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Chapter Eight - The Warren
No sooner it stopped raining, Lark and Landros went for a walk. After four solid days of rain the streets were still flooded, and the temperature ranged wildly from steamy days to frigid nights. The sewers were full and the banks of the river were threatening to over flow its underground banks and the streets in those few places where it flowed above ground. The sun was shining, making the city rather humid, but, after being cooped up by torrential rains for so long, nobody really cared.
Criers had been sent out, wandering the streets ringing their bells and bellowing “Hear Ye!" At the street corners they would stop and bellow their message to all who could hear before moving on to the next corner. Lark and Landros stopped to hear one of them as the young man came near enough to be understood.
"Hear ye! Hear ye!" he rang, his voice not unlike that of the bell he rang. "His Honor, the Lord Mayor of Portswain requires the presence of the People of Portswain in the Town Square at Midday for an announcement of great importance! Hear ye! Hear ye...."
"Wonder what is news?" Lark mused as they wandered away from the corner and the crowd.
"I think I know," Landros mused.
Lark glanced over at him. "Oh? Care to enlighten?" she asked. Nightingale, clinging tightly to her shoulder added his two cents.
Landros shook his head. "No. I trust the Mayor will explain better than I could. ...If I'm even right."
Lark left it at that, walked content beside him. "Is nearly midday now, perhaps should go there. Get good places so can actually hear and understand?"
"That sounds like a good idea," he mused. He turned them down a side street, cutting past the crowds slowly beginning to get the same idea.
It did not take them very long to get to the square at all, but even then it was quite a press. Lark saw a ledge on the second floor of the stone building on their side of the square. Footholds were easy as time and riots had worn away the corner. Gesturing for Landros to follow, Lark kilted up her skirts and scaled the side of the wall to the ledge. Several street kids had already found the perch, but, at the urging of the oldest of them, they tipped their caps and scooted down to make room.
Landros was not comfortable with the perch at all. It was nothing like a tree, whose branch could be straddled for security. The balance was all wrong. Lark, he noticed, did not seem to be having any problem with it whatsoever.
It was not long before there was movement by the scaffolding at the edge of the square. The Lord Mayor paused on the steps, shooed off two guards who were trying to follow him. He stood alone and tall on the platform, in simple clothes with only his gold chain and medallion of office as adornment. He waited patiently until the crowd fell silent, then he began to speak. Lark, without looking, slipped her hand into Landros's.
"My fellow citizens," he intoned, his voice carrying easily across the square. "I come to you in dire times. As you know this city has been under siege for several months and may remain so for several more. Our armed forces are small. A great many of you have volunteered already, entering the city soldiery and the city watch. For your initiative and courage, I salute you. Many of my advisors tell me that the citizens want to try to break this siege with a full assault. You are tired of the monsters and the raids and the assaults of fire and stone from the sky. We all are. No one wants this to end more than those who have suffered from it. And I tell you we are all suffering."
"TELL US SOMETHING WE DON'T KNOW!" came a shout from the crowd. There were murmurs of assent.
The Mayor nodded. "Very well. We have three choices. We can surrender and be ruled by an unknown government, for unknown purposes to unknown ends; or we can wait it out, falling eventually, but only after greater hardships, maybe being rescued by outside forces as of yet unheard from."
"YOU MEAN THE KING?!"
"YEAH! WHAT ABOUT THE KING?!"
"WHERE IS THE KING!?"
The shouts rang out across the square like a wave. The Mayor waited it out. When all was silent again he answered sadly. "I can honestly tell you that I do not know where the king is, or what is keeping him. I can tell you that I feel in my heart that it must be serious indeed if he has not yet arrived by late summer. Provided word reached him within a month of the siege, which is not unlikely if news traveled quickly, then he should have been here by now. However, if, as I suspect, the enemy has suppressed word of this, it may be expected, provided he moved immediately, that he should arrive within the next month or so. But, in spite of numerous scouts sent out and messengers sent, none of which have returned, we have no news either way." The crowd began to murmur again. The mayor continued without raising his voice at all, and the whispers hushed and listened.
"But we cannot count on the king in this. If he arrives, it will be because the Three will it. This is something that we have to do ourselves. If we fall, it will be because we gave up. Not because the king did not care and did not come. An enemy that can sneak up upon us so quickly and thoroughly, no doubt can stall the king long enough to bring about the downfall of a single port city."
"WHY HAVEN'T THEY CRUSHED US ALREADY?!" someone asked.
"YEAH?! WITH THE SIZE OF THEIR FORCES AND THAT MAGE, WHY DON'T THEY JUST TELEPORT THEIR ARMY INTO THE SQUARE AND BE DONE WITH US?!"
"It frightens you, doesn't it?" he asked. "To think that the enemy could overwhelm us at any time? That they are that strong and we that weak? But that is not what frightens me. What frightens me, and what should scare you most, is why they have not. Think about it. If they can and haven't, WHY? Why not let loose their hordes upon the walls and the streets and take us by force? Why waste their resources picking at us as they have? I tell you I have no answers for that. But I have had ideas, and that is what frightens me."
"Landros," Lark said quietly. "Do not like this…."
From somewhere in the front of the crowd someone said something, then said it again, louder even as Lark realized the truth of it. "They want the city in one piece!"
"THAT is what I fear," he continued. "Why they want it in one piece is a mystery I do not intend to discover the hard way. We must not wait for them to wear us down, to make us willing to surrender just for the relief it will bring. We have a third option: a frontal assault; break this siege once and for all. But it cannot be done with the forces we have. Yes, I have been told by my advisors, and frequently, that I have the right to draft every able-bodied male citizen of this city into the army and order them as I please. I could do that. But I won't. We cannot afford it. I could rightfully take the food from every table in this city, leave your children to starve to feed my army and save this city. But that I will not do, either. I will not take from you. I will not destroy this city in order to save it. It will save itself or it will fall because that is what the city wills. If we are to survive this, we have to work together, we have to give up everything that we can spare or we all will fall. Yes, I can send press gangs out to round up soldiers and supplies, but that would waste precious resources and send a message to the enemy that we are weak, desperate, and unwilling to fight for what is ours.
“What I am standing here now to ask you, each and every man, woman and child, is to give what you can give, of yourself, of your stores. A proposal has been made to permit those who have the resources to gather and back troops of irregulars, men and women who are under their control, but whose Captains will take orders from the army. These men and women can use whatever weapons, magic and supplies which are available to them, with no further obligation to the city military once the war is over. It is believed that these irregulars, being volunteers, will fight harder, having more reason to fight than because they have been told to. That the wealthy of the town will be backing them allows the burden on the city to support them to be lightened, and the tax upon the people's resources to be eased.
"Those of you who are interested in commanding or assembling or backing such forces, see Marshal Calais inside City Hall as soon as you can. The details will be posted in the usual locations around town. Those of you who are interested in participating, but cannot or do not desire to meet the requirements of command or support, see Sergeant Tibbs outside the barracks. Once again, this city will survive or fall based on what you decide in the next two days."
As he stepped off the platform, the crowd went up in a roar. Lark stood up, tugged on Landros to head on down. One of the boys grabbed her arm, shook his head and pointed down at the street. "TOO MUCH A PRESS!" he shouted over the din. "YOU COME WIF US! WE GETS YA DOWN!!"
