Children of Enchantment (14 page)

“Nydia Farhallen?” Obayana leaned into the conversation, startling Roderic. “Forgive the intrusion, Lord Prince, but it’s
been twenty years since I heard that name.”

“Indeed, Lord Senador,” answered Brand. “It’s been twenty years or more since that name was spoken beneath this roof. My father
kept her at Minnis until…” His voice trailed off.

“Until what?” interrupted Roderic. “Why is Amanander suddenly interested in a woman Dad knew so long ago?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Brand stared out over the crowded hall, a faraway look on his face. “I remember her.”

“Every man who’d ever seen her would remember her,” said Obayana.

“Why?” Roderic was astonished by the wistful expressions on the faces of both men.

“Because she was beautiful.” Obayana sipped his wine. “Oh, there are many beautiful women, especially here in Ahga, but the
Lady Nydia surpassed them all as the sun outshines the stars. When she walked into the room, it was as if every other woman
faded from sight. She was gentle and kind, but I don’t think her beauty brought her any happiness. She often struck me as
sad and more than a little lonely.”

“She was pledge-bound to Dad,” said Brand. “Ostensibly that was the reason he kept her at Minnis after he married your mother,
Roderic. But everyone knew the real reason.” Brand cocked an eyebrow at the question on Roderic’s face. “He couldn’t bear
to be away from her. She’s the reason he built Minnis—there was some suggestion from the Bishop of Ahga that Nydia was a witch.
In fact, there was a trial right after Mortmain’s Rebellion. He sent me to rescue her. I took her up to Minnis, and that very
year he began the construction of the fortress you know. Minnis was just a hunting lodge before that. It couldn’t have withstood
a hunting party. Now it could withstand ten thousand men.”

“At the least,” said Obayana. “I have never been there, but I have seen the plans.”

“All that for a—a consort?”

“She was never his consort,” answered Brand. “Oh, it was clear she shared his bed. And while she did, he never looked at another
woman. But then, right before you were born, there was some sort of quarrel, some falling out. I was gone in those years—fighting
the Harleys in Arkan—and I never really knew the story. But by the time I came home, Nydia was gone from Minnis. And Dad never
spoke of her again.”

“Where did she go?”

“You know the high tower north of Minnis, the one that rises up over the trees?”

“The witch’s tower?” Roderic nodded.

“It’s said that Nydia is the witch who lives there.” Brand shook his head.

“But why—why if Dad loved this woman, if she was so beautiful—why would she go there? And you say she was pledge-bound? What—“

“There was always something more to their relationship than either of them ever said,” Obayana mused. “But it was generally
believed that Nydia had a brief affair with Phineas and bore him a child, although Phineas has never by word or action confirmed
that.”

“Phineas?” Roderic could not contain his disbelief. This was too much information, too many mysteries all at once. He shook
his head as if to clear it. “But why Amanander’s interest in this woman? She’s probably dead by now. And if Phineas has never
confirmed the rumor, perhaps his child died as well.”

“I agree,” said Brand. “But after Amanander is safely on his way back to Dlas—where you had better order him immediately—I
think it might be wise to send a patrol up to the tower north of Minnis and just check out whatever might be there.”

Roderic took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes,” he nodded at last. “Very well. And as for Amanander’s guards—”

“I’ll have them watched, Lord Prince.”

Roderic looked beyond Brand at Amanander. Before him, the food on his plate looked untouched, but he reached for a large red
apple from a bowl by his elbow. He glanced up at Roderic and his mouth curved into a semblance of a smile. He raised the apple
to his lips, and as he opened his mouth to take a bite. Roderic thought he saw it move. Roderic gasped. The air seemed thick,
as though the very nature of it had changed, as though it lacked the element to sustain life. He tried another breath; his
lungs would not accept the air. He glanced around the table, and in that instant the feeling vanished, and no one else seemed
to have noticed or been affected.

Amanander sat motionless, the thing held to his mouth. From Roderic’s viewpoint, it appeared to be some small creature. He
sank his teeth into it and red blood stained his lips. Roderic felt a chill of revulsion. He blinked.

Amanander smiled as he chewed and tossed the core of the apple into the bowl.

