The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (27 page)

Either way, she intended to find out.

Her fingers ran gently over the head and mane of her mount, beneath its chin and down the bridge of its nose. She whispered all the while to the young gelding, letting the animal familiarize itself with her as she did with him. She inspected straps, buckles, and pouches, and verified the contents within. All that she had asked for had been provided.

“He is a fine animal, my lady,” the groom assured her. “The finest I can offer at this time.”

“So he seems,” she agreed.

“Is there anything else I can provide, my lady?”

“You will see that the regent gets my note?”

The groom bowed. “As per my lady’s instructions.”

“Good,” Marisha replied, taking hold of her mount’s lead rope. “I thank you, good sir, for assisting me on such short notice. Your reward shall be doubled upon my return.”

The groom bowed again. “Your gracious thanks are enough, my lady. Just please, return to us unharmed. Else His Majesty will have my head.”

Marisha smiled reassuringly and headed toward the exit, her steed in willing tow. The groom scurried ahead of her, to slide free the locking bar and crack open the heavy door.

A surprise awaited them both. A man dressed in travel leathers stood just outside beside a saddled mare. Marisha’s heart leapt to her throat. She looked to the groom for an explanation, but the poor soul seemed even more startled than she, stumbling backward into a small stack of hay.

“A bit late for a ride, isn’t it?” Allion asked.

“I might ask you the same thing.”

“You might,” Allion agreed, “although I asked first. Where is it you’re off to?”

Marisha glanced at her own tunic and riding cloak, suddenly self-conscious. She then squared her jaw, eyeing her friend evenly. “Don’t try to stop me, Allion.”

The man laughed. “Does it look like I came here to stop you?”

She looked again to the groom, who had picked himself up but stood frozen in place, staring at Allion as if fearing reprisal for his role in all this. The regent, however, ignored the man completely, his gaze fixed on Marisha.

“Your duty is here,” she reminded him.

“Yes, well, I’m tired of being the one to sit around while everyone else takes action in this.”

“What of your oath to Torin?”

“My oath was to look after you, remember? If I’m not mistaken, yours was much the same.”

“I meant the one concerning your defense of the crown. Will you leave this city to the wolves just to chase after me?”

Allion shook his head. “I’ve already made arrangements with Thaddreus. He has agreed, as First Elder and speaker of the Circle, to serve as regent in my stead.”

“But Torin wished—”

“Now that Rogun is gone, the danger to the monarchy is lessened. In any case, neither Torin nor I fear that threat half as much as we do the danger to you.”

Marisha was grateful for the cold breeze blowing through from outdoors, for it helped to control her flush. Admittedly, this scenario was even better than that for which she had hoped when deciding to set forth. Since Torin had left—and in some ways, before then—Allion had been her closest companion. In truth, she had
wanted
him to try to stop her. But she hadn’t dreamed he might offer to go with her, allowing them both to keep their oaths, one to the other, while yet doing what she must to be with her father.

Her eyes slipped to the bow slung across his back, and from there to the quiver of arrows nestled among his saddlebags. She would indeed feel better protected against the many dangers of the wild with Allion at her side. Except for Torin himself, and maybe Kylac Kronus, she could think of no one with whom she would feel safer.

Still, she forced a frown, letting him know that this was
her
journey, not his, and would take place according to the rules
she
set forth.

“I journey east,” she confirmed, “to join my father in his petition to King Galdric. If you mean to accompany me, I’ll have your oath that we’ll not deviate from that course unless we both agree.”

“If I intended to interfere,” Allion pointed out, “I’d have brought the Shield.”

“Your oath,” she insisted.

“Is given, my lady.”

Marisha failed to conceal her smirk. It felt good to see him like this, the hunter once more, no longer weighed down by the duties and trappings of an office for which he had no use. Even in the pale light, he looked fresher, more alive, than she had seen him in weeks.

“And you,” Allion said, addressing the mute stablemaster at last. “While it should come as no surprise, see to it that the Circle of Elders is apprised on the morrow of events here tonight.”

The groom bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

“And next time you agree to do the lady here a favor, take care not to do so behind my back.”

“Yes, my lord. Your forgiveness, my lord.”

“Carry on.”

The groom bowed again, then turned to Marisha and presented the open door. Marisha nodded and slipped through, then mounted her steed and brought it quickly under control. Allion watched her before doing the same.

