Keir (17 page)

“I would never leave you, Grandmother.”

The Matriarch smiled and kissed her forehead.

* * * *

It was night in Adalucien, but the city didn’t sleep. Merchants and stock-men moved their goods and animals while the streets were clear of people. Night-hawkers sold alcohol and food on street corners, male and female prostitutes sold themselves, and the underworld traded lives and valuables as one and the same.

Quin, androgynous in her cloak, walked among them, her pace sure and steady. She traveled as though invisible, seen but regarded with neither interest nor aversion. The nightlife of the city passed her by like the smooth flow of river around rock.

As she walked, she listened to the gossip on the street without seeming to eavesdrop–a fragment here, a snippet there. There was plenty of talk on the trial and acquittal of the Lady Serena, of how the Blue Demon had materialized in court to terrify the aristocracy, of his capture and imprisonment. She heard tales of the magic he had performed, causing the Lady Kisella to speak on his mother’s behalf. She also heard that a reward was offered for the capture of the notorious Red Witch and allowed herself a smile at her new nickname. The street talk reassured her. It confirmed Keir was alive, held for trial at dawn. Quin hoped to be long gone before then.

A passing conversation caught her attention: a stableman leading a team of six horses asked a trader for another route to the palace, having found the main road blocked by cattle being herded in the opposite direction. His horses were skittish and fretful, tossing their heads at the approaching beasts and blowing nervously. A debate broke out as to the best way, leaving the man apparently more confused than ever. Quin slipped alongside the team, reaching out to sooth the chestnut mare nearest.

She addressed the stableman in a clear and steady voice. “I can lead you there, sir.”

The man seemed uncertain, but as the mare calmed under Quin’s touch, he nodded curt thanks. “And your fee for this service?”

“Entry to the palace, sir,” she replied. “And somewhere safe to sleep tonight.”

“Fair enough.”

The deal struck, Quin began to lead him down the nearest side street away from the lowing, grumbling cattle, clicking encouragement to the horses.

“You know something of handling them?” he asked gruffly.

“I used to work around them,” Quin said, still admiring the mare. “She’s a beauty.”

“She is my best,” he admitted with a grudging smile, landing a heavy pat on her neck. “Fast as the wind. Here.” He passed two ropes to her as the road narrowed. “It will be easier if they are split.”

Quin accepted the lead ropes and fell into step with her charges. She took another turn down an even tighter street, the horses bunching together and unshod hooves making dull clopping sounds on the worn cobbles. A third turn brought them to a wider fairway, and they walked side by side again. The chestnut mare nudged her shoulder, her breath hot on Quin’s skin and smelling of hay. Quin knotted one hand into the animal’s mane, enjoying the walk and the horse’s company. Odd moments of peace like this were one of the reasons she kept traveling. Sometimes, they were the only reason.

Caught in a sliver of tranquility, she allowed her mind to wander, searching for a sign. She sensed Keir nearby, but found his thoughts hard to read, a flicker of pain in the depths of unconsciousness or sleep. She tried to speak to him and discovered she had been barred from his mind.

Perturbed, she concentrated on her path, taking several more turns before the street ahead opened onto the square before the palace. She allowed the stableman to take the fore, hoping to fade into anonymity as his assistant as they approached the closed entrance. Guards were stationed on the crenellated top of the short gateway tower overlooking the entrance.

One stepped forward and called down to the horseman. “Identify yourself. What is your business here?”

“Six new horses for the commander,” he called back gruffly.

“You are late,” retorted the guard. “You were expected this afternoon.”

“One fell lame on the way. It is not as if I could carry it here,” grumbled the man. “Do you want these horses or not?”

After a whispered conference with a companion, the guard shouted down to those manning the doors. “Open the gate.”

Once within the gatehouse, the portcullis to the barracks was winched up, giving them access to the stables outside the court. Quin and the stableman led the horses through, accompanied by a guard who brusquely pointed them on their way and told the horseman he could sleep in the hayloft until dawn.

As the horseman grumbled into an argument over food, Quin slipped away.

* * * *

Keir shivered in his cage, aching with the cold. Sleep called to him, but he resisted it. Lying down on the pallet would just expose more of his bare skin to the chill air and hold him from any rest. His mind turned to Quin. Would she come for him?

No, she will not risk herself over my foolishness.

The thought growled in his mind, much as hunger did in his stomach. Had she not risked herself for his sake before? He knew her to be a brave and loyal friend.

She will never find me.

And yet he could feel her presence at the back of his mind. She must be close. She must be coming for him.

Ridiculous. She is not going to rescue me. I do not deserve to be rescued.

Something rustled near his cage and his muscles tensed. Rats, most likely. A cold night with them would not be a comfortable one. Drawn by his warmth, they would be only too happy to seek shelter against his body, and he had no desire for their restless fidgeting and flea-infested hides snuggled close to his own.

“Keir?”
a familiar voice murmured in his head.

“Quin!” he replied in a hoarse whisper. The sound of her voice lifted his spirits like the first day of sun at the end of winter.

“Shh! Don’t talk!”
Crouching down close to the bars, she flashed him a crooked grin and her gaze searched his face as if reassuring herself he had suffered no harm. Seemingly satisfied, she moved to the door of his cage, removed something from her belt and poured its glutinous contents over the single large hinge.

Another small capsule was snapped open and she took a tiny glass dropper from it, placing a few drops along the edge of the lock with exaggerated care. It sizzled and smoked with an acrid scent, before clicking apart. Quin and Keir eased it open enough to allow him to slip through, trusting the oil she had used to prevent any creaking that would betray them.

Once clear, she maneuvered the door shut and wedged it with a stone. She took Keir’s hand in her own–her fingers reassuringly warm–and tugged him toward the stable block.

