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Chapter Three - Babes in the Woods
Lark sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. Ivaska, startled, lifted his large head from the floor, lifting one floppy ear as he looked at her over his shoulder. Lark listened intently, threw open the window over the bed to see a thin fog drifting amid the tents and shacks. She strained every sense she had, certain that he was out there, the man from her dreams. She never saw him, but she knew he was there, coming ever closer. The sheer terror she felt convinced her of it.
Ivaska got up onto the bed, crowding her, but otherwise unconcerned with invisible bogeymen. She convinced herself that if he were out there, really, Ivaska would have let her know. She closed the window and lay back down, curling up next to him, taking advantage of his heat. She took a little comfort from his deep, steady breathing and sheer solidness. Not for the first time in the past three weeks, she silently thanked her brother for giving the dog to her. Even still, it was a while before she dared to close her eyes and fall asleep again. This time, thankfully, she did not dream.
It had been a bad night. The worst in months. A single penny was the whole of the evening's earnings. If she kept this up, how was she going to eat? Especially with the price of food these days. Of course, if she kept this up, money would be the least of her worries.
The chair across from her scraped back. She looked up to see Lily sit down, setting a mug of steaming wine in front of each of them. Neither woman said anything for a moment, just stared at the bit of dented copper on the table between them. Finally, “Lark, that has to be the worst performance you have ever given.”
Lark pushed the wine away, stood, “Perhaps I should start circulating again. Better I try elsewhere.”
Lily stopped her with a hand on her arm, made her sit back down. “Going elsewhere isn't going to help and you know it. Your heart isn't in it anymore. You've been going steadily downhill since you got back from Evandair and you look awful.”
Lark buried her head in her arms. “So I feel.”
“Are you ill? I heard there was a plague or something over that way.”
“No,” Lark answered. “Not sick. Not... not sleeping.”
“Why not?” she asked gently, waving idly to the last few customers as they bade her goodnight and left. “Is it that handsome rake you said nearly got killed over there? What was his name? Delfy? Fell-trin....”
“Keltree,” Lark supplied. “And no, he is well Rue says. Is breaking hearts all over town.”
Lily hesitated. “Yours?”
Lark thought a moment. No, she decided, that was not the case. She shook her head.
“Then what?” Lily insisted.
Lark sighed, toyed with her mug without really drinking. “Is nightmares,” she confessed. “Have had since island. Can't sleep for dreaming. I have no rest. Even jumping at shadows, I am now. Poor 'Gale, he has my bad dreams, so he sleeps when I do not. He has no more chipper,” she muttered, tenderly ruffling his chest feathers as he dozed in her empty tambourine. She sighed again, stifled a yawn and sat back, drinking deeply from the wine. “If only there is sleep dreams cannot reach, maybe I could rest,” she mumbled wishfully.
Lily got up suddenly and disappeared into the back without a word. Confused, Lark waited. When Lily did not return after a few minutes, she began to pack her meager belongings into her bag. She looked up as Lily returned, something small tucked into her hand.
She grabbed Lark's arm, pulling her to her feet. “Come on,” she said, picking up Lark's mug with a practiced ease without dropping what was in her hand. “Grab featherbrain,” she added, waiting just long enough for Lark to scoop up the small bird and grab her tambourine before ushering her up the stairs. Ivaska lifted his head at the sound of the tambourine and, seeing his mistress leaving him, bounded upstairs behind them.
Lily took Lark to a small back room and lit the single lamp inside. The room was very narrow and held only a small bed, no wider than Lark's own, a night table and a low chest. Lily put the mug and the object on the night stand and opened the chest, pulled out a heavy quilt. She glanced over her shoulder at Lark who was just staring dumbly at her. “Don't just stand there, get ready for bed.”
Too tired to argue and genuinely curious, Lark set her things down and obeyed. Nightingale, realizing that they were here for the duration, found himself a cozy corner in the rafters, used before him by numerous other feathered transients. She unlaced her vest and laid it on the chest lid, added her skirt to the pile. Her slippers she put underneath the table and set her jewels on top of it, next to the mug of wine. She stood there, wearing only her low tied peasant blouse and waited.
Lily stood back, returned to the chest to get one more blanket, which she lay on the bed and folded back. “There,” she said. “That ought to be thick enough.”
“Thick enough for what?” Lark asked, staring oddly at the heavy quilt now padding the mattress.
“The mattress is straw. Not fresh, but clean. And I know how you hate straw beds. Now get in it,” she finished, pointing to it.
“Yes, mama,” Lark grinned tiredly and climbed between the quilts. She allowed Lily to fold it up over her lap. “Now what?”
Lily picked up a small brown bottle she had set on the table and measured out a few careful drops into the wine from glass pipette imbedded in the bottom of the cork. She closed the bottle and set it back on the table, picked up the mug and held it out to Lark. “Drink,” she ordered.
“What is?” Lark asked, accepting the mug, but stopping to smell it before sipping. There was a distinct bite to it now.
“Laudanum,” Lily answered.
“What is for?” she asked, drinking.
“It will help you sleep. My sister gave it to me when Dane's father died, two years ago. I promise you, no dreams will reach you where this will take you. Use it sparingly, though. All you need is but a little.”
She took the mug from Lark as she emptied it, set it down to draw the covers over her. Lark curled up against the pillow, feeling the warm, spicy wine carry the sweet heaviness of the drug through her body. Her feet felt leaden, her hands completely clumsy. She looked up at Lily slowly, tried to fight it. Lily brushed her cheek tenderly, a gesture that reminded Lark of her mother with a pang. “No, don't fight it,” she whispered. “Go with it. It will bring you peace. At least for a little while.”
The sensations were bittersweet as her body grew heavier, and numb. She was only dimly aware of Lily taking the mug, blowing out the lamp, and closing the door quietly behind her. No sooner she was out of the room, Ivaska was on the bed, making himself comfortable, keeping Lark warm. Then she knew nothing else.
Lark was unable to tell what time it was when she finally woke. The room was very dim, but she could hear life outside her door, in the taproom below. She yawned, stretched, sitting up. Ivaska was not in the room, which she found curious. She was certain he had climbed up onto the bed with her. Or had she dreamed that? No. She had slept without completely dreams, blissfully. She sighed, climbed out of the still warm bed and reached for her skirt. She left her vest behind, and stepped out into the hallway barefoot. The smells of breakfast hit her in a wave as she came near the stairs.
The taproom was moderately crowded with late breakfasters, wolfing down their meager meals. Lark wove through them to the end of the bar, as her usual table was occupied. She filched a hot roll from the tray as a young brunette, one of Lily's few help, carried it out of the kitchen over her short head. Lark tossed the roll from one hand to the other, trying to cool it off enough to be able to eat it.
“Serves you right,” Lily grunted, coming out of the back with a plate of breakfast ham and eggs destined for the very rich, very fat man sitting at Lark's table.
Lark bit into the roll, heedless of the heat now, imagining the taste of those eggs. She guessed the meal on that man's plate had cost easily twenty laurels. Fifteen for the eggs alone.
Lily drifted back by her, leaning over the bar to take the tray of dirty mugs and dishes Neneis handed her. “About time you got up,” she teased, gestured for Lark to follow her into the kitchen.
Lark laughed. “Is no later than usual.”
Once the kitchen door swung closed behind them, the noise level dropped off instantly. The kitchen was a soft bustle of activity, but it was quiet and warm. Ivaska was stretched out in front of the stove, chewing on a small bone. “I see he has had his breakfast. You really should not have, Lily.”
Lily set the tray down on the side of the washtub and turned to face Lark with her hands on her hips. “What choice did I have? The beast had to be fed or he would have stolen the food off my customer's knives!”
Lark looked at her, confused. “Was fed yesterday,” she protested.
“Yeah,” she laughed, tapping her chest. “Because I fed him. You were still asleep.”
“Asleep?”
“Yes, asleep. You sleep all night, all day and all night again. Next time, only put two drops in the wine, all right?”
Still stunned by the revelation of her long sleep, Lark's head reeled. “Next time?”
“Yes, next time. The nightmares probably will not go away just because you had one good sleep.” She began to load up her tray with her customers' needs.
“You are right, more likely.” Lark leaned back against the frame of the door. “Where can I get some of this... ladnum?”
“Laudanum,” she corrected, “and keep that bottle.”
“But is yours....”
Lily shrugged, “I don't need it any more.” She disappeared into the larder for a moment, locking it behind her as she came out with a gold key she kept around her neck. She carved a cheese up, putting it on a plate on the tray. She handed Lark a slice and dropped a small green apple in her pocket.
“You give me apples?” Lark questioned, overwhelmed by the generosity the woman was exhibiting. “I have not seen apples in city for months! You cannot give me apple!”
“Why not?” she shrugged, setting fresh hot bread on the plate and picking up the tray.
