“Why now, since the Turning?” she asked.
“Estcarp has been at peace—more or less—since the witches reshaped the mountains. During peacetime, people have time to pursue such studies, and the study of family branchings has become increasingly popular.”
Alon urged Monso forward; they went on.
For nearly an hour they traversed open fields, broken by stands of closely grown woods. Both travelers were forced to ward off branches continually, for this area, having been much stirred about during the aftershocks of the Turning, was covered with younger trees sprouted since the forest giants had fallen, thirty years before.
“How much farther, Alon?” Eydryth asked, batting a protruding branch away from her ribs. “It will soon be dark. Can we reach Lormt by then?”
“No, but it is not too far. We are less than a day’s journey from the ancient stronghold of learning now,” he replied. “Tomorrow at noon should see us there, even at an easy pace.” He bent low in the saddle to avoid yet another gauntlet of low-hanging limbs. Eydryth flattened herself against his back, and as she did so, she distinctly heard a loud rumble from the region of his midsection. She chuckled. “Hungry, my lord? I am, too.”
Alon laughed ruefully. “I am famished, my lady. And I regret to remind you that that hen Steel Talon stole for our dinner was a granddam many times over, and will need slow cooking. However, it will not be too bad. I have several rather withered potatoes and a clove of garlic in my saddlebag. With a few wild onions and some of those tubers, we should have the makings for a tasty—”
He broke off as Monso halted abruptly. The Keplian snorted a warning, pawing nervously at the ground. Like shadows come to life, the shapes of mounted men slid into view from where they had been concealed behind the trees.
They were surrounded.
The ambush had been well planned, Eydryth recognized that, even as her mind frantically sought, then discarded, possibilities for escape.
The underbrush was too thick to allow them to turn off the trail and use the Keplian’s superior speed to outrun their would-be captors. Eydryth glanced back, only to note that the way back was also blocked.
Outlaws, she thought, and mentally prepared to sell her life dearly. A bard’s traditional impunity would not hold with brigands; Eydryth knew she would not only be stripped of her possessions, but probably forced to submit to her attackers’ attentions as well.
Then the lead rider moved forward, out of the shadows, and the girl recognized him as one of the guards of Estcarp. An officer, judging by the markings of rank on his sleeves and helmet. She felt immensely relieved, an emotion that Alon evidently shared, for she felt him relax. “Greetings, Lieutenant,” he said. “For a moment we took you for ruffians. We are none such, I assure you; only two travelers bound to Lormt to request aid of the master chronicler, Duratan, and the lore-mistress, Nolar.”
The officer did not return the young man’s greeting, nor did his tight-drawn expression ease. He spoke without turning his head. “Lady, is this the girl you seek?”
Another figure urged a mount forward. Although mailed and helmed like the guards, the newcomer was not of them, for she was female. With a stab of fear, Eydryth recognized the witch who had interrogated her within the Citadel.
“This is indeed the girl we have been seeking,” the woman spoke curtly. “Her name is Eydryth.”
“So it is,” the minstrel acknowledged, trying for a measure of bravado. “But knowing my name gives you no right to detain me!”
“You are under arrest,” the witch said flatly. “You have broken our law.”
The girl stiffened. “There is some mistake. I have committed no crime. Rather”—she allowed a measure of indignation to enter her voice—“I am the one who has been wronged; first, in your Citadel when one of your number ensorcelled me and stole my belongings, and now, by this wrongful charge of lawbreaking!”
“You aided a fugitive,” the witch said, implacably. “Where is she? Where is the girl who companied with you?”
The minstrel considered swiftly, then decided that there was no point in lying about Avris’s fate. “She is gone, Lady. By now she is deep in the mountains bordering Estcarp… a bride, she is, traveling in the company of her new husband.” Eydryth smiled thinly. “I doubt that by now she would do you overmuch good, if marriage truly robs your sisterhood of their powers.”
“So you admit that you aided her in her escape.”
“I admit only that I was compelled to do so, but it is common knowledge that you witches can compel others to your will!” She fenced with words, using a version of the truth to lend her voice conviction.
The witch gazed at her, her grey eyes like shards of winter ice, probing the songsmith’s face to determine if she spoke truthfully. Finally she gave a faint, mocking smile that made the fear in Eydryth’s heart congeal into a hard, painful lump within her breast. “I see…” the older woman said, finally. “Well, that one will be but a small loss. We were after a bigger prize, and it seems we have found it.”
The mail-clad woman regarded the bard measuringly. “You have led us quite a chase, girl. The Guardian wishes you to appear before her for testing. It seems that you have Power, after all. Only one with the Power could have quenched the light of a witch-jewel.”
“No!” Eydryth cried, fighting panic. “I have no Power, Lady! I am naught but a wandering songsmith, I swear it to whatever gods may hold sway in this land! I must get to Lormt—the life of my father depends upon it!”
“See here,” Alon spoke up, “Eydryth is not under your jurisdiction—she is not even from this land! She—”
“Quiet, lad,” the officer commanded. “You will anger the lady.”
The witch did not even glance at Alon as she said, “Bring the youth, also. I was advised last night that the sheriff of Rylon Corners has issued a warrant for his arrest.”
Eydryth slid off Monso’s back, then drew her sword from its place of concealment. “I will not let you stop me, Lady,” she said, dropping into fighting stance. She smiled grimly. “Even if I had Power within me—which I do not—I cannot imagine that it will do you much good if the mortal vessel that holds it lies dead. I must reach Lormt, and if you wish to stop me, you must kill me.”
6
Hearing the cold determination in Eydryth’s voice, the witch and her troops halted. There came a rustle, then the sound of booted feet as Alon dismounted and walked over to stand with the songsmith, his shoulder brushing hers as they confronted the forces from Estcarp. “Here,” the young woman said, passing her quarterstaff to her ally, “unless you wish to surrender yourself to them, you must fight with me, I fear. Guard my back.”
He obeyed her, moving until they stood pressed back-to-back. Then she heard him whisper, in a voice so soft only she could hear: “You must have bade farewell to your wits, Lady! There are seven of them against our two!”
But he made no move to put down the weapon she had given him, holding it awkwardly, as though it were naught but a stick. Inwardly, the girl sighed. If we ever are free again, I must teach him to fight. How could he have survived so long as a wanderer without such lessoning?
“Well?” she demanded of their captors. “Which will it be, Lady Witch? Will you kill us, or let us depart in peace?”
“You speak with great conviction, songsmith,” the older woman replied, breathing upon the cloudy jewel she now wore set into a silver wristlet. “But it remains to be seen whether you also speak the truth.”