The Southern Trail (Book 4) (35 page)

They traveled cautiously for the next two hours as Marco led them in a circle around the castle and then back down to the city.  They traveled as quickly as Ellersbine could manage, and reached the city as the moon passed its zenith overhead.

"We're almost safe," he reassured Ellersbine as they entered the dark quarter of the city.  He heard, then spotted, a raucous tavern, and still holding the hand of a princess, he led her into the dive.

Chapter 28

All eyes turned to see what newcomer was entering the sanctuary of the tavern so late at night, and the man who was singing a song while strumming a lute struck a discordant note.

"We just want a place to sit in peace," Marco called loudly in the language of Prester John's people.

A few faces looked relaxed at the use of the approved language.

"We're getting ready to close soon," A man behind the bar said.

It was already time to play his ace up the sleeve, Marco realized.

"Before you do, could you call my friends from the peat burners," he asked, seeing the stares of surprise.  "Tell them I came back with what I wanted," he smiled over at Ellersbine, "and I did what they asked."

"Have a seat over there," the barkeeper told him, as he surreptitiously nodded to a man at the bar, who slid off his stool and slipped out the back door.

Two mugs of ale," Marco ordered as he led his companion over to their designated table.

"You speak the banished language!" Ellersbine whispered loudly at him in astonishment.

"Here," Marco raised his left hand to her face.  "Take a sip of water from the spring.  It'll make you feel better after all we've been through."

Her face grew mischievous as she followed his direction.

"Here," she said as she finished drinking the refreshing water; she placed her lips against his and shared some of the water with him.  “We have to keep up the appearances of lovers.  That's what they think we are, don't they?" she asked, after their lips slightly parted.

"I am starting to think the same thing too," he told her as their lips returned to being lightly pressed against one another's.

Just then the man from behind the bar placed two heavy mugs on their table.  Marco opened his purse and pulled out two coins, then handed them to the man, who smiled kindly and walked away.

"How do you speak the banished language?" Ellersbine repeated her question.

"I had lessons," Marco answered vaguely.

"I don't know who you are. And I'll never guess correctly, will I?" she asked.

Marco raised his mug in a toast.  "You won't guess much, but if you guess that I'm in love with you, you'll be right," he said.  Having been reunited, he was intoxicated with his proximity to her, and the feelings of affection that flowed so strongly back and forth through the energy bond that only they could see.

"Here's to love," he said, as they clicked their mugs and the musician resumed playing his tunes.

"What is this?" Ellersbine asked in a strained voice as she lowered her mug after taking a sip.

"It's ale, bad ale," Marco answered.  "But I am pretty sure they don't have any wine you'd approve of either, my dear."

Just then the door to the tavern opened again, four men walked in, and Marco recognized two of them as his guides to the castle.  They looked at the bartender, as the musician lowered his volume.  The bartender silently nodded over at Marco, and the men looked over.

One of them gave a nod, and the musician raised his volume again as the newcomers strode over and sat down with Marco and Ellersbine.

"So this is what you went to the castle to fetch?" one man asked.

"This is she," Marco agreed.  "And I ended up doing what you wanted," he said.  "We'd like sanctuary for the night and help getting out of town."

"That's a big claim," one of the other men said as he'd gave Marco a hard stare.

In response, Marco wove his fingers with Ellersbine’s, then made the two hands glow, and he slowly made the glow rise up both their arms to their bodies, as the tavern interior brightened and the music faltered.

"We don't need to see any tricks," the man in charge said.  "I believe him," he spoke with a finality that sealed protection for the two fugitives.

"My mother's got a spare room you can sleep in tonight," he stood up. "It's only got one bed, but I don't think you'll mind, will you?"

"Not at all," Ellersbine answered quickly as she stood up.

"Are you going to leave that ale?" one of the men asked Ellersbine.

"I'll leave it to you," she answered.

Marco extinguished the glow that had silenced the tavern.