She nodded, helped Landros to stand up while keeping his balance on the foot and a half wide ledge. The boys walked the edge and around the corner. Lark and Landros followed. The boys jumped down to the roof of the next building at the rear of the first, gestured for them to keep up. Lark looked back at Landros and laughed, slipped her hand out of his and jumped, landing light as a cat on the other roof. Landros waited until she had moved out of his way and jumped himself, landed solidly, but on his feet.
Lark put her hands on her hips and looked him over admiringly. "Am impressed," she purred.
"Hey," he shrugged, slipping an arm around her waist, "I'm an elf remember? I'm perfect."
"Come on, you two lovebirds," the oldest boy growled. "We gots to get going!"
Lark just laughed as she overheard the smaller of the boys with his head close to a third whisper, "They's not gonna go all kissy face on us are they?"
Landros could feel the heat rising to his face and pulled his hood up to hide his flush.
The boys shimmied down a hole in the room that led down to a dark room. The oldest struck a candlestub and led the way down a rickety stairway, through a maze of ancient rooms into a cellar of sorts. The two other boys moved an old wine cask and crawled into a hole in the wall behind it. The littlest one went in first and headed off. The oldest turned to their guests. "I can't carry the light in 'ere...."
"I can make light," Lark said.
The boy shook his head. "No good, ma'am. We knows the way only in the dark. You go on in, mind yer heads. Follow little Timmy, he'll call off the turns."
Lark looked at Landros, shrugged and crawled in. Landros hesitated. He looked at the boy holding the candle. "So where are we going?" he asked.
The boy grinned, "You'll see, General. You'll see."
'General?' he thought as he got onto his hands and knees and followed Lark.
The tunnel was narrow indeed. An adult of any size would have severe problems following any of these kids into these tunnels. As it was, even with his slight build, he was brushing the sides. He could feel other turn offs in the dark, tried to count them.
Several twisting turns later, they emerged into a large, rough cellar lit by torchlight and rusty lanterns. There were rough beds all along the walls with ratty blankets and not a few rats. There were broken bits of furniture and roughly repaired cast-offs rigged to 'make do'.
The older boy went over to one of the many tunnels and bellowed "TERRI!!!"
He then pulled one of the chairs from a crate table and offered it to Lark. Not to be rude, whether she wanted to or not, she sat. Landros quickly took up station behind her with one hand on her shoulder and another on his sword hilt. A few minutes later, a half-elven girl, maybe fifteen or so, came out of the tunnel and confronted them. She and the older boy carried on a short, low conversation after which the girl came up to the pair, sized them up almost rudely.
Finally, she stuck out her hand to Landros. "Welcome to the warren, General," she said.
Landros took her hand, noticed she had a firm grip for a girl. "Why, not to be rude, but, why do you keep calling me General?" he asked.
She laughed. "Because you are." She turned away, stuck two fingers in her mouth and blew a shrill four note whistle. "General, meet your army," she said with a flourish.
There came a rumbling in the tunnels, a hurried scrabbling that echoed through the chamber, getting louder and louder. Kids began to spill out into the room, all ages, all sizes, all kinds. They stood about, staring at the pair of them wide-eyed. A few minutes later, Billy sauntered in, brightened at the sight of them. He strode up, bowed to Lark, kissing her hand gallantly, "Princess," he said. "How do, General?" he piped, shaking Landros's hand.
"Billy, what the devil is going on here? Who are all these children and where do they come from?" Landros asked, not letting go of his hand.
"We live 'ere …when we need to. Somma us, ain't gots no uver place an' some hov us comes 'ere whens we needs a place to crash, or gets away from th' bigguns. We are th' h’invisible ones. Well, parts of 'em anyways. Th' riff raff an' castoff's a' society's ills! Ain't we, mates?" There came a cheer from the thirty or so odd kids in the room. The echo made it sound like there was a lot more. "This 'ere's our Queen, Terrisera. She looks af'er us an' keeps us outta trouble."
"Which ain't easy with you lot," she growled and pushed him playfully out of the way. "Billy has told us you need information. He has also told us that you feed the orphans at the House on a regular basis and have often been a champion to the children of this town. We appreciate this more than you can know. Therefore we have elected you our general and intend to help you fight the enemy. We understand you would never let us out on the actual field of battle except as drummers and bandage haulers..."
"Not even then," he said.
"... So we intend to fight where we can, here. We know somethings up and we will find out. When we do, we'll send our reports through Billy to you at the House of Lambs, or send a message of some sort to set up a meeting."
"How many of you are there?" Lark asked.
"Enough," she smiled. "More than enough."
Landros decided that if he was going to do this, damn it, but he was going to do this right. "First off, someone get me a map of the city," he said and strode over to the nearest wall without a bed under it and checked it out as a hanging surface. If the nails were long enough, it might work.
"You finkin' whats I fink yous finkin', Gen'ral?" Billy asked.
"Maybe," he mused.
Billy nodded and promptly disappeared. By the time someone came up with a map, he reappeared with an old, soft wood board, taken probably from some ancient crate in some forgotten warehouse. He took some rusty old nails out of his pocket and pounded the board into the wall with a block of wood, and then pinned the map to it with four crooked stickpins whose origins Landros was not about to ask.
Lark just sat in wonder at the hustle and bustle about her, trying not to laugh at the children playing at soldiers and inducting each other. There was an argument about to break out between a smaller group about who was going to be what rank. Lark came over. The sight of her standing over them with her hands on her hips shut the whole group up, except for one little one who insisted sullenly, "But she started it," he pouted.
"Well, I am going to finish," she said. "Now, let see. Have only one general. Do not need two. Have privates, need lots of privates. Need Sergeants to keep privates in line," she said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Then is Corporal, Captain, Major, Colonel and ...that is all."
"That's wrong," one boy said, crossing his arms sullenly.
Lark popped his elbow. "Uncross those when talking. Is rude." She turned to the rest of them, wagging her finger the way Rosita always did to her little ones. "From now on, anyone I see doing this, I ignore. Is means ‘I want to be left alone.’ So do this, and I leave you alone. Sesket? Do you understand?"
They nodded sullenly, "Yes, ma'am."
The boy uncrossed his arms and stuffed his hands in his pockets instead. "Now," she finished, turning to him. "How is wrong and what is right?"
He pulled his hands out and began ticking them off himself. "It goes private, corporal, sergeant, lieutenant, captain, major, colonel and general. There's others in there, but that's the basics."
"How do you know so much?" someone poked him.
"My dad is a Lieutenant. I know these things!"
"Enough!" she snapped. "Now," she continued when she had their silent attention, "I think to begin, rank should be by age and experience. AS YOU PROVE YOURSELF," she said, raising her voice over the shouts of complaint, "or disprove yourself, promotions and demotions will be in order, sesket?"
"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me," said Terrisera from behind Lark. "Better yet. Maybe the General should pick his colonels and they their majors and so on, who ever's left is a private and will be assigned one place or another."
There were mumbled complaints from the younger kids, but nothing serious. They trotted off to get the attentions of older, more influential children, hoping to get better ranking than private. "You are good with them," Terri said. Lark shrugged. "Well, Colonel..."
"Oh, no!" Lark said, holding up her hands. "Am not to be drafted into this. Will be partisan, but no ranking me! Keep me out."
"All right," she shrugged. "You can be our standard then," she grinned.
Lark sighed, "Do not know which is worse. Actually, I have someone might wish to be party to this. Is good source of information. Hears things from loose tongues. No one pays attention because cannot see, think as well cannot hear or speak...."
