The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden Page 7

  Once inside the courtyard, she saw at once that despite the chilly night, the wide doors of the hall were thrown open. In the light of the leaping fires, she saw that the people danced in wild abandon, and sang loudly and drunkenly. Such disorder had never occurred at her father’s keep, and suddenly, Juilene was afraid once more. What if the Festival laws were honored in name only?

  In the doorway, she paused. The vaulted ceiling soared at least a hundred feet in the air, and looking up, she saw the ceiling was painted with scenes of every description, in colors that swirled into the shadows. She glanced to the right and left. Men and women lounged by the hearths that lined the walls, goblets in their hands, beside platters piled high with fruits and cheeses. A few of the women had their bodices unlaced and most of the men were shirtless.

  “What kind of house does this man keep?” muttered Arimond, his voice a low growl in her ear.

  She only cleared her throat and tightened her grip on her cloak, thankful that it shrouded her from neck to knee. She took a deep breath and spoke as loudly as she dared. “I say the songs the goddess sends.”

  All eyes turned to stare at the two of them, and she thought she heard a low chuckle emanate around the room.

  “Come in, come in, goddess-sent. Come into my hall and be welcome.” The soft voice seemed to filter through and under the crowd in a way that made her hands tremble and her knees knock together under her thick woolen gown, and reminded her of the sound of a snake slithering through tall grass.

  She squared her shoulders and glanced down at the ring. It glowed a soft blue, the stars that the light reflected in its depths barely visible. She started forward. It seemed that the fires that burned on either side of the hall didn’t give off the same quality of light as those in her father’s hall. It was as if the light was contained, controlled, so that instead of being cast out into wide pools of warmth, the light seemed to hover on the edges of darkness. She felt rather than saw the people turn toward her as she walked between what seemed like endless rows of benches. All her attention was focused on the tall form that seemed to uncoil itself as she drew closer.

  At the base of the dais she stopped and pushed her hood off her face. With every ounce of courage she possessed, she gazed into the face of the thurge. Could it be true that Lindos was only a master-thurge but newly come to his power? she wondered. The power that surrounded him seemed as tangible as any she had ever felt, even in the presence of the Over-Thurge of Sylyria. No wonder he’s feared, she thought. And Arimond’s brave words came back to her. Oh, Arimond, she thought, I think you’re gravely wrong, if you think this man is not one to be reckoned with.

  He was fair, fairer even than Arimond, for he lacked the ruddy glow of sun-bronzed skin that Arimond wore, even in the winter. And his eyes were blue like Arimond’s, but pale and cold as ice. An aura of power hung around him, but it was of a different sort of power than any she had ever felt before, emanating from anyone else. He reminded her of the icicles that formed on the edges of the highest towers at Sarrasin, hanging sharp and poised and dangerous to anyone who ventured too close at the wrong time. A scaled form uncoiled itself from the base of Lindos’s chair and growled, showing pointed rows of yellowish teeth. Juilene jumped. She had never seen a dwarf dragon, but she knew thurges, especially master-thurges, were fond of keeping such things as pets. Her father sneered at such things, believing that all such abominations should be destroyed. The dragon tossed its tail higher and settled itself once more. Juilene shivered in spite of the heat of the hall. “I say the songs the goddess sends.”

  “Say on, then, little songsayer. Play for us, if you will it,” Lindos replied. He bowed his head gravely, and sat down on the high-backed chair, as elaborately carved as her father’s.

  Her hands trembled so much she could scarcely hold the harp Arimond held out to her, and she thought she might stumble as she saw the stool Lindos indicated. “Come, come, little songsayer—how young you are! Don’t be afraid. We’ve more than plenty ears to hear your songs.”

  The ancient words seemed almost sinister as he leaned upon one hand and smiled, a smile that stretched his mouth across his face but did nothing to warm his eyes.

  Juilene swallowed hard again. Her mouth was dry, and she knew her hands shook. Of its own accord the harp rippled beneath its wrappings, and she froze. She had heard the songsayers who came to her father’s hall say that such a thing meant the presence of the goddess. Dramue, be with me now, she prayed.