“Because you could sell for... six laurels, this apple is why!” She stopped the blond woman as she tried to go past her into the main taproom. “Lily, wait. I must know. Why are you so good to me?”
“Why must you know?” Lily's pale blue eyes met Lark's dark ones. “Why? Is it not enough that I am?”
“I have worked for other taverns here, none of them so good to workers. Why you? Why me?”
Lily sighed. “Because I like you, because the 'Tree likes you. My customers come to see you as much as for my cooking and soaps and washing, when you are yourself,” she added with a twinkle in her eye. “You are a friend. I care what happens to you. And you have stolen my son's heart. And my gratitude for teaching him a viable trade. There, is that reason enough? Go on, go get yourself some fresh air. Maybe a walk will help clear your head. I have work to do. I'll see you tonight. If you're up to it.”
Lark let her go, nibbling mindlessly at the slice of cheese while she thought on what Lily had just said. Lily interrupted her thoughts suddenly, popping just her head back through the door. “Oh, and when you go, take that monster over there with you. He's getting in the way back here and making Cook nervous.”
Lark laughed, heading up the back stairs to her room. She finished getting dressed, lacing her vest tightly and adding her belled sash to her hips. She tucked the little brown bottle carefully in her pack, taking note how little was left. Maybe a week at most. She paused to freshen up the room a bit, putting the quilts away in the chest before shouldering her bag and heading back down into the kitchen. Nightingale met her immediately, chirping his happy concerns. She chuckled and brushed a bit of sugar from his beak. He had been stealing the sugared currants again. She called Ivaska to her and slipped out the back door.
She wandered aimlessly for a short while, letting her mind wander freely. She decided suddenly that Lily had been more than generous of late and wanted to do something for her. She took quick stock of her location and turned immediately in the opposite direction towards the marketplace.
The market was bustling, in spite of the siege, although few frivolous objects were for sale any more. The prices on useful items were outrageous. She saw a bright copper kettle, and thought it would make a nice addition to Lily's kitchen, but then thought of the polishing it would need and decided against it. She wandered down towards the silk merchant, who, surprisingly enough, was still in business and having a devil of a time interesting anyone in his wares. He was more than happy to show her everything he had in stock, piece by piece. She considered buying Lily a silk dress only for a moment. Lily was not the kind of person to remain idle for very long and silk was simply not for working in. She saw some brightly colored ribbons hanging just under the stall's eaves and decided it would do for now. She was settling on the right shade of blue to compliment Lily's fine golden hair when she heard a familiar voice out of the crowd.
“Will you do something about those bells? You are making entirely too much damn noise!”
She spun, scanning the passing crowd for the source of the voice. A peep from Nightingale made her look left and she caught a glimpse of green and brown just across the way. “YOU!” she cried, pointing. “Stay right where you are!” She left the startled silk merchant hanging and wove her way quickly through the traffic.
Landros watched as she darted in and out amid the crowd. He had heard the bells, and taken a chance. As Luck, or Fate, or whatever, would have it, it paid off. He did not know why the sight of the dusky, black haired gypsy girl rushing across the street to meet him made his heart jump. Maybe it had something to do with the blue and white scarves that made up her skirt that displayed more than obscured her gorgeous legs. Maybe, yeah. That had to be it.
She threw herself into his arms with a squeal of delight.
He spun her, trying to catch his balance, and set her down, laughing. “Well, Hello to you too, darlin'. Haven't see you in a while. What are you up to?”
“Looking for gift for Lily.”
“Find anything?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Nothing that is right. So, what have you been into?”
Nightingale flew over, settling on Landros' shoulder, peeping his hello.
“And hello to you too, feathered one. Still stealing currents?” Nightingale glanced away with a chagrined chirp. Landros chuckled. “I thought so.” He turned back to Lark. “Oh, not much. Been keeping myself busy here and there. So have you, I hear, or so Rue tells me.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Adrick. Adrick saw Landros and barged right up, only peripherally acknowledging that Landros had been speaking with someone. “Landros, there you are!” He took the elf by the arm. “Come, we have to hurry. There is a job for us and this time I promise it is important.”
Landros pulled his arm away. “Good morning, Adrick,” he said, refusing to let his sudden good mood be spoiled. “Thank you, but I have other plans. I believe we were discussing a picnic, Lark?” he asked her.
She laughed. “I would love to.”
“You can flirt with the tart later, Landros. This is IMPORTANT,” he insisted, again trying to usher him off.
Landros stiffened. Adrick felt the difference Landros’s arm and turned to look fully at him. “Adrick, you remember Lark, don't you?” he said, tightly. “And I believe we had this discussion already.”
Adrick looked over at Lark, really seeing her for the first time. “Oh, I am terribly sorry. I had no idea it was you,” he said, trying to recover the situation quickly. “Forgive me for canceling the picnic, but, Landros.... it is about the children.”
Landros's manner changed instantly. “What about the children?”
“Some of them are... well.... missing. The Lord Mayor himself is gathering a small force to go and rescue them. If we do not hurry we will be late.…”
Landros did not wait to hear the rest of his speech. He turned to Lark, gave her a quick kiss. “I am sorry, but, I promise you, we'll have that picnic as soon as I get back.”
“Wait, I'll come with you!” she replied.
“Miss, this will be no place for...” Adrick began.
Lark rounded on him, giving him an intense, 'I dare you to stop me' glare; her eyes blackening.
He threw up his hands, surrendering. “Fine, but can we please go?”
“Ivaska!” Lark called, falling into pace with the two men. Ivaska stopped sniffing at gutter trash and trotted up obediently, fell into step at her side.
Landros glanced over at the animal. “Funny,” he said. “I don't remember the dog.”
Lark just laughed.
The City Hall was a huge place, though small compared to the Temple of Mystery a few scant blocks away from it. It was sparsely furnished, but the Spartan decor was a mere mask to the opulence it actually contained. It was designed to give one the feeling of stability and the blind, inevitability of justice, but Lark saw through it all. She noted the richness of the threads used in the few tapestries that hung glorifying the city and its inhabitants; the exotic and rare woods used in the desks of even moderately important people. But, unlike the temple, this building had taken damage from the siege. Some large rock or spell had caved in a whole quarter of the building near the front, and even now there were dwarves and other strong backs trying to clear the mess. Lark shook her head at the waste. She knew of other places that needed repairing more desperately than this, places people lived....
Adrick showed a piece of paper to a sergeant on duty and they were escorted immediately to a guarded office on a back hallway, clearly marked MAGISTRATE. The guard nodded to the sergeant and opened the door for them. As Lark started to follow, the guard put his hand on her chest, stopping her.
“I would remove that hand if you want to keep it,” Landros warned. The guard removed it, but still refused to allow Lark to pass.
“Only those who will be sent on the mission are permitted inside. And I do not remember the Magistrate mentioning any women,” he glared.
Lark put her fists on her hips. She could feel her rising anger as a physical heat boiling to the surface.
“I brought her,” Landros said through clenched teeth. Lark noted that Adrick had gone inside and left the scene of the discussion completely. “I have found her to be an admirable fighter when given the chance. Though her usefulness is not primarily in active combat.”
“I know very well what a woman is good for, sir.” Lark flushed instantly, her eyes narrowed, there was no trace of blue in them at all. “But that does not change the fact that she is not going in. I have my orders and they do not include....”
“What is going on out here, Corporal?!” a heavy set man roared, stepping out of the room.
The corporal came to instant attention. Even Landros gave a small bow in the man's direction.
“Your Lordship!” the corporal answered stiffly. “Sir! I was instructed to allow in only the adventurers to be sent on the mission, sir! This woman is trying to enter, sir!”
The man sized Lark up, even as Lark looked him over unabashedly. He was most certainly not what she had expected for the Lord Mayor of Portswain. He was heavy-set, that she had expected, though not really fat. And he was not at all unhandsome. His dark beard was well trimmed and his clothes were simple, if of good cloth. He wore no satins, no furs, no velvets. Only his shirt was silk and that was obviously well worn and hand embroidered. There was no gold chain of office around his neck as she had expected, and he had a very commanding air about him. He was obviously a man of the people, and not a politician. He raised an eyebrow at her indifference to his rank.
“A gypsy girl,” he mused. “Have you any skills other than music and dancing?” he asked. There was no hostility in his deep, bear-like voice.
Lark grabbed the hilt of her scimitar in her left hand, pulled it sideways, half out of the scabbard, angled away from her. “Is not for decoration, this. I DO know how to use.”
“Spunky,” he mused. “I like that, but... if you encounter the enemy, girl, can you handle yourself then?”
A pair of hands settled on Lark’s shoulders from behind. She almost finished pulling the blade, but Nightingale's indifference and the voice that spoke changed her mind. “I will vouch for her usefulness, my Lord.”
“Ah, Danhaven,” the mayor sighed, pleased. “If you are certain?”