Terri nodded. "Dane of the Cinnamon Tree. We know him. He and his mother both have a kind heart. Yes, he would be good. But he cannot be a private. Maybe..."
"Maybe no rank," someone taunted. "Maybe just call 'im the BAT! He can be our spy!"
Lark laughed. "All can do is ask."
"And all he can say is no."
Lark looked the girl over. "How old are you?" she asked.
The girl shrugged. "Fifteen, sixteen, somewhere in there. Why?"
Lark chuckled. "Not much younger than I, but difference seems so..."
"So great?"
"Yes. So great."
Terri sat down on one of the beds. "I grew up fast. I had to. Pop sold me to the whorehouse when I was twelve. Too many girls. They started me as a scullery, but I slipped out the kitchen door and ran off. A lot of the poorer girls I know come there of their own will, thinking they ain't got no other recourse. But I wasn't gonna be that way. I knew if I tried, I could make something of myself. Yes, I stoop to petty thievery from time to time, stealing bread and things to trade for things. Some of these streetrats pick pockets, or beg, or just scavenge. Sometimes we sell information. We take care of ourselves."
"Are all of these without homes?" Lark asked, indicating the children all around them.
Terri shook her head. "No, very few actually live here. The warren is a place for them to come when they need to, for most of them. Those two over there?" she said, indicating a boy and girl playing at jacks in a corner, no more than eight years old. "They come down whenever their pa's been drinkin', hiding form him. Others just crash here when they are too tired or too far from home. There are some runaways, some orphans. Those that're too little I send to the House of Lambs. Like Billy's sister. Lots of them just come down here for the companionship, something to belong to, someone to play with. They keep me company. Marthen, over there, was one of us once," she said, indicating a burly youth perhaps a little older than Lark. "He apprenticed himself to a blacksmith about four years ago. He's getting married soon, he says and may even get the shop when his master dies. Did real good, does good by us."
"You are a Raunie in your way. A queen of little gypsies."
She smiled. "You could say that."
Across the room, Landros was busy dividing the map into sections and assigning one them to four "Colonels" or "Cardinals" as they called themselves. Before too much time had passed and the top staff had been briefed, everyone had a code name of a sort. The four colonels had long since ceased to be mere Colonels, now they were the Cardinals: The East, West, North and South Winds; which suited them fine, and Landros finally went with it. They were an information network after all, not a real army. Billy was dubbed the South Wind, in charge of Bayside and the docks. A tomboy named Felise was chosen to be the West Wind, in charge of most of the upper and larger residential districts, because she knew a lot of the kitchen help and gossips as her mother was a laundress and she was always sent to pick up and deliver things. A long legged, lanky boy by the name of Tamlain (who fancied himself a piper) was given the title of the East Wind and charge of upper Bayside and the merchant district. The title of North Wind was given to a small elven boy with the unlikely name of Mouse. The North part of town encompassed Tent Town and warehouses, a place he'd been crawling about all his short life.
Landros gratefully handed the reins over to the Cardinals and their queen and, taking Lark by the hand, retreated to a corner bed to breathe. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I think my Lord has bitten off more than I can chew," he sighed, watching the activity in the chamber.
"Who would have thought such a place would exist below?" Lark sighed. "That have organized does not surprise, but is lucky this place, this warren."
Lark closed her eyes, content in Landros's embrace with the happy sound of children around them. Behind her closed eyes, she saw the chamber, saw something else besides this warren of streetrats. It was like song in her heart, this vision, an epic ballad moving through her soul like a dragon through the sky. She saw a nest of dragons curled up in the center hollow, a great mother earth dragon and her brood of young slithering in and out of the tunnels around them. Then she saw something evil creep in, a miasma sent by something ungodly to choke the young and burn out the heart of the great mother. She became as stone, sank into the earth with the last of her brood and vanished. The evil came, faceless and black, seeking something powerful that she left behind. But the evil was driven out yet again, by something, someone. In her eyes she saw the cavern empty again, bare to the walls, but painted and ornate. A rune was etched over each entrance, save one, the one from which Terri had come. That one was labeled for the Wyrd, the unknown, the Silent Oracle.
Beside him, Landros felt her shudder, looked down and noticed her eyes were closed. He held her tighter, "Are you all right?" he whispered.
Lark just set her hand on his arm reassuringly and got up, walked over to the nearest tunnel, her eyes still closed. Landros followed her, confused, uncertain whether it was a nightmare or a vision that held her, that moved her.
Lark ran her hands over the rune above the tunnel, saw it clearly in her mind's eyes: Wyn, the rune of joy. She opened her eyes, saw an almost nonexistent impression of the same rune. It was so worn away that only her fingers knew the difference. Lark knew what these runes had been placed here for, as protection among other things, as directions. She knew also that she must remark the tunnels, lest the evil get in again, and destroy all of this, find what it had killed the great dragon for. The hooded mage was part of this evil, of that she was certain. Whatever it was the mage was looking for, it must not be found.
Lark reached up and touched a place on the wall. She could see with an inner eye that this was where the rune began, but all Landros saw was cold, bare rock, until she began to trace the rune back into the stone. It lit up with a cold blue fire, scoring the rock and leaving a blackened mark behind. He recognized the shape of the mark as the constellation she had pointed out to him once as joy, the sign she was born under. Lark moved away, to the next tunnel, closed her eyes a moment and traced another rune, burning this one into the stone as well. Now he was thoroughly confused, though he did not dare break her concentration to ask. She seemed to be choosing the runes with care, never the same one twice.
By the time she had done only a third of the tunnel entrances, the children had begun to notice and watch, fascinated. She stopped in front of one of the tunnels, looked at it curiously, and passed it by, not marking it at all, went on to another. When she was done, Lark stood back, turned, made sure that the tunnel she had passed was the only one without a mark, then moved to the center of the room.
She had to move a crate, but she found the spot she needed. She planted her feet and raised her arms. She felt a humming vibration beneath her feet, through her body, the beating of the dragon's heart, faint, but there. She began to call upon it, drawing the power into herself and out again, connecting the runes one by one to each other and to her.
Landros stepped back, and the children flattened themselves against the walls. The girl looked like a wind witch standing in the middle of the room, hair a living mass of black tendrils and her skirts the wings of some great creature. They could feel and hear the vibrations about them, and the runes on the walls began to glow one by one. Landros felt a sudden panic, not knowing if she was doing this or if she was yet again the victim of something more powerful. Something kept him from moving towards her, he could not say if it was something external, fear or plain wisdom.
Suddenly, the glow and the wind began to fade. Lark tried to maintain control, to keep the power flowing, the heart beating, but she could not hold onto it. The heartbeat slowed, faded and the power holding her up suddenly gave out, the song ended.
Landros felt himself move before he realized why, caught Lark before she hit the floor. He sat down with her in his lap, the children swarming around them. He tapped her cheek, shook her, looking her over for signs of injury. "Lark! Speak to me, little one! Please!"
Lark moaned in response, opened her eyes. "Hello, my Kestrel," she purred. She looked around, saw the scores of little faces peering down at her and laughed, remembering one of the tales from Rue's book. "Why do I feel like princess rescued by fairy king?"
Landros just kissed her, grateful that she was all right enough to make jokes.
"Mmm," she sighed. "Is reason enough to faint. Maybe I faint again…"
"Lark, this is not funny. What in the name of the nine hells happened? What did you do?"
