Wandering Lark (42 page)

He had been chosen first for Turlough’s coveted position. But turned it down on the grounds that mageborn did not need a single leader with so much power.

From that day forward, the rumors flew that there was at last a worthy successor to the line of Phelon Greenfyn who would one day sit on the Council High Seat as its new master.

At least Gareth, of course, had the good sense to insist that his son had a lot to learn before he had so wise a head on his shoulders as to be trusted with such a great responsibility.
Sometimes I wonder if Gareth feared his son’s life would be in jeopardy from then on.
I heard rumors that a number of mageborn were thinking this.

And who did they dare suggest the danger would come from? Me!

The mere suggestion was like a blow to the heart. Before that moment, Turlough had thought very little ill of the lad or his precocious skill. But from that day, he swore that just because he did not like what the lad’s bravery inspired, he would do whatever he could to see to it that Fenelon Greenfyn did not gain the High Seat.

For a time, Turlough thought he would groom his own apprentice Lorymer for the position. But as time passed, he came to see that Lorymer had a soft side to his nature. He felt sorry for those less fortunate mageborn who were unable to achieve Master Mage level. Where Turlough believed that mageborn would survive only so long as the strongest among them were in charge, Lorymer once dared to suggest that great magic did not necessarily make for great leaders.

Nonsense! Before the Great Cataclysm, the Old Ones ruled the world, not the mortalborn.

That was when Etienne came to Dun Gealach to perfect her skill. She was an ice maiden at first, never allowing any emotion to interfere with her judgment. Turlough admired her discipline and skill. He thought her perfect for the post he held, and set about at once to groom her for the position. He even looked upon her as someone with whom he might be willing to spend the rest of his life, someone who could make him forget the love he had lost to evil magic. Etienne brooked no nonsense. She worked hard at her spell craft.

But then, she had fallen under Fenelon’s spell. By the time she came to Dun Gealach, Fenelon had grown from gangly clever lad to handsome rogue almost overnight. With his smile and his charm alone, he broke the crystal cage that had surrounded the ice maiden’s heart.

He did what I could not do!
He won her affection and her loyalty!
He stole her from me...

Turlough tugged his beard in a gesture of agitation, winding the long end around his hands like a garrote.

The clop of horse hooves on the packed dirt of the road broke him out from under his dark cloud of thoughts. Lorymer was returning.

And about time,
Turlough thought as he leaned out of the carriage box and glowered at the approaching form on horseback. “Well?” he asked impatiently. “Did you learn anything?”

“They assured me that they had not seen their master since he and the others left nearly a moon ago,” Lorymer said.

“And you believed them?”

“They spoke true. I
Truth-Tested
them and their thoughts were clean of deception.”

“And they had no suggestions as to where he might have even gone?” Turlough asked.

“None,” Lorymer said.

Turlough glowered at the barest hint of a tower visible over the tops of the trees.

“Then this was, as all else has been, a waste of precious time,” he said.

“Begging the Lord Magister’s indulgence,” Lorymer said, “but it is possible we might be going about this the wrong way?”

“What?” Turlough snapped and turned his glare of reproach on Lorymer.

“We have been following Magister Fenelon to no avail,” Lorymer said. “We know his skill...we know that there are few in Ard-Taebh who are as devious and clever as he. And every turn of the way, he has mocked us. Every lead is a dead end, and we are wasting a lot of valuable time following those leads...”

“And your point, Lorymer, because I don’t quite follow you,” Turlough said. “Just what are you blethering about?”

“We keep trying to follow Fenelon,” Lorymer said, “and we are getting no where. So why not change strategies? Why not seek out other paths? Why not go to the source.”

“I still don’t follow you?”

“If you were Etienne, and you wanted to keep me off your trail, where would you flee?” Lorymer said. “Where is the one place you know that you would be outside the reach of the Council of Mageborn?”

For a moment, Turlough could not stop glowering. Had Lorymer totally lost his wits? But then, the realization seeped in like warm sunshine on a cold day. “Why, of course, I would flee back to my homeland.”

“And would it not make sense as well for Fenelon to have sent the young bard there as well?” Lorymer asked.

This is why I keep you around,
Turlough thought, though he was not willing to voice that aloud. “Why, Lorymer, you may be on to something. Tell me, do we know any of the mageborn who live in Ross-Mhor?”

“I can find out easily enough when we return to Dun Gealach,” Lorymer said.

“While you’re at it, perhaps we should also send someone to question the young bard’s family. It may be that they can also shed some light on the matter.”

“As you wish, Lord Magister.”

“Gate us back to Dun Gealach, then,” Turlough said.

Lorymer managed a neat bow from the back of his horse. He rode forward of the carriage and began the spell of opening a gate while Turlough leaned back, teepling his fingers and smiled.

“Clever, Fenelon, very clever,” Turlough muttered.

He would enjoy seeing the expression on Fenelon’s face when they caught up with him.

They didn’t make it all the way across
the moor that day. For one thing, the ground was lest trustworthy than either Alaric or Talena liked. More than once, they dismounted to lead their horses across a treacherous bit of bog. Sometimes, they were forced to detour to get around a particularly damp area. Those places became easy enough to spot because they contained no stones at all.

