Rhapsody, Child of Blood (55 page)

And then there's the fire.

What about the fire?

Come here. Take off your scabbard and leave it there.

There. So what?

Now have a look at the fire.

I see it.

Good; now walk slowly toward it.

Gods, what's happening?

It's you, miss. See? But if you don't stop it, you're gonna burn up my lit'le den 'ere, maybe set the whole forest ablaze.

Rhapsody closed her eyes, and calmed her spirit. She concentrated on the fire.

'Be at peace," she said.

At once the flames responded, the bonfire fed by the books and scrolls died down to flickering embers.

From the door she heard cursing and within her heart she felt a tug at the edge of her perceptions. At once the fires began to rise back to life.

Panic shot through her, and in response the flames burst forth even higher. She realized her mistake and quelled the flames once more, but she felt effort in the act, as if another will was struggling with hers. She gripped the sword tightly and tried to channel her thoughts and feelings through the blade. The effect was immediate. The fires were snuffed out, and a howl of frustration and pain came from the doorway.

Rhapsody moved in front of the barricade to face the enemy who had brought forth the black fire. Through the billowing smoke all she could see was an indistinct outline.

It paused for a moment and then was gone. She doubted he could have gotten any clearer view of her than she had of him, though her hood had fallen back, revealing her face and hair, shining in the light of the diminished fire. She expected that the sight of the sword had something to do with his hasty exit. She and Grunthor raced to the door, but the shadowy figure was nowhere in sight. Upstairs she heard the children wailing.

't't.chmed had gotten as far as the long hall before he saw the gray-cloaked man racing toward him. The approaching figure's left hand held a black longsword, with a single distinctive white stripe down its blade. He felt a tingle of power from the sword, and a wave of nausea from the figure.

The man stopped long enough to look the Dhracian over quickly. Achmed could not make out much of the man's features beneath the war helm and cloak, but he could clearly see startling blue eyes and an insolent smile.

With a single motion Achmed shouldered his cwellan and drew the long, thin blade that he carried. He seldom used it, seldom had the need, but the complete failure of the cwellan to strike its target made him decide not to risk wasting time with another missile attack. The commander of the now-dead troop smiled more broadly, nodded, and jumped through the outer window.

Dropping his sword, Achmed shrugged, bringing his cwellan back into his hands, and ran at once to the shattered pane. The man was rolling to his feet. Achmed took aim, but the sudden appearance of the white wolves in the hall turned his attention to his own defense. The great beasts ran at him, but neither had a chance to leap to the attack before Achmed downed them with the weapon of his own invention.

When he turned back to the windows, the man with the great gray mantle was gone.

-

Che three companions sat around the low-burning camp-fire, waiting in silence for the children to nod off. They had decided to chance sleeping in the woods at night rather than risking the man in gray returning with reinforcements.

Grunthor had gathered a number of blankets, which Rhapsody wrapped around the children. The strange group then headed immediately back toward Haguefort, Stephen Navarne's keep.

They traveled well after dark, until at last they realized that the youngest of the children could no longer continue. It was only then they made camp, gathering around two small fires that Rhapsody made. Soon the children, tired and bewildered, fell off to sleep, five of them in Rhapsody's lap or clinging to her sides.

Finally, after she was sure the last child was asleep, Rhapsody looked at Achmed.

'We're not going to make it back," she said. "With the children, we don't have a chance in these woods in the snow. It's only a matter of time before he hunts us down."

'I know."

'We're going to have to find a sheltered place to hide them, and one of us will have to go back alone."

'There's an abandoned bear den not too far from 'ere, north by northwest, a league and an 'alf," commented Grunthor. "It's big enough, and dry."

A moment of puzzlement, then delight shone on her face in the firelight. "Oh, that's right! I'd forgotten about your Earth lore. I'm sorry, Grunthor." She thought back to the scene at the House of Remembrance, and the destruction the hooded man had wreaked. "That bastard had fire lore, a lot of it."

'I noticed," Achmed said.

'

'Is troops was pretty well trained, too," Grunthor added, "not just a bunch o'

brigands, you know. They was professionals."

'I noticed that, too."