“She saved my life, more than once. If you care to make further inquiries, you may ask the Magistrate about her involvement in the Evandair affair a few weeks ago. Besides, My Lord,” he added with his characteristic roguish grin, “if we are going after children would it not be better to have a woman along?”
The mayor laughed, scratching his beard. “True, true. But... I have this feeling this little 'woman' might actually take offense to that statement.”
“And you would be right,” she smiled, stepping back ever so purposefully on Keltree's foot. He pulled back with a sudden yelp.
The mayor chuckled, stepping aside with a sweeping bow. “Won't you join us, my lady?” he asked.
Lark gave him a pretty little curtsey, never taking her eyes off of him. “Why thank you. Don' mind if I do,” she grinned, slipping into the dark, close room.
The Magistrate's office was a small, dark paneled room with only three chairs and a heavy oak desk. It was very crowded. The Magistrate was standing behind the desk pouring over a map with a familiar dwarven figure who was standing on the Magistrate's chair to see and arguing with him over something. The Magistrate looked up and his face darkened when he saw Lark, but he said nothing when the Mayor appeared just behind her. Adrick was there, nodding occasionally, and discounting half of what Rog was suggesting. When Landros, Keltree, herself and the Mayor entered, there was barely room to move. It was hot and close in the room with so many male bodies.
Landros pulled a chair over for Lark just as Adrick was reaching blindly behind himself for it. Adrick managed to look behind in time to not end up on the floor. He scowled in their direction as Lark sat down and Landros stood directly behind her with his arms folded across his chest. The mayor was very quick to get things started.
He cleared his throat. “All right. Most of you know why you were sent for. For those who do not, about a dozen children from various parts of town, mostly from the lower class, poorer, unprotected neighborhoods, were found missing in their beds this morning.”
Lark paled, began paying very close attention. Landros stiffened. For once, he was glad Adrick had come looking for him.
“There were no witnesses, no signs of break-in or running away,” he sighed, soul weary, perching on the edge of the desk. The magistrate quickly snatched something out of his way before he could sit on it, glaring coldly at the man's back. “The priesthood of the Temple of Mysteries noticed mystic disturbances at what they thought to be random locations throughout the town. Since these disturbances were of similar nature to those discovered at the locations of our recent ‘random monster attacks’, they sent some of their people to investigate and found a child missing at each and every location. They found residues of teleportation magic and are right now preparing a spell to teleport you to the recipient location in hopes of your finding traces of the children and tracking down both them and their kidnappers. The PROBLEM with this whole escapade is the slight fact that the area of destination is right smack in enemy territory.”
He got off the desk and opened the map, pointed to a small squared off section about two miles or so outside the city walls, in the forested mountain region. “This is where the temple will be sending you. We have reports of some kind of patrols up this way, not all of which are completely human. There are rumors of goblinoids.” He folded the map and handed it to Rog, who tucked it away on his person. “You were chosen because none of you have direct ties to either military or politics. Should you be captured, you cannot be forced to give vital information to the enemy, as none of you have any.” He looked long and hard at Lark. “I do not think I need to impress upon you the dangers present for you should you be taken prisoner. No one here would think ill of you if you were to back down.”
Lark smiled softly. “Your concern is noted and appreciated, sir. However, risk is mine to take.”
He nodded, not pleased, but satisfied. “Very well then, if you will head to the Temple, I believe they should be ready for you. I am afraid I do not have much to offer you in the way of provisions, but with a forester among you,” he gestured in Landros's direction, “food should not really be much of a problem. However,” he turned to Lark, “if the lady would like, I believe I could find some leather armour about that might fit?” he asked.
“Thank you, again, but no. Am best protected when can move freely. You have to be able to hit me to do me hurt,” she grinned. With that, she shouldered her bag, threw Magistrate a saucy wink just to annoy him and headed out the door.
Once they were out on the steps, Landros leaned over to Lark. “What did you do to tick off the Magistrate?” he asked quietly.
She scratched Ivaska's head fondly. “Oh, nothing, really.”
“She wouldn't let him talk,” Rog smirked, as they stepped out into the busy street.
“And she was a woman,” Keltree added. “Ah, and what a woman!” he sighed happily. “Young Merrick, the lad we were summoned to aid a few weeks back asked for her specifically, and would not take no for an answer I am told. And you know the good Magistrate's opinions of women?” Landros nodded. “Well, he took it personally when he had to tender both herself and gentle Rue his gratitude for their aid in solving the problem.”
“You seem to have knack for getting yourself into trouble, young lady,” Landros grinned.
“OH!” Lark exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks. “Lily!! If I don't tell her am leaving she will worry!” She looked around, saw a young boy running out of an alley nearby chasing another laughing boy. “BOY!” she called, trotting over. “Come here! I have errand!”
The boy stopped, looked as though he was about to bolt, then crossed the street to meet her. “Yeah, lady?”
“Do you know where Cinnamon Tree is?”
“It's a Inn, i'n'it?” he asked, scratching his thin leg.
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I know where it is. Ya want directions?”
“No, want message run.”
The boy grinned, held out his hand. “That'll cost ya.”
Lark reached into her pocket and pulled out the apple Lily had given her that morning. “Is all I have right now. You play cards good, and you might get lunch out of this too.” His eyes widened and he reached for the apple. She pulled it out of his reach. “You run message?”
“Yeah, lady! Anything you want!”
She gave him the fruit, which he promptly tucked into his shirt. “You ask for Lily. You tell her gypsy sent you. Tell her gypsy had to go on ....” she fished for the word.
“A mission,” Landros supplied. “Tell her she's with her elven friend, and that I'll bring her back as soon as I can. Though it may be a few days. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!!” he exclaimed and repeated the message. “Find Lily at the Cinnomom Tree, tell her the gypsy went on a mission with her elf friend and will be back as soon as they can. Few days. Right!” and he bolted off down the street, cutting through an alley.
Lark and Landros had to run to catch up with the others.
At the Temple, they were ushered into a small inner courtyard where a large circle had been drawn on the flagstones with colored chalks. Lark took her belled belt off and folded it carefully up and put it in her bag, trading it for a warmer shawl which she tied at her hips. She made certain that her instruments were secured and would not be able to give away their position should stealth be required. She removed her dancing shoes, not wishing to ruin them wandering through the wilderness.
They were each given a small pack of dry provisions with an apology that there could not be more. One of the priests took note of Lark's bare feet.
“Have you no shoes, miss?” he asked politely.
She smiled. “Am fine, really. I like bare foots.”
“If we are ready?” called a tall, lean priest in dark blue robes and a long bluish grey beard. “Yes then, gather into the circle, but step carefully. Mind the dog. Good boy. Now, I am sending you not to the exact location of the original destination as I have been asked. I cannot, and I simply do not think it wise. I can tell you that you will be within a mile of it, so bear that in mind. Also, intelligence and scrys tell us that the enemy is in the region and are actively blocking such attempts to find the children. The mere fact that I have found a hole through which I can teleport you, surprises me, but oh well,” he said, finally taking a breath. “Here we go. And may the Matron keep you safe in this most holy of endeavors.”
No sooner he raised his arms and began to gesture than a sudden vertigo struck them. Ivaska spread his legs to try to get his balance, whimpering. Lark stumbled against Landros, who was in no better position himself and fell against Rog, who, surprisingly, managed to keep his balance. Lark fell forward, catching the ground with her hands. To her amazement, she felt grass growing up between her fingers and she watched, stunned, as a clump of wildflowers grew and bloomed virtually under her nose. The vertigo ceased and they found themselves in a wooded region, halfway up a long slope.
Ivaska continued to cower, not trusting his surroundings at all. Lark got to her feet shakily, trying to center her balance again, and went to him. She stroked the large shaggy head tenderly and spoke low, steady words to him, slowly calming the animal. Rog and Landros watched, fascinated as she charmed the dog out of his fear.
Keltree leaned over to Adrick, commented, “She certainly has a way with dumb animals, doesn't she?”
Adrick grumbled, staring hard at his friends. “Yes, she does, doesn't she. Of all varieties.” With that he turned and began to climb to the top of the rise. Keltree watched him go, a look of concerned confusion on his face.
“Is he ready to travel?” Keltree asked Lark.
“I think so,” she answered, and bent to the dog's ear again, whispering in Romany. The dog licked her ear and got up, began sniffing around.
They stayed close together, no one person more than fifteen feet from another, hunting for tracks, trails or signs of magic. Lark sent Nightingale up to search from the sky.
They searched for nearly an hour with no sign of either enemy or the missing children. “You would think,” Landros complained, getting up from inspecting the ground, “that two dozen kids and prospective guards would have left some sort of trail.”
“Perhaps we aren't looking in the right place?” Rog suggested.
A low, urgent wolf whistle came from a nearby tree. Lark put her hand on her scimitar. “Enemy patrol,” she whispered. “Up left.”