  She sank to a low stool placed just before the dais and felt her cloak slip from her shoulders. Someone moved behind her, easing the heavy fabric away from her plain gown, and she heard the low murmur of the crowd rise and then fall away into silence. With shaking fingers she unwrapped the harp, and saw the gleam of the polished wood as the light fell on it. Even the thurge’s magic couldn’t keep the light from the harp, and under her hands, she felt it stir like a living thing, the brass strings shimmering in the gloom of the hall. It seemed that the harp gathered the light to itself, and beneath her fingertips she felt the strings quiver. She let her fingernails run over the strings, feeling the gentle vibration beneath her fingertips, and the sound swelled in the silence. She drew a deep breath and sang.

  “The world was dark, the sky was white

  The earth was fair but knew no light

  And all around each flaming hearth

  The people labored in the dark.”

  It was the simplest song of all, nothing more than a child’s nursery rhyme, really, which told of the coming of the goddess to right the balance and restore the world to order. She sang it softly, gently, almost as though it were a lullaby. The music shuddered in the air, as though something prevented it from soaring to the vaulted ceilings of the high hall. With more courage than she ever thought she possessed, she gazed at the wizard, and saw that he leaned upon his hand, his fist curled beneath his chin.

  “The goddess heard her people’s cries,

  She knew their greatest fears

  And with a vow as deep as night,

  She came to aid her people’s plight.”

  What did he think, Juilene thought, as her voice gained strength, sitting there so secure in the power that seemed to throb throughout the room like a heartbeat. Did he find her voice pleasing? She saw his eyes drop to her breasts, and even as she sang the last verse, she knew she blushed, and knew he noticed.

  “And so we sing the older songs

  As Festival draws near—

  The goddess bring us peace and hope

  And order all the year!”

  Only Lindos applauded as the sound died away, the harp’s voice curiously dulled. Juilene pushed a strand of hair away from her face, and wondered why no one else seemed to have reacted. She looked up and was thankful to see Arimond leaning against the wall, watching her. His arms were folded over his chest, and his cloak was slung back over his arms, as if to show he wore no visible weapons. The others stared at her with fixed eyes. Were they all so inured to the songsayers that even the simplest of the songs had no meaning to them? She dared a look at the faces around the thurge, and gasped. All of the people standing near him seemed to be shrouded in a mist, so that their features were indistinct, and only the vaguest shapes of their forms remained visible.

  “Play on, little songsayer,” he whispered, motioning with his hand, and obediently, as though there were no other choice, she bent over the harp once more. Her fingers plucked out song after song. She had no idea how long she sang for the wizard, but she knew the fires on either side of her snapped and hissed and flamed. She was vaguely aware that men moved behind her feeding the fires huge logs thicker than a man’s body, and that every now and then conversation seemed to rise above the music. Out of the corners of her eyes, she caught glimpses of movement, yet when she turned her head, nothing was there. Her fingers shook and once or twice the music faltered, but no one seemed to mind or notice.

  And then Lindos stood before her, a smile still on his lips, the same o
ne he had worn all night, she thought, and he was leaning down over her, touching her cheek with the very briefest of kisses, the customary acknowledgment of the master of the house to the songsayer. The hall grew darker. A woman touched her shoulder, offered her a thick blanket, and pointed to a place by the hearth.

  In a deep daze, Juilene stumbled over to the spot. It was warm near the flames, but the fire seemed to be contained in that same peculiar way, as though its energy was controlled. But this time, it seemed to be no matter to puzzle over; she simply accepted that this was the way things were. She wrapped the harp once more in its protective covering, and curled up with her blanket and her cloak. All around her men and women were lying down, and in the shadowed light, she saw couples writhe together under the cover of the blankets. Once again, she had a sense that something, someone, danced just on the periphery of her vision, and she sat up, squinting in the gloom. Someone touched her back and she started, stifling a little cry.