'I think he was the person referred to in that contract. I think he was the Rakshas,"

Rhapsody said reflectively. The fire crackled and simmered down to match the quieting of her mood.

'Why?"

'Well, to begin with, he referred to the house as being his. In the contract it mentioned that the Rakhas was now the Master of the house. I got the impression from the contract that whatever the Rakshas and its master were, they were somehow demonic. The fire he threw at us felt twisted, evil."

'That wasn't the only thing that felt twisted," Achmed said. "I felt the same sense of evil when I saw him through whatever lore let me see the House. Besides, that was black fire. How many times have you seen black fire, Grunthor?"

The Bolg looked at Achmed silently for a moment, and then turned away, shaking his head slowly. Rhapsody looked from one to the other.

'What? What is it?" she asked nervously.

'Just that you're right," Achmed answered. "Black fire is associated with denizens of the Underworld. When I saw that thing we are calling the Rakshas, I felt sick—not before. I didn't sense it from a distance, only when I looked into its face. I think that if it were a demon, I would have felt its presence earlier, but it definitely is somehow touched by demonic forces. I'm not certain how yet, though. I would have to see it again."

'Let's try to avoid that, eh?" Grunthor suggested. Achmed nodded.

'But what's to stop it from doing the same thing again?" Rhapsody patted one of the children in her lap who had begun moaning in her sleep.

'Not us. We'll leave that to Lord Stephen's army. At least we can tell them who—what—to look for now."

The emerald eyes that looked up in surprise caught the firelight and refracted it like gemstones. "Couldn't you try to track it?"

'I did. I got nothing. I couldn't follow its path. So even if we wanted to go searching for it, it's gone now. Besides, we have fifteen kids with us. Do you want to bring them along on this little hunt?"

Rhapsody fell silent. They continued to stare into the flames for a few moments longer. A rustling noise could be heard on the other side of the fire as one of the children turned over.

She thought about the children and what they had endured. She hoped that they had prevented it from occurring again, but she somehow doubted it. Still, Achmed was right; their first task was to return the children to their homes, or at least to Navarne, where Lord Stephen could be responsible for them.

Achmed passed the journal he had been reading to Rhapsody for her opinion. She caressed the hair of the child who clung to her, his head on her shoulder, as she read.

Finally she looked up.

'This is the post-evacuation report, from when the Firbolg overran Canrif at the end of the Cymrian War four hundred years ago."

'Yes."

The glittering green eyes looked him up and down. "So?" she asked, her brows drawing together. Achmed said nothing, but rose and stirred the fire. "What, Achmed?"

When he still didn't respond, understanding came into those eyes. "Oh, tell me no. You want to go there, don't you?"

The look that met hers was piercing. "I believe that's been the understanding all along, hasn't it?"

'I suppose," she admitted grudgingly. "But now that we know these people have the same map and the same idea, I'm not so sure it's a good idea anymore."

'Anymore? You never thought it was a good idea. But let's think clearly; these bastards aren't in Canrif, they're here 'Who said they aren't there, too?" she interrupted.

'—and, unlike us, they aren't Bolg."

'Speak for yourself. I'm not Bolg, either."

'And as a result there are any number of places you can choose to live and be welcome. There is only one such place for us, and that's Canrif. Grunthor and I are getting mighty sick of having to hide and skulk around these human lands. The Bolg will accept you far more easily than your kind will accept us."

'Of course they will," Rhapsody said nervously. "As supper."

'Look," Achmed said impatiently, "have you got somewhere better to go? I told you I'd take you to the Lirin land, Tyrian, but you decided to come with us. Have you changed your mind? If you have, I'll point the way and you and the brats can head out now. Bring her down, Grunthor."

Rhapsody stared at him, not comprehending the last comment. The giant Bolg leapt nimbly to his feet and darted out of the firelight, returning a moment later with a squirming bundle under one arm.

It was the teenager named Jo, caught on the brink of escape and swearing in language that both impressed and shocked the Singer. It was the cant of the street, gutter-talk; she had used it herself from time to time at Jo's age. The girl must be a street child. It explained the attitude.