“Are we ready then?” he asked, as the stable door closed behind them.

“We’ll want to keep some distance,” she advised. “If my father senses us too soon, he’ll send us right back.”

Allion looked at her and chuckled. “Stubborn as you are, I’d like to see him try.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind. Trust me, the less time we spend in that man’s company, the more comfortable I’ll feel.”

Marisha thought to offer a rebuke, but saw from his sly grin that he was expecting just that. “Then I should warn you,” she said instead, “his wrath is nothing compared to mine.”

“Is that so?”

She winked, then kicked her heels and started ahead toward the moonlit roadway. Allion followed, and together they set course for the gates of the city, their thoughts already on the journey beyond.

A
SHARP STING, FOLLOWED QUICKLY BY ANOTHER,
jolted him from his cocoon of darkness. His eyes opened, and he found himself in the middle of a dream—a memory. He recognized it at once as one of the defining moments of his life, in which he had first set eyes on his future wife. She regarded him now as she had then, hovered near as he lay upon his back, a reassuring look on her unblemished face. Her blue eyes were bright and inquisitive, her blond hair full of captured light.

“He’s coming to,” she said.

Another sting, followed by light waves of pain that receded quickly. His gaze shifted to find another woman, this one with tanned skin and freckled cheeks, who crouched beside a gaping tear in the left leg of his breeches, through which the skin of his thigh was visible.

“I told you that would work,” the second woman boasted, rubbing her fingers to brush away a sheaf of hairs plucked from his leg.

He looked away, quickly back to the first.

“Your name,” she prompted.

“Torin,” he recalled. He was aware now of the seasoned smells of earth and woodland, and of a heavy mist that clung to his sodden skin and clothes. This was not the Lewellyn village of Feverroot, he realized. And the woman kneeling over him was not Marisha. “Where am I?”

“Among the dead, I should think, were you not speaking to me.”

Torin blinked, then gathered his elbows beneath him. The world spun as he propped himself upon them, and he squeezed his eyes against the unsettling motion. When he felt it safe to do so, he opened them again, and cast about in swift survey. He found himself at the base of a wooded slope. Snow was piled about, save for the melted hollow in which he lay, littered with gravel and boulders and the deadwood of fallen trees. Beneath him, the ground was clear of all but needles and moss—wet, but soft, and warmer than he would have expected. It was cooling rapidly, however, its chill and that of the wind seeping through him in the form of a wracking shudder.

A suspicion gripped him, and he reached toward his breast. The Pendant was gone, as was the chain that held it. His eyes flew to his weapons belt—it, too, was missing.

“Is something wrong?”

Torin looked back to the first woman, surprised again at how remarkably similar she appeared to Marisha. Her face was leaner, her lips thinner, pressed firmly between smile and frown. Her hair hung straighter, though that might have been the weather. The most telling difference was in her eyes, dimmer than Marisha’s, and ringed ever so slightly with reddened circles. The gleam they reflected was almost feral, bespeaking an animal wariness he had never seen in those of his lady love.

“I—I wore a pendant,” he stammered.

“Hmm,” the second woman murmured thoughtfully. “Did it look anything like this?”

Torin shifted to find the freckled companion with the chain of the Pendant around her neck. She hooked a thumb around its length to pull the Stone itself free of her forest tunic and into view.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” She beamed.

Torin reached out reflexively.

“Only, this one is mine,” she said, tucking it away again.

“Stop it, Jess,” bade her companion. To Torin she said, “Your effects are safe. Those we found on you, anyway.”

“My sword?”

Jess shifted, reaching behind her to produce his weapons belt. She planted the tip of the scabbard like a standard into the ground, one hand resting upon the Sword’s gemstone hilt—its leather wrappings removed—and gave him a wink.

Torin glanced back and forth between the pair, trying to hide a rising sense of panic. It occurred to him that they were most likely bandits, to have stripped him of his possessions before reviving him. But if that were so, why revive him at all? Why not slit his throat and be on their way?

“A precaution is all,” Marisha’s doppelganger claimed. “For your protection.”

“
My
protection?”

“So that we wouldn’t necessarily have to kill you.”

Her earnest manner smothered the smile that might otherwise have formed on Torin’s lips. He regarded her evenly, more curious than afraid, yet uncertain that it would be safe to disbelieve her.