The babble of voices in the great hall could not reach the dank tunnels in the subterranean levels beneath Ahga Castle. The
squat figure paused as it emerged from a tunnel, cocked its cloaked head, and continued to wade through waist-deep water.
Light shone in a steady beacon from the heavy cylinder in its hand. Overhead, leathery wings flapped and sinuous bodies slithered
as the darkness of centuries was penetrated. Little splashes sounded here and there as small creatures hurried out of its
way.

In the middle of the open cavern, the figure paused. Walls of broken, crumbling masonry rose to chest level. The intruder
tucked the cold-fire lantern into the cloak’s voluminous folds, and scrambled up onto the crumbling deck. It smoothed its
wet robes and withdrew the lantern. It trained the beam in all directions in a wide arc, and instantly there was a scurry
and a flutter of activity. Light reflected off the shattered surfaces of glass and tile centuries old. Satisfied, the Muten
slipped through the old archway, where a flight of broken steps led up to the next level. An ancient sign, hanging at a crooked
angle, proclaimed
“CONGRESS.”
The Muten settled on the old staircase and, focusing its beam of light into the yawning abyss above, closed its eyes and began
a low, crooning chant.

Fifteen floors above, Amanander paused on his way to Gartred’s rooms. Although she had to be a bit bruised from his attentions
of the night before, she had seemed quite amenable to his suggestion that they continue their relationship this evening. He
hoped he had satisfied every one of her dark desires. He knew that she had his. Almost.

It would never have been his choice to take her on the cold rough stones of the battlement. But who was he to gainsay a lady’s
wishes? Certainly not when the lady was so willing as Gartred. At least she had been in the beginning. Toward the end, he
had sensed a certain reluctance to experience some of her darker fantasies. But he never allowed second thoughts to interfere.
And there were a few things he’d like to introduce to her tonight, a few things she hadn’t even begun to dream of. Things
better done in the privacy of a bedchamber, where her cries wouldn’t be heard quite so readily, or if they were, easily dismissed.
He had alerted his bodyguard to discourage any well-intentioned inquiries.

Now the mindcall sounded louder and louder in the inner recesses of his head, and he peered over his shoulder. The corridor
was deserted, only a few candles burned in the sconces set high in the walls. He listened intently for another minute more,
and then with a frustrated sigh started off for the steps, moving as quietly as a predator through the darkened castle.

He heard tired voices coming from the servants’ quarters and the kitchens, and drew back into the shadows with a curse. But
the servants were too busy with the monstrous task of cleaning up after the feast to notice him.

The mindcall burst impatiently in his brain, the summons loud and urgent. He shut his eyes and concentrated as Ferad had taught
him, pulling the energy out of the dust motes which swirled in the air. He blasted a message back and was satisfied to feel
the echo of the other’s pain.

Finally, he threaded his way through the kitchens, past the weary scullions and exhausted maids, through the baskets and barrels
of provisions, the shining utensils, the heavy pots and pans, and bunches of herbs hanging from huge hooks in the ceiling
beams. On a bench in a low passageway, a scullion snored. Amanander glanced at him with contempt and continued on his way.

Beneath the kitchens were the crypts, where the bones of long-dead Ridenaus moldered into dust. A steady beam of light beckoned
him on. His boots made a quiet shuffle across the uneven floor, and mice skittered and rustled as he passed. At the top of
the steps, he paused. “Well?”

The Muten at the bottom jumped to attention. “Gr-Great Lord! My name is—”

“I don’t care who you are. I know who sent you. What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong, Great Lord?” The Muten’s voice was sulky, petulant.

For answer, Amanander reached down and hauled the Muten up by the neck of the robe. Its secondary arms flailed wildly, and
it gave a muffled shriek. “I know something’s wrong when your master sends a miserable runt like you into Ahga. Give me your
message or I’ll pry it out of your mind myself.”

The Muten closed its eyes and swallowed. “Please. Put me down.”

Amanander set the creature on the top step, so that he could stare it in the face. He felt the fear skitter through its mind
as though the emotion were his own.

“My—my master bids you have a care, Great Lord. A messenger has gone to the Pr’fessors of the College—my master says the laboratory
is discovered—“

“By whom? Who sent the message?”

“The one called Vere.”

