The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (3 page)

Rhianne had no doubt the vicious bastard could make good on such a threat.

From there Salula pushed them hard, slowed to walk the horses only when needed, and didn’t stop until well after dark. Each morning they returned to the road at sunup. Travelers on the road frequently took note of the filthy woman on horseback, but if they thought to inquire about her condition, the look on Salula’s face turned them away quickly.

Rhianne drifted beyond exhaustion into a state of listlessness, and lost count of the days. It was easier to not think of the world about her, to forget her surroundings and drift off into near unconsciousness . . .

She landed on her elbow and the ground slammed into her painfully. She grunted like some farm animal and rolled onto her back, realizing she’d fallen asleep in the saddle and tumbled from her horse. She lay there for a moment, waiting for the pain in her arm to subside. But then Salula’s boot slammed into her ribs, reminding her she must stay on her feet.

Holding her injured right arm tucked into her side, she’d only gotten to her knees when Salula lifted her the rest of the way. He slammed her back against her horse and slapped her hard. “You’ll not delay me, woman.”

He slapped her again . . . then again . . . He stopped only when she opened her eyes and tried to look aware and alert.

“That’s better. If you slow me, I’ll just tie you across the saddle like a sack of grain. You’ll find a day or two like that very uncomfortable.”

Rhianne managed to stay in the saddle, and by the time they reached the outer gates of the city she’d lost all sense of her surroundings. Only when she heard an unfamiliar Kull voice did she return to the present. It was late afternoon, and two Kulls stood among the armsmen who normally guarded the main gates of Durin. One of them nodded and said, “Captain, the king knew you were coming and asked us to await you here.” The halfman smiled, though on a Kull’s face it looked more like a grimace. “And it’s good to have you back.”

The two Kulls escorted them through the city to Castle Decouix where Valso awaited them in the courtyard, the little winged snake hovering just above him. The serpent darted toward Rhianne. She’d heard stories of its venom, and flinched as it hovered near her face.

“Massster,” the snake hissed, hovering so close its forked tongue almost lapped her cheek. “Ssshe smellsss of power.”

“Yes,” Valso said. “She’s a strong one. But leave her alone for now.”

The snake zipped through the air, returned to hover over Valso. Rhianne let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She couldn’t find the strength to dismount so she remained in the saddle as Salula slid off his horse, dropped to one knee and lowered his head in front Valso. “I failed to retrieve the blade, Your Majesty.”

“Come now, Captain,” Valso said cordially, which surprised Rhianne, for she had expected anger from the Decouix king. “Rise. Rise and face me.”

Salula’s leathers creaked as he stood.

“Don’t berate yourself, Captain,” Valso said. “You were dealing with magics far beyond your comprehension. What of the Elhiyne?”

“I did put my dagger in his side,” Salula said. “Deeply. I know that of a certainty.”

The little snake hissed, “He’sss dead?”

Salula nodded over his shoulder at Rhianne. “She says he’s dead, says she felt his soul depart the Mortal Plane.”

Valso looked her way and regarded her. He stepped around Salula and approached her. “Ah, the lovely Lady Rhianne. Such a vision of beauty.”

He laughed loudly. “But not so beautiful now. Come, my dear.”

He turned to Salula. “Get her off that horse.”

Salula gripped her by the waist and dragged her out of the saddle, then stood her up in front of Valso. The Decouix king looked her up and down and walked around her, carefully examining her from all sides, the snake hovering just above him. He stopped in front of her and said, “No, not so beautiful now. My dear, you look like a common peasant—no, worse than a common peasant. And you certainly smell like one.”

She hated the man, but his words still stung. She wondered if she would ever be beautiful again, though she doubted she could ever be happy again.

As if reading her thoughts, Valso said, “We’ll have to correct that, won’t we?” He looked at the magical medallion embedded in the center of her forehead. “And we’ll definitely have to remove that unsightly thing.”

Rhianne struggled to overcome her exhaustion, to remain alert.

Behind Valso, Salula said, “I did not find the Elhiyne’s body. She must be lying.”

Valso’s eyes narrowed as if he could see into her soul. And maybe he could, for he said, “No, I think she is not. In any case, the Elhiyne is of little consequence now.”

“But what of the sword, Your Majesty? She can no longer sense it. Of that, I am certain she speaks the truth.”

Valso continued to look into Rhianne’s eyes as he said, “That sword is no longer on any plane of existence, for if it were I would know it.”

