The High Druid's Blade

  Leofur motioned Grehling to join her at the kitchen table. “Well, something’s certainly been done to her. She thinks she’s been tortured, but there’s not a mark on her. How did this happen?”

  “Mischa used magic.” Grehling fidgeted, nervous still in her presence. “Bands of greenish light. They were all over the room when I found her, hundreds of them, wrapped around her like ropes. She was twisting and thrashing, and she was clearly in pain.”

  “She has to be made to understand there’s nothing wrong, that it’s all in her mind. But it can wait until after she sleeps.” Grehling started to reach for the bag that contained the leaves used to make the tea given Chrysallin, and quickly Leofur held up her hands. “Not that, Grehling,” she said sharply. “There’s more in that tea than what you need just now. Here.”

  She rose, went to the cupboard, and brought out a different mix, then set about reheating the kettle. “I’m sorry I waited until this happened to come see you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have stayed away.”

  She grinned, her cheeks dimpling. “No, you shouldn’t have. But that’s all right. I’ve been waiting for you. I thought you were just still trying to grow up and hadn’t quite gotten there yet.”

  “Still haven’t gotten there,” he said with a shrug. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “That’s all right. You’re welcome here.” She paused, her smile fading a bit. “I thought you stayed away from me for other reasons.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve heard some rumors.”

  “Some of those rumors might be true.”

  “I didn’t pay attention.” He had, of course. But he would never admit it because he didn’t want what he heard to be true. Not of Leofur. “Anyway,” he added, “it doesn’t matter. I’ve done plenty of things that aren’t so good, too.”

  She stared at him a moment, a vaguely amused expression on her face, and then she nodded. “What do you want me to do for this girl? Hide her? This is Arcannen we’re talking about. I’m in as much trouble as you. I’m looking at real danger here.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m saying you have to decide what you want from me so I can tell you if I am prepared to offer it. I need to know what’s at risk if I agree to help you further. Do you want her kept here? Or do you want me to see about helping you get her out of the city? He’s going to be searching for her when he finds her gone, isn’t he?”

  Grehling nodded. “He and Mischa might already be searching.”

  “Do they know about your connection with her?”

  “I don’t know. Mischa saw me leaving with her, but we’ve never met face-to-face, so she might not know who I am.”

  “But you can’t take chances.”

  He shook his head. “I thought I might try to get Chrysallin to the airfield and into my flit and fly her back to Leah. But the walk to the airfield is too long; she’s too weak to make it.”

  “And too much under the influence of the magic, whatever it’s doing.” Leofur poured tea into cups for both of them. “Anyway, even if you somehow manage it, by the time you get there Arcannen or his men will already be watching. You know his reputation as well as I do.”

  Something in the way she said it stopped him. “You don’t have anything to do with him, do you?”

  She cocked her head, the vaguely amused expression returning. “No, I don’t have anything to do with him.”

  “I didn’t think so.” But now he wished he hadn’t asked. “What do you think I should do?”

  “You shouldn’t go back to the airfield or your house. You shouldn’t go anywhere near either one.” She thought about it a moment. “I could slip you out of the city in a wagon or cart, even though it might take a day or two to arrange things. But you might have to do it anyway, just because it would be the safest choice.”

  He shook his head. “No. We’re miles from another city of any size. Or an airfield where I could find a ship. Anyway, I don’t have any money.”

  She laughed. “You are sad, aren’t you? A rescuer with no means to effect a rescue.” She reached out and took his hands in hers. “I’m glad you came to me, Grehling. It’s good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he admitted. “It’s never been the same without you. Father remarried, and she’s nice enough, but we’re not close. I work at the airfield, but I’m pretty much on my own most of the time. I miss talking to you. Father tries, but …”

  “Your father was never much of a talker,” she said. “But he was kind to me.”

  She looked like she might say something more, but then she stood up abruptly and looked out the window into the darkening twilight. Nightfall was settling in, the shadows enveloping the surrounding buildings, the light gone out of the sky.

  “Let’s think about this,” she said. “Why don’t we sleep on it? Night’s almost here, and you must be very tired after what you’ve been through. Your friend’s already asleep. Why don’t you join her? You can have a place beside her on the floor. I have some blankets and a sleeping pad you can use.”

  Though anxious to be off, to be moving away from the danger, Grehling saw the wisdom in her advice and gave a nod. He would be able to think more clearly and act more quickly after he slept. He watched her as she walked over to a closet, brought out the promised pad and blankets, and laid them out neatly on the floor next to the couch where Chrysallin was sleeping.

  “We’ll talk about this in the morning,” she said. She came over, took his hands once more, pulled him to his feet, and kissed him on the forehead. “There, just like when you were a little boy.”

  She smiled and turned him toward the sleeping pad. “Lie down, now. Go to sleep.”

  He did as he was told, slipping off his boots and shirt and crawling beneath the blanket as she extinguished the lights. He lay there in the dark, listening to her move away—down the hall and into her bedroom. He listened to her movements afterward, picturing her.

  He understood in that moment why he had never really managed to forget how he felt about her.

  He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep before he heard Chrysallin thrashing, but he was awake instantly as he jerked upright from beneath the blankets and hurriedly knelt beside the couch, trying to calm her.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his voice a rough, sleep-fogged whisper. “You’re safe! Nothing can hurt you here.”

  But she was having none of it, her eyes open and staring, her limbs gesturing wildly, her words jumbled and lacking any recognizable meaning. She kept saying something about the Elven woman, about her brother, and about a black knife. She raved about her pain and suffering, begging and begging her tormentors to stop, to let her go. He held her and whispered reassurances, soothed her with hushing and with the touch of his hand as he stroked her long hair. He did everything he knew how to do to calm her, but it was only after a long time that she went still again.

  When he lay her back on the couch and adjusted her blanket, it seemed as if she had gone back to sleep.

  But when he lay down again himself, he heard her call softly, “Grehling?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I had a dream. Another dream. A nightmare. It was bad.” She paused. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

  He waited, and then said, “I’m real. Your being here with me is real. Being safe is real.”

  “Maybe. But everything I thought was real before wasn’t. Now I can’t be sure of anything.”

  He heard her shift positions so she was lying on her side, looking down at him. “I still hurt everