The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (25 page)

Morgin looked back at the bones and said, “Salula. Or rather, his host. Turns out I didn’t kill the demon, just the human body he haunted.”

Jack said, “Guess you’ll have to kill him again.”

Morgin thought of France and winced inwardly.

They rode east until the sun set, then stopped, lit a small fire with what little wood they could scrounge on the plains, and bedded down for the night.

25
Seeking the Prophesy

BlakeDown refused her?

Walking casually through the market outside the walls of Penda, Chrisainne stopped and pretended some interest in a display of lace doilies.

No, Your Majesty. He didn’t refuse AnnaRail outright, but argued against every point she tried to make. I could tell that she and Theandrin were quite frustrated by it all.

The workmanship in the doilies was actually quite good.

Excellent!
Valso said.
Now I need BlakeDown to escalate the situation further.

The woman behind the table displaying the doilies was a plain cow of a peasant. She perked up at Chrisainne’s interest.

I’m concerned there, Your Majesty. Theandrin and ErrinCastle are pressuring him to act expediently. And he and Theandrin had a horrendous row after the Elhiyne’s left. I’m sure it was about exactly that.

Chrisainne didn’t really need another doily, so she smiled at the women, turned and continued on.

Damn! I need BlakeDown to act.

She slowed her pace. She dare not enter the castle grounds while in communication with Valso.

I think I can influence him, Your Majesty.

Good girl. Do whatever it takes.

Valso withdrew from her mind.

••••

Theandrin stood at the window of her sitting room looking down on the castle yard, her jaw clenched with frustration. Someone had triggered her charm-wards at the gates, someone of Vodah sympathies. She’d immediately rushed to the window and saw a few armsmen who had just passed through the gates walking into the yard. There was no one else close enough to have triggered the wards, and while she took note of the armsmen’s faces, both were of low rank. They’d be absolutely useless as spies, could provide nothing more than rumors and base, castle gossip.

She stood there for quite some time trying to understand what had gone wrong. With her years of experience, she knew her spells and incantations, knew that her wards wouldn’t have falsely triggered, and yet apparently they had. Once activated, they were now useless. She’d have to recast them.

She was about to turn away from the window when Chrisainne walked through the gates into the castle yard. Theandrin had noticed her before, walking out or back in, and as she thought back, she realized the girl had recently begun visiting the market outside the castle quite regularly. Chrisainne had reached the middle of the castle yard, and she was carrying no bundles. Perhaps she’d not found what she was looking for, or had just done a little casual shopping with no real intention of buying.

Vodah! Theandrin had not paid any attention to the girl’s lineage. Could there be some Vodah in her background? When a woman took a husband and moved into his clan, as her loyalties shifted to that clan, her magic and powers naturally took on the new clan’s aura. It worked the other too, if for some political reason a man moved into his wife’s clan. True loyalty carried with it a powerful tint. But if Chrisainne’s allegiance hadn’t changed . . . Could she have triggered the wards on her way out?

Theandrin decided she’d have to look into the girl’s background, find out her original clan, and learn a bit more about her past. And she needed to keep pressure on the girl for more and better information.

••••

Standing at the window in her room, NickoLot looked down on the castle yard below, waiting with growing impatience for DaNoel to take his turn at sword practice.

Since planting one each of her silver and lead charms beneath DaNoel’s bed, NickoLot had had to listen to the constant background din of his activities when in his room. The companion to the silver charm rested against the skin between her breasts, suspended by a chain about her neck and hidden beneath her dress. The silver charms weren’t that strong, so the message the one in his room transmitted to its companion was most often just a weak impression of his activities.

The signal grew stronger when strong emotions or feelings were involved. One night, just after crawling beneath the blankets of her own bed, the sending grew strong and powerful and she thought she might be on to something. But then she realized DaNoel was just masturbating, and the thoughts he transmitted were quite disgusting. That night she lifted the charm away from her skin and placed it on the stand beside her bed, which dampened the signal nicely.

Today had been different. It had been midmorning, and she’d gotten so used to the background din of his activities it was like ignoring the drone of a fly buzzing near one ear. And then one single word had stuck out clear and sharp:
Valso
. Why the Decouix king, and why so emotionally charged?

