Wandering Lark (14 page)

“I could get used to this,” Vagner said.

“Hush,” Ronan hissed through Alaric’s lips. “The Temple might have someone listening...”

The demon signed and settled down with a hound-like huff.

Alaric glanced around. “Why do I not trust this?” he asked in a whisper.

“Look out the window,”
Ronan said.
“The Temple of the Triad casts a long shadow...as long as Na’Sgailean.”

Bitterness underlined the words. Alaric crossed his arms over his chest and glanced out the window at the tall tower of the temple structure. With the buttresses, there was something rather dragon-like about the shadow. It reminded Alaric of a dragon in flight.

And cold. Alaric shivered in response and turned away. The sight of the food was far more beckoning. So he stepped over to the table and sampled a bit of the meat. Roasted boar, and it was juicy. Alaric seated himself and began to dine.

Okay, so if he were to live in style, he would take advantage of it.

And who knew when he might get another good meal.

The room was rather opulent
in Vagner’s humble opinion, but he was grateful that he did not have to curl up on a hard wooden floor. Admittedly, demons had no trouble with discomfort when they were in their own resilient forms. But his time with Tane Doran had taught Vagner that one should never assume invulnerability was a given. Tane had taught Vagner more about pain than the demon ever wanted to know.

Still, one should never complain when the luxuries were free. But the demon could not help wondering how they became so fortunate. He wondered if it had anything to do with the woman who tried to pet him. She had gone over and spoken to the tavern keeper as Alaric was playing. Vagner had watched her closely because something about her did not “smell” right to demon senses. There was magic on her, and he could sense that her blood contained hint of mage essence, though it was not quite like any he had encountered before.

All the more reason not to trust her,
he decided.

Alaric had finished his meal quickly. He offered the demon the scraps. Vagner chewed on the bone a bit because it had not been cooked, and was close enough to carrion to whet his appetite. Unfortunately, it made his stomach rumble in protest. Were he not in this dog form, he would be tempted to sneak out and prowl for his own prey.

After eating and bathing, Alaric retired. Vagner checked around to make certain there were no hidden places where enemies could hide then settled down on his comfortable blankets.

Darkness filled the small chamber when Alaric snuffed the candles. Soon his breathing stabilized into the softness of slumber. Only then did Vagner feel safe enough to lay his huge head on his paws and barely closed his eyes. Demons did not sleep, but they did need to rest if they were not eating regular meals. Vagner had not tried to do so in a long time.

How much time passed, he could not say, but when he suddenly sensed that something was not right. He opened his eyes again.

Alaric was sitting up in bed. At least, his body was upright. He was stretching and flexing, and his eyes would stare intently at his own hands as he opened and closed his fists. The demon concentrated, and in the dark, he spied an aura of red and white surrounding Alaric...and knew from the bond they shared that it was not Alaric’s essence but Ronan’s.

“Is something wrong?” Vagner softly whispered.

Alaric’s face jerked up as though startled. His eyes were not normal. Behind them, Vagner could see Ronan struggling to stay focused. His waivering presence was visible as a faint glow that grew and faded in Alaric’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Ronan said in a jerky manner. “Nothing is the matter.”

“You should be careful,” Vagner said. “His body still needs sleep.”

“I know what I am doing,” Ronan said and managed to spread a smile across Alaric’s lips. But the smile did not match the face. It was sinister...unnatural even to a demon.

“Are you certain?” Vagner said. “If you do that for long, you could hurt him...physically, I mean. Even now, I can see that it’s a strain for you to hold on...”

“Silence, demon!” Ronan hissed, and the order burned with Vagner’s True Name. Vagner winced from the sharp attack on his essence. “All is well,” Ronan said in a more soothing manner. “There is no reason for you to be alarmed. I would not hurt this body for the world...”

“That’s good to know,” Vagner said carefully. “Because without that body, you have no where to live.”

The sharp glance was filled with warning. “You should not say such things, especially not where Alaric can hear.”

“But Alaric is asleep,” Vagner said.

“As you should be,” Ronan said. He whispered the demon’s True Name once more, and this time it was a sweet sound full of promise. “Now, sleep, demon,” Ronan said in an ancient tongue that held some familiarity, though for the life of him, Vagner could not say why, “and remember not.”

What’s not to remember?
Vagner thought before an unnatural sleep overtook him.

Etienne knew she was restless
because she had rearranged the books on her private shelves three times since “Wendon” left. And for what purpose? Because it gave her something to do in the senseless hours of waiting. There was embroidery, but she was better at stitching wounds than images on a piece of linen or silk.

It’s no use,
she thought.
I just cannot function without my students.

She hated feeling as though she had no purpose.

For that matter, the confinement was starting to weigh on her as well. Oh, she could go out on the balcony overlooking the garden, but that was not enough now. What would she give to be able to fly over those walls and escape Dun Gealach? She wanted to go with Fenelon now.

You cannot leave. You must think of Shona.

And of the real Wendon, sitting up in the tower in Fenelon’s place.

Poor Wendon. Little did he know what would happen to him if he were to be discovered before Fenelon completed whatever mission he had in mind. The title of Magister would be denied Wendon, and he would be sent out of Dun Gealach in shame.

That would be a small price compared to what Turlough might do to Fenelon.