“Then where is it, my king?”

Without looking away from Rhianne Valso said, “Dear girl, where do you think one might go to leave behind all the levels and planes of existence?”

With her thoughts muddled by exhaustion, she couldn’t play a game of riddles with Valso. She shook her head, and caked with dried clots of mud her hair swung about her as if the ends were weighted by small rocks. “I have no idea, Your Majesty.”

Valso looked back to Salula. “There is only one place it can be, Captain. A very special place, but a place for which I
do
have a contingency plan.”

“Where is that, Your Majesty?”

Valso turned toward Rhianne and spoke to her as if she had asked the question. “It can only be in . . . the Kingdom of Dreams.”

3
Lost in a Dream

Morgin didn’t remember coming to the forest; didn’t recall walking among its trees to get there, and had no memory of entering it from someplace else. He recalled only that one moment he had been dying in Aethon’s crypt, then the next he’d been a whisper of thought rippling through the leaves of this forest. Then, without transition, he stood in the shadows cast by the dense canopy overhead. And he knew without doubt that he stood in the Kingdom of Dreams, though this time he sensed an overriding difference from his past dreams. He knew that his life depended on understanding that difference, so he pondered it carefully, and realized that for the first time he was not dreaming in the Kingdom of Dreams, but actually walking within it.

Somehow he had physically manifested in this strange forest, and he wondered now about his memories of the dark cave and the skeleton sitting on a throne surrounded by the trappings of a great king. He wondered if those memories were merely dreams. But one overpowering need drove him: he must find his way back to Rhianne and save her.

The density of the branches and leaves overhead allowed only the faintest light to reach the forest floor, casting it all in deep shadow, which comforted him. Here and there a small gap in the cover allowed a bright shaft of light to pierce the gloom and cast a brilliant spot on the pine needles and leaves that carpeted everything. He could have been content with it all, but the forest about him left him strangely unsettled, as if it were a living entity and him nothing more than a drop of blood flowing through its veins. It was acutely aware of him, as if he was an intruder that must be watched closely, though he sensed no malice in its watchfulness, so perhaps
intruder
was the wrong word.

Wanderer
, a whisper of thought said as it brushed across his soul.
Searcher. Traveler. You have traveled far, and now returned.

He turned around, thinking to find some stranger or spirit standing behind him whispering in his ear, but found no one. He stood alone in the shadows as a light breeze rippled through the higher reaches of the forest, rustling the leaves overhead and filling his ears with a soft hiss. But he caught the hint of another sound hidden within that noise, so faint that he wouldn’t have noticed it had he not stopped to listen. He couldn’t identify it clearly, shouldn’t have been able to hear it at all, for it was far too faint. But the forest wanted him to hear it and so he did, though he knew only that it sounded human, and sad. There was never any question as to its direction, so out of curiosity, he turned and began weaving his way among the trees. Hopefully, he might find someone who could direct him to the Unnamed King so he could learn his true name. Then he’d have to find his way out of this forest and back to Rhianne.

He walked for quite some time, and the going proved easy, almost as if the forest opened trails before him. As he drew nearer to the sound he realized he was hearing the voice of a young woman sobbing quietly, a voice he recognized. Up ahead he caught a glimpse of something colorfully blue, visible only for an instant as a tree branch swayed to one side in the soft breeze, then hidden again as it swayed back. Ever cautious, he kept a large tree between him and the young woman as he approached her, using the forest skills he’d learned in the far distant past as a Benesh’ere. He stopped behind the tree, then leaned slowly to one side and peered around it.

She sat on a fallen tree in the middle of a small clearing, the sun’s rays lighting the grass and flowers and leaves in brilliant splashes of color, framing the bright blue of her dress. He was far to one side of her, could only see her in profile, but he immediately recognized this girl. She had bright green eyes, fair skin and auburn hair loosely bound into a wimple, with a rich cascade of tresses hanging down past her shoulders. Sobbing quietly, she dabbed at her eyes with a small handkerchief. As he looked upon her from his shadows, a lock of hair broke loose from the wimple and floated down over one eye. She brushed it aside with an irritated swipe of her hand, much like one might swat at a bothersome fly, and for a heartbeat he thought Rhianne had escaped from Salula. But then he recognized Erithnae, a very young Erithnae, though his heart wanted to call her Rhianne, while something within him told him that was not her name in this time and place. He felt compelled to put another name to her, a mortal name: Rhiannead.

