Wandering Lark (26 page)

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Talena looked like she was about to lose her temper and snap at him, but she stopped and took a deep breath. “Yes, I am fine, thank you,” she said.

“Perhaps you had better get out of those wet clothes,” he said. “Do you have spare ones?”

“In my pack,” she said and stormed across to where her mare was cowering. The little bay started to hitch away, but Talena snagged the reins and jerked her back. Then she pushed up the flap of one of her saddle pack and poked around inside until she found a shirt and trews. She pulled them out, and Alaric managed not to gasp when he saw that the trews were black.

“I...uh...will go over there and leave you alone,” Alaric said.

“No need,” Talena said, and turning her back to him she started to shuck out of wet clothes as though she did so regularly. Alaric took a deep breath and turned away.

“Oh, go on, look,”
Vagner teased as he pushed his nose into Alaric’s shoulder.

Alaric slapped the nose away. “Listen, I am sorry for what Ordha did. He’s usually not so aggressive.”

“And how would you know that if you just bought him?” she retorted.

“Well, that’s what the man who sold him to me said,” Alaric replied and glowered at Vagner’s toothy mocking grin.

He heard Talena sigh. Moments passed and Alaric finally ventured a look over one shoulder. She was already dressed and lacing her trews.

“Just where did you get that horse?” she asked.

“Some merchant in Ravenhold was trying to sell him fast,” Alaric said. “He offered me a really good trade. A dog for a horse.”

“Really? Well I think you got the worse end of the bargain,” she said and wrapped her wet things into a toweling blanket from her pack.

You may be right,
Alaric thought as he eyed Vagner whose expression changed into one of feigned hurt.

“You should have kept the dog and stuck to your feet,” Talena went on. “Horses are nothing but trouble, you know. Good for nothing but meat.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You eat horse meat?” he asked.

“Well, no,” Talena said and looked over at the mare. “At least not from a horse that proves its worth. One that shoves me into a stream, however.”

“Are you certain he shoved you in the first time?” Alaric asked.

Talena stopped and looked at him with a startled expression.

“Just how much did you see?” she asked.

“More than you might think,” Alaric said, hoping she could not see that he was lying.

The expression of uncertainty that darkened her face was priceless.

“How far to the next farmstead?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

“Another day,” she said with a frown. “If we reach the Longdale before too late, we might be able to find shelter in a barn I know of.”

Alaric nodded. He took the reins and mounted Vagner. Talena caught Kessa and mounted up as well. He let her lead.

“She was scrying in the water?”
Ronan’s voice swirled through Vagner, filled with the essence of honey and cinnamon and cloves.
“Are you certain of this?”

“As certain as I am of he who rides on my back,”
the demon replied. He did wish Ronan would not close his thoughts off from Alaric. It didn’t seem fair, having this conversation without his knowledge.

“And the object. You saw it as well?”

“Of course,”
Vagner said.
“It was silver glass.”

There was silence. Vagner could feel Ronan’s agitation, and wondered if Alaric could feel it as well.

“I thought as much,”
Ronan whispered as though Alaric could hear.
“I thought I smelled magic on her.”

“We should tell Alaric.”

“We should not!”
Ronan said.

“Why?”

“Because he would do something to give us away.”

Vagner tried not to frown.
“I do not agree.
He is not the sort to do that.”

“Do not question me, demon,”
Ronan said, and his words sang Vagner’s True Name like a scourge.

The demon could not help but hitch a little.

“Hey, easy,” Alaric said as he grabbed Vagner’s mane for balance.

Vagner bit his tongue for he had started to tell Alaric what was transpiring, but there was something in the way Ronan’s essence wove around them that told the demon it would not be wise to cross the spirit. So he thought instead,
“Sorry, I tripped.”

“Just be more careful,” Alaric said softly.

“What?” Talena said.

“Uh...I was telling Ordha to be more careful,” Alaric said. “He tripped.”

Talena merely raised an eyebrow and sighed, and then she nodded.

“Big horses usually are clumsy,” she said. “I bet you didn’t ask if you could ride him around before you traded your dog for him.”

“Ah, no I did not,” Alaric said stiffly.

Talena shook her head.

“You see, demon!”
Ronan hissed at Vagner.
“He cannot be trusted not to give us away.”

“Then why not warn him?”
Vagner thought back.
“Why not tell him he is about to do something to endanger us.”

“He resists me, demon,”
Ronan said.
“He fights me for control of this flesh.”

“And you are surprised?”
Vagner shook the horse head, and hoped Alaric thought the demon was just shaking off flies.
“It is, after all, his flesh.”

“Of course, I know that,”
Ronan retorted testily.
“But he is a danger to himself, and to us as well.”

“And what do you propose to do about that?”
Vagner asked, his curiosity aroused.

Silence followed for several moments. Vagner felt the weaving of his essence to the spirit’s growing tighter.
“Free us from him, of course,”
Ronan finally said in a whisper.
“You and I are not so different, demon.
We share a common bond.”

