"I was — Pedric was-assaulted from behind. He never saw who hit him. He believes they have abducted Lorinda." His eyes found Vandaris's. "Sir, one thing I do know- there was love between them, true and deep. Pedric had asked for Lorinda's hand, and she had consented."
Vandaris's throat worked. He glanced over at the youth, raised a hand as if to stoke his hair in a fatherly fashion, then clenched his fist. Righteous anger now replaced grief. He stumbled to his feet, and his words were filled with command. All traces of sorrow had been banished from that sonorous voice.
"Jaranis!" The captain of the guards appeared. One hand had automatically gone to the hilt of his sword, and anger darkened his own face.
"Aye, sir!"
Vandaris clapped a commanding hand on the other man's shoulder, walking him away from Pedric, Damir, and Deveren. "I want you to put your best men on this. Someone has kidnapped my daughter. I'm not sure who or why. Be prepared to deal with a ransom situation. As for when, we believe it occurred sometime after intermission…"
His voice faded. The crowd began to disperse, urged to do so none too gently by Jaranis's men. Deveren and Damir regarded each other.
"I'll see what my sources can determine about this," said Damir softly, for Deveren's ears alone. "Good idea," approved Deveren. "I'll get my-" he glanced around, amended what he was about to say "-my people on it too."
Damir's expression turned dark. "Why bother? It was probably one of them!"
Deveren rose to the bait. "What makes you say that? Pedric was one of their number!"
"Gods, Deveren, you speak as though the rabble had integrity. For the ransom they'd just as likely kill you!"
Deveren froze. Sweat broke out on his forehead as a memory of the events of the night, forgotten in the urgency of finding and tending his friend, came back full force. He could find no words to answer his brother. One of "his" thieves had tried to murder him already tonight. One or more of them could have tried to do the same with Pedric.
"Excuse me," came a feminine voice. It was soft, gentle, but the tone was of one used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Both brothers looked up and saw a tall woman with composed, attractive features. Her garb was simple, a plain, unadorned dress of vivid scarlet. Her head was swathed in a red wimple.
"I am Vervain, come in service to my goddess." Without another word, Health's Blesser dropped down beside Pedric and began to examine him with a knowledgeable, gentle touch. "What happened here?" she asked crisply. She opened Pedric's eyes, gazed into them, placed her fingers on his throat to determine the rate of the pulse.
"He was struck from behind by an unknown assailant," Deveren explained.
Damir rose. "Think you can move him inside yourself, Deveren?" The younger man nodded brusquely. "Then I leave him to your care-and yours, Milady Blesser." He bowed, shot Deveren another quick, angry look, and went to join Vandaris.
"The blood is dried," said Vervain. "When was he struck?"
Deveren shook his head. "We don't know. An hour, perhaps longer."
Efficiently but tenderly, the Blesser slipped one hand inside Pedric's doublet and shirt, pressing it, Deveren knew, over his heart. The other crept unhesitatingly behind the youth's head to cradle it directly on the injured area. Deveren sank back on his heels and watched. The Blesser closed her eyes and murmured something Deveren couldn't quite catch.
Hand magic was something Deveren had lived with almost all of his life. Mind magic was nothing strange to him, either; not with an older brother as accomplished in the art as Damir. But he had, thank the gods, little opportunity to witness heart magic-women's magic-in action. This was the third of the Four Magics, the final one being spirit magic, worked only by the gods themselves or their designated avatars. And to Deveren, heart magic was closer to spirit magic than the workaday sorceries of hand and mind magic.
Pedric moaned slightly under her ministrations, and his eyes opened. "Dev…" he whispered. Deveren reached to seize Pedric's groping hand. "I'm here, Pedric."
"Found… Lorinda?"
"No," he said, wishing he could say otherwise, "but they're out looking for her. I'm certain they'll find her." It was a lie, but he couldn't bear to look at the agony in Pedric's face. It was too much like looking into a mirror seven years ago. He had to believe that Pedric would not lose his love to brutality as he, Deveren, had. Had to.
"Got to… find…" Pedric struggled to sit upright, but the Healer held him fast with a strong grip. She placed a hand on his temple.
"Rest," she commanded, and all the tension left Pedric's body. He collapsed limply into Vervain's arms. "He needs sleep. He will survive, but first, he must want to."
Deveren glanced at her sharply. She answered him with a tranquil, knowing smile. How old was she? She looked young, but she had a wisdom and a grace about her that made her appear older.
"I thank you, Lady Vervain. Pedric's a friend of mine. I wouldn't see him suffer if I could help it." "Then help me get him to a bed, sir…?"
"Deveren, Lord Larath. But my friends call me Dev. I don't tend to stand much on ceremony," and he grimaced as he hefted Pedric as gently as he could, "especially when a friend's in pain." "In that case, Dev, you can help me clean his wounds." She was already rummaging through the large sack she carried as she followed Deveren, bearing his sad burden, into the Councilman's Seat.
After conferring briefly with Vandaris and Jaranis, Damir excused himself. He mounted his horse and rode as swiftly as he could away from the crowd milling about the Councilman's Seat, away from the city of Braedon entirely. He followed the coastline, keeping the ocean on his left as he headed north, until he was a safe distance away.
Damir's horse, an intelligent little mare from Deveren's stables, was laboring. He regretted having pushed her, but it was necessary. The sooner he got here, the sooner he could begin searching for Lorinda. He reached the spot, a rocky section on a beach deserted save for the beasts that belonged here, and tied the mare to the withered, slim trunk of a tree that had somehow managed to endure the winds that blew in off the ocean.
Lorinda. Poor child. Pedric had not betrayed himself by word, look, or deed, but Damir had been in his mind tonight. He had tasted Lorinda's lips, had felt Pedric's love for the girl. And he had endured Pedric's fear of rejection when he was about to tell Lorinda that he was a thief. Slightly censorious, Damir thought that Pedric should have known better than to steal away so far from anyone else. Two young rich people, alone in a maze, were a tempting target for greedy thieves, and Pedric couldn't be sure that his "fellow" thieves would recognize him in time. But Pedric was young, and the blood in his veins sang sweet and hot, and Damir was not so old as to have forgotten what that song did to one's judgment.
He scrambled over the rocks, nearly twisting his ankle. Normally when he came here, he was dressed for the excursion. Soft boots and hose were hardly appropriate for scrambling over rocks late at night.
At last Damir reached the spot. Though it was summer, the breeze off the ocean was chilly, and he shivered. He hadn't even brought a cloak. He physically steadied himself on the rock as he mentally steadied himself to call on his finest spy.
The song he had been taught was not for the ears or voice. Damir thought the notes, extended his presence, felt the song shudder through the stone, the sand, into the waters of the sea itself. And in his mind, he heard an answer.
A distance away, a dolphin broke the surface, leaped into the air, and crashed back down into the water. When it next emerged, it no longer looked like a sleek fish-mammal, but a man, albeit such a man as never walked the surface of Verold.
"This is not our night for meeting," said Darshirin, his voice soft and velvety, scarcely heard above the eternal lullaby of the ocean.