the dirt. I missed a dubious-looking pile by only a few inches and glared up at him.

But he gave me no time for recriminations, because he immediately dismounted and took me by the arm, leaving Lamakh to secure the horses.

Raised in a family who sold their wares to inns around South Eredor, I recognized the building’s purpose at once. This establishment differed from those I had seen in my homeland in that it boasted a series of long, scarred oak tables rather than the round ones I knew, but other than that they were not materially different. A variety of patrons crowded those tables, their mugs probably filled with cider rather than ale, considering the early hour. From somewhere I smelled the familiar scent of frying bacon, and my mouth began to water. How long had it been since I last ate? Almost two days, at my best count.

Kadar called out to a tall, grey-haired man who had just emerged from behind the bar, his hands full with mugs. “Sirdahl, you old scoundrel! See the wife I’ve captured? She’s a beauty, is she not?”