  “SShh,” Arimond whispered. “It’s only me. Come, we have to get you out of here.”

  “Arimond,” she breathed. She clutched at his cloak, and a sensation seemed to grow between her legs, heavy and warm, and she shifted uneasily and shut her eyes.

  “Juilene.” He shook her urgently. “You can’t stay here—there’s a powerful charm at work here—a spell. Lindos uses his power to keep his people—” He broke off as a couple writhing near them groaned aloud.

  She gasped and blushed, and Arimond pulled her to her feet. “My harp—”

  “Here.” He handed it to her, and she stood for a moment, wondering why they ought to leave. The hour was so late, and surely it wouldn’t hurt to rest—rest for just a little while—“Come on,” he hissed, tugging at her hand.

  She stumbled after him. The harp gave a throb, a low rumbling of the strings, as they reached the open door, and the cold air hit her in the face. Suddenly the fog seemed to clear from her brain, and she looked at Arimond, and wondered why he wasn’t affected by whatever spell was at work upon the hall. She glanced down at the ring Neri had given her and gasped. The sapphire blazed a clear and vivid blue, the white stars within its depths clearly reflected. She gasped. So Neri was right—the ring did have the power to warn of danger close by. She reached for Arimond’s arm and held him close.

  “But, Arimond,” she whispered as they hurried out of the hall and into the courtyard, “the charms—why am I affected and you aren’t?”

  “Branward’s only a demi-thurge,” he said. “He warned me this was merely a low-level spell, but I figured it was better than nothing. As to why you are more affected than I, I don’t know. Maybe it’s that Lindos had more of his attention on you—I was just a bystander in the back of the hall. He uses his power, or some of it, anyway, to keep his people in check. That can only work in our favor. They should be easy to overcome. Now let’s go.”

  He caught her firmly under the arm, and led her through the deserted courtyard. As they walked, he spoke in a terse whisper. “Now listen to me. You go—go to the clearing where we left the others. I’m going back in there. You aren’t to worry about me. You get on your horse and you ride back to your father’s house. I’ll come to you as soon as I can, do you understand?”

  She nodded, wordlessly, looked up at him desperately, wishing she could think of something, anything that would convince him not to take this chance, not to risk their entire future for the sake of revenge. He bent down and gathered her to him, kissing her hungrily, and she thought she might faint. Then he drew back, and nodded toward the gate. “Go.”

  She dashed out to the gatehouse, where the soldiers who had let her in still leaned upon their spears.

  “Our master not to your liking, little songsayer?” The one who had told the others to let her in laughed softly as she pushed past them and out the partially opened gate. She made a noise, low and indistinguishable, and ran, the sound of their laughter burning in her ears. On and on she ran, half expecting to be stopped, to be dragged back into the presence of that horrible wizard. She didn’t slow until she was almost at the copse. A dark shape emerged from the shadows of the trees, and she gasped.

  “Juilene?” Benoit’s familiar voice brought tears to her eyes. “Is it you? By the goddess, we’ve been so worried. Are you all right?”

  She sank to the ground, breathing hard, cradling her harp in her lap.

  “Lady, what’s wrong? Did he hurt you? Are you all right? Is Arimond still there?”

  All around them dark forms were emerging from the shadows, clustering around, muttering as weapons gleamed here and there in the starlight. “Yes—yes, he’s there. Go quickly—he’s on his way to Lindos now—he has some sort of charm against the power, but it’s not very strong—please, go.” Her voice shook.

  “Lady—Juilene—will you be all right?”

  She nodded. Benoit looked up. “Richaume—you stay with the lady. Take her home—You others, come with me.

  She leaned against a tree as the dark mass of men rushed down the road toward the keep. The harp hummed against her chest, and a deep sense of foreboding overwhelmed her. She bent her head and wept.

  “My lady?” The soft voice of Benoit’s squire made her look up. “Let me see you to your father’s house.”

  “No.” She shook her head, settling back against the tree. “No, I’ve come this far—I’m going to wait right here for Arimond to come back.”