Keltree and Rog both put their bodies physically between her and the incoming enemy. Landros began backing up, closer to her. Eight men stepped into view, mostly, but not entirely human. Seeing the five men, they set hands on their own weapons, save for the one who had been using his as a machete. The tallest of the eight stepped forward, drew himself up to his most imposing and demanded. “What's the password?!”
Lark noted the faint protrusion of tusks in his mouth when he spoke. That and his cliff-like forehead spoke of goblin blood.
Keltree looked calmly from the man to the others of his party, then back at the man. “You mean you don't know?”
“Don't know what?” he demanded.
“The password.”
“Of course I know the bloody password!” he roared.
“Then what is the password!?” Keltree asked firmly.
“I asked YOU the password!”
Keltree sighed, looked down at Rog and shook his head sadly. “They don't know the password, boys. I suppose we'll have to arrest them.”
“Now hold on just a bloody minute!! Just who are you and what are you doin' out here!?” the leader demanded.
One of his men whispered to another, “Are they the relief, Sarge?”
Keltree burst out laughing. “Hah ha!! Relief! You hear that lads? He thinks we're his relief!”
Lark stifled a giggle as the others laughed heartily.
“No, we are not your relief.”
“Aw, peckernuts!” the sergeant grumbled. “Come on, when is headquarters gonna send us some relief? We been out here almost a month now. At least... at least share us some a yore provisions?” he asked, taking a hopeful step forward.
Keltree held out his sword, pointing it at him. “Not until you give us the password.”
“Cockatrice! It's cockatrice!”
“Wrong answer, buddy,” Rog chuckled, fondling the head on his war-hammer.
“Like hell it is!” the sergeant exclaimed.
Adrick cocked his head thoughtfully. “Actually, I think the man is right, commander. The last password we had WAS cockatrice. But they changed that a few weeks ago, just before you were given command actually, sir.”
“Ah, I see,” Keltree mused thoughtfully. “And you say you have been out here for five weeks with no relief?”
“Yes, sir!” the motley group chorused.
“Well, I shall just have to report this when I get back to base camp. In a couple of weeks.”
Their faces fell. Suddenly, one of the men began tugging on his sergeant's sleeve. “Sarge,” he whispered loudly. “Look, look! They gots a woman!”
“A woman!?” The sergeant straightened up, peeking around Keltree to get a glimpse or two of Lark. “And what, do tell, is you doing out here with a woman?!” he demanded suspiciously.
Adrick stepped forward, leaned in conspiratorially. “She's a present.”
“A present?” he grunted skeptically.
“You know, a slave girl, for 'you know who'. We caught her early this morning. She's a notoriously good dancer.”
The Sergeant licked his lips as he leered at her.
Landros determinedly stepped between her and the enemy soldiers, effectively blocking their view of her, aided by Keltree and Rog. Lark slowly set down her pack and blade, motioned Ivaska to stay put and began to slip off into the woods.
“Say,” the sergeant was saying. “If you ain't got any food to spare us, perhaps you might see your way to... maybe, loaning her to us for an hour or so? It has been five weeks.....” He grinned hopefully.
Adrick mused thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “I don't know. Commander?”
Keltree noticed the direction of the dog's attention, and made a guess at what the girl was doing. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if nursing some fond injury. He shook his head. “She is a feisty one, that gypsy. I think she would fight too much.”
One of the sergeant's men grinned. “An' where is the 'arm in that, sir?”
“Because it would visibly damage the merchandise and we want her to at least 'look' pure enough when we hand her over, you ninny,” Adrick snapped, slapping the man upside the back of his head.
“Speakin’ a’ feisty,” another man added, “she's done bolted.”
Keltree turned, looked angry, “What?! Damn you!” he growled at his nearest target, which happened to be Rog. “You stunted toad! You were supposed to be keeping an eye on her!”
“Sorry! The little minx bit me onct already! I wasn't gonna git TOO close!” he growled back, dodging the poorly aimed blow.
“I'll get her,” Landros snarled and bolted after her.
“And try not to bruise her, you green eared pike!” Keltree shouted after him.
Landros ran through the woods, not too fast, but trying to cool his temper. He understood that it was all a smoke screen, and that they were in very serious danger unless the cards were played very carefully. But it still bothered him. He paused, began looking about for signs of her. They were quite blatant… for a little while. Then they suddenly disappeared. He doubled back, thinking perhaps he had overrun the trail in his preoccupation. No, there was no trail. It just ended. But he could smell her, faintly, somewhere very close by. An acorn struck his shoulder. He looked up in the branches. She was sitting on a limb about fifteen feet up, peering down at him. Catching his eye, she smiled.
“Come to capture me, have you?” she laughed softly.
“Shhh, quietly,” he hissed, looking back over his shoulder. “I think we are still close enough to be heard if you scream loud enough.” He gestured for her to climb down to him.
She began to work her way down. “I know,” she whispered. “Is why stopped here. That and if they pursue, they would not think I stop so close. From here I could send illusion or poltergeist for them to chase.”
She landed lightly beside him, picked a leaf out of her hair.
“You ready to go back?” he asked. His heart was pounding in his chest and he did not know why.
“How we do this?” she whispered, her inexplicable delight dancing in her eyes.
He was almost mesmerized. Damn the girl, he thought, here they were in very real danger of more than their lives, and she was enjoying herself! And damned it all if he was not practically giddy himself. The whole scenario was almost comical, if he could forgive Adrick's ready, almost eager solution to the problem. He sighed. “How do we do this?” he repeated, looking the situation over for a moment. He shrugged, “Like this.” He bent down, snatched her wrist, grabbed her waist and tossed her neatly over his shoulder.
The wind was knocked out of her with a very loud “Ooof!”
“Sorry,” he whispered. “You all right?”
“All right?!” she nearly screamed. “Is no way to treat gypsy princess!” she hissed, not really angry, but feeling an instinctive need to protest the indignity. She swatted her open hand on his backside as hard as she could, struck something hard under the cloak instead which might have been a blade hilt. She rubbed her hand in pain.
His blood went cold suddenly. He stopped, turned to look back at her. She was trying to get her hair out of her face enough to glare at him. “You wouldn't lie to me about a thing like that, would you?” he asked.
She gave an indignant grunt, forgetting her hand for a moment, “Would I lie about thing like that?!” she mocked. “Of COURSE I would lie about thing like that!” she hissed, trying vainly to turn enough to look at him. “Have been lying since left father's caravan, lying by NOT admitting! When Gruma thinks I am ready, I will be Queen, but am not willing yet to be Rushavska queen.”
Landros took a moment to allow this news to sink in. He, an elven wanderer, born of non-noble wanderer parents, had bedded a princess. Hell, had been gifted with her virginity. And here he was with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour, pretending she was a slave girl destined for the enemy leader. He shrugged, 'ain't life funny that way,' he thought.
“You're a princess, I'm an elf. I guess that makes us both about four steps above everyone else.”
She gaped. “You arrogant....!” she began.
He began walking back to camp. He gave her rump a sound swat, “Now scream like a good little captive,” he grinned, walking back towards the others
He almost lost his grip when she suddenly began to kick and yell at the top of her lungs in Romany. Landros began uttering a few profanities of his own, complaining less than quietly in elven about her being a little too into her role. He nearly dropped her when a flailing heel caught him soundly in the face. She stopped, tried to see how badly she had hurt him. “Sorry,” she whispered.
He put his hand to his nose, looked at the blood on his fingers. “Why don't we play dead?” he suggested.
She suddenly screamed, loud and shrill, then cut herself off mid shriek, went limp across his back. “Not bad,” he frowned. He put on his best scowl, which was not all that hard considering his face was throbbing, and walked to where the others waited. He had to admit, she was a lot easier to carry when she was playing dead weight.
He almost dropped her again, began back pedaling when Ivaska came charging through the woods towards them and skidded to a halt a few steps away, growling.
“Uh, Lark.... do something about your friend here,” he said slowly.
“Well, turn me to see him!” she snapped. Landros hesitated, but turned just enough so that Ivaska could see her face. “SIT!” she hissed. She spoke to him in Romany, taking advantage of her gypsy way with animals, and convinced him to behave, that no harm was coming to her. He cocked his head, giving her a very confused stare, but sat and behaved himself, and followed them quietly.
Keltree was pacing the small area, furious, stopped now and again to 'have words' with Rog, or Adrick. Adrick was playing the calming advisor, continuously going back and forth between the players; dropping hints to the enemy men that the commander was 'a bit mad, you know' and subject to ‘complete and total blind rages’. “No one's safe then, no one,” he mused, shaking his head sadly, bustling back to Keltree to whisper soothingly to him.
“Ah, sir, see?” he said, gesturing broadly as Landros reentered the tiny glade with Lark's limp body over his shoulder and the dog close behind. “I told you he was a most excellent tracker. If anyone could find her, it was he.”
Keltree glared. “I thought I told you no bruises, Private?” he snarled coldly. “What did you do to her?”