He released his shadows and stepped forth into the clearing, moving slowly and not wanting to startle her. She didn’t notice him at first, didn’t look his way until he took another step toward her. But then she looked up, and when she glanced at him she started and reacted strongly. She jumped to her feet, gasped, and with a look of absolute terror on her face she backed away from him. But she caught a heel on something, fell back and landed unceremoniously on her rear in a flurry of petticoats, emitting a very unladylike grunt.

He crossed the distance between them to help her, but she raised an arm to shield herself and cringed away from him. “Please!” she said, gulping air fearfully. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Surprised by her reaction, even a bit hurt, he stepped back, raised his hands and held his palms out. “You need not fear me. I would never harm you, my lady.”

She lowered the arm a bit, but still held it before her and peered over it. She looked him up and down warily, and for the first time he looked down at himself. He wore a modest, leather jerkin over a gray blouse, comfortably loose pants tucked into knee-high brown boots; simple clothing of simple quality, though not the clothing he’d been wearing in Aethon’s tomb.

Her brow wrinkled, then she frowned and asked, “You’re not the ShadowLord?”

Clearly she feared he was the legendary boogieman. He said, “I’m not the ShadowLord of legend, though some have called me that. But that was just a pretend persona I assumed to confound an enemy.”

Her frown deepened. “Well . . . you’re clearly no monster, and . . . I think we’ve met before, though I can’t quite recall it. Have we met before?”

Oh
, he thought,
I could tell you such tales
. But he merely said, “Perhaps.”

He glanced down at himself then back at her. “As you can see, I am merely a wanderer who’s become a bit lost . . . and a bit confused.”

Her impatience grew into anger. “And clearly no gentleman if you just stand there over a lady who’s fallen and don’t help her to her feet.”

“I’m sorry, milady,” he said, stepping forward and extending his hand. She reached out and put her hand in his, and when they touched a strange sensation washed through him, as if she were not this Rhiannead, but rather his Rhianne. Memories washed through his soul, glimpses of Rhianne and him, together then apart, happy and sad, the memories of a lifetime compressed into an instant. He staggered and forced his thoughts back to the moment, and by the look of awe and wonder on her face, she had clearly experienced those same memories.

He gently pulled her to her feet, meant to just help her stand, but she stumbled into his arms almost as if by intent. Without conscious thought he wrapped his arms around her as if his actions were dictated by another. He felt her relax and lean into him as she put her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. They fit together as if the gods had intended them to find one another. Her lips parted, and he leaned forward to kiss her, as he had wanted to do for centuries, and she leaned forward to be kissed. It didn’t feel as if he were betraying Rhianne with a strange woman, rather as if he were holding her in his arms.

They both paused at the same instant and frowned, not really kissing, their lips brushing together so lightly it felt like the mere touch of a feather. He thought that perhaps they weren’t acting under their own volition, that someone or something else dictated their actions. But if that meant he would be forced to kiss her, he would happily comply.

“We can’t do this,” she whispered, breathing heavily, though she made no attempt to pull out of his arms. “I am betrothed to the Unnamed King.” Again, she brushed her lips against his in that feather-light touch.

He said, “But you’re so much like someone else I know. It’s as if I’ve known you for centuries.”

“And I you,” she said. “Why is that?”

She removed her arms from around his neck, pressed her hands against his chest, but didn’t push him away. “I think we are enchanted, but we cannot betray the Unnamed King this way.”

He had pressed the palms of his hands into the small of her back, felt her spine beneath his fingers, wanted nothing more than to hold her that way through eternity. But he released her slowly, reluctantly, lowering his arms and dropping them to his sides, though she didn’t step away from him, remained pressed against him. He looked into her eyes, saw desire that mirrored his own. Then she slowly pushed at his chest, as if she couldn’t merely step out of his arms, but had to force herself to do so. And with a whisper of thought brushing through his soul the forest sighed its disappointment.

They each took one step back. “I’m sorry, milady. I don’t know what came over me.”

She lowered her eyes in embarrassment, could no longer meet his. “Yes,” she said, clearly struggling to catch her breath. “Perhaps it’s the forest.”

“The forest?”

“Yes, this is the Living Forest.” She spread her hands and looked about carefully. “It is called that because it is as intelligent as you or me. Can’t you sense it?”