She sat up, pushed her hair out of her face. "Do not know. Was guided by something else. I know was right. Did everything right. Could feel her all around, but... I must have weakened myself with runes, was not strong enough to do both. Another time." She saw the worry still in his eyes and smiled, caressed his face tenderly. "No, is not possession, my general. Is something else. Better. Am weak, but am fine. Will be doing no magic tonight, is sure," she chuckled wryly. Landros picked her up. "What are you doing?!" she laughed.
"Taking you home," he said shortly. He turned, looked around, trying to find a way out.
"No. Lily's," she said. He looked at her. "My things are there," she said. "And is food and bed if needed."
Landros looked at her, thought for a moment, looked deep into those eyes and... "Fine, Lily's then," he said reluctantly. "Now how the hell do I get out of here?"
The children giggled.
"Well, first of all, General, you have to put her down," Terri said. “There is no way to walk out of here. All ways are through the tunnels."
"Am fine, my kestrel. Can make my own way out," Lark protested. She brushed her fingers along his cheek, looked at him so tenderly he suddenly had no inclination whatsoever to let her go or deny her anything. With great reluctance, he set her on her feet, but did not let go of her, in case she was not steady enough. "Thank you," she said, giving him a light kiss.
"Then ya follows me!" Billy chimed. He proudly led them to the tunnel marked Wyn and crawled in ahead of them.
Landros insisted that Lark go ahead of him, in case she fainted or weakened she would not be left behind unawares.
This trip was more twisting then the first one, took more turns and ran more steeply. Finally they emerged into a part of the sewer and walked the ledge beside the river of sludge to a grate opening a short distance away. Billy stepped to the other side of it, made a grand gesture. "Ta-da!! One ladder to th' Cinnamom Tree, at yer serfice! Just two blocks over i'is! See you at th' Lamb t'night, gen'ral?" he asked with a sharp salute.
"It depends on a meeting this afternoon." He returned the salute, shook the boy's hand. He climbed the ladder first, made certain that the coast was clear above, and then helped Lark out. Billy had been right. They were in an alley not two blocks from the Cinnamon Tree.
Lark slipped her arm around his waist and walked with him back to the inn. Ivaska greeted them enthusiastically as they entered the stableyard, nuzzling and pushing at them for attention. They went up the back stairs to their room where Lily had laid out their spare clothes on the bed, folding the shirts and pants.
Landros began throwing his things into his bag. He turned, saw Lark slipping out of her clothes and stopped cold, feeling very warm all of a sudden. When she reached for the red dress lying on the bed he stood up. "Just what in the name of the Abyss do you think you are doing?"
Lark looked over her shoulder at him. "What, you wish me to entertain tonight like this?" she asked, turning to face him and spreading her arms with the dress still in hand. "Will certainly get attention, but am not certain want to deal with what kind."
Landros crossed the room in two strides, swept her up into his arms and dropped her, rather unceremoniously on the bed. Before she could squirm away, he pinned her there with his body. "Now see here, Princess," he said, ignoring her giggles and squirming to get loose. "I want you to stay here and get some rest. If you don't want to stay here, I'll take you back to the wagon and tuck you in myself. But you have overextended yourself in the warren and you need to rest."
She lay still then, staring up at him with a pout on her face. "But if want to dance?" she asked.
He tried to ignore the bare leg sliding sensuously up and over his. "Lark, I mean it. I don't want you fainting in the middle of a room crowded with hungry and drunken men."
"So," she said, beginning to move her other leg against his inner thigh, ever so slowly. "How are you to keep me in bed? Sesket?"
"I could always tie you. That scarf you always keep in your hair can restrain much more than just your glorious hair."
Lark felt a flush and a tingling wash through her at that threat, a tiny wave of nervous excitement. She did not show her reaction, parrying the remark with one of her own. "Besides, you have meeting. You have report of your army to give. You have real army to sign in for."
He just looked down at her, startled, her naked legs completely forgotten. "How do you know I intend to join the irregulars?"
She just smiled softly, inevitably. "I know you. You cannot stay out of this. You will not join regular army, but this? This I think was your idea."
"How?" he asked. He could not remember having mentioned it to her.
"It smells of you," she shrugged, lifted her head up enough to press her cheek against his neck, nuzzling her way between his shirt and his shoulder. "Like this," she purred, nipped.
A shock went through his entire body with that bite. What was that she said about not working any magic tonight? he asked himself. He kept her arms pinned, but it did not stop her from arousing him. He pressed his forehead against the pillow, moaned into her hair, "Lark... Ellinoia, please... don't...."
"Don't what?" she asked innocently, moving from his shoulder to kissing his throat, up by his ear.
To his surprise, he realized that she was actually purring. "That... is an odd action for ... a bird-lover," he stammered.
He could feel her smile against his throat. "All women are in their basic nature feline," she rumbled.
"Lark....," he warned, feeling himself reacting to the subtle shifting of her body beneath him. "Stop..."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because," he said, lifting his head from the pillow and away from the intoxicating fragrance of her hair. "It makes me want to do this..." he said, pressing a deep, long, weakening kiss to her mouth.
After a minute or so, he came up for air, "And I don't have time for this..." he said and kissing her again. Ah, the hell with it, he thought, rolling onto his side, pulling her close against him.
When Lark came down stairs finally, it was early evening and the customers were beginning to gather. Landros said his farewells at the top of the stairs and headed off to Colwyn's. Nightingale fussed at her from the hearth, complaining about having been left behind the whole morning and locked out the whole afternoon. She just laughed at him, stroked his feathers and fed him dried currants.
She was feeling languid and loose, ready to dance for the sheer joy of it. She was dancing even before the music began as she wove between the tables, chatting occasionally with people she knew. She turned, headed back to the fireplace and slammed into Coolie. He bent near her, took a deep breath of her, sneered, "You smell like a man."
Irritated by his possessive audacity, she leaned closer, took a few light sniffs of his garlic and sweat and beer stained shirt. "Funny. You don't," she said softly and whisked past him.
Determined not to let him spoil her evening, she began with a riotous melody, one so fast she could not really dance to it while she played it. The fiddle was practically smoking when she was done. The applause filled the small room then faded down again to the murmurs of conversation, and Lark began to play something softer and more quiet.
From the back of the room she saw a movement, looked up, but by then, whoever it was had slipped outside and disappeared. There was someone sitting at her corner table by the fire, someone who was coughing and sniffling and sounded very under the weather. Lark decided to find another table farther away to tell her fortunes in.
It was late when she changed clothes and left the 'Tree. The moon was already high in the sky, so she had no fear of shadows sneaking up on her tonight. She would see them coming provided she stayed in the open. She stopped to play a bit with Ivaska before bidding him a good night and telling him to stay put and guard well. She turned to go, and found herself suddenly swept up in a giant bear hug by a large man. She shrieked. Nightingale fell from her shoulder and fluttered awkwardly to the ground. Lark tried to draw the scimitar, but it would not draw. Then she realized that it was only her brother and settled for pounding her fists on his broad shoulders.
"You beast!!!" she laughed.
From the second floor, Dane's window opened and Lily leaned out. "Lark, are you all r...? Oh, hello, Ox!" she called. "Try and keep it down, will you? You'll wake my guests!"
"What guests?" Lark mocked as her brother put her down. Lily just laughed and closed the window. "Ox, you give too much a start!" she growled, slapping her brother's chest. "Be glad this get stuck or would have been Skrrrrtt!" she said, drawing the sheathed blade across his gut.
"Maybe should oil it?" he taunted. "Let me see," he said, holding his hand for the sword.