“If that’s the case,” he said, and coughed, finding his throat dry despite the damp, “may I have them back?”

“Not before you’ve answered my questions.”

Torin looked to Jess, who grinned roguishly, then back to the other. On the surface, her voice was smooth and pleasant, laced with a tone of sympathy and the hint of ready laughter. And yet, there was an unmistakable edge to it as well, as if she might turn on him at any moment.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “What is it you care to know?”

“How you came to be here, for one.”

He stole a fresh glimpse of his surroundings. “I’m still not even certain where
here
is.”

Soulful eyes regarded him as they might a wounded animal. “This will go better if you do not play games with us.”

Torin’s features soured, letting slip his irritation.

“If true,” she allowed, “then tell me where you’ve come
from
.”

“Alson,” he replied, “a land of the island continent Pentania, from across the Oloron Sea.”

The woman nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Go on.”

“I was headed west through the Dragonscale Cleft when an avalanche took me. That’s all there is to tell.”

“An avalanche, was it? Then why were you not buried amid all this snow? Why aren’t you dead?”

Torin didn’t know. He had no recollection of anything that might have occurred between this moment and that in which he had tumbled from the mountain trail above. Although an involuntary glance toward Jess and the talismans she now wore betrayed his best guess.

He looked back hurriedly, but the gesture was not missed.

“I see.”

“Come, Fawn,” Jess urged, “let’s take him to the Nest.” Her own voice was steady and strong, wild eyes agleam with mischief.

Again Torin’s gaze darted back and forth between these two, Jess and Fawn. “The Nest?”

“Our home,” Fawn admitted. “We are Fenwa. Nymphs, to the rogues of these lands. Have you heard of us?”

Torin frowned and shook his head.

“This is our forest. All who enter unbidden are deemed trespassers.”

Jess’s broad grin seemed suddenly predatory. Torin looked back to Fawn.

“As I told you,” Torin said, “I arrived quite by accident. If you would be kind enough to show me the nearest road, I’ll be on my way.”

Fawn considered. “I think our Granmarch should be the one to make that decision.”

“Granmarch?” His frown deepened.

“The leader of our clan. We can’t report your effects without reporting you. Unless we claim to have found you dead. And I’d not do that without making it so, for risk of another finding you later.”

Torin scowled. “Then why not return them to me? You need never have found me at all.”

“Because there’s more to this than what you’re telling me,” Fawn said solemnly. “But it’s not my place to judge, except to determine whether or not you may be worthy as a Catch.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means we’re inviting you to accompany us, back to the Nest.”

“As your prisoner?”

“As our guest.”

“How long will this trip take?”

“Have you somewhere else to be?” Jess laughed, raising an eyebrow.

“I have business to the north. The shorter my delay, the safer we’ll all be.”

“Ooo,” Jess purred, “he’s good.”

Fawn nodded. “I’m sorry, but coming with us is the only way you’ll leave this forest alive. Yes?”

He didn’t seem to have much of a choice, and so accepted their offer, such as it was. It was either that or make a grab for his weapons, hoping their threats were a bluff. A foolish move, given his condition and what little he knew of them. Better, he thought, to journey with them for a time and see what more he could learn—not only about these Fenwa, but also about where he had ended up. After all, now that he had lost Moss, he had only the faintest idea as to where he was going.

He could only hope he wasn’t swimming into even deeper waters.

Fawn offered him her hands. After a wary glance, Torin accepted them. Though delicate in appearance, their sinewy strength was unmistakable as she rose and pulled him easily to his feet. As they came to, Jess leapt back, quick as thought, keeping her distance. The reaction seemed to Torin not so much a precaution as a warning.

For a moment he stood where he was, head spinning anew. He grimaced against an assault of aches and bruises made more sensitive by the biting cold. Even a moment’s brush of the Sword’s strengthening warmth would have been most welcome, but he wasn’t going to ask again.

“Can you walk?” Fawn asked.

Torin nodded. “Lead the way.”

Jess smirked as she turned her back to him, then climbed the snowbank on its shallow, downhill side. Torin waited for Fawn, until she waved him forward with a nod. He didn’t argue, but fell into step behind her companion, marching up and out of the melted hollow, leaving the other to take up the rear.