That explained the strange awareness he had of the forest. “Yes, I guess I do. But I don’t understand. As I said, I’m lost.”

She frowned and looked at him, evaluating him. “Maybe you’re a dreamer. It is said dreamers frequently get lost in this kingdom.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “For once I’m not dreaming.”

Then he realized who he was talking to. “You’re betrothed to the Unnamed King. Can you help me find him? I’ve lost my name and need his counsel to find it.”

He recalled the sigil of the Sunset King, scratched by the claw of a demon in black sand scattered on a yellow stone floor. And beneath it the demon had scratched two crossed swords. But that image brought terrible fear to his soul, and his heart began to pound unmercifully. He staggered, reached out and sat down on the fallen tree where moments before she had sat.

She stepped forward and stood over him. “Are you ill? You look so pale.”

He dismissed the symbol of his unknown name from his thoughts, and his heart calmed. “No, I’m okay. Just a bad memory.”

He looked up into her face. He had loved her once, still loved her, and now this Rhiannead knew him not, though again he saw that yearning in her eyes, in her posture, in every nuance of her movements. He thought if he pushed the matter, she would again fall into his arms, though reluctantly. But that would be terribly unfair to the betrothed of another man, a king, and he could not betray his Rhianne that way.

He glanced around. The two of them were completely alone, and that was not right. “You shouldn’t be here in this forest all alone.”

“Oh, I’m not alone.” She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “At least I wasn’t. I have an escort, or I had one. They were taking me to the Unnamed King so we could be wed. But I’ve lost them.”

He looked at the forest about them. It wasn’t so dense that one could easily misplace an escort. “I don’t understand how you could lose your companions that way. Travel through this forest is not that difficult.”

She followed his gaze, turned slowly around, and looking at the trees surrounding them she said, “Ah, but it
is
this forest. One moment the trail was simple and easy. The next it was completely blocked. For some reason it doesn’t want us to travel further.”

She turned full circle and stood facing him again. “We stopped, and I turned my back on them to go sit on this log, and when I turned back the forest had closed in between us. I heard them crying out, trying to find me, but their voices dwindled into the distance, and I was alone and lost.”

“Is that why you were crying?”

“Yes, and . . .” She hesitated, clearly had something else to say, but held it back.

He prompted her, “And . . .”

Her eyes glistened with tears again and she turned away from him. “It’s nothing. I’m just being foolish.”

He stood, and from behind her he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, but he dare not. She stifled the sound of another sob and turned back to face him. “No one can claim to have ever met or seen the Unnamed King, and I must marry him. And when I do, I have to become a god-queen.”

“Yes,” he said. “You’re Erithnae? Or is it Rhiannead?”

She shook her head angrily. “It is Rhiannead, and I’m just a simple witch. But I must assume the mantle of Erithnae when I am wed to His Majesty, and I don’t want to be a god-queen. And how did you know my name?”

He looked in her eyes and recalled that he had met Erithnae before. “I met you in a dream, but you always seemed happy and content. So I don’t think you’ll be unhappy with him. And I need to find him to find my name. If we can find your escort, perhaps you’ll allow me to accompany you.”

“Milady,” a male voice yelled, hidden by the foliage of the forest.

She turned toward the sound. “That’s Captain Rafaellen. I’m sure he’ll allow you to join us.”

She cried out, “I’m here, Captain. Here.”

She and the captain shouted back and forth a few times, there came some thrashing about in the forest undergrowth, then a soldier in officer’s livery hacked through the brush with his sword and stepped into the clearing. He was tall, well built, brown hair trimmed at shoulder length, his chin sporting a carefully manicured goatee.

When he saw the two of them he hesitated, sword in hand, and his eyes narrowed. “Why are you crying, milady?”

An older woman entered the clearing behind Rafaellen, stepped around him and rushed to Rhiannead. “My dear. Who is this man? Is he bothering you?”

“Oh no,” Rhiannead said. “Not at all. This is . . .” She hesitated and turned toward him. “You have no name. What shall I call you?”

He tried to say,
I am Morgin
, but when he opened his mouth the words would not come. Time and again he’d learned that in the Kingdom of Dreams he could not claim a false name. But maybe he could do it differently, claim it not as a name, but rather as a simple label. “I am called Morgin,” he said, and that did work. “I don’t think it’s properly my name, but it’s as good a moniker as any.”