When DaNoel began his turn at sword practice NickoLot turned immediately from the window and made her way down to his room, careful not to draw attention by hurrying. She used the prepared charm to open the spell lock on his door without deactivating it, stepped into the room and closed the door. It took but a moment to drop to her hands and knees, retrieve the lead charm from beneath his bed, and replace it with another.

She opened the door to his room just a crack and checked the hallway, stepped out, closed the door and reactivated his lock spell. She walked back up to her room, again careful not to hurry, sat down at her writing table and placed the shiny lump of metal on top of it. Lead, the silent metal, the container. She unbuttoned the stiff, high collar of her black gown, exposed the skin just above her breast and pressed the charm against it, then fed power into it.

. . . insane . . . war . . . Penda . . .

Disjointed words, or perhaps thoughts, flittered through her mind, clearly DaNoel’s thoughts.

. . . can’t do it . . .

Was he talking to himself, thinking to himself? It wasn’t enough to act on, nothing even vaguely incriminating. But for some reason the thought of Valso had triggered something very strong in her brother.

She had one lead charm remaining. She decided to modify it. If she applied the white of Clan Decouix, could she sensitize it to anything DaNoel thought regarding Valso? She’d have to do a little research first, figure out the proper way to make the modification, then plant the charm in his room.

••••

Morgin awoke before dawn, and sensed immediately that the three of them were not alone. The small fire had long since burned out, he was tangled in his blanket and knew he’d be slow getting to his feet. The cold steel of a sword blade touched his cheek, and Blesset said, “Get up, Elhiyne.”

Morgin moved slowly, rolled over and sat up. Jack and Harriok were already on their feet. When Morgin stood, Blesset touched the tip of her sword to his chest. Jack said, “Now Blesset.”

She looked into Morgin’s eyes for a moment, then lowered the sword and sheathed it. “I’m riding with you.”

Morgin asked, “You want to go to Kathbeyanne?”

“No. I want to watch you waste yourselves on a fool’s errand.”

She turned and looked at Jack as if defying him to deny her. Jack shrugged and nodded toward Morgin. “It’s up to him.”

Morgin said, “Looks like she’d riding with us.”

They pushed the horses a bit and reached the sands after nightfall. To avoid the heat of the daytime sun they continued on, the glow of a half-moon guiding their steps as they rode down one dune and up another. It was a monotonous trek, and Morgin drifted off into a light doze.

As the sun rose the next morning Jack stood up in his stirrups to scan the horizon. All Morgin saw was an ocean of sand ending in more dunes in every direction. They were close to Aelldie so they continued on and reached the oasis well before noon, replenished their water skins, camped there briefly and moved on at nightfall.

In the middle of their second night out, Morgin felt that arcane pull again, at first a faint sensation, but it grew stronger with each step. At sunrise, while the whitefaces set camp he climbed to the top of a dune, shaded his eyes with his hand and saw the city of tall, glassy spires on the horizon. The three whitefaces joined him at the top of the dune.

Harriok shaded his eyes and said, “Kathbeyanne.”

Jack said, “The city of glass.”

Blesset said nothing.

Morgin stood facing the city squarely. He closed his eyes, but now he sensed its arcane magic off to the left. He opened his eyes, and still it appeared to be directly ahead. He closed his eyes again, extended his arm and pointed in the true direction of the city. “It lies that way. We’ll sleep through the day. Then tonight, when none of us can see the mirage, I’ll lead us to the true city of glass.”

••••

Theandrin and BlakeDown hosted a small reception for Torthan et Tosk, heir to the House of Tosk. Chrisainne donned one of her most revealing gowns, and at the reception played BlakeDown like a finely tuned harp. She made sure she was always within his line of sight, never winked or did anything overt, but tempted him with little things. Several times, when he happened to look her way, she ran her tongue across her lips, slowly, provocatively. Once, when he was near, and with no one else looking, she leaned forward just a bit. She’d chosen this particular gown because it was cut low and slightly loose around the bodice. It tended to billow out when she leaned like that, giving him an enticing view of a lot of skin. With Theandrin and half his liege lords and their ladies present, he stayed on his best behavior, didn’t dare try anything, but near the end he brushed past her and whispered, “I’ll meet you later in your bedroom.” He sounded almost desperate.