“You can have mine too,” Marco added to the good will by donating his mug of ale.  He and Ellersbine held hands as they followed the leader of the peat burners out of the tavern and back onto the street.

“My name is Dale,” the man said as they started walking through the dark.

“I’m Marco, and this is Ellersbine,” Marco said.

“Names from the prophecies,” Dale laughed.  “Very good.  Discretion is advisable, I understand.”

The comment silenced Marco, who did not translate it for Ellersbine.  Would Iasco’s original people have the same prophecies that Lady had referred to, he wondered.

They turned just then from the dark road onto a narrower alleyway, and Dale knocked on a door softly, then entered.

“Do your magic and make one finger glow,” he softly told Marco.  “Ma’s asleep and I don’t want to stumble over anything and wake her up.”

With Marco providing the illumination, they went back a hallway, and Dale opened a door.  “This is your room; you’ll be safe here.  Ma will fix a good breakfast in the morning, and then we’ll talk about getting you out of the city.”  He watched them enter, then pulled the door shut.  There was a narrow bed and a table and the bare floor.

And after a while, they went to sleep.

Chapter 29

Marco woke up first in the dark room, and wondered what time it was.  There was no window in the room to tell him if the sun had risen, though he suspected it had.  He and Ellersbine had talked late into the evening, as he confessed bit by bit the story of his life that had made him a sorcerer and brought him to the place where their paths had crossed.

“You killed Iago and Iamblichus?” Ellersbine had asked, one of only two things that had sparked a reaction.  “They were two of the four greatest sorcerers in my great-grandfather’s court.  They were thought to be invincible.”

The other point that had raised her attention was his marriage to Mirra.  “I’m sure a princess can have any man she chooses for her husband,” Ellersbine had declared.  “Don’t worry about that.”  But Marco had worried anyway, still vaguely aware that he loved Mirra, despite the growing power of the enchantment and life-energy that tied him to Ellersbine.

After he awoke, he silently slid out of the bed and pulled on clothes, then opened the door and slipped into the hallway.

There was sun light that penetrated down the hallway from the front of the house.  There were also scraping noises, and the odor of frying foods.  Intrigued and famished, Marco padded down the hall in his bare feet, and saw that there was a small kitchen to his left, and a woman with her back turned to him who was cooking something in a pan over a brazier.

"I didn’t expect to see anyone from that room up so early," the cook said without turning around.

"Are you Dale's mother?" Marco asked.

Standing in this kitchen, now who else would I be?" she asked in a jolly tone.  "The boy hasn't offered to hire a cook for me.

"Sit down and I’ll have a plate for you in just a bit, or you can go back and bring your friend out as well," she told him.

Marco took a seat at the table.  "I imagine she'd like to sleep a little more," he replied.

"You're a wise and thoughtful man, so you are," Dale's mother answered.  Her spatula deftly slipped a serving of her cooked goods onto a plate, and then she turned around to place the meal in front of Marco.

Even though he was hungry, and even though the meal smelled delicious, Marco paid no attention to it as it sat before him; instead he simply stared at the woman, a woman who had a face that was as familiar to him as his own mother's.

"Lady Iasco?" he asked in astonishment.  "Lady Iasco, how did you get here?" he asked the small woman with the intricate stripes across her face.

The woman burst out laughing.  "You look so serious!" she laughed, and patted him on the arm.  "Dale brought me a joker, I see.  And so if I'm Lady Iasco, then who are you, Marco?” She turned back to her kitchen.

Marco felt a heavy presence in the room, a sense of destiny stepping into play.  "I am Marco.  I am the Golden Hand, and my companion is Ellersbine.

"What do the prophecies say about us?" he asked.  "Tell me your name, your true name.” His voice was quiet.

She turned around again to look at him.  She stared at his hand, and then his face.  "You're telling the truth, aren't you?" she asked.

"I'm not Iasco; my name is Gwen.  Why do you ask about the prophecies?" she asked.

"You look just like the Lady," he said.