She shook her head. "Cannot. Would not be wise. Blade does not like hands of men," she said. She pulled on the hilt, was surprised when the blade slid out as if it were oiled silk. "Is strange. I guess comes out only when want to." She showed it to her brother, held it for him while he examined the blade.
He gave a low whistle. "Is nice blade. Where you get?" he asked.
"Odd little man in underground shop. Traded wand for. Was very good trade, I think," she said, shifting to their native tongue.
"What happened to yours?" he asked as she sheathed the blade and retrieved her complaining familiar from the flagstones.
"Succubus stole it. Don't ask," she laughed tiredly. "Is better not knowing. Walk me home?" she asked. "Have shadow am thinking."
"Can I ask you again to come home, Illyana?"
"No, you cannot."
"Then I will walk you home, little sister," he sighed, began walking with her out of the stableyard. "After all, you have moved, and I know not where you have moved to."
She smiled. "You will like new place, yes. Is nice, is safe."
"Good." They walked a few minutes in silence. "What is wrong with Nightingale?" he asked.
"Some pashaska watchman broke wing. Is fine. Will fly soon. For now is just grumpy."
"And why is dog I give you living with innkeeper?"
Lark sighed. She had not relished the question, though she knew it would have come eventually. "Is loan. She feeds and employs me, I loan her dog to watch chickens. Lot of thieving lately. Am safe and watched where am, so dog not needed. And gets fed well and lot of attention with Dane and stableboy to play with. Am fine. When leave city, he come too. Besides, I eat eggs he guards. So in way is still watching me."
Ivan grumbled to himself, but knew better than to argue with his sister's logic. "So, Gruma said you wanted to see me?" he said, getting right to business.
"Yes," she sighed. "Is about blind boy, my fiddle student."
"Oh?" he asked with an arch of his brow.
"His mother is worried. Things are getting... odd around. She worries that uncle cannot take him if something happen to her or to inn. His father passed a few years ago, so without mother is no one. He would not be good for orphanage."
"What are you saying, 'Yani?"
"Am saying have promised to care for him. What am asking is to talk to father for apprenticing. She said she would think, but I think is best. Want to ask if papa will take the boy in for year. You heard him. Is good player. But mother is too protective and knows this. Is old enough now to learn self-reliance. And with siege and war and other nastiness going on, is better he is there and not here."
"And what about you, Petrovna? Are you not safer there than here?"
"Am happier here," she said and left it at that.
Ivan wisely did not say another word the whole way to the upper district. He looked around him in nervous curiosity once he realized what part of town they were in. "Should we be cutting through here?" he asked. "Will not Watch think we are up to no good?"
"Probably," she grinned, turned to walk backwards so she could watch him, "But dare not do anything about." Nightingale gave a short 'so there!' chirp, which made both of them laugh.
They heard a whistling up ahead, saw a swinging light. The bearer stopped, held up the lantern to get a better look at them. "Halt!" he called. "Who goes!"
Lark laughed, kept her eyes on her brother. "Evening, lieutenant!" she called, certain that it was the young lieutenant who she had almost run over with Dolal a few nights ago.
"Miss Lark?" the answer came. Ivan's eyes grew wide. Lark was not sure if it was with surprise or displeasure. The lieutenant closed the distance, bowed when he recognized Lark. "Ah! It is you! Forgive me, I thought, seeing you not alone... that you were someone else."
"Is all right. Are doing job. This is brother, Ox."
"Evening, sir," he said, tipping his hat to him. "Well, I've got my rounds. Have a good night, miss, sir," he said cheerily and went, whistling still, back to his rounds.
As soon as the man was out of earshot, Ivan grabbed his sister's elbow and began walking her down the street. "What was that all about?! Do you want to get us both arrested?"
She jerked her arm free. "For what?" she laughed. "Walking up street?"
"Yes! In case you don't remember, girl, you are gypsy! That is all they see, his kind, and to them gypsy is thief!"
"All that one sees," she seethed, "is pretty girl who lives on this street! Yes, some of his peers do think like this, but not all. If we wish to be treated otherwise, we should expect to be treated otherwise. Now, do you wish to visit my caravan or not?"
He just stared hard at his sister. Lark knew what had to be running through his mind. How much of a Gegenta was his sister becoming? Finally he nodded and allowed her to lead him down the street to the gate of Lord Colwyn's manor. Before she could get the gate open enough to let them both in, the stable boy came running out. He skittered to a stop when he saw Lark. "Oh," he said with disappointment and opened the gate for her. "I thought you were the master."
"Is Lord Colwyn gone?" she asked.
He nodded. "Lord's council meeting. He was awfully anxious about it. Good night!" he chirped and trotted back into the stable.
Ivan frowned as Lark set off towards the house. Lark just shook her head, certain what he must be thinking. She cut around through the garden and into the woods, where she activated her pendant. Nightingale gave a happy chirp when the caravan came into sight. "Was hurricane through here some time ago. Ripped up wagon pretty bad. Lord Colwyn is friend of friend and allows me to live here. Even fixed wagon when needed.”
“I see,” he said and not without some displeasure in his voice. “You have cultivated some powerful friends, Petrovna.”
Lark sighed. “In these times, a gypsy needs powerful friends. Will you be staying night?”
He sat down on the tail of the wagon. “Since you invited me…”
She raised an eyebrow. “What, Jena getting soft?”
“No, Jena gave me a daughter,” he grinned.
Lark threw her arms around her brother with a squeal of delight. “Am so glad for you! What is name?”
“Anjenia Ivanova,” he said proudly. “Will be a singer no doubt. Has strong lungs.” Lark perched beside him after putting her familiar into his birdhouse. “Have other news, as well,” he added, pulling out his pipe and packing it.
“Oh?”
“Yarmine is getting married.”
“Is about time she quit giving that poor boy a chase about! She finally agree?”
“He finally pinned her down, quite literally. Told her ‘marry me or let me go, will not get up until you decide’.”
Lark laughed. “Always a romantic, Gregor,” she said sarcastically.
“Whatever works,” he shrugged. “It would be good for marriage and clan if you were there.”
Lark thought a moment, looked up at the moon hanging in the sky above them, partially obscured by clouds. It was nearly full. She gauged no more than a few days. “Is close.”
“Yes,” he said. “Will begin in two nights.”
“Come back for me,” she said quickly, an action which was not lost on her brother. "Day after tomorrow."
“A lover?” he asked, lighting his pipe.
She looked at him with her dark eyes, trying to fathom how he had guessed or deduced that fact. No man had ever been known to have the sight, though occasional minor gifts weakly manifested themselves. “Is rude question, Petrovich,” she told him and went inside the caravan.
Ivan sat outside, smoking his pipe, and thinking.
Lark gathered up blankets for her brother, knowing that her refusal to answer had told him what he had wanted to know. She did not care, she, at least, had not admitted it, and it was a rude question. Brother or not, that did not give him the right. Besides, if he knew he would probably try to chase him off, like he had every other boy who had ever been interested in her. Not that Landros would yield to such things. It would no doubt start a fight that neither could win. If he knew that her lover was gegenta, he would probably tell their father, who would more than likely order her dragged back forcibly. That, or issue her the ultimatum that she feared, that had kept her from giving herself fully to her handsome young elf. She was not certain she could choose between her family and her lover.
She went back outside, dropped the blankets beside her brother. “Here. Is comfortable under wagon. Have slept there myself once or twice,” she said.
“Thank you,” he answered.