Inside, a single glass-shuttered lamp hung on the main wall and gave a dim but warm glow to the wood. The smell of horses and hay filled his nostrils, the rustle of animals stirring contentedly met his ears.

As Quin shut the door behind them, a gruff voice called, “Is that you, girl?”

Quin gave Keir a hard shove sideways that sent him tumbling into an empty stall full of straw. He held his breath in fear of discovery, and made no sound or movement–even though the course stems stabbed into his bare skin like dozens of blunted needles–as her voice in his head cautioned him to remain silent at all costs.

“Yes.” Quin’s voice was calm though he could feel her apprehension.

The sound of shuffling footsteps on straw-covered cobbles made itself heard over the thudding of his heart as he lay in wait, poised to jump to Quin’s defense if needed.

“Where did you disappear to? It is not safe to wander around the palace, you know. The guards do not care for it.”

“I had some private business to attend to.”

“Fair enough,” the man said, and Keir saw the shadow of the stableman blocking the doorway as he drew close to Quin, passing her a small wrapped bundle. “Brought you some food, as thanks.”

“Thank you.”

Keir prayed the man would not look to the side, would not see him amidst the straw and summon the guards in panic. He fought to keep himself utterly still, terrified the slightest rustle would once more condemn them to capture.

“Well, I shall bid you goodnight then,” the man said. “I am sleeping in the hayloft next door. You can sleep in here, but our welcome expires at dawn.”

He gave her an abrupt nod of farewell and left. Quin remained locked in place, letting the far door thud closed behind him before she went to Keir. Finally loosing the breath he had held so tightly, he sat up, rubbing where the straw had spiked him and picking a few stray pieces from his hair.

“Who was that?” he whispered as she settled herself down next to him.

“The kind soul who smuggled me in,” she informed him with a trace of guilt, opening the bundle he had given her. “I’m afraid I took advantage of his good nature.”

“The straw prickles,” Keir complained, shivering.

Quin touched his shoulder. “Keir, you’re freezing!” Hastily, she removed her cloak and threw it around his shoulders, pulling it straight.

“Thank you.” He tugged it tighter around himself as Quin vanished, reappearing with a ragged horse blanket which she laid over the top. With the cloak already carrying borrowed heat from Quin, the warmth was instant and he sighed in appreciation.

“Are you all right?” she asked him then, sitting back down and investigating the food she had been given.

“Yes.” Even though seeing her face had filled him with joy that she had cared enough to follow, remorse chewed at his gut. “You should not have come after me.”

“Don’t be silly,” she scolded with a smile. Then it faded. “You didn’t really think I would leave you here? Did you?”

After a moment he shook his head, and she smiled again.

Liar,
mocked his inner voice.
You are not worthy of such loyalty.

“I am sorry. I should have asked for your help. At least told you my intentions.”

“Yes.” Quin smiled without recrimination. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” he managed. “I am too used to regular meals now.” He accepted the piece of bread she offered, taking a large bite. His last meal seemed a long time ago now.

“Keir, is there any part of the palace wall that isn’t guarded at night?”

“The East Tower,” he said slowly, talking around his food, “but that is only because it is part of the palace wall. There is no walkway behind it.”

“Any windows we could get through?”

“No. It is the bell tower, so there are only arrow slits. There is one entrance at the bottom and no exit until you reach the bell itself.”

“So you can get out of the belfry?”

“Yes, but there is nowhere to go unless you can fly.” He hesitated, a thought occurring to him. “You cannot fly, can you?”

“Unfortunately not, but we can climb down.”

“From the belfry? You will never find a rope long enough, it is too high.”

“What about the bell rope itself?”

“Perhaps,” he said cautiously, considering the idea. “It would be unfortunate to reach the end and learn that it is too short.”

“Worse than unfortunate, but we’ll have to try. They’re not letting anyone out until dawn, at which time they’ll discover your escape and we’ll have no chance. Are you ready to go?”

Keir swallowed the last piece of bread in haste and shrugged off the blanket as he rose. “Quin, my mother is here in the palace.”

“I’m sorry, Keir, we don’t have time for a visit.”

“She is not a guest. She is a prisoner.” Keir could not disguise the entreaty in his voice, painfully aware of the additional sacrifice he was asking of her. Her expression hardened and he had to look away. Disappointment dropped a heavy weight into his chest and his heart constricted. He would have to make the attempt alone. It was too much to expect of Quin.

“Do you know where?” she asked.

Hope blazed fiercely in his chest and he smiled his gratitude to her, seeing her matching grin in return. “The North Tower.”

“Take us there.”

* * * *

The Emissary waited in his chamber of shadows, dressed in gray and wearing his silver mask. In front of him, a patch of darkness grew in size and intensity, stretching to form a humanoid shape that gradually solidified, revealing a tall, reptilian male. Having materialized in a strange and sinister place, he adopted a defensive posture, red eyes warily surveying the murky surroundings. He glared at the Emissary, his profound distrust obvious.

“Welcome to my ship, Minister R’hellek. I am the Emissary,” he lisped. “No harm will come to you here.”

The minister lowered his guard somewhat and took a more relaxed stance, perhaps seeing less peril in a solitary opponent.

“Some warning would have been appreciated,” he rumbled. “Unexpected teleportation could be misconstrued as kidnapping.”

“My apologies. Such was not my intent,” the Emissary assured him, bowing.

Under the feeble light, R’hellek’s dark-green scales appeared almost black. Raised gray ridges encircled his crimson eyes and the points of his ears barely showed where they lay pressed close to the sides of his hairless skull. He was dressed in black–a plain, one-piece outfit from neck to knee-length boots–outlining a broadly-built and well-muscled physique. The rigidity of his posture hinted at a past as a well-trained soldier, defiant even in the face of the unknown.