What puzzled Alaric was the lack of a water source. In his experience, such bogs were caused by moisture from nearby mountains or large lakes. As far as he could tell, there were neither close at hand. They were still far enough from the Blacktooth Mountains for it not to be coming from that source.

It slowed their travel considerably, and matters were not helped by the spirits and the black stones which seemed more prominent here. Alaric was getting rather annoyed that some of the spirits would move in and out of stones quite suddenly to stand in his path, and if he stopped, they would smile and vanish. Others would circle him slowly, then go to Talena and circle her before fading away. So by the time nightfall came, they were still well out in the open and a good league or more from the mountains.

“We’ll have to make camp soon,” Talena said and looked around. She selected ground that was high and dry and ringed by seven tall white stones. The whole thing reminded him of a giant barrow. As soon as Alaric climbed the gentle slope and stepped into the area, he was aware of the sensation of being watched. Yet inside this place, he saw none of the spirits who had plagued him on the lower ground. 

“What is this place?” he asked, glancing at the stones and wondering if he should scry them with mage senses.

“If I am not mistaken, this is what they call the Water Lord’s Grave,” Talena said and kicked at some of the dry ground. “Legend has it that in a time long before the days of darkness ended, this was where the bones of a White One were buried...”

“There’s no sedge here,” Alaric said, looking at the dirt. Broken bits of white stone polished smooth jutted from the ground. Some of them did look like bones, now that he thought about it. “I would think the grave of a White One associated with Water would have a greener grave.”

“Nothing grows here,” Talena said. “If the stories they tell are true, the First Water Lord was betrayed by his own avatar. And the stones that stand around this place are supposed to be his brothers and sisters who mourned his death.”

“How would you know this?”

“My father told me about it,” she said softly. “He came this way once, remember? Look it’s high and it’s dry, and if we plant fires around the edge, we should be safe, but we’ll have to take turns watching.”

“Are we expecting more raveners?” Alaric asked.

“Nope,” Talena said. “But there are many other things on this moor besides raveners...” She glanced around nervously.

“Such as?” Alaric asked.

“Just...things,” Talena said. “Father would never tell me more, but he said fire was a good way to keep them at bay.”

“And make us a beacon,” Alaric muttered, and wondered if those words were his or Ronan’s. Then again, he had tried all day to speak to the bard’s spirit, but it was as though Ronan was sulking. Little hints of his presence rose from time to time, but he remained in the peripheral of Alaric’s awareness.
Sort of like he was before I became aware of him,
Alaric thought.

Why are you hiding, Ronan?

Ronan said nothing to the contrary.

“I said, do you want first watch or not?” Talena asked impatiently.

“Oh, uh...doesn’t matter.”

“Well it does to me,” she said. “I prefer first watch so I can retire when I get really tired.”

Alaric nodded. He was in no mood to argue. Still, it bothered him that she was being evasive.

“Look, if you can tell me what we might expect, I may be able to ward the place well enough so we can both sleep,” he said.

Talena frowned. “I don’t know...I only know that my father told of keeping watch fires going all around because he saw things moving out in the dark. Things he could not identify.”

“Did he at least describe them?”

Talena shook her head. “Look, we’re wasting time,” she said. “The gloaming will be on us before we know it. So if you’re going to make those magic fires, go ahead. I’m going to look in the packs and see what the farmers gave us to eat.”

“Eating sounds promising,”
Vagner’s voice whispered to Alaric.

He looked at the demon.
Not now...

“Spoil sport,”
Vagner groused.

Alaric shook his head. Talena was already hauling out hobbles and attaching them to Kessa. The bay mare looked longingly towards Vagner.

“I think she really likes me,”
the demon said.
“I certainly like her...”

For dinner?
Alaric suggested and pretended to remove Vagner’s tack. It vanished as Alaric glanced over his shoulder to make sure Talena had not seen. He quickly humped the real remains of his pack so it looked like there was tack under the bedroll and left the demon horse there as he headed for the edges of their camp. Though now that she knew what he was, he wondered why he felt impelled to hide what Vagner was...until Ronan’s words came back to mind. The bard still did not want Talena to know that Vagner was a demon.

Oh, well, he thought, and taking a deep breath, he sought a moment of inner calm. Starting at a cardinal point to the north, Alaric drew essence from the air and fed it into his spell. He muttered the words and marked the glyphs with his fingers that would make the spell remain in place, and then walked around to ring the area just inside the stones with fire. For a Water Lord’s grave, the flames certainly caught well enough.

By the time he finished, it was getting fairly dark. Talena had set up a small feast on a blanket. It looked better than the moldy cheese and bread he had shared with her the night before. Why the farmers had gifted her with this fare, he could not say, but he took the portion she offered, sitting on the opposite side of the blanket.

At length, he picked up his harp and tested the strings.
Might as well get some practice in,
he thought. He started playing a few simple tunes, merry but mellow, as Ronan would say.

But of course, that started him wondering why the bard was still being so quiet. He longed to ask Vagner what he had done to step between them, for the demon seemed unhurt by attacking one who was also his master.