7
The woods seemed to swallow her as soon as she left the clearing, the path fading away before her. She stopped, looking around.
Where was she to go? She had lived almost her entire life in towns; even when she'd traveled the caravan routes with the other performers, she'd been surrounded by the products and comforts of civilization. The forest was an alien environment.
She pushed her way through the brush, listening for sounds that might lead her to the others. Another path opened up before her once more and, relieved, she hurried along it, hoping she was still headed in the right direction.
Suddenly a gleam of light on metal caught her eye. She dove sideways into the brush and a second later, an armored figure came trotting down the path. A flash of white boots identified Sir Charles.
She sprang to her feet. "Sir Charles! It's Ton-Kel!"
The Cavalier stopped and lifted his visor. "Ah, good. I need your help, Lady Mystic, if you would be so kind." He was panting heavily, but his tone was as courteous as his words. "I seem to be missing both my Mystic and my Ranger. Have you seen them, perchance?"
"Ali was injured, but he's fine now. He should be in town when you return." She shook her head. "I haven't seen Dale." There was something she should tell the Blue Cavalier, but she could not recall what it was. She shrugged away the nagging sensation and tried to reassure him. "Perhaps he's with your Mystic."
Sir Charles sighed. "Ali is a good man and a fine Mystic, as nearly as I have been able to judge in the short time we have been together. But he does not always behave sensibly. And Dale is young yet and somewhat impulsive. I fear for his safety."
The brush parted almost silently a few feet away, and Dale emerged. "You shouldn't. I know what I'm doing." He glanced at Ton-Kel. "Your Triad has joined up with the Reds."
Sir Charles straightened, his relief vanishing beneath renewed concern. "Then we should rejoin them at once. Those bandits are still out here. There's no telling when they will strike again." He hesitated and looked at Ton-Kel. "Unless you require an escort into town. Your Cavalier evidently thought it best that you remain out of the area of conflict. The Codes tell us to place no lady in jeopardy, either by word or by deed. Perhaps it would be wisest for you to wait in a place of safety."
She swallowed the first, hot retort that rose to her lips. "My Cavalier takes a great deal too much on himself," she said instead. "I am of simple birth, and a Mystic, not a Lady; the strictures of the Code of Ohma do not apply to me. I'm going with you." It was better to stand firm and risk rudeness in this case. Sir Charles was the type of Cavalier she'd known all her life. Which was why she'd always avoided them. Well, he seemed a decent sort, even likable, despite his calling. She could hardly hold it against him. She looked at him squarely. "Now, let's go find our comrades, shall we?"
He hesitated, studying her in concerned silence for a moment. His Ranger spoke. "I'll scout ahead. Make sure the trail's clear." Dale nodded to Ton-Kel then trotted back up the trail and vanished.
Sir Charles finally turned back along the trail. "Please allow me to go first. My armor will protect me, and I can shield you."
She fell in behind him. They moved stealthily along the path. Or as stealthily as possible for a man in full plate armor. The lack of one leg piece helped somewhat, but it was still rather like following a tinker's cart. "What happened?" she asked.
"The smith said he was out of charcoal and asked us to get some from the burned-out ruins out by the stockade. We saw a suspicious character prowling around. He fled when we hailed him, so we gave chase," Sir Charles said over his shoulder.
"Did you recognize him?"
"No. He had a hood pulled well forward over his head, and we did not get close enough to see more. In any case, I strongly suspect his purpose was less to discover something within the stockade than to lure us into ambush. Which he did quite admirably, I must admit."
"Ambush?" Ton-Kel realized she'd raised her voice and hastily lowered it again. "Where?"
He nodded. "Up ahead. There is a small ravine which this path intersects. They were hiding among the trees along the top of one side." He paused. "We fought our way out, but it has proved difficult to engage them directly; they prefer to shoot at us from hiding, like the cowards they are." He cast a quick glance back at her. "We are fortunate that both you and the Red Triad arrived."
She smiled briefly. "Your messenger is a good runner."
He stopped and turned to face her. "Messenger? We sent no messenger — who would we have sent?"
Ton-Kel stopped and stared at him, open mouthed in shock. It was such a simple question — one no one had thought to ask.
Suddenly a chorus of battle cries and the clash of metal shattered the stillness of the forest. Sir Charles whirled, drawing his sword as he burst into a run. "Quickly! Battle is joined at last!"
Ton-Kel ran behind him, crouched low to make herself as small a target as she could. There were times when not wearing armor was a distinct disadvantage.
Her heart pounded as she scuttled in Sir Charles's wake. Her first battle as part of a Triad, and she wasn't even with them. Would she even be able to find them in all this confusion?
Sir Charles disappeared from in front of her and she nearly tumbled after him before she realized they'd reached the promised ravine. He scrambled down the path below her with surprising agility. She ducked sideways against a sheltering tree and looked around, hoping for some other way across. She did not relish being so exposed.