“She fell out of a tree, sir,” Landros snapped, and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. He glanced down at the dog who cocked his head at him, looking strangely at Lark's limp body. “Can we go now, sir, before she wakes up and tries to take a bite out of me?” he asked, cocking a sideways glance at the enemy patrol who were openly admiring the exposed calves and round, well displayed hips. He turned his back to them, changing their view to something less rewarding.
“Yes, before she tries to get away again,” Keltree grumbled, “and you have to do some real damage to her. If she can't dance then she's no good to me. Come on then, pick up these things and lets get moving!” He turned to the patrol. “I'll speak to the duty sergeant when I return about your relief. 'Til then, buck up, you're doing a bang up job out here. Really.” He started to move off through the woods. “Oh,” he added as an afterthought. “By the way. The new password is Basilisk.”
“Thank you, sir! No more trouble now. Come on, men, let's go,” he grumbled, shuffling his men into a rough sort of order and moving them through the woods. A couple of them continued to watch the retreating figure of the unconscious gypsy longingly, until the sergeant gave them a good rap upside the heads to get them to fall back in line.
Keltree led the way through the woods, with Adrick close behind him and Rog trotting between him and Landros who brought up the rear with Lark and the dog, who thankfully, had fallen into line beside him with no trouble. After a few minutes, Lark ventured to lift her head, peeked through her hair to see if they were safely away. Seeing nothing, and confirming this with the songbird following at a distance, she allowed herself to relax. She opened her eyes again, saw something odd flash past her narrow field of vision just below the brush level. She tried to push herself upright, but could not get the leverage for some reason. She grabbed the tail of Landros's tunic, tugged. “Stop, stop,” she rasped. The blood rushing to her head made her voice hoarse.
He turned around, “What?”
“Put down,” she breathed.
He stopped and set her on her feet. She took a moment to catch her breath and her balance, tried to rub some of the soreness out of her stomach where it had been folded over his shoulder. Ivaska began nosing her, showing concern with the strangeness that he had just witnessed and wanting praise for doing as he had been told. She gave him an idle scratch and pushed him away. “Saw something.” She back-tracked a short way, bending to look under several bushes before she found what she had seen. She stood, a dirty rag doll dressed as a soldier in her hands.
Landros came up behind her, looked over her shoulder. “What is it?” he asked.
She sniffed it, taking a deep breath. There was the faint, spicy-musty smell of magic imbedded in the doll. “I think know how children stolen. Hey, Adrick!” she called, stepping around Landros to try and catch up to the priest.
Landros grabbed her by the waist, “Hey, shhh!” he warned. “Keep your voice down. We may not be far enough away yet.”
“Nightingale says they know nothing but get away. They well out of earshot.” She slipped out of his grasp and trotted to catch up with the others. “Adrick!”
The others stopped, suddenly realizing that the two had fallen behind. “Yes?” he asked, disdainfully. “What is it?”
“I found this.” She handed him the doll. “I think was magic, is what used to get children out here.”
Skeptical, he took it from her, gave it a cursory inspection. He was about to pass it back to her as insignificant when his eyes suddenly widened and he gave it a more thorough look over.
“Well, what you see?” she asked eagerly.
“It was magic, of that I am certain. A one charge, spent teleportation enchantment. What puzzles me, good lady, is how in the nine hells you knew? I barely saw the flash at first.” He looked her over, reassessing his opinion of her.
“I smelled magic,” she shrugged. “Don't you?”
He took a deep sniff of the doll, choked. “No, all I can smell is sticky fingers and dirt, I'm afraid. But you can smell magic?” he asked incredulous.
“Only spent magic. Or if place is loaded. Is unmistakable. I thought all who use magic could smell. But is good, now we have something for Ivaska to follow. I found back there,” she pointed and led them to the place where she had found it.
She showed the toy to Ivaska, whispered to him, and stood. He began snuffling through the underbrush and moved steadily forward through the woods away from the path, at a distinct angle from where they had been headed. Lark took a deep breath herself. “Magic here, too. Use to cover trail, maybe?”
“Very likely, young lady. VERY likely,” Adrick mused.
They followed Ivaska thorough the woods.
Keltree cleared his throat, “Now that we are out of their hearing, I wish to first of all, apologize for my behavior back there. The things I said were unforgivably crass, and I can only apologize. It is by no means or stretch of the imagination a reflection of my feelings toward any of you. Second,” he said, holding up his hand as voices rose to protest. “Second, I wish to congratulate you all on your quick thinking and ready wit and SUPERLATIVE acting. Good show, men, one and all!” He turned to Lark, bent over her hand. “As for you, my dear. Superlative. Absolutely superlative! By the time you were brought back they were so much in terror of my temper they were wishing for any excuse to be quit of us!” he grinned. “But, you did not have to abuse the poor private so. After all, he was only doing his duty.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared over at Landros, fully enjoying the fun. “Was enjoying his duty far too much, you ask me.”
Landros looked up, saw the stern, unyielding expression on her face and feared deep in his heart that he had indeed gone too far. Then she was laughing at him. She walked over, cleaning the remains of dried blood from his face with bit of damp cloth. “You are suppose to laugh, ninny,” she chuckled. “Or did I hurt you too much, sesket?”
“Sesket?” he asked, confused. “What is this word, sesket?”
She stepped back, thought for a second, trying to translate the word. “Too many meanings. Is, you use when... Means, 'tell me that,' or 'did it not' or 'is this not so', or 'understand?'”
He shook his head. “No, I don't.”
She laughed. “You use it when you want someone to agree with what you've said, or you dare them to prove you wrong. ... has too many translation,” she sighed.
“No kidding,” he chuckled. He put his arm around her shoulders and followed after the dog. He rubbed his still sore nose. “I'll tell you one thing, the gods help anyone who tries to take you alive!”
She slipped her arm around his waist as they walked. She looked back over her shoulder at Keltree. He stood watching them, a broad smile on his handsome face.
Night fell and found them no nearer to their goal. Rog sat down on the hillside and opened the map, reading it by the growing starlight. He began grumbling to himself. Lark sat down beside him. “What is?” she asked.
“Ah,” he growled. “Nothin'. We're a good ways from Portswain, but I can't figure out a place they could be takin' the youngun's.”
She laid a hand on Rog's shoulder. “We will find them, Rog. Worry not.”
“Yeah, but... will we find them in time!” he asked her, his eyes blazing as he looked at her. He got up and wandered a little ways away.
“We'd best make a camp,” Keltree suggested. “But after that last enemy patrol we encountered I do not think it wise that we have a fire. If we sleep close together we should be warm enough.”
Adrick snapped his blanket open. “Give me a few minutes and I might be able to do something about that.”
Landros noticed Lark staring off after the dwarf, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip. He sat down next to her. “Hey, what's the matter?”
She did not answer him. Instead she reached into her pack and pulled out a small bag of red velvet. She untied it and opened it wide, spreading it out on the ground like a cloth. She mumbled a few words as she passed her hand over the cloth and a soft, faint glow began, tiny willow-wisps floating above her hand. She then gathered the small, marked agates in her hands and shook them, dropped them onto the cloth.
Keltree noticed the light and came over, started to say something then noticed what she was doing. He squatted across from her. Adrick started to say something about the light as well, but Keltree motioned him to silence and gestured him over. Adrick stood behind Lark and watched.
She mumbled to herself, a chant her Gruma had taught her long ago, as she passed her hands over the spread runes. One by one, she turned seven stones on the cloth, read their symbols and positions by the werelights. “They are at sea,” she whispered. “Or they will be. ... Is unclear.” She pointed to a pair of stones off to the side, an arrow pointing away from it towards her and right stick lying eschew of it. “They are going south. But... they will not go south. They will stop in the west, not far. An island.”
“Southwest?” Adrick whispered.
Rog, having heard this, whipped out his map again and compared it to the pattern on the cloth. He tugged Keltree's sleeve, pointed out an indentation of the coastline not far away. “There is a cove here,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so not to disturb Lark. “A smuggler-pirate's paradise, a good place to hide a waiting ship. We might be able to catch them if we press on now.”
“No,” Lark said, not looking up. “No. We cannot catch them. We should not catch them. Are too many now. Will be less when land. Is town near and there is boat waiting for us. We will go there, and sail after.”
Landros laid an urgent hand on her arm. “Where is this island?”
She looked blankly at him. “I... I don't know.” She looked down at the stones on the ground in front of her, pointed to one lying off from the others with but two stones beside it. “Somewhere here. They are not exact or clear.” She folded up her cloth, retying the stones safely inside. “I am cold,” she shivered, rubbing her arms.
Keltree stood to remove his cloak. Adrick waved him off. “But a moment, my dear,” he said.
Landros pulled her close to him, wrapping his cloak around her, sharing its warmth. She leaned back against Landros's chest as Adrick searched for and found a large stone which he set near the center of the scattered bedrolls. He knelt before it and began praying until a soft, reddish glow began around him. Then, he reached out and touched the rock with his crossed fingers and it glowed brightly, then faded. A few seconds later, the air around them became distinctly warmer.
