Erlestoke emerged from the hole with Ryswin’s help, and clutched the blue-green DragonCrown fragment to his belly. The others climbed out, and the group made a dash fifty yards east to the tree line. Crouched there, leaning against a venerable oak, the prince looked back at Fortress Draconis.
The once-proud fortress had been shattered, and not even the snow could hide the damage. Walls gaped and buildings sagged. Whereas once the fortress would have been ablaze, serving as a beacon to warn Chytrine’s troops away, now it lay dim and dark, like a phantom of fog drifting in from the Crescent Sea.
Verum, the weapons-master, knelt beside the prince. “I have my bearings. East for two miles or so, then southeast and we’ll reach a storehouse. We can resupply ourselves there. After that, well, that’s a decision for you.”
Erlestoke nodded. “We have to keep this fragment from Chytrine, so we’ll head south, right behind her troops.”
“Not to question your judgment, Highness, but wouldn’t we want to be going away from her troops?”
The prince gave the man a wink. “Oh, we know she’ll be tracking us, so it doesn’t matter where we run. Head south and we’re closer to friends. Somehow, we’ll have to hope they reach us before she does.”
35
Too much had been going right. Will growled as the small group came to Meredo’s north gate. The day had dawned bright but cold, with a clear sky and small sun that promised no warmth. It was not the best weather in which to start a trip, but not that bad, considering the time of the year. Pushing the horses, they could make the trip in a week to a week and a half.
And the things that had gone right had been considerable. Kerrigan had returned looking a bit worn, with a hideous, half-naked green creature trailing after him. The innkeeper would have protested but for the fact that Vilwanese sorcerers had been looking for him, and the innkeeper had no desire to be turned into a frog or, worse yet, whatever it was the young master had following him.
Kerrigan didn’t say much about his absence, other than to say he’d met a powerful sorcerer who was going to help him with a mission that was critical to stopping Chytrine. Bok, the malachite urZrethi male, was a servant on loan, and would accompany them on their travels. His master would catch up with them later.
The magicker did cast some spells to repair Will’s blacked eye, then checked over his throat. He listened very intently to the story of Lady Snowflake. He thought for a long time, then gave Will a serious look.
“I don’t know who she was or what she did, but it was powerful magick. You’re healed, I can tell that. The spells I cast show there is nothing wrong with you, nothing at all.”
Will had arched an eyebrow. “That would be good, wouldn’t it?”
Kerrigan nodded, then reached out and lifted Will’s chin. He turned his head left and right, then frowned. “The only thing wrong is this: those scars should have given me some sense of something wrong. Same with the feeling of cold troubling you. It’s not a big problem, after all, since you can get warm, and the scars are not bad, and I sense no magick that would prevent you from being healed, but it is odd.”
“Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
“No, and that is what is odd. When I checked Crow and worked on his broken leg, I also could see all the other injuries he’d had, including just getting old. Same thing with Orla. When I healed her from injuries, I repaired some other things. I cleaned up some bits of wear from age, so she wouldn’t have those aches and pains. When I cast a diagnostic spell after that, there was less wrong with her than before.”
Will nodded. “That makes sense. It would be like your spell comparing the injured person against who they would be in top shape and you fixing the differences.”
“Exactly. In your case, though, the magick says that even cold and even with those scars, you are the best you can be.”
“Could you fix the scars?”
The bed in Kerrigan’s room groaned as he shifted his weight. “I could, if I could find them. I can see them, of course, but as far as magick is concerned, they don’t exist. For me to set things to rights, there has to be a sense of wrongness, and there isn’t here. Maybe if the spells that healed you interfered with each other, you could get this sort of mix-up. Maybe. I’m guessing.”
Will smiled. “You, guessing?”
“Well, yes.”
“And admitting it?”
Kerrigan’s expression soured. “I see you’ve not changed in my absence.”
The thief shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Only a little.”
The two of them had left Kerrigan’s room to join Princess Sayce and Dranae near the fire. There Sayce and Dranae recounted the exchange at the palace for the mage. Though they kept their voices low, Will knew the story would be flying through the streets of Meredo faster than the snow. While he knew that might not be a good thing, Will had put it out of his mind.
Until now.
A company of horsemen waited in the courtyard near the gate. They’d clearly been there for a while and, what was odder yet, each of them had a bare face. Their masks had been tied to their upper right arms, as was Will’s.
One man brought his horse forward to bar their path. He had sharp features and dark eyes, which were accentuated by the fact that the flesh which his mask had hidden was noticeably paler. He looked straight at Will, ignoring Crow and Alexia. “You’re the Norrington?”
Will nodded wearily and urged his horse forward, leaving Princess Sayce’s side. “I am.”
“You called the king a coward and said he wasn’t worthy of the sort of stouthearted folk we have here?”
“Something like that.”
“And in the Rampant Panther you said that we all need to be heroes to fight the Nor’witch?”
Will caught something odd in the man’s voice. “Yes, I guess I did.”
The man smiled. “Well, then, we’re your men. Our ancestors, they took to wearing masks to hide who they were. But that’s not serving us too well right now, so we’ll be wearing our masks as you do, and we’re adopting new names. We’re the Oriosan Freeman Company, pleased if you’d be leading us to Caledo.I’m Wheatly.”
The thief blinked and didn’t know what to say. When he’d seen them, he had anticipated trouble. But before Will could get past his surprise, the Murosan Princess rode forward. “In the name of King Bowmar of Murosa, I welcome you, Captain Wheatly, and your men. Please, join us.”
“Gladly. Thank you, Princess.” Wheatly waved his arm and his group started to thread their way back through the Lancers to make up the rear of the column. Most of the riders gave him a nod, but two bringing up the rear refused to meet his eyes.
“Wait a minute. Stop.” Will frowned. “Do I know you?”
The first man, whose soft shoulders mirrored his soft chin, shook his head. The second, looking young enough to be the first man’s son, smiled confidently. Though a large man, and quite powerfully put together, his voice squeaked with tightness. “My brother doesn’t speak much, Lord Norrington.”
Will caught the voice and glanced at the man’s hands to confirm his identity, but his thick mittens thwarted him. “Your name?”
“I’m known as North, my lord, and this is Lync…”
The other man looked up. “Lindenmere.”
A shiver ran down the thief’s spine. Kenleigh and Linchmere, what are you thinking? “You two should go home.”
Lindenmere’s voice shrank into a croak. “I have no home.” The mask on his upper arm had a second orphan notch cut into it. “I was born to the mask. I want the chance to earn it.”