Chrisainne didn’t want to meet him in her bedroom, not at first. He’d just slam her down on the bed, rut on her for a few moments, spill his seed and be gone. So as the festivities broke up she enticed Silaya et Tosk to join her in the west garden. Silaya was young, impressionable, and quite flattered at the attention.

The night was cool and comfortable as Chrisainne strolled down a path with the young girl. She pretended to be entertained by Silaya’s naive banter, but kept an eye open for BlakeDown, knew he couldn’t help himself.

On the far side of the garden she saw him step out of the castle proper and start walking her way hurriedly. But when he spotted Silaya he slowed his pace, and tried to appear casual as he approached them.

“Lady Chrisainne,” he greeted them. “Lady Silaya.”

They both curtsied, and Chrisainne took care to give him a good, long view down the front of her dress. When she rose and lifted her eyes to look in his face, he blinked and gulped.

He asked Silaya, “Did you enjoy yourself, young lady?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace,” she said, breathlessly excited and thrilled as only a young girl from the family of a minor lord would be.

“But aren’t you a bit young to be out this late? I don’t want your mother angry with me.”

“You’re right, Your Grace,” she said, “but I was so excited to walk with Lady Chrisainne. With your leave, I’ll go to my room now.”

BlakeDown nodded his approval, she curtsied, and rushed away from them.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” Chrisainne said. “I couldn’t get rid of the poor girl. Otherwise I would have met you in my bedroom as you wished.”

“That’s all right,” he said, though he almost trembled with the tension of his unsatisfied lust. “Let’s walk this way.”

They were in a public place, so he dare not touch her. She kept her pace slow, needed time to make this work. “How did it go with the Tosks, my lord?”

“They’ve reluctantly agreed to support me if I choose to act against Elhiyne, though I gave them a somewhat edited version of the events on the border. We must appear to be the wronged party.”

“Will you act soon?”

“I don’t know. Theandrin is against acting at all. And she’s making my life miserable.”

“Hmmm!” she said.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Well . . . I shouldn’t say, my lord.”

“Out with it.”

“Well . . . I mean no disrespect to your lady wife, but . . . and I say this as a woman myself, a woman who is as intelligent as any . . . but what do we women know of such things? We haven’t trained in war, have no experience at it. How can we make proper decisions? Why . . . it would seem to me we’re not even qualified to advise men like you, what with all of your experience and knowledge.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, his chest swelling with pride. He was an easy one to flatter. “You’re right.” He spit each word like one might spit seeds from a melon. “I’ve been a fool.”

“No, my lord, you’re never a fool.”

He turned back to the path and started walking. “I was a fool to consult Theandrin, and that won’t happen again. It’s time I did what needed doing.”

At that point they reached the entrance to the castle, and once inside turned different ways. It would not do for him to openly accompany her to her bedroom.

When she closed her bedroom door, she didn’t have long to wait. He knocked quietly, she opened it, he stepped into the room and clutched at her breasts before she even had the door closed. He pushed her on her back on the bed, lifted her skirts, groped at her crotch, tore her small clothes and thrust into her. He pounded in and out of her, his anger fueling his lust, was done in a matter of moments. He pulled up his pants and left.

She realized that, with him, she actually preferred it that way. It was quick and dirty and done with, and she didn’t have to waste a lot of time flattering him and pretending she enjoyed herself. And he was gone.

Chrisainne was pleased with the night’s work. She’d grown weary of Theandrin’s constant badgering for more information. It would be nice to be present when Theandrin learned BlakeDown had decided to ignore her counsel, to see the look on the old witch’s face.

••••

Theandrin carefully examined the doorway that led from the outer hall into her sitting room. She’d made six more of the blue-thread charms, and last night at midnight she’d placed them around the threshold: six threads for Penda, combined with the blue of Vodah. She’d started early that morning, had summoned the least likely candidates one at a time, first the two guardsmen she’d seen walking through the castle yard, then Lewendis. As each crossed the threshold into her sitting room, her charms confirmed her suspicions: none of them carried Vodah loyalties.