That night, Kevin slept not at all. His mind kept insisting on conjuring dreadful images of Charina in her captors’ hands. He couldn’t shake the count’s dark words: “They can destroy a human mind and soul!” The thought of Charina left so hopelessly ... empty bit at his soul. “No! I won’t let that happen to you! I’ll save you, I swear it!” Or die trying ...
He wanted to shout it, but such hysteria would only bring the casde folk rushing around him, wanting to know why he was making so much noise. So Kevin lay still, aching with impatience, and waited as the slow, slow hours passed.
As soon as the sun was just barely lightening the sky, he was down in the courtyard, so wild with excitement he couldn’t stand still, eager to meet his fellow searchers and get going. His lute was slung across his back, since no Bard could work Bardic Magic without the aid of an instrument, and the few pages he’d managed to copy from the missing manuscript were safely tucked into the case as well. But now a mail shirt burdened Kevin’s shoulders with unaccustomed weight—though fortunately it was dwarven work, lighter than human-made armor—and a sword from the casde armory hung at his side. Kevin closed his hand about the hilt, trying to feel like a seasoned warrior but guiltily remembering his Master’s warning: a musician must always be careful of his hands.
I will, he promised the old Bard silently. But ... well ...this is something that I must do.
Odd. He had expected the courtyard to be full of knights and squires preparing to set out on their own rescue missions. Yet there didn’t seem to be anyone around but himself. Suddenly panicky, Kevin wondered if, early though the morning was, he was already too late. Had everyone left without him?
No. That was ridiculous. Even the boldest knight wasn’t going to try riding down the castle’s steep hill in the dark. Evidently the count meant to send the different parries out at different times during the day. His must be the first-And that had to mean the count truly trusted him!
Yes, but where were his—
“You?” the bardling said in dismay. “You’re my troop?”
“You?” a throaty voice echoed in wry humor. “You’re our leader?”
The woman who’d spoken was tall and rangy, a hunter and warrior, quiver on her back, sword at her side. Her short, curly black hair was held back from her face by a leather thong, and her dark eyes were the most devilish Kevin had ever seen. Her olive skin was deeply tanned—and a good deal of that skin was revealed, because her leather armor and breeches didn’t seem to be hiding very much of her lithe form. Kevin realized how (and where) he was staring, and reddened. The woman only laughed.
“Never mind, boy. Nothing to be ashamed of; not you, not me.” She held out a rough hand for him to shake; for all her undeniably feminine shape, there was nothing fragile about her grip. “I’m Lydianalanthis, but let’s make things easier on you: Call me Lydia.”
“I’m Kevin.” He added with reluctant honesty, “A bardling.”
“A bardling, huh? Count couldn’t afford a full Bard?” She grinned at his look of dismay, teeth dazzlingly white against her skin. “Don’t look so hot and heavy, boy! I’m only teasing.”
“I knew that,” he muttered.
“He is paying you, isn’t he?” Lydia asked with a note of genuine concern in her voice. “I mean, a kid like you —he isn’t trying to cheat you?”
The bardling straightened indignantly. Yes, the count had given him a purse of coins, but it had been for traveling expenses, not payment! “I’m not a—a kid! Or a mercenary!”
Lydia shrugged. “In other words, he’s not paying you. Powers save me from idealistic youngsters!”
“The count’s niece is in terrible danger! How can you possibly be worried about money!”
“Because,” the woman drawled, “I’ve gotten into the habit of eating regularly. Can’t do that very well without coin in the purse.”
“You’re not one of Count Volmar’s subjects?”
“Powers, no! I’m subject to me, boy, not to any count! I was making my way across the world—never did it before, that’s why!” she added before he could ask. “Anyhow, I got as far as this castle when I heard the news about the count’s niece and a reward for her safe return.”
“Oh.”
Lydia grinned again, but this time Kevin thought it looked more like a snarl than a smile. “Let’s set things straight from the start. Yes, I’m a mercenary. But don’t you look down your nose at me, boy! I earn my own way, give good value for service bought, honor my agreements, and sleep nice and sound at night. You find anything wrong with that, or with me, best get it out in the open now.”
“I don’t. And I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that ... well, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
She gave a bark of a laugh. “1 bet you haven’t! Look, Kevin, I’m not angry at you. It’s just I’ve seen too many men—and boys like you—try to take advantage of any woman who isn’t under some man’s protection. I’m lucky; my people believe in letting a girl grow up knowing how to defend herself. But I’ve traveled enough to know it sure as hell isn’t an easy world for most of my sex.”
“And so you’re trying to protect other women?”
“Hell, no! I’m trying to protect any helpless soul! Damned if I’m going to let anyone, male, female or whatever, be turned into a—a thing to be used, not if I can do something to stop it—Besides,” she added, her quick grin back so suddenly Kevin wondered if she was ashamed of having been serious for even a moment, “the pay is good!”
“But what—”
“Look,” she interrupted brusquely, “here comes the rest of our party.”
The bardling watched them leaving the keep, first one, then another, then ... two? Only two? Staring in dismay, Kevin realized that despite all those encouraging words, the count couldn’t have trusted him that much after all.
Ah well, what was, as the saying went, was. Trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, he waited till they were within earshot, then began as firmly as he could, “Welcome. I am Kevin, a bardling, and this warrior is Lydia.”
As the first figure shook back the hood of its gray-green cloak, revealing slanted green eyes, pale, silken hair and fair-skinned, ageless features so fine-boned and elegant they never could have been human, the bardling added with a gasp, “You’re an elf!”
The elf-man looked at him without expression. Except, Kevin thought glumly, for a hint of contempt in those slanted eyes. “You are observant.”
Oh yes, this was an elf, all right. The sarcasm in the cool voice reminded Kevin all too well of that night in the forest. “I’m sorry,” the bardling said as courteously as he could. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just surprised.”
That earned him the barest dip of the head from the elf. “Understandably. I am Eliathanis, of the Moonspirit clan of White Elves.” He was also obviously a warrior, his lithe figure dad in silvery scales of elvish armor, a straight sword with an intricately wrought silver hilt at his side. “My people do not enjoy being accused by humans of harm. I was here at court when the girl was stolen—and I intend to prove those accusations wrong.”
I bet you haven’t got a crumb of humor in your whole body, Kevin thought, eyeing that rigidly controlled face. Stealing from one of the old ballads, the bardling said formally, “We shall be glad of your help, good warrior,” and gave a formal little bow.