Amanander turned away with a curse. “Vere? That useless, sniveling, coward? Vere has discovered Ferad’s whereabouts? Has this
information reached the Elders at the College?”

“We—we—”

“We?”

“I—I don’t know, Great Lord,” the Muten whispered. “He—he reached the one called Jesselyn and died there of the purple sickness.
But the one called Everard took the message—“

“Jesselyn? Jesselyn Ridenau? And Everard Ridenau? My brother and sister?”

The Muten nodded vigorously.

“By the One. And Vere? What of Vere?”

“He has gone, Great Lord. Into the desert, into the mist. My master—“

“Your master is a fool.” He pushed past the Muten, and glared at the great crest of the Ridenaus carved into the granite of
the closest tomb. “It is no longer safe for him to remain in Dlas—” Abruptly, Amanander broke off and slammed his fist against
the stone. “And Vere—Vere must be found. Do you understand?”

The Muten nodded eagerly. “I will tell him, Great Lord.” He turned to go, but Amanander stopped him.

“Wait.”

The Muten cringed.

“I want you to wait. Depending upon what happens in the next few days, I may need to leave Ahga and go looking for Vere myself.
I will need you to take the message back to Ferad.”

“My brothers search for the one called Everard. My master says that when he is found, he will be slain. And the one called
Jesselyn—she, too—“

“Good.” Amanander turned on his heel, and the stone ground beneath his feet.

“Great Lord?”

“What will I do for foods? For warmth?”

Amanander did not pause. “Your people are accomplished thieves, aren’t they? The kitchens are up this way. You’ll do well
enough, I’m sure.” His voice echoed eerily as he faded into the shadows.

Silent as a wraith, Amanander made his way back through the shadowed halls, into Gartred’s chamber. With a terse command,
he dismissed her serving woman and waited until one of his guard had escorted the protesting servant out of the apartment
altogether. When her surprised admonitions had faded down the corridor, he stripped and slipped noiselessly into the bed beside
the sleeping Gartred. He was tired, for the little trick he had played on Roderic earlier had sapped more of his energy than
he had been willing to admit. The information which the Muten had brought was unsettling, and he was beginning to feel the
strain. He had to find out the answers to his questions about Nydia Farhallen.

He was becoming more and more frustrated. He had probed Gartred’s mind readily enough and discovered that the hen knew almost
nothing. Everyone else—Phineas, Brand, any of the Senadors—who might remember Nydia and have the information was too well-guarded
in his presence. But perhaps Gartred might still be of service.

Deftly he tied both her wrists together above her head and tethered her hands to the bedpost. He bent over her breasts, lapping
and nipping with tongue and teeth and smiled as she began to writhe and moan. When he had teased the nipples to hard, high
peaks, he took a candle from the bedside table and dripped a little of the metled wax onto the sensitive flesh. She came awake
with a little scream, startled to find herself bound, and then relaxed with a sleepy smile when she recognized his dark head.
“Lord Prince,” she murmured.

He smiled. That was Roderic’s title, but he wore it better than Roderic ever would. For answer he clamped down on one nipple,
raking it between his teeth so hard she gasped. Without further ceremony he thrust his thumb and forefinger into both her
lower passages. She went rigid. “Not ready for me, lady? At dinner you were as eager as a mare in heat.”

She moaned and arched her back a little.

He plunged into her mind as readily as he had her body, searching for something, anything that might be turned to his use.
A name surfaced unexpectedly. “Jesselyn Ridenau?” He spoke the name aloud.

“Mmm.” Gartred shuddered as he withdrew his hand and forced her legs apart, and reached again for the candle.

He remembered Jesselyn, a dark-haired child, gravely beautiful—some five or six years his junior. She had spent her childhood
here—and at Minnis—in the years when Abelard kept the witch-woman by his side. Perhaps she would know Nydia’s fate.

“You can talk to her yourself,” Gartred grunted beneath his assualt.

Amanander pulled away. It was not uncommon for the mindlink to work both ways. “Ask her myself?” he repeated. “What are you
talking about?”

“Jesselyn. She’s on her way here. Isn’t that what you just asked me? I thought you knew. She’s got some urgent information
for Roderic—he’s sending a special escort for her tomorrow.”