She crouched beside him, gave him a small bag of coins.
“What is?” he asked, confused by its chink and weight.
“Money. Have favor to ask.”
“Yes?” he said, looking up at his sister, his face lit only by the soft glow of his pipe.
“Little boy I tell you of, is good player, but needs practice. Cannot always leave my fiddle… The local instrument maker lost his shop to earlier attack, his hands… are ruined now. Cannot get new fiddle here. Need you to find me one and have no trade goods. Anything serviceable will do.”
He pocketed the bag, nodding though reluctantly it seemed. “You are giving a lot for this boy,” he said. “This gegenta.”
“I like him, and is good player. Besides, owe his mother more than can repay. Goodnight.”
Lark went back inside the wagon, not really wanting to stay outside longer than she had to, afraid of the questions her brother might ask. She went straight to bed, aware of him out there, smoking on the tail for a long while.
Landros sat in the chair of his Lord’s study, dozing as he waited for his return. He was startled awake by a voice asking the question, “I take it you’ve heard the Lord Mayor’s speech?”
“My Lord?” he asked, snapping to consciousness from sultry dreams of a pair of dark blue eyes.
“Let me guess you got very little sleep during the rains,” he grinned.
Landros felt a flush beginning around his ears. “Something like that. I did hear the Lord Mayor’s speech, and I have other news for you.”
He told Lord Colwyn of the underground and the warren, though not how to get there, and of the small army he had ‘inherited’.
“General, huh?” Colwyn chuckled.
Landros rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Not by choice, sir, but I am afraid so.”
“Amusing, but useful. Have you yet to sign up for the irregular army, then?”
“No, sir, but I intend to.”
“Good, I don’t want you to. I’ll need you in my own forces.”
“I do not mean to be rude, my Lord, but I have plans you might want to hear.”
Colwyn looked up, saw the intense look on his squire’s face and sat back in his chair. After a moment he gestured for Landros to go on.
“You remember when we went out to rescue the children that there was the matter of a wild elf who helped us and died in the confrontation with the succubus?”
“I remember something of that nature, yes.”
“Well, his chief made a promise to me, and I to him. That tribe is outside of the enemy forces’ circle of influence.” He stopped there, waiting for it to sink in. When he saw the look of enlightenment on Colwyn’s face, he went on. “If I can get out there, I can get them to help and have a complete army at our disposal, AT THE REAR of the enemy.”
“Are you certain they will put themselves at risk?”
He nodded. “They are plagued by the enemy as well, though not so openly. They have already made a promise to me I intend to hold them to. All I have to do is get out there. And for that, I will need some priestly help.”
Colwyn sat quietly for a long time, and Landros let him think. After a while he got up and began penning a letter which he signed, sealed and handed to Landros.
“Take this immediately to Father Orlin at the matron’s house. Make sure that no one else sees it. After he’s read it, explain your plan to him and do what he tells you. I’d suggest going prepared to stay, in case you have to. I would guess the city will be prepared to launch an attack within about two weeks or so.”
“Two weeks?”
He sighed. “It takes time to move an army. And if we move slowly enough, we can move without being noticed and prepared for. The council has decided that to gather quickly is to be noticed, as well as ill-prepared, and the mayor agrees.”
“Won’t going now wake the good father up?”
He shook his head. “He is something of a night owl. Go, you’ve stalled long enough,” he chuckled. “And may the goddesses watch over you.”
Landros took his leave, headed out into the woods, rather than for the gate. First things first, he thought. He could not leave for potentially several days without telling her something, or at least leaving her a note.
He was already packed for long travel, had everything he thought he would need in his pack. He saw the caravan just up ahead, trotted across the grass to it, hoping she would be there. He had a stolen rose in his hand as he silently slipped up the steps. He could smell her inside the moment he opened the door, sweet poison. She was getting to be an addiction, he realized. He quietly went to the bed, sat down on the edge and just watched her sleeping for a long moment in the thin moonlight drifting in through the open window. He caressed her cheek with the rose, watched her slight, almost feline reactions to the touch, sensual even in her sleep. After a brief moment, and a murmur or two, she opened her eyes, stared dreamily out the window up at the moon, then turned and started as she saw him. “Landros!” she cried softly, the smile melting its way across her face.
“Hello, princess,” he said, kissed her. She clung to him, unwilling to end the kiss or the embrace, and, truthfully, neither was he. It was a long moment before he was able to pull away. He rested his forehead against hers, unwilling to end the contact even that much. “I have to go,” he said painfully.
“Why? Cannot stay even night?”
“No. I have to go immediately. You remember Savaren’s people?”
“Yes,” she said hesitantly.
“I have to go find them and prepare them for the battle. I do not know if I will be back for some time, and I have to go now. I did not want to disappear without a word to you, or a kiss.” He caressed her cheek with the back of one finger, memorizing her face, as if he could forget those lips.
“Be careful,” she whispered, lacing her fingers in the soft curls at the back of his neck. She tilted her chin up, kissed him again.
It was the last kiss he would permit, otherwise…. “Farewell, Illyana, Simara Ellinoia,” he whispered, laying the rose against her cheek and reluctantly moving away.
Lark just lay there as she watched the patch of light from the doorway grow and fade, taking him away from her. She rolled over, facing the window and the moon and just let the tears fall as she cradled the rose to her cheek. She was aware that he stopped and bade a farewell to Nightingale, who had poked his head out of his house to find out why she was suddenly so sad.
Landros bore his note to the temple, insisted upon it going into the hands of the priest for whom it was intended from his own hand and no other’s. This, of course, annoyed the clergy who were actually still up at this hour. Finally, they led him to a small study/laboratory somewhere deep within the temple web complex and left him there. He recognized the elderly priest immediately as the one who had teleported them out into the woods the first time. He seemed to have an inordinate amount of energy for someone of his age as he turned and welcome Landros to his study.
“What is it for you that I can do?” he asked.
Landros held out the letter, waited while the man read it.
After reading the letter, and muttering to himself in a tongue Landros was not familiar with, he got up and began poking around his study, pulling out references and maps and other books seemingly at random, muttering to himself all the while. He looked up after a few minutes, as if startled to see Landros still there. “Why are you still… oh, nevermind, my fault. I cannot do this yet, have to investigate probabilities, star charts, et cetera,” he said with an absent wave of his hand. “Go to bed, I will have an answer or a transport for you come morning or so, yes, yes, go on,” he said, leading Landros out the door of the study and calling to a sleepy acolyte who happened to be in the hall. “Gevin! Take this elf to a cell and give him a bed. I will send for him in the morning or sooner if I need him! I have work to do like a fever! And I want him close!” He turned to Landros, “Go on, get some sleep, boy. I’ll let you know when I’m ready, when I need you, won’t be any time to lose when I am!”
With that he left Landros in the care of the acolyte and disappeared back into the room and closed the door behind him. Landros growled to himself, and hoped the man was not insane.
Lark got up rather early the next morning, took her brother to Lily’s for breakfast. He did not say much to her at all, but promised that he would be back to get her for the full moon and to stay out of trouble. After he left, Lark went upstairs and sank gratefully into the bath Lily had prepared for her. She soaked until the water turned tepid, disturbed somehow and not sure why. She was just... restless, uneasy. She got out of the tub, dried off and dressed, feeling rather plain in the simple, solid colors, but not really in the mood to be bright and flashy. She shouldered her pack and trotted downstairs, merely waving to Lily as she headed out the door. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Dane was entertaining a young friend in his corner.