"I'm pure-blood of the old race," she told him, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"What is the prophecy?" Marco asked intently.

"That you'll go to Foulata – you, Ellersbine, Iasco, and one other – and of the lot of you, one will die, one will live, and one will do neither, if you win the great combat," she told him.  "Lord, you're giving me the chills, you look so serious."

"Does the prophecy say whether we'll win or lose?" Marco asked, as he felt goose bumps rise on the back of his neck.

"Either is possible," she told him.  "And we'll either have a better place, or a permanent night," she hastily stirred her pan as she smelled its contents start to burn.

"And what happens to us if we lose?" Marco asked.

"Your souls will be tormented for a hundred thousand years," she said solemnly.

Marco heard the bedroom door open again.

"Nor a word of this to her," he hissed.

"Not from me," Gwen agreed.  And don't you go telling our people your names either," she warned him.

He nodded, as Ellersbine entered the room in a state of disheveled beauty.

Marco stared at her, wondering if he could truly take her to a place where she could be drawn into an unthinkable fate.  And yet he knew that Lady Iasco was depending on him, and that there was an opportunity for success of some type, though even victory apparently meant the death of someone he loved, or of himself.

"You look so serious," Ellersbine smiled at him.  "Is this our hostess?" she asked.

"This is Gwen," Marco answered as he mentally switched languages back to the Docleatean that his sweetheart spoke.  "Would you like to share some breakfast?" he asked, no longer feeling the same hunger he had before.

"You won't tell her, will you?" Gwen asked.

Marco shook his head.

"Good; that's the right choice," the motherly figure told him.

He and Ellersbine shared a fork and the plate as they ate their breakfast.  They had just finished when Dale entered the room.

"The word’s on the street that you did what you said, not that I doubted you, mind you," Dale announced.  "The Baron is dead, killed in his own castle," Dale announced to his mother.

She dropped her spatula in shock, then stared at Marco.  "Saints preserve us," she muttered.

"We want to be on our way to Foulata," Marco told Dale.  "Will there be any problem getting there?" he asked.

"Not for you," Dale answered immediately.  "I've already looked into the arrangements.  Can you be ready to leave in half an hour?"

Marco looked at Ellersbine, who was patiently listening to the conversation in a language she didn’t understand.

"We'll be ready," Marco said easily, then he ate the last bite on the plate.

Chapter 30

Dale led Marco and Ellersbine to a stable, where they climbed into a false bottom of a wagon, over which tanned leathers were heaped.  Three hours later the wagon stopped, a side panel of their compartment was opened, and they rolled out to freedom.  The vehicle had been subjected to a search, but the clever false bottom proved impervious to detection, and after a quick handshake with the wagoner, Marco and Ellersbine were on their way.

They journeyed for eight days, revealing themselves to no one, not any of the noble estates they passed, where Ellersbine was known, for fear that either Argen might be looking for them or that news of Baron Crassten’s death might be pursuing them.  At nightfall on the eighth day they reached the suburbs of mighty Foulata, and they trekked across town in the busy evening, as riders on horses and carriages provided constant traffic.

"To think that we have walked virtually the entire distance from Tripool to here," Ellersbine remarked to Marco when her father's palace came into view.  Despite her weariness, there was pride in her voice, and she swung her hand with extra vigor as she and Marco held each other's hand.

The wrought iron gate was closed at the front of the palace grounds, but Marco ungloved his hand and discreetly opened it, then slipped his glove back on, and they walked up the drive to the front door.

"I'm surprised it's so dark," the princess remarked as they looked at the front of the house.  The main door was locked, and they circled around to the back of the house, where the kitchen was lit up.

When they entered the kitchen through the servant’s door, the steward stood up speechless, the head cook passed out, and the housekeeper screamed.

"Count Argen said that you were dead!" the steward explained their astonishment, as the housekeeper ran forward and embraced her lost princess in a loving embrace.

"I am not dead, and I'm back to resume my place in this house.  You heard that my father is dead?" Ellersbine asked.