"I spy her far above me, Against the wide blue sky. She's whirling swift and graceful, A sparrow soaring high. But my love is no less lovely. Her eyes are just as bright And while she may wear no jesses, She'll be my bonny bird this night. Aye, fly my love, and sing your song Like a sparrow on the wing. Don't be shy, for I won't be long, And I'll bring your wedding ring!"
When she finished, Tyveris applauded enthusiastically. 'Truly, the gods have blessed you with the gift of music, Mari," the big loremaster said, smiling broadly at her. "Why, Caledan himself couldn't play a better tune than that, could you Cal-" Tyveris stopped short, his dark eyes going wide as he realized what he was saying. Mari bit her lip and cast a glance at Caldorien, who rode on in silence, gazing at the far-off mountains.
Mari played a few more songs as they rode, but soon she packed the baliset away. She found she had little heart for it, at least not that day.
It was verging on midday when the attack came.
They had just crested a low, rocky ridge. Below them at the foot of the ridge rushed a small river, muddy and swollen with the runoff of melting snow from the nearby mountains. The ridge was crowned with a jumble of massive granite boulders. As Caledan rode by, something dark dropped down from above them, knocking him from Mista's back.
He fell hard to the ground, the assailant on top of him. Caledan tried to struggle, but he was tangled in the assassin's heavy black robes. He didn't even have the chance to shout out to the others. Smooth gloved hands closed swiftly about his neck. In moments he was gasping for air, white hot sparks buzzing before his eyes. He tried to pry the assassin's hands off his throat, but his fingers might as well have been scrabbling against stone. The pain was terrible. Darkness began to close around him.
Suddenly a cry of rage shattered the air.
The assassin's hands were ripped from Caledan's neck. He watched in dulled amazement as Tyveris picked up the attacker bodily. The Tabaxi lifted the assassin above his head and hurled him through the air. Dark robes fluttered like strange wings. The assassin struck a boulder with a sickening thud, rolled to the ground, and then lay still.
"Caledan, are you all right?"
It was Mari, helping him to his feet, her face white with fear.
He nodded weakly. "I think so," he said. He swore to himself. After seeing Tembris in the free market they should have expected an ambush. Most likely the assassin had followed them out of the city. But why had Ravendas sent only one?
"Is he dead?" Caledan asked, climbing back onto Mista. The others remounted as well.
"I think so, Cale-" Tyveris halted. All three watched, stunned, as twenty paces away the black-robed assassin stirred and then slowly rose. Face lost in the deep shadows of the hood's cowl, the figure took a step toward Caledan. Then another, and another, each one faster than the last.
A hiss like a viper cut the air. An arrow abruptly appeared in the mysterious assassin's chest, stopping the figure dead in its tracks. 'That should finish the job," Mari said grimly, lowering her short bow.
But instead of falling, the assassin slowly reached down with a black-gloved hand, gripped the shaft of the arrow, and pulled it out, casting it aside as if it were a piece of straw.
Ten
"By all the bloodiest gods," Caledan whispered, a chill prickling the hairs on his neck.
Tyveris muttered a hasty prayer. Mari slung her bow over her shoulder. "Let's get out of here!"
The three whirled their mounts and cantered down the steep slope of the ridge toward the frothy river. The assassin pursued them with a strange, fluid swiftness, black robes billowing out behind.
The three pushed their mounts into a gallop, a perilous move on such a steep slope. The horses snorted, their nostrils flaring. The assassin-even though on foot-was gaining on them.
Caledan swore another oath. What kind of being did not feel the pain of an arrow's bite? Perhaps some fanatic of a dark god, caught in a religious frenzy. He had heard of such things but never expected to witness them firsthand.
Just as Caledan felt a gloved hand grope his heel, Mista plunged into the turbulent river. Muddy water swirled wildly about her flanks. The mare nearly lost her footing, then recovered. Spray slickened Caledan's face and the roar of the water deafened his ears. The other two struggled to keep their mounts upright to either side of him as the current carried them all downstream.
For a moment all thoughts of his strange attacker were forgotten. There was only the rushing of the river, angry and frigid with water from the spring snowmelt. Once Mista rolled onto her side, and icy water closed darkly over Caledan's head. His lungs began to burn. Then he was thrust back above the surface as Mista fought to stay upright, and air filled his lungs. The gray mare scrabbled up the slick stones of the opposite bank. Astride their own mounts, Mari and Tyveris followed.
Caledan leaned against Mista's neck, shivering and coughing up gritty water. The gray mare's flanks were heaving. The others were in a similar condition. He turned around, expecting to see the black-robed assassin fording the raging river, ready to close dark-gloved hands about his neck.
There was no one in sight.
The three galloped hard across the rolling terrain, letting the warm sun dry them as they rode. But the spring sunlight could not counteract the chill in Caledan's chest.
The three companions stopped for the evening as the golden orb of the sun dipped toward the horizon. They made camp in a low hollow beneath a hill and took turns keeping watch throughout the night. But they saw no further sign of the mysterious black-robed assassin.
They reached the monastery of Oghma late in the afternoon of the following day. The road leading into the foothills was simple enough to find. Two tall, weatherworn standing stones marked the way like sentinels at the mouth of a narrow, wooded valley. The road climbed steeply through sun-dappled groves of aspen and pine until finally the trees gave way to a grassy meadow at the foot of a sharp, iron-gray peak still tipped by snow.
That's a monastery?" Caledan asked in astonishment, staring at the massive stone edifice hulking on the rocky mountain slope above them. "It looks more like a fortress."
"It is a fortress," Tyveris said with a deep laugh. "This was wilderness only a short time ago, remember, and monks have to protect themselves too, every bit as much as ordinary folk. Ravendas wouldn't hesitate to attack this place if she knew a copy of The Book of the Shadows was here."
The steep, winding path that led to the monastery's gate was too narrow for the horses, so the three climbed up the last part of the trail on foot. Caledan let fall the massive bronze knocker, and after a long while a panel in the gate opened, revealing the face of a wizened old loremaster.
"Hail, brother," Tyveris said, holding his palms open in greeting. "Hallowed is the name of Oghma, the Binder of all things."
The wizened old loremaster smiled and nodded. "Indeed, hallowed is the Binder's name."
The old loremaster opened the gate and led them across the tiled courtyard into the monastery. Despite the stark-ness of the outside of the stone building, inside it was warm and comforting, its walls paneled in dark wood and its floors covered with finely woven rugs. The loremaster left them in a small receiving room.
Minutes later the abbot of the monastery shuffled forward to greet them. Abbot Derevel was a tall, gray-haired man with bright eyes and a kind smile. Derevel sent a pair of monks to see to the companions' horses, then led the three to his study, offering them wooden cups of warm, spiced wine. They accepted gratefully. The air was crisp and chilly in the mountains despite the advent of spring.