Cries, snarls of rage, and the snap of shattering branches drew her attention toward one end of the ravine. She could see nothing past the heavy foliage, but clearly the combatants were close at hand. She looked down to warn Sir Charles but he was no longer in sight. Hell's bells! She was going to have to trust to luck. With a muttered curse at her own hesitation, she slipped down the path and into the ravine after him.
She rounded a turn and saw that the path divided; one fork led straight down the ravine, the other wound up the opposite bank. The sounds seemed to be coming from up above. Ton-Kel followed the path up the steep embankment, grabbing with her hands when her feet slipped. How had Sir Charles managed this in armor? Or Sir Ulrik?
She rolled over the lip of the embankment and crawled into the brush, pausing to catch her breath and reorient herself. The sounds seemed to be moving away from her. It must be a running fight — which made sense, since the Triads would be foolish to stay and wait to be picked off one by one. In open battle, the Cavaliers had a clear advantage. But it made it a lot harder for her to find her Triad.
Taking a deep breath, she sprinted down the trail for a few yards and slipped under cover to listen again. Another dash to the next sheltering bush. Where were they, dammit? And where were the bandits?
She started out again, but three steps into her run, a figure leaped out of the brush ahead and spun to face her. She had a fleeting impression of woodland garb, of cold eyes glaring at her past a drawn bow, but her attention focused on the arrowhead aimed at her heart. The world slowed around her as she threw herself sideways, knowing already she was too late as the grey barb filled her vision.
She felt the impact as if someone had punched her — there was surprisingly little pain. She was suddenly very calm, her thoughts coming into sharp focus. She was hit; if she allowed her enemy another shot, she was certainly dead. Even as her body met the earth, she slapped the ground to cushion her fall, her eyes tracking the movement of the bowman. She had plenty of time. She had only to retain her focus.
He took a step forward and pulled another arrow from his quiver, his movements achingly slow. Part of her marveled at his slowness even while she noted it. She rolled onto her back, her head craning to keep him in view as she drew her ki around her. She felt it racing through her nerves, flowing across her skin, warming her insides, felt the first disruption of the red flare of pain in her gut. Never mind; the power was yet her
s to command, the pain a small thing in comparison.
The bowman drew back his string, bringing the bow up as he took another step. She would not be able to lessen the impact by dodging this time, should he loose. But Ton-Kel knew he would not have that chance. She raised her hands — no, one hand; the other was not responding for some reason. No matter; in her eyes, her ki shone through the flesh as though her arm were a firebrand. She loosed it at him as he sighted along his arrow….
Her ki struck him full in the head. With a cry, he jerked like a puppet whose strings had been yanked, the arrow flying off into the brush. He dropped his bow, spun around, and collapsed sideways into the brush. His legs twitched and jerked for a moment; she heard the rustle of leaves crushed beneath his body. Then he was still.
Had she killed him? Ki-bolts weren't usually fatal — at least, hers weren't. It hardly mattered. He would not regain consciousness any time soon, in any case.
Ton-Kel smiled in satisfaction — and then the burning coal in her gut burst into hot, red life and she gasped out an airless scream as she curled up, clutching at the shaft of wood protruding from her stomach.
Movement was impossible. Breathing was impossible. The pain ate her every thought and held her helpless. There was a roaring in her ears.
Then the wave of pain receded a little, and she could breathe again. She realized her eyes were closed and opened them. The trunks of the trees around her wavered as through a heat wave, and some looked strange — the two right in front of her looked rather black and shiny for tree trunks. Boots. She was staring at a pair of black boots.
She craned her head to look up, but the wearer spared her the effort by squatting in front of her.
"Hello. You look as though you're in a bit of a mess," said Nayir. "Where is your Triad?"
Good question, she thought, then realized she could probably speak if she really tried. It seemed important that she try. She licked her lips. "We became separated. I stayed to help…help…." She stopped, suddenly puzzled. She could not remember why she had stayed behind. Was her mind going already?
Nayir stared at her, then lowered himself to one knee. "Well, well. Someone laid a suggestion on you. Now, how did that happen? One of the other Mystics?" He waved a hand before her eyes and tapped her forehead with one finger, and suddenly her world reeled; she would have fallen if she hadn't already been lying down.
She looked up at Nayir again, suddenly terribly, terribly afraid. "You…you're Fey. Like her. Did…did the Black Faction send you or…or are you…the one doing all this?" She tried to wave to indicate Westmere and all around it, but her hand merely flopped against the ground.
"Right on the first guess." He beamed approval. "Very good. I knew you were clever the minute I saw you."
"And when was that? When…when we were Chosen? Was that you?"
He snorted. "Heavens, no. Do you think they'd let me do anything as influential as choose a Triad?" He shrugged. "I'm in rather poor odor at home at the moment. Which is why I'm here at all."
She stared at him, trying to focus on what he was saying, trying not to think of the shaft of wood and metal that ground against her flesh with every breath, of the leaking blood that even now might be flooding her insides. "You're here as…as a punishment?"