“Oh, is nice,” she moaned, stretching the soles of her feet towards the hot rock. “Now, if only had bit of supper, would be wonderful.”
“That,” Landros began, “I think I can do something about.” He slipped out of his cloak without disturbing Lark, draping the rest of it around her, and reached into his pack. He pulled out a small plaid blanket and unfolded it on the ground before them. With a word, it was suddenly spread with a large honeyed ham on a steaming platter, mounds of biscuits and a pot of dark honey. There was a large bowl of spiced vegetables and a steaming pie of possible appleish origins from the aroma. “Not bad,” he muttered. He picked up the pitcher and filled his cup with the contents, sampled it. “Mmmmm, cider,” he said, then began filling people's mugs.
“Still hot!” Rog gasped, trying to cool his burnt tongue.
“Where did you get this wonderful cloth?” Adrick asked, sampling the vegetable bowl. “And why haven't you shown it to me before?” he muttered, savoring the taste as it melted in his mouth. “This is exquisite!”
Lark took a biscuit and dipped it in the honey pot, enjoying the rich, hot, sticky sweetness. Keltree carved slices off the ham which Rog helped himself to. Ivaska's head came up, along with his ears any time the meat came near him. His tail thumped the ground hopefully, but no one seemed to notice.
“I don't flaunt this little item,” Landros said, staring at the soft green and brown plaid cloth. “Besides, I've never had the opportunity to use it when you were around.”
“All those evenings we've spent eating in greasy taverns and paying those unbelievable prices and you have the audacity to say that?” he pouted, his mouth full.
“It can only be used once a day and... I've been using it for other...” he let his voice trail off, not quite willing to come out and say exactly what he had been doing with the food in present company. Adrick, surprisingly, understood exactly what he had been doing with it and did not press. His heart was soft enough to pain him to see the orphans and poor of the city go hungry or cold, to make him not just wish to but to actually do something about it, but it did not make him any more comfortable talking about it. And bragging was just not to his taste. Far better a good deed often done and not known than a single deed done and crowed from tower to gutter.
Lark chuckled and threw Ivaska a piece of ham, leaned back in the cloak against Landros's chest. “So, where you get?”
“My father, actually. I do not know where he found it or when he acquired it, but it has served me as well as it served him.”
“Heirloom,” Lark nodded. She held up her hand, showing him the emerald ring on her forefinger. “This my Gruma gave me. Is very old. Maybe as old as you?” she grinned. “Older maybe. Keeps me safe from ghosts and other wandering spirit. Let me speak to them and learn.”
Rog grunted, “Didn't help much on Evandair. Or were you wearing it then?”
She fingered the stone thoughtfully, suddenly more sober. She wished he had not brought the island up. She had actually managed to forget about it for a little while. “Is not good against... physicals,” she finally answered.
“No kidding,” he grinned.
Landros could tell the topic was bothering her, had felt her sink into herself, shiver at the mention of the island. He put it in the back of his mind to ask her about it later. Now was obviously not the time. Something happened over there, something that disturbed her, like the talk about his father and the blanket disturbed him.
“Say,” Keltree cut in, sensing Lark's discomfort, “that was most impressive what you did with the deer back there.”
“Yes,” Adrick piped. “Most ingenious, girl. Most. I would not have thought to call up the illusion of a deer to lure away an enemy patrol.”
“Would have been for nothing if you had not given Keltree tree seeming,” she replied.
He shook off the credit, “It was only the illusion of a tree.”
Rog snorted, “Ain't too tough to make that one look like a tree!”
Landros refilled Rog's flask with cider. “Oh, he's nothing! You should meet our friend Barak Hillvale.”
“Thank you. Big man?” Rog asked.
“Let's just say that you could stand on your own shoulders and still not see him eye to eye,” he grinned.
Rog looked over at Keltree, sizing him up quickly, then at Lark with an eyebrow raised. Lark nodded, giggling. Rog drank deeply from his mug. “Humans!” he growled. “As if they ain't big enough!”
They laughed. “What can I say?” Keltree spread his hands mournfully. “But that I must duck my head most doorways I pass?”
Lark smiled, offering Ivaska a piece of biscuit. He ignored it, more interested in the ham in her other hand. He scooted forward, stretching to reach it, begging for it with his large brown eyes. She laughed.
“I think you are feeding the wrong animal the wrong meal, darlin',” Landros laughed as Nightingale landed on her hand and began to help himself to what the dog had turned down.
After a few minutes, Keltree sighed, set down his mug and helped himself to the pie. It did not last more than a few minutes after cutting. “Well,” he began, cleaning his mouth with a corner of his kerchief, “I say that we get some sleep, set short watches and get going at dawn. Rog, I'll need you to find this town that Lark mentioned and get us there as quickly as possible, encountering as few patrols as possible.”
“Shouldn't be too hard,” he answered. “We're mostly out of what is assumed to be enemy territory. But then, we do not really know for certain how far out they are going. My best tactical guess would be no more than 3 or 4 miles out of the city and we're close to past that. As for finding this town... don't sweat it. If you want, I'll take the first watch.”
“That is acceptable. Just wake someone up when you grow tired,” Keltree nodded.
The men began to move away from the feast towards bedrolls that were spread in a circle around the rock keeping them warm. Ivaska looked from one to the other as they walked away. When he was certain no one was looking, he began wolfing down the remains of the ham. Lark reached for a biscuit to put in her pocket for tomorrow and caught him. “Ivaska!” she hissed.
He ducked, but did not let go of the ham, began backing off slowly.
Landros held her back as she reached to take it from him. “Oh, let him have it. A big dog like that needs to eat big anyway. He is too thin as it is and I think we are done with it.”
She sighed, but gave in, jerked her hand upward in his direction, swearing under her breath.
Landros laughed. “Just get him off the blanket.”
She gave him a curt hand signal and he trotted over to a corner to devour his prize. Landros pulled out the honey and the rest of the biscuits, setting them aside for breakfast. He said the command word again and everything on the blanket disappeared. He stood and snapped it clean.
“Now that's the way to wash the dishes!” Rog laughed heartily as he wrapped himself up in his cloak and settled down to his watch.
Lark set Landros's cloak beside him and placed her bag as close to the rock as she could find room. She took her shawl from around her hips and wrapped herself up in it, and laid down on the cold, bare earth with only her bag for a pillow. Landros looked down from folding the blanket, saw the way she was planning to sleep. 'Doesn't the girl have a blanket?' he thought.
Lark reached secretively into the side pocket of her bag, feeling about for the tiny, carefully stored bottle.
“Lark, what do you think you are doing?” Landros growled from above her.
She jumped. “I...”
“Don't you have a bedroll?” he asked.
She breathed, suddenly realizing that she had been holding it. “No,” she answered, relaxing. “Was not planning on going where would need it. Only thing in bag is slippers and musicals.”
“You're using your instrument for a pillow?” Keltree asked from across the camp.
She shrugged. “Is in hard leather case. My head will not hurt. Has suffered worse and still in tune. Dog would make better pillow, but he's busy,” she grinned. She stifled a shriek, startled by the sudden weight of the picnic blanket descending on her. “What are...”
“Put half of it under you and cover yourself with the other half,” Landros said. “The earth will steal your body heat faster than the wind.”
“And what will you use?” she protested.
“I remembered a bedroll,” he grinned.
She sighed and stretched out on the blanket, folding it over her body. As she settled down, she took the opportunity to pull out her bottle and take a tiny sip of it. She tucked it back away and tried to get comfortable on her pack. Soon enough, it did not matter.
Landros spread his bedroll a few feet from hers, bundling himself up in his cloak. He laid there for a long time, very conscious of the woman curled up behind him. Her breathing became deep and regular very quickly. At least she was not having trouble sleeping. But then, she did not have herself occupying her mind. She had leaned back against him so naturally, had fit so well.... He drifted to sleep to thoughts of her warm, sinuous body curled up against his nestled deep in a feather mattress beside a warm fire.
Breakfast was dry biscuits moistened with generous amounts of honey. Rog spent nearly half an hour before sunrise pouring over the map and assessing the nearest possible location for a town as none was marked on the paper, not for miles. Finally, as the sun began creeping over the horizon's edge, he called Keltree over. Keltree knelt beside him, peered at the map over his shoulder. Rog pointed to a small inlet about a days walk from their current position. “This is the only place I can figure that would have the capacity to dock a ship. I am still betting that this cove right here,” he pointed to an indention much closer, “is where they left from. If they'd gone to the town, we'd catch them before they got there, what with so many little ones in tow.”
Keltree sighed, visibly worried. “I just hope we can find this island she mentioned. Before what is going to happen to them happens. I have a very bad feeling about all of this.” He looked over in Lark's direction. Everyone was up and about, packing up and stretching the cold and kinks out of their bones. She was still sound asleep, curled up in a tight little ball with one bare foot pressed against the surface of the rock which was quickly losing its heat as the sun rose. She did not even stir.