Grunthor plopped Jo, backside first, into a large snowbank and regarded her in amusement. "Now, then, lit'le miss, where you be off to? You late for the royal ball?"

The girl struggled to get up, but the huge hand that came to rest on her head prevented it. She slapped at Grunthor's paw and glared at him.

'I'm not going back there," she snarled. "Where, Jo?" Rhapsody asked.

'Navarne. I heard you talkin' about it. I'm not going back there. Let me up."

Rhapsody gently disengaged herself from her clinging sleepers and made certain they were warmly covered. Then she rose and came to where Grunthor was sitting, his hand on the pale blond hair of the flailing teenager's head.

She looked the girl over. The teenager was plain efface, thin and gangly, with a full bosom and angular chin, easily a hand's breadth taller than herself. Jo's eyes were pale, watery blue, but they had depth. Rhapsody felt as if she was looking at herself many years before, in those unhappy days alone on the street. She felt her heart swell with a fondness beyond reason. "You have no parents, do you?" "No," said the girl defiantly.

"Let me up, you big, ugly swine."

Grunthor slapped his chest and laughed aloud. "Ow, you cut me to the 'eart," he said merrily.

'Don't make fun of her. Let her up," Rhapsody said. When the girl was free she turned the daggers in her gaze toward the Singer, then her face went slack, and she said nothing. Rhapsody bent down beside her.

'Why don't you want to go back to Navarne?"

'Because I'm wanted for theft, and I don't want to lose my hand."

Rhapsody blinked in astonishment. "Lose your hand? Have you ever seen anyone lose their hand in Navarne for theft?"

The street child's mouth opened defiantly, then snapped shut rapidly. "No, but everyone knows that's the punishment."

The Singer smiled. "Ah, yes, good old Everyone, the world's wisest man. I don't believe Lord Stephen would allow a law like that in his realm."

'Yes he would. He's an arse-rag."

This time all three laughed. "I'm sure your assessment of him is very astute, given what intimate friends the two of you are," Rhapsody said. Her face grew serious, seeing the panic that was creeping into Jo's. Despite her defiance, Rhapsody knew she was terrified.

'I'll tell you what, Jo; how about if I tell Lord Stephen that you're my sister? His children and I are quite fond of each other, and I think that would be sufficient for him to spare your hand."

The girl stared at her. "You'd do that?"

'Well, only if it's true. I can't lie, I'm afraid; against my profession."

Jo scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

'It means I'll adopt you as my sister, if you're willing, and then it'll be true, and Lord Stephen will overlook your crime."

'Gods," muttered Achmed.

'Is this an 'abit you forgot to mention?" Grunthor asked.

'Yes, I guess it is a habit of sorts," Rhapsody said to the giant, grinning broadly. "It's a good thing I adopted the two of you. The only people in the whole world I would ever put up with this much abuse from are my brothers."

'Well, Oi always thought there was a physical resemblance, particularly between you and me, Yer Ladyship."

'What do you say, Jo?" Rhapsody was growing excited. "Want to be my sister? I've always wanted one, and never had one before. We even look alike."

Jo snorted. "You must be joking."

The Singer was taken aback. "Well, no, actually. We're both blond and light-eyed."

'Yeah, you could be twins," said Grunthor, laughing.

'Shut up," Jo said to him. Grunthor's eyes twinkled affectionately.

'Actually, lit'le miss, you do remind me a great deal o' the Duchess 'ere. You got a mouth on ya. Oi suggest you take 'Er Ladyship up on 'er offer: otherwise, it's back to Navarne with you."

'Hey, sis," said Jo hastily.

Rhapsody clapped her hands in delight. "Marvelous. Well, it probably couldn't hurt to tell you my name is Rhapsody. What's yours?"

The girl looked at her as if she were an idiot. "Jo," she said, her voice dripping with disgust.

'Jo what? Is Jo short for something? Do you have a last name?"

The girl wrapped her arms around herself and glared defiantly at her.

'Bugger off."

'Jo Bugger-Off. An odd name."

'It suits you," Achmed said to the girl. The defiant glare faded somewhat beneath an unwilling smile.

'That's it," said Grunthor approvingly. "She's got a sense o'