He frowned. "Not exactly. Someone had to come. The elders decided I needed a lesson in obedience. So here I am."
What else did the Fey know about what was going on here? There was obviously much more at stake than the Triads realized. The thought made her dizzy. "How many of you…"
"…Are here?" he finished for her. He cocked his head to give her a thoughtful stare. "More than I thought, it seems. I'm not sure I should tell you any more. On the other hand, I suppose it really doesn't matter at this point."
His words settled over her like frost. Surely he didn't intend to let her die. "Lady in the blue dress," she whispered, "she saved the Blue Mystic."
"Did she?" Nayir murmured. "How interesting. "Then he shrugged. "I'm very sorry. No lady in a blue dress to come rescue you. I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me." He smiled, eyes dancing. "Won't I do?"
She licked her lips. It hurt to talk. "Can you help me?"
"Oh, yes, I probably can. Mind you, healing isn't my forte. The Black Faction doesn't choose weaklings for their Triads." His gaze drifted off, and he rubbed his chin. "I can't say I'm surprised, really. But why is she here, instead of in town? Unless she wanted to stay hidden from us as well…."
Mischief sparkled in his pale eyes. Ton-Kel realized how thoroughly he was enjoying this cat-and-mouse game with her life.
Anger began its familiar smolder within her. Somehow she found the strength to raise herself on one arm. She wanted to face him standing. Barring that, she could at least sit up with some dignity.
There was a tree at her back; she could feel it scrape her shoulder if she leaned. She struggled to sit up, gasping from the pain.
Nayir watched her, but made no move to help, and she would not ask. With a final push, she shoved herself up into a sitting position. Blackness swam across her vision. She leaned back against the tree, willing the darkness to recede. She blinked hard, then refocused her gaze on Nayir. "If each Faction sent one of their own as well as a Triad, there's a Blue and a Red at least — possibly a Green — as well as a Black. If the Fey have come here, why do they need us?"
He shrugged again, annoyance creasing his boyish features. "How should I know? The powers-that-be don't always let us in on what they're thinking. Keep the younglings in line, off-balance, and guessing, that's their motto. So I've made a few guesses." He smiled. "If I'm right, I'll go home a hero. That will give me the leverage I need. The Black Faction needs some young blood at the helm, I think."
"Is it because of the trolkien?" she asked. "Your magic doesn't work against them — only brute force and alchemy, the kind of magic humans wield. You needed protection while you nosed around, is that it?"
"Partly," he agreed, smiling. "As I said, you are clever. Pretty, too." He grinned suddenly. "You needn't worry. I never meant to waste my Triad. I need my warriors. And I rather like humans. Especially pretty girl humans. If that makes me a bit of an oddity in the Black Faction, so be it."
"You're trying to distract me," she murmured, thinking aloud. She met his eyes and suddenly she was sure of it. Understanding dawned. "You — you're as blind here as we are," she whispered. "Whoever is doing this knows all your tricks. Magic's gone awry. What else have you?"
He gave her an arrogant smile. "More than you think. I assure you, I'm far from helpless. Once I'm certain, I will strike so quickly our enemy won't know where I came from."
Ton-Kel took a breath, gulped. Took another. "The boggies. Have you talked to them?"
"Oh, please." He sniffed, annoyed. "Those mold-headed aborigines? They're plants, for goodness sake. Have you ever tried dealing with them? I could try threatening to cover them with oil and vinegar and toss them to death, I suppose, but it's really not worth the bother." He paused. "I actually have gone so far as to speak to some of the little ones around here — a few sprites and the like. But they're scared out of what few wits they have. And they're quite as frightened of me as they are of whatever else is the matter, so it's not as if it's all that easy to have a coherent conversation with one. You try it sometime and see how far you get."
She swallowed again, tasting blood. "I intend to. But only if I live, of course."
He looked at her and blinked. "Oh. Of course." He smiled suddenly. "Silly me." The familiar laughter was back in his eyes.
Black Faction. Famed for its ruthlessness. Just how valuable to him was she? She stared into his eyes, refusing to beg again, daring him to let her die.
He dropped his eyes first. "I'm not very good at this," he grumbled. It sounded more like a complaint than an apology. He took hold of the arrow. "Well, it's not a steel
head. Lucky you." His eyes flicked up to hers and he gave her a wicked smile. "Ready?"
She nodded and braced herself with an indrawn hiss of breath. Suddenly the arrow wavered in her sight, went limp and soft. Nayir withdrew a long blade of grass from her flesh, holding its dripping end away from him. He dropped it; as it hit the ground, it became an arrow again, blood staining nearly half its length.
She stared at it, fascinated, but Nayir turned her face back to his. "This is the part I'm not perfect at. I don't do a great deal of healing. So you're going to sleep now. Pardon me if I don't sing you a lullaby." He grinned again, as if delighted at his own wit. "I think it best that you forget all about this. At least for now."
She opened her mouth to protest, but his hand was already covering her eyes. "Sleep," he commanded, and, helpless, she obeyed.