He gave Rog a pat on the shoulder. “Good work. We'll head for that cove and pray for the best just as soon as we can get moving.”
He got up, crossed to Lark, shook her gently. “Lark,” he said softly. “Wake up, my lady. We need to get moving.”
She did not respond. Fearfully, he pulled back a corner of the blanket, moving it away from her face. Her hair was damp, as was her forehead, though she was cold to the touch. She sighed heavily as he pulled a few damp strands from her face. “Come on, girl. We need you conscious here,” he whispered.
Landros came out of the woods not far away. He had been on the last watch and as soon as the others had begun to stir, he had headed off to do some scouting. He had found evidence of a patrol not far away and it seemed to be headed in roughly their direction. He started running when he saw Keltree bending over the still form of Lark with a strange look on his face. He dropped to his knees beside her. “What is it?!” he exclaimed.
Keltree sat back on his heels, to give Landros room, studied him curiously. “I am not sure. I cannot seem to wake her up, and we need to get moving.”
“No kidding,” he snapped, “there is a patrol out there no too far away and I have this feeling they are headed this way. We have maybe ten minutes at the most. We need to move quickly and we need to move quietly, and leave as few tracks as possible.”
Keltree got up immediately, going to each and every person and repeated Landros's observation to them. The news was better than coffee for waking people up and getting them moving.
Landros pulled Lark onto his lap, began tapping her jawbone, shaking her, trying everything he could think of to wake her. “Come on, darlin',” he muttered. “Ellinoia. Lark. Damn it, Illyana,” he hissed. “Now, come on, we haven't time for this!” He shook her again. She began to stir, to fight the drug's effects. “That's it, come on.” He reached over and pulled a bottle of water from his pack, splashed a little on her face.
Rog grabbed Keltree as he passed by him, pulled him down to his level, “What's wrong with Lark?”
Keltree shrugged. “I do not know. She seems to be in a heavy sleep. We are having trouble waking her.”
“Maybe the priest ought to look at her?” he growled. He let go of Keltree and strode to where Adrick was tucking the last of his equipment into his pack and finishing off his breakfast. “Priest,” he snapped. “Something's wrong with the gypsy. Go find out what!”
Adrick looked up at the small man, a sneer on his face at his commanding attitude. Before he could say something rude, it dawned on him what the dwarf had said. He looked over where Landros was trying to bring her around. Leaving his pack where it sat, he crossed over, squatted beside them. “What is the problem?” he asked, opening one of her eyes and peering in. Landros slapped his hand away. “Believe it on not, elf, I am trying to help,” he snapped. He opened her eye again. This time, Lark slapped his hand away, weakly. “Does she always sleep like a rock?” he asked Landros.
Landros glared. “How the hells am I supposed to know?” Adrick just looked at him. Landros frowned. “Not to my experience, no.”
Adrick began turning her face this way and that, opening her eyes, in general making a pest of himself. Lark began to fidget, sluggishly batting him away until she finally came to, sitting up on her own.
“Cease your devilment, priest,” she snapped drowsily.
Ivaska's head came up, staring off in the direction of the woods. Nightingale peeped a low warning.
Before Lark could rouse herself further or complain, both men grabbed an arm and pulled her to her feet. Landros grabbed the blanket, stuffed it into his bag. Adrick grabbed her pack and set it on her shoulder, then grabbed his own bag. Everyone grabbed their things and Landros began ushering her down the slope after the others. “What is hurry?!” she hissed.
Landros covered her mouth quickly, jerked his head towards the wood. “Ask your familiar, my dear,” he whispered. “Just keep moving.”
Nightingale landed on her shoulder, told her about the group of very large, armed men just on the other side of those trees. She stopped, in spite of Landros's attempt to keep her moving. “They'll see camp and follow,” she hissed.
“There is nothing we can do about that now,” he growled, pulling her along.
They did not get far before they heard the patrol behind them. They were not crashing through the underbrush in full chase, but they were there. Keltree silently drew his sword, began to fall behind the others. Rog drew his own weapon and kept pace with him. Landros stepped behind Lark, pulling one of his swords. They kept going, but prepared for the attack they were certain was eminent.
After a quarter of a mile, the sounds of the patrol stopped. Keltree paused, listened.
“Did we lose them?” Adrick whispered.
“I am not sure.”
Lark set Nightingale to go check. They waited, the sunlight speckling redly through the thinning leaves. Nothing seemed to move in the early morning.
The bird came back, landed on her hand, peeped confusedly at her.
“He says they are lying down. Why are they lying down?” He flicked his wings in an avian shrug. “He doesn't know, they are just lying down like sleeping. Full of sticks,” she whispered.
“I don't like it,” Rog grumbled. “It stinks.”
“Nobody move,” Landros whispered.
They froze.
An arrow whizzed into their midst, catching the tail of Lark's scarf as it flew passed her ear and pinned it to a tree. Lark whipped out of it and fell into a crouch in the middle of the small group, as they stepped back to form a small triad around her and Adrick. Suddenly twelve dirty greenish faces peered out of the brush all around them, bows drawn and nocked. She reached for her sand, preparing to cast, when Landros took a step towards them, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.
Landros remembered something from his childhood, something his mother used to tell him and his brother and sisters around the fireplace late winter nights. It was a story about wild elves who shunned all company but their own and who guarded their forest ranges with deadly jealousy from the predations and intrusions of others. But they were not unapproachable, if, like the wild bear, you approached them right. The mere fact that they were face to face with these elves and not pincushions on the forest floor attested to that. He held out his empty hands in a broad gesture of peace, was careful not to smile, lest a show of teeth be considered a hostile act. He spoke to them in elven, calling them brother in a low, soothing voice. He locked eyes with the nearest of them, held out his hand to him. The bowstring relaxed just a hair.
One of the elves to the left stepped out of the protection of the trees into the ring of bows where they were standing. He echoed Landros's gesture to him, calling him something that might have been brother, and asked him a question. It took Landros a moment to realize what he had said, the dialect was so pronounced and the speech so fast. He covered his mouth to hide the smile, glancing at the ground for a moment. He looked back up at the man. “Speak more slowly, brother,” he requested, slowing his own speech. “That we may understand one another.”
The elf suddenly smiled, laughing. He slowed his question, gesturing for the bows to be lowered. “Friend,” he said. “The others, ” he asked, gesturing in the direction of the enemy patrol, now feeding the mushrooms a few hundred yards away. “What they to you?”
“Enemy, ” he told them.
Seeing Landros speaking calmly with the man, the others began to relax. Lark stood, put a hand on Ivaska's head to silence his growling and moved to stand close at Landros's elbow. The other elf looked her over rather harshly, but did not acknowledge her beyond that.
“Enemy all men hunt here?”
“Big City, that way, ” Landros said, pointing back towards Portswain.
“Big wall?”
Landros nodded. “Enemy all around the city. Keep city in walls, want to destroy city. Steal our children.”
One of the other elves chattered something to his chief, so quickly Landros had no hope of understanding it. The chief looked back at Landros. “Large group came here, many little ones. These your children?”
Landros animated instantly, putting his friends on instant guard without realizing it. “You've seen them? And you did not stop them?!”
“Calm, friend. No, we did not see. We saw tracks, signs of children,” he pointed to the rag doll peeking out of Lark's bag. “Signs, ” he said.
Landros calmed. “Do you know where there is a human village? Nearby, place for getting big boat?”
They conferred with each other for a moment. One of the elves stepped forward. “I know this village, friend. I can take you there.”
They stared at him. “You speak the common?” Keltree asked him.
He nodded. “I was not always a wild one. They gave me shelter and a life when I had none left. I owe them much.” He turned to his chief, held a lengthy, fast paced conversation which ended with his stepping to Landros's side and the chief placing his hands on Landros's shoulders.
“Friend, ” he said, “Snowleaf will go, show you what you need to find. These enemies yours- enemies ours, burning our homes and trees when find. We lost much, will lose more if they stay. Game all but gone and winter coming. Take care of Snowleaf. He is our brother. Helping you with enemy is helping us with enemy. Need anything, ask. We will provide. Go, and may forest always walk with you.”
Landros placed his arm on the chief's arm and thanked him. “If you need anything. Ask. I will be there,” he said. “I swear this by the forest way.” The chief nodded, then walked past him, stroked the dog's head once and he and his men all vanished into the forest as if they had melted into it.
“So,” Keltree began, held out his hand to Snowleaf, “what exactly is it we have just agreed to?”
“You have agreed to nothing, actually,” he answered, taking the hand. “It was he made all the promises,” he said, pointing to Landros. “My woodling brethren named me Snowleaf, but my mother called me Savaren.”
Lark took this opportunity to retrieve her scarf from the tree, inspecting it before tying it to hold her hair out of her face.