  “But, my lady—”

  “It’s no use. I’m not leaving unless you drag me. And that would be a gross breach of propriety. So here we stay.”

  The squire made a little sound. She wiped her eyes with a corner of her cloak, and turned her head to watch the road. She leaned her head against the tree, fingering the ring, and felt her heavy lids fall over her eyes. The last thing she heard was Richaume saying, in voice low with resignation: “I shall keep the watch, my lady.”

  The next thing Juilene knew, a dark shape was bending over her. She startled wide awake and sat up, nearly knocking her head against the rough bark of the tree. For a moment, she was groggy and disoriented, and then Arimond’s face sharpened into focus. “Arimond, my love, are you all right?”

  Arimond nodded, sinking back on his haunches. In the light of a flickering campfire, she could see that his hands were bloody, his clothing torn. He sagged against another tree, and she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Arimond, what’s happened? Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Everything went just as we planned.”

  “But are you hurt?” She ran her hands hesitantly over his arms.

  “No.”

  “But you’re exhausted—” She looked around in the dim light for Richaume. “Where’s that squire? Where’s Richaume?”

  Arimond waved one hand. “I sent him on to keep—to his master. Benoit was hurt.”

  “How badly?”

  Arimond shrugged.

  “And what of Lindos? What of the others? Where are all the rest of your friends?”

  “Back at the keep. Will you come?” He rose to his feet and held out his hand.

  “Lindos is dead?” She got to her feet a little unsteadily, her cramped joints protesting.

  He reached for her hand, and his grip closed around it so firmly her knuckles cracked and she stifled a little cry. “Come.”

  “Arimond, you’re hurting me.” She twisted her hand in his.

  He relaxed only a little. “Your pardon, my lady. We’re going back to the keep, of course. Don’t you want to see the wizard dead?”

  She stared up at him in disbelief. Show her the body of a man slain in battle? Had Arimond suddenly taken leave of his senses? She stumbled a little in a rut in the road, and her long skirts tangled about her knees. Arimond did not lessen his stride. She glanced at his profile and the expression on his face was cold and unforgiving. “Arimond, are you all right?”

  He turned his head so swiftly she gasped, and his teeth flashed white in the starlight. “Oh, yes, my
dear. I’m fine.”

  The gates of the keep were flung wide, and the torches burning in the massive iron brackets sputtered. It must be close to dawn, thought Juilene as she clung to Arimond’s hand. The courtyard was deserted. “Where—where is everyone?” she whispered.

  “I told all my men to take the dead and put them in the kitchen gardens,” Arimond answered without a break in step.

  The hall doors were opened wide, as well, and inside, Juilene could see long rows of sleepers, wrapped in dark blankets, beside hearths that smoldered and leaked grey ribbons of smoke. They were utterly still, utterly silent, and Juilene stared at them on either side as she and Arimond marched down the middle. She wriggled her hand in Arimond’s grip. Something was wrong here, something was very wrong here. “Arimond,” she whispered loudly. “What’s wrong with these people?”

  This time he didn’t look at her, only smiled and continued. “Nothing’s wrong, my dear. Nothing at all.”

  They went down a dark corridor to a wide flight of steps. Arimond took the shallow stairs with ease, while Juilene scrambled to keep up. “Arimond—” she said when they reached the top, “I don’t want to see Lindos. Just take me home.” Here and there on the periphery of her vision, she thought she caught glimpses of things that moved faster than her eye could quite see. She whipped her head around once or twice, and each time saw nothing but the stone blocks of the walls. “Arimond, just take me home.”

  He swept her up in his arms. “Oh, my sweet little love, I don’t mean to frighten you. You don’t have to see the wizard dead if it upsets you. But come, there’s something here so beautiful I don’t want you to miss it.”

  His arms around her were as unyielding as iron, and Juilene held her breath, twining her fingers in the rough fabric of his tunic. Three paces from the steps a door yawned open. Arimond ducked his tall head a little and carried her inside. “Look.”