Landros was already awake and pacing his cell when the acolyte came to summon him. The timing was good, as he was about to lose what little patience he possessed. He was taken immediately into Father Orlin's study. "I cannot do it," he said the moment the door had closed behind Landros.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Landros asked, not quite sure he had heard what he thought he had.
"I said it cannot be done at this time. You see, there is something out there that prevents us from telelporting in and out. Otherwise we'd have help by now. It will take me a while to figure how to breach the... whatever, and then I cannot be certain of getting you back and out again. No, it is best that you wait until you are ready to go and closer to the actual time of the attack to give the enemy more things to think about than this breach and allow you time to gather some extra forces from here within the city walls. For whatever reason, it cannot be done now. I will keep attempting, and will notify Lord Colwyn the moment it is possible." He handed Landros a sealed letter. "Please ferry that to Lord Colwyn and tender my personal apologies. And to you my apologies for wasting your time last night. I hope you slept well enough?" With that he turned back to his bubbling bottles and apparatus, seeming to have forgotten Landros was even in the room.
Landros turned and quietly left, saved his fuming for later. Absent-minded though he might seem, he needed this man's good will in the future if he were to successfully reach the wild ones outside of the city in time to mold them into a rear flank. He stalked his way across the city, returned to Colwyn's house to deliver the letter, and perhaps, get some breakfast. Maybe Lark would still be at her caravan and a picnic might be arranged. Yes, that would soothe his raw nerves quite nicely.
Lark wandered through the town, not really seeing much. Somewhere in the marketplace, she found herself softly singing gypsy wedding songs to herself. She supposed that it was because of her father's daughter's wedding, but she was not sure. She was in a very strange mood, teetering between delirious happiness and abject misery. She did not even notice that the goods she was passing by were shabbier than usual and that food was becoming a more valuable currency than gold. Nightingale, perched on her shoulder, piped something about being followed, about some dark shadowed figure that always seemed to be behind them. As Lark turned to look she was suddenly grabbed by the arm by a passing urchin who used her as a brake as he turned.
"LARK!" he cried, laughing madly while he tried to catch his breath. "Goddess but I's glad I found you!"
"Billy! What is?! Someone chasing...?"
Before she could finish her question, he shook his head violently. "No, Rog sent me! You 'members th' dwarf wha' 'elped us onna rescue?"
"Yes, I know Rog," she said, pulling Billy off to the side of the road, out of traffic. "What is wrong?"
"Don't know really. 'E pops outter one of a sewer links an' sees me 'bout to 'ead fer th' warren. 'E tells me ta go gets you and not to spare me 'orses! Didn' say why, jus' ta get you and quick."
"Where is he?" she asked, reshouldering her bag.
"Foller me," he said and taking her hand, began weaving in and out among the crowd.
He led her to the back of a secluded building, double checked to make certain that no one was observing before sliding open a grate in the alley. "Go on down first, I'll pass yer things down."
Lark handed him her bag and her bird, which seemed to surprise him.
"What? 'e can't fly?"
"Not for while. Wing broke," she said and slid down into the open grate. She hung for a moment, waiting until her eyes adjusted and dropped down into a thin puddle of old water. She was suddenly grateful she had put on her boots that morning. She called softly up for Billy to drop her bag, caught and shouldered it. A few seconds later, a long string dropped down into the hold with the bird clinging awkwardly to the end of it. She chuckled, collected the bird and stepped back out of the light to get out of Billy's way.
He dropped down beside her, and, with the string tied to the grate lid, tugged it back into place. He took her hand and led her down the sewer tunnels. It took a little while, but her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness and she was able to see enough to avoid the larger puddles of water and some of the debris scattered through the tunnels.
Five minutes later they were turning down a wider, dryer branch of the sewers where Rog sat waiting for them. He jumped up, met them halfway. "Not followed?" he asked Billy.
Nightingale answered him instead, chirping a negative response.
"Thanks," he grumped, not terribly sincere. "All right, kid, thanks, you've done the job. Lark and I'll take it from here," he said and started to lead Lark off down the tunnel.
Billy cut in. "Oh, no, sir! I's comin' wif yas!"
"Like Hell, boy," he growled. "Too dangerous!"
"I ‘appen to be a full Colonel in th' un’erground h’army, Fank you very much!" Billy snapped.
"Enough!" Lark snarled, jerking her arm free. "Gypsy goes nowhere with neither until knows why!"
Rog sighed, turned from the boy and lowered his voice to confide to Lark why he had sent for her. "I was down here and saw something I think is significant. I need you for two reasons: One, as a secondary witness; and two, as someone what knows the rune tongue as it relates to magic."
"Runes? Thought you read...."
He shook his head. "I read the tongue, but when the runes are used as symbols, fer magic, not communication, it might as well be human scratch!"
"I see," she mumbled. "Where?"
"This way," he said and started to lead her off again. He stopped and waved Billy off as he tried to follow them. "You back off, boy!"
Lark laid a hand on Rog's arm. "Let him follow. If he hangs back enough, if we get into trouble he can find us help and quickly. He knows these tunnels better than you, my friend."
Rog grumped and grumbled, but said nothing more and began to lead them down the tunnels. Lark paused long enough to remove any jewelry she had on that might give her away and followed, tucking them into her pack.
The stable boy cheerfully waved to Landros as he came in, informed him brightly that the master was not in today, and that he would be back in the afternoon.
"Has Lark left yet?" he asked.
"Yes sir," he piped. "Her an' her friend."
"Friend?" he asked, somehow certain he was not talking about the bird.
"Yeah, the man what she brought home with her last night. Big fella! Gypsy, I think."
Landros felt a small spark of jealousy at the news, stifled it. He had not remembered another person in the wagon and she had not mentioned anyone even as she tried to get him to stay with her. So, where had this person been when he had arrived? He handed the boy the letter. "Here, see that your master gets this."
He turned and left, headed for the Cinnamon Tree. It was possible that was where Lark might have gone, perhaps even with her gypsy 'friend'.
They tromped quietly through the tunnels, Lark eventually having to bend over to keep from hitting her head while Rog padded on, completely oblivious. The tunnels became dryer here, somewhat more airy and less foul. Lark noticed another smell in the air, something that she could not notice before with the heavy, hot odor of decay: Magic. Rog slowed down, gestured for silence before creeping slowly closer.
The stench of magic became stronger the closer they came. Lark could not remember ever smelling magic quite so foul and evil before. Even Nightingale danced nervously on her shoulder, though he did not make a sound. They rounded a corner, saw light ahead and Rog stopped, pressed back against the wall, gestured for them to do the same. The tunnel had gotten taller here, enabling Billy and Lark to stand up again. Lark pressed back flat against the wall and felt her head tip back through a hole. She turned quickly, saw a small, square cut hole in the wall behind her and peered in. It looked out over the room on the other side, and she was horrified by what she saw.
The room was roughly pentagonal in shape, with sconces in each of the corners. There was a woman chained to a peg in the floor facing each wall, harlots by their dress and the heavy paint upon their faces. Some of them were no longer young. In the middle of the floor was a pentagram, the point of each reaching to the peg of each woman. In the center of the pentagram was a large cage containing five huge birds of a type Lark could not identify from her position. They flapped about, but made no sounds that would identify them. Then a robed figure blocked her view, began waving its long, bare arms and chanting in a voice Lark could not identify as either man or woman. There was a horrendous stench and squawking and screaming suddenly filled the room. Lark covered her ears to block it out, but still she could hear the din driving its way into her head. It was all she could do to keep from screaming herself.