Etienne shook her head and was about to start rearranging the books again when she heard a faint whimper. She froze with her hands mere inches from the spine of
Aramath’s Herb Lore
, and listened. Nothing. Silence remained. Etienne sighed and reached for the book once more.

“ALARIC!” The scream tore through Etienne’s quarters like some banshee wail of grief. Etienne abandoned her self-assumed chore and ran towards the bedchambers. She heard fists thundering on her main door and ignored them since she knew it was not locked. She practically threw herself through the last door.

Shona writhed on the bed, throwing the bedclothes askew and Thera had her hands full trying to subdue the young woman. Etienne plunged over to the side of the bed to assist just as Shona sat up and screamed, “ALARIC!” again.

“Shona, it’s all right, you’re safe,” Etienne said. She pushed past the healer and seized Shona’s shoulders. The grasp caused Shona to struggle, but Etienne had handled patients with fevers and fits. She elbowed aside the flailing arms and pushed Shona back down on the bedding. “Shona! It’s me! Etienne!” She shook Shona for good measure.

Whether it was the voice or the shaking, Shona stopped struggling and blinked. She looked up at Etienne, her glance filled at first with puzzlement.

“Etienne,” she whispered in the hoarse manner of one who had strained their voice. “Where’s...where’s Alaric?”

Etienne sighed and relaxed her grasp. She smiled and pushed Shona’s hair back from her face. Sweat trailed off Shona’s pale skin and plastered her hair to her neck. When had this fever come? Etienne wondered.

“Where’s Alaric?” Shona asked again.

Before Etienne could answer, the thunder of heels on the stone floor sounded from the corridor. Etienne gestured for silence on Shona’s part just as a pair of mageborn guards barreled into the chamber. Etienne turned to them, rising from the edge of the bed. The healer quickly rearranged the covers.

“All is well,” Etienne said gently. “She was dreaming.”

“Then she is awake?” one of the guards asked and leaned so he could look around Etienne. She glanced back and saw that Shona had closed her eyes and the healer was bathing her brow.

“No,” Etienne said. “It is not uncommon for one in mage fever to scream and have dreams, you know.”

The guards both took deep breaths. “We are to report to the High Mage the moment she awakens,” one said. “He wants to question her.”

Etienne frowned. “Well, as you can see, she is still asleep, and it would do no good to call him here because she screamed in her sleep. He would not be pleased if you disturbed him for such a trifle.”

They traded looks and nodded. “You will tell us the moment she does awaken?” one asked.

“Of course, I will,” Etienne said. “I will see you out. So sorry that you were disturbed.”

She glanced at Thera who nodded. With all the strength of a matron, Etienne gently herded the guards from the chamber, back down the corridor and out her main door. She closed it behind them and leaned on the wood, gathering her wits, then rushed for the chamber.

Shona sat up, bolstered by pillows that had been carefully arranged by Thera. Crossing the room, Etienne drew a chair over to the opposite side of the bed and sat down.

“You do realize, Sister, that you have now withheld the truth from guards who report directly to the High Mage,” Etienne said.

“I am already part of this conspiracy,” Thera said with a smile. “And anyway, I said nothing because I had nothing to say. So I cannot be blamed for the inobservant nature of the High Mage’s guards.”

“Conspiracy?” Shona said, her voice still rough.

“Here, drink this,” Thera said, and helped Shona up enough to put the cup to her lips. Etienne smelled the herbs. A mixture intended to strengthen the blood. Shona drank it in tentative sips. Once the cup was empty, she eased back into her pillows and looked at Etienne.

“You don’t want them to know I am awake?” Shona asked. “May I know why?”

“It’s a long story,” Etienne said softly. “We are prisoners of the High Mage, you and I. Thera is our only contact with the world beyond this chamber. We are awaiting the High Mage’s justice for conspiring to keep him from killing Alaric Braidwine.”

“Where is Alaric?” Shona suddenly asked.

“I do not know,” Etienne said. “Fenelon gated him away before Turlough could lay hands on the lad.”

“Then he lives,” she said. “Oh, Lady of the Silver Wheel, he lives.”

“Why would he not?”

“I thought Tane Doran would have killed him...”

“As I understand it,” Etienne said, “Tane now resides in the belly of a demon.”

Shona sighed. “Good. Far better than that wicked man deserves.”

“Now, you must tell me what happened before you were hurt,” Etienne said. “Fenelon is off trying to find Alaric and save him from being brought back...”

“Fenelon is not a prisoner too?”

Etienne sighed. “It’s a long story, child,” she said. “I will tell it to you once you have told me what happened.”

Shona nodded. She looked weak, but she bravely began to relate her adventures after the trees fell in Shadow Vale.

Fenelon spent the better part
of his time rummaging Marda’s cottage for clues, but there were none to be found. Nor did her spirit make another appearance, and Fenelon started to wonder if breaking her vow to Ronan had sundered her essence. If so, then Ronan’s magic must have been more powerful and ancient than Fenelon had first imagined. What he would give to possess some of that magic—or the knowledge of making it work.

What Fenelon did find was his father’s essence. Gareth Greenfyn had been here some time recently.
And knowing Father,
Fenelon thought,
he would have combed this place and found whatever clues there were and taken them with him.
It had not escaped Fenelon’s eye that there was a hole in the floor where the pallet had been, and that something had been removed.