He found it difficult to tell fresh wounds from old. His body was a wreck, and any chance he might get to rest seemed a long way off. Nevertheless, he hid his discomfort as best he could, trying hard not to look or feel a victim.

“You’re lucky we found you,” Fawn said after those first brief moments of silence. “We don’t often patrol these higher elevations.”

Torin grunted, not quite ready to share her assessment. He glanced back, peering through a break in the trees to trace the line of slopes and bluffs from which he’d made his sudden descent, clear up to the peak that loomed invisibly now above a stone-gray ceiling of clouds. It was indeed remarkable that he hadn’t suffocated, or been pummeled by the tons of icy debris with which he had barreled down the mountainside. He looked again at the crater in which he’d been discovered, then to the Sword, slung in its scabbard over Jess’s back. It was either that or the Pendant that had saved him—or both. But how had their power been triggered? He had seen each defend its wielder against magical assault, but that didn’t seem to apply here. Before that, there had been the incident at the jailhouse in the city of Leaven, where he had seen the Sword defend itself against physical assault. That must be it, he decided. Though he knew not how, it must have done so again here.

If only he could understand how it had happened, perhaps he could unlock the mystery of how to summon those inner fires at will. He would wield then not just an invincible blade, but power of a kind to bring down a dragon from the sky, raise or level mountains…

Perhaps even prevent him from falling captive to a pair of forest-dwelling girls.

His attention shifted from the Sword itself to she who carried it. Jess’s frame was lean and sinuous, with limbs much the same. She was the taller of the two, with chestnut hair hanging down like a veil. She trod lightly upon a thin crust of snow that became thinner as they headed downslope, following no discernible trail, but weaving confidently between the slender boles of evergreen trees and the scraggly brush grown up around them.

“Nymphs,” Torin recalled aloud. “Imaginary fairy creatures, are they not?”

“It’s just a nickname,” Fawn admitted. “Given us by those who’ve spread rumor of our ways.”

“Oh? And what rumors are those?”

“They say we are seducers of men, that we lure them to their deaths after taking what we wish.”

Torin nearly tripped on a snow-covered root broken free of the earth. “Any truth to these rumors?”

“Some,” Jess said, turning to grant him another wink.

“Mind you,” Fawn added quickly, “the usefulness of such rumors. This is the Fenwood—or Widowwood, as some have come to call it. As I said, it is our forest. Stories like that serve to dissuade many from entering, granting us a measure of peace from those rogues who might otherwise defile our lands.”

Torin held back his response, trying to decide whether he should feel more—or less—at ease. They certainly had made no effort to seduce
him
. Then again, was he not traipsing blindly alongside them into whatever fate they held in store?

“I seldom give stock to rumor myself,” he replied finally. “So who are you really?”

Jess gave Fawn a cautionary glance.

“It might be best if we allowed our Granmarch to answer those questions,” Fawn said, seeming to agree. “Such knowledge now might jeopardize any chance of your release.”

The phrasing of her words was not lost on him. Nor did he miss Jess’s snickering laugh. Though this abduction was far more civil than that suffered at the hands of Raven’s pirates, he remained a prisoner unlikely to be freed. At least Raven had been willing to divulge the expectations and demands under which he was to be held. These “Nymphs” offered only blithe smiles and left him to guess.

They traveled in silence after that. The girls surrendered nothing more as to who they were or where they were going, and Torin didn’t ask. His thoughts had turned wholly toward making his own escape. He wondered
how quickly Jess would react if he were to rush her from behind. He wondered if he might hold one or the other hostage against her companion. But neither option seemed any more likely than it had upon starting out. He was not bound. He was not gagged. And yet he was as powerless as if he were.

They continued on through the dripping boughs and the sopping mist. Eventually, the snows disappeared and the brush began to thicken. The earth leveled out as they left the foothills, but remained rugged and misshapen, cut through by meltwater streams and bramble walls. Unless Torin misread the signs, they were headed north, which pleased him. Should he have to suffer this detour, at least it wasn’t taking him completely off course.

Midday came and went. He thought constantly about asking how much farther they had to go, but did not want to betray any sign of nervousness. His body was stiff and battered; his wet clothes, heavy and torn, chafed his skin. Though his stomach growled, he did not ask for food. Twice, Fawn shared water with him from her own skin. He thanked her, and pretended this was enough, doing his best to appear at ease.