There was a sulfurous explosion and all was quiet again. Then the robed figure moved, and Lark looked up to see five harpies flopping half-conscious on the floor. The remains of their torn shifts hung about their necks, revealing, dirty, pendulous breasts that smelled sour even from across the room. Their vulture-like bodies were filthy, caked and coated with grime, blood and offal. Their hair hung in scraggly, matted locks from their heads as they looked about nervously, trying to get their bearings, their mouths open and panting as a panicked hawk's might.
Beside her, Billy craned himself up on his toes to look, and immediately pulled back. Lark handed him Nightingale, tried frantically to think of a spell she could use, when there came a deep, resultant "FOOM!" from inside the room. When the smoke finally cleared, the room was empty save for a few dirty feathers and scraps of cloth. The lights went out and even the mage was no where to be seen. After a few long minutes, Lark judged it safe to enter the room and cautiously crept around Rog. The room was not a solid chamber, she discovered. There were columns separating each "wall" on which a bowl of burning oil was placed, no longer lit, and a passageway disappeared off into the dark behind them.
Lark lit the room with her pendant, trying to keep it shielded as best she could. She bent to examine the marks on the floor and the walls. "Are these runes wanted me to see?" she whispered.
"Yes," he answered, poking around behind the walls, looking for signs of the magician or his/her egress.
"Cor!" Billy hissed. "That was th' mage from th' h’island!"
Lark stood bolt upright, "You've seen face?"
"Yeah, but, it wavered, ya' know? Never really th' same face ev'r' time you lookt. I knows 'at voice tho'!"
Landros was strolling unhappily from the Cinnamon Tree and a scant breakfast. For some reason, his gut was giving him all sorts of hell and it had nothing to do with breakfast. Something was wrong, or was about to go wrong, he just knew it. The last time it had reacted this strongly, was just before Nightingale had dropped out of the sky into the temple courtyard indicating Lark was in terrible trouble, before that, it was just before his attack in the alley, and before that, when the siege had begun. There was something very not right about the morning. He squinted up at the sky, at the low hanging cloudbank. That he could not find Lark troubled him.
Something caught his attention in the clouds, something that flew without grace or real competence. It grew slowly larger until he was able to make out the hideous figures of five grotesque harpies. They flapped, clawed and screeched at each other. By now, people in the streets around him had begun to notice something was amiss. No sooner the figures were recognizable, people began to run, screaming for the nearest shelter. This of course, alerted the attention of the harpies who, spoiling for a fight, swooped down screaming with delight.
Landros pulled his bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly. It struck its mark, but the creature did not fall, merely staggered in the air and tried to pull the arrow from her putrid breast with her claws. A second arrow found the heart and the harpy fell like a stone, hitting a young man running for cover. He kicked the carcass off of him, rolled over, retching from the stench. Landros got off two more arrows before the creatures were too close for bow and drew his sword. He was not the only fighter in the street, battling the foul things, a watchman and a pair of civilians took up the fight with the remaining three harpies. Even some of the street children were helping, throwing rocks at them from safer distances, ducking into small places the harpies could not follow when pursued. The first one Landros had hit, attacked him, still clutching at the arrow with one claw. The smell of her as she beat against him with her wings was vomitous, and he was suddenly grateful that he had only had a small breakfast of bread and cheese and had foregone the greasy sausages. Batting her claws aside, he spitted her breast upon his blade, flung her off with a violent swing and turned to hack into the back of another one pursuing a pretty young woman past him. The running woman fell, screaming, covering her head as he struck the harpy before she could attack the prone figure. The bird-woman rounded on him, screeching unintelligibly.
A second swing beheaded the beast, spraying him with hot, foul blood. He turned, searching the sky, making certain that the young woman was protected. The last two harpies were taken down by the other fighters and by slingstones from the urchins, who gave Landros a smart salute and promptly vanished. He turned to the woman, helped her to her feet. She was stunningly beautiful, and clung to him, weeping in terror.
"It's all right, my lady. They are dead. There is nothing left to fear," he said.
She looked up at him with pale blue eyes and he realized that she was elven. Her silky, pale brown hair was caked with blood and tears and dirt from the street where she had fallen. She drew herself up to her full height, a scant few inches shorter than he, straightened her clothing as best she could. He found himself staring at her, inexplicably drawn to her soft, ivory skin and the smooth, high curve of her cheek. There was some cloying and intoxicating scent about her that was beginning to arouse him.
"I must look a fright," she fussed as she straightened herself out.
"You look beautiful," he found himself saying, oblivious to the people beginning to mill about now that the danger was over. Scavengers were deciding whether or not the harpies were edible or not and a squabble over one of the bodies erupted unnoticed behind him.
Then he heard someone nearer shriek and exclaim, "I know that woman!" He turned; saw the woman pointing to the head of a harpy on the ground at her feet. "That's one of those harlots down at Marcel Street!"
"Are you sure?" someone asked her.
"I've seen her countless times when I've gone there hunting my husband!"
"I... I am trembling," the elven woman said, drawing Landros's attention back. "I.. feel somewhat faint...."
Landros caught her before she collapsed, though she struggled to remain conscious. With a growl to himself and his luck, he swept her into his arms and carried her back to the nearest inn or tavern, which happened to be the Golden Cygnet.
"Lark, what do you make of this?" Rog called softly, beckoning them over to a narrow stand on which was perched a book.
The book was a heavy, leather-bound volume, easily a hand's breadth thick, with flimsy ribbons, yellowed with age, marking several places. Lark opened the book, was startled to see the picture of a basilisk on the left hand page, with a list of ingredients, a diagram of the pentagram on the floor with several runes in various places, and a listing of creatures on the right. She flipped to one of the marked pages, saw the creature she had encountered in the street. The page read "Chimera". The 'recipe' on the facing page contained the proper markings needed on the pentagram and the objects needed within the pentagram to create the beast, which, according to the book itself, exists nowhere but within the fanciful imaginations of man. The recipe called for a Lion, a large bird of prey, and a trio of poisonous vipers.
Lark flipped the pages to the next marked page; saw the makings of the flock of harpies which called for large predatory or scavenger type birds, and an equal number of women, preferably of foul temperament and questionable disposition. There was even a note at the bottom stating that use of virtuous maids or matrons for the spell would produce something more akin to swan mays (which were possible with only slight alterations in ingredients and rune placement) than harpies.
Lark was flipping to the next marker, to see what was planned for the next ‘random’ attack when she heard a loud crack and turned just in time to narrowly avoid a lightning bolt which splintered the stand and sent the book flying. The mage, once more hooded and gloved, stood at the far side of the room, preparing a second spell.
"I have you at last, gypsy!" the mage spat, the voice dripping with the kind of venom only a woman's voice knows. "What shall I make from your bones? A skeletal centaurette? A sphinx? Or whatever monstrosity I can piece together? You seem to like patchworks!"
A lightning bolt cracked from the mage's hand, impacted with Lark full in the chest. Lark felt her heart stop, her breath fall short as she hit the wall behind her. She tried to draw her scimitar but her hand would not obey her. Everything swam before her eyes. She tried to call forth a spell, but could not get the breath to speak the words, much less draw the strength to channel the magic. She felt the column beside her topple, moved before it hit her, though she seemed to move in slow motion. Another bolt struck her, and her world seemed to explode.
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Mandi L. Creguer