“And what would that be?”
Vagner asked.

“We wish only to be free,”
Ronan said.

Vagner resisted the urge to shrug. There was a time when freedom was all he desired, but now that Tane was dead and Alaric was his master, he found that desire growing less. He could be comfortable serving one like Alaric who was not so demanding.

“So you say now,”
Ronan said, and the realization that the bard’s spirit had tapped into Vagner’s deeper thoughts frightened the demon.
“But know this. Slavery is still slavery, even when one serves a master willingly.
Why not be free to serve as you please?”

“That would be better,”
Vagner agreed in a hesitant manner.
“So long as Alaric is not to be hurt.”

Vagner felt Ronan bristle briefly, then grow mellow once more.
“Yes, of course,”
Ronan said.
“But I have no intention of hurting Alaric. I still have need of him.”

Vagner fell silent. He did not want to reveal that what Ronan said still frightened him.

Fenelon had seen many parts
of Ross-Mhor in his youth, and his father had once taken him to the borders Carn-Dubh and Falcon Falls. Still, the sheer black cliffs of the Mountainous Wastes were nothing compared to the edge of the Ranges. When Hobbler led them to the edge of the Great Northern Forest of Ross-Mhor, Fenelon was unprepared for the sight. Mountains so tall, they scraped holes in the clouds and disappeared. They clustered together like giants in a huddle, and it was hard to tell if there were trails going into them because most roads seemed to stop right at the edge and vanish.

Suddenly the parts of the Ranges that he had seen in Shadow Vale looked small by comparison. But then, he reminded himself, he had been up in the Ranges themselves and not standing at their feet. He squinted at a scattering of farmsteads along those roads. Most of them looked like small fortresses with high stone walls.

“Down there,” Hobbler said and pointed to one of the few crevices pocketing the mountain faces. “That’s Stanewold, back in there.”

Indeed, Fenelon could see curls of smoke coming out of that narrow gap. “I thought Stanewold was a city,” he said.

“It is,” Gareth said. “You’ll see once we get closer. Do the guards at the gate still welcome outsiders, Hobbler?”

The Dvergar shrugged. “Haven’t been here in a while,” he said. “I’m not exactly welcome in these parts.”

“Oh, who did you shear of their purse?” Fenelon asked. He had already learned that the Dvergar liked to gamble. Fortunately, he noticed the dice were magic before he lost more than a couple of silvers.

Hobbler fixed Fenelon with a hard look. “Gambling is a respectable art among the Stone Folk,” he said tersely. “I am considered a master, and well respected for it.”

“Then why are you not welcome here?”

“Well, my father was an ore digger who gave his affections to a shepherdess so ugly, no human would have her, and I am the result of their...ah...union.”

“So you’re only half Stone Folk?” Fenelon said.

“And a bastard at that, since the Stone Folk would not let Hobbler’s father bring the shepherdess to live with him as wife, and the humans would not let her wed him,” Gareth said.

“Explains a lot,” Fenelon said with a smile.

Hobbler frowned and tilted his head at a noble angle. “We cannot choose our parents, but we can grow up and live past their follies,” he said. “We better go if we want to make the gate before dark fall.”

“What happens at dark fall?”

“The gates are closed and those unfortunate enough to be outside their protection might just as well be trow food.”

“Trow?” Fenelon asked. “What’s a trow?”

“It’s a creature that cannot stand the light of day,” Gareth said. “You’re more apt to find them deeper in the ranges. They have been known to creep out of their mountains and raid farms down in the vale there.”

“You see all those stones?” Hobbler said and pointed to masses of them standing around randomly among the farmsteads. “Those are the trow not smart enough to get out of the sun...”

“Oh, go on,” Fenelon said and shook his head.

“You’ll see...when we get closer to them. They are trow.”

Fenelon looked at his father. Gareth’s expression was stoic, but he nodded.

“Let’s be off, then,” Gareth said. “I don’t want to be outside the walls after dark either.”

“Why don’t we gate down, then,” Fenelon said. “We can see clearly enough to do so.”

“And have every farmer after us with a pitchfork when we suddely appear out of thin air?” Gareth said. “No thanks. I have to travel this way often enough, and know these people are a little uneasy when it comes to magic. Besides, I taught you better than to flaunt magic in front of the less fortunate of humankind. Now let’s go.”

He and Hobbler started on together. Fenelon remained where he was for a few heartbeats.
Taught me better?
he thought.
You’re the one who always encouraged me to think and reason and question everything.
And besides, would it be so bad to meet a real trow? He would dearly love the chance to see what one looked like in the flesh, so he could compare them with the jotun hag and her ugly playmates and see if some of the tales he had been told about the elder races of the world were true.

With a sigh, Fenelon followed them down out of the forest, heading for the plains. They were half way down the hillside when they came upon the road. Gareth crossed it and continued down the embankment.