“I am Keltree Danhaven. Your friend there is Landros. This is Brother Adrick and Rog Thrathrog.” He stepped back, gesturing to Lark as she stood up, flipped her hair back out of her face and pushed the narrow silk band into place. “And the lady here goes by Lark.”
Savaren took up her hand, bowed over it, gazing longingly at her, from her wild black curls to the tops of her barely concealed breast. “Ah, ellinoia,” he practically purred.
“Simara ellinoia,” Landros said tightly.
Savaren looked up, blinked, smiled as he looked from gypsy to elf and back. “Tell me, brother. Does she know it yet?”
“Ah, shall we be going then?” Keltree asked, hoping to diffuse any trouble that might be brewing here. He knew from experience that a woman was the cause of many a conflict.
Landros silently fumed. 'Why did I say that?' he demanded of himself. He had called her HIS songbird, but what claim had he to that? What indication had she ever given him in that regard? She was obviously familiar with Keltree, a well known ladies man and carouser, but how familiar? Just because she gave him her virginity did not mean he had not been a one-night-stand. It suddenly bothered him very much to think he might have been. Perhaps on this picnic he had promised her... perhaps then he would find out one way or another how she felt. How serious she had been, or how loose.
Evening was closing in when they arrived on the slope above the town. It was little more than a village, really; but it was large enough to have a small dock for its shallow harbor.
“This is Hallowell. There,” he pointed at the tall mast rising above the town in the harbor, “there is your ship. Gaining passage may be difficult, but gold will buy your way anywhere here. I only hope that you have some with you.”
As they stood there, they watched the sails rise and fill. “I think they intend to leave without us,” Keltree mused. They hurried down the slope into the village. Savaren pulled his hood up to shadow his face and Landros followed his example.
The group garnered a few glances as they hurried down the street towards the small dock; but no one stopped them or questioned their hurry. No longer able to see the masts, they began to run.
When they reached the dock, the ship was already riding the tide in the harbor.
“Welp, looks like we missed it!” Rog announced, rocking on his heels in relief.
Lark bent to him, “Yes, but if we miss boat, we cannot rescue little ones.”
Rog stopped rocking. After a moment of thinking, he began to curse under his breath in dwarven.
Looking around, Lark noticed a small boat nearby with a man just climbing out of it. She ran over. “Escuse,” she said, breathlessly. “Favor for me?” she pleaded, giving the man her best look of innocent desperation.
“What can I help you with?” he asked.
She pointed out into the harbor. “That boat. Have to get on it.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, miss. Can't be done. She's a cargo ship, not a passenger ship and the Cap'n's a little weird on having women on board.”
Lark reached into her pocket and pulled out three pieces of gold, her last three, and handed them to him. “Take us anyway.”
He grumbled, but climbed back down into the his boat. “Come on, then.”
Ivaska bounded over, looked down at the boat, some feet below him and whimpered as Lark began climbing down. The others were quick to follow, though Rog hesitated, then reached into his pack and pulled out Lark's glowing stone and put it in his pocket. Gritting his teeth, he climbed down into the boat. Lark looked up, saw Ivaska still on the dock. She grumbled, summoned up a poltergeist to lift him off the dock and down into the boat. He struggled, whimpering. Once his feet were soundly on the bottom of the boat, he promptly crawled between Lark's feet and laid down, tail between his legs and his whole massive body shaking.
“Humph, some guard dog,” the boatman muttered as he began to row them out to the ship.
“I understand completely, shaggy,” Rog grunted, holding onto the side of the boat with a white-knuckled grip. “I understand completely.”
Ten minutes later, they were within shouting distance of the vessel and the boatman yelled at them. “HAIL, ANDROMEDA!”
A face appeared over the side of the ship, a lantern held up to aid his eyes in the approaching dusk. “WALREN! WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW?! ALL CREW'S BEEN ACCOUNTED FOR!”
“GET THE CAPTAIN! I GOT PASSENGERS!”
“HE AIN'T GONNA TAKE PASSENGERS AN' YOU KNOW IT!”
“WELL,” he shouted back, “THESE FOLK AIN'T GONNA TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!”
The man shipboard grumbled and disappeared. By the time they reached the side of the vessel, another man leaned over the rail. His hair was thick and wild in the wind, and one eye was covered by a black patch, but he squinted down at the little boat. “I DON'T TAKE NO PASSENGERS!” he bellowed.
Lark stood up in the bow of the boat, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “YOU THROW DOWN ROPE, ME BUCKO! I'LL NOT BE CONDUCTING BUSINESS SHOUTING! I'd ruin my voice,” she added lower.
Keltree leaned back on his elbows. “Going to negotiate for us?” he asked as they waited. “Do you think it wise, considering that it has been stated that he is 'a little weird on women on board'?”
The rope landed practically on top of her to snickering from above. She grabbed the rope. “Precisely why I should,” she said, testing the security of the rope. “Oh, do we have money to offer him?” she asked. “I used my last to get us this far.”
Keltree pulled a small pouch from his belt. “This is part of what I was given by the Lord Mayor to finance us. You can offer all of that if you need to.”
She caught the bag neatly, tucked it down the front of her blouse and began climbing. From above, it appeared as though she were effortlessly walking up the side of the vessel, as she used her feet to help her climb. She swung one leg over the rail in short order and balanced there. She pulled the bag from her cleavage and tossed it to the Captain.
He barely caught it, peeked into it and saw a good number of gold coins with a few small gemstones winking back at him. He tucked it in his fist and glared hard at her. “That,” she said, “is passage for my friends and I to small island Southwest of here. Is not out of your way.”
“I said before this ain't no passenger ship. I'm fully loaded and headed South,” he growled.
“We should pick up very valuable cargo on island. Stolen cargo will make you heroes, if you get us to Portswain safe.”
“Portswain?” he exclaimed. He threw the money back at her. “Forget it, lady. No cargo is worth that risk!”
She dangled the bag by its strings. “If you take us, stay there, wait for our return and take us back into Portswain, there will be this and more from Lord Mayor himself reward.”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of cargo?”
“Children. Stolen from their beds two nights past. You do nothing but take us and wait. We do all fighting and hard work getting them back. We have priest among us and I am no small hand with magic. We will earn our keep or stay out of way.”
He looked over the rail at the little boat below, conscious of his men slowly gathering and watching, waiting for his reaction. “Kids, huh? Twice that?” he asked, eyeing the swinging bag of gold. “I don't know. I have a thing about women on my ship.”
“SHE'S NOT A WOMAN, SHE'S A GYPSY!!” Adrick bellowed. “GYPSY GOOD LUCK!” he called in his best imitation of her accent.
She laughed, leaning back dangerously on the rail. She hopped up, landed standing on the rail and turned a neat little pirouette. A shower of tiny blue sparks rained down on them, touching each sailor who had gathered. “Luck you need? What is better luck than Gypsy Princess?” With that she called up a series of poltergeists, seeming to summon up the winds to fill the sails. She stopped and the sails fell completely flat. “What do you say, Captain?”
“I say get off a there before you end up in the drink an' I lose out on the rest o' this!” he snarled, snatching the bag. “Move it, you laggards! YOU, get a ladder and toss it down. I want to be on the Ride before Sunrise!”
Lark hopped off the rail, shifted the poltergeist which she had not fully banished, and used it to haul poor Ivaska up the ship's side and deposit him on the deck. The others clambered up quickly enough, and she sent the poltergeist to carry their things. She giggled as she watched Ivaska try to get his sea legs. As a sailor began hauling the ladder back aboard and the boatman shifted his oars and rowed for shore again, the Captain came over with a young boy in tow.
“Villis,” he said. “He's the cabin boy. He'll take you down where you can get out of the way. Any of you know sailin?”
“I know a bit, sir,” Keltree admitted, “But probably not enough to be much help and just enough to be in the way.”
“Fine, stay out of it then. As for bunking, I have no room for any of you. So, if the lady is not objectionable, you'll get my cabin an' I'll bunk with the mate. There should be hammocks enough in the ship's stores. Ma'am, I trust the animal there will keep you out of trouble in that manner?”
She smiled, fondling Ivaska's ears. “Haven't had any trouble yet, sir. Not with these fine gentlemen.”
“Right,” he grunted. “Now, you want to call up that wind again, miss?”
“Certainly.” She swung her arm in a wide arc, as if to throw a handful of wind into the sail. The willowispies flew from her palm to settle like stars in the rigging. The poltergeists called up a nice head-wind and the ship eagerly leaped forward in the water.
“Thank you. Now, which of you knows where you're havin' me take you and would you care to show me?”
Rog elbowed his way forward. “If you'll just show me to a charting table, I might be able to do just that. If the fortune teller will join us?” he added pointedly. “After all, Lark, you are the one who told us where it is.”
She sighed. “Will try. But no promises.”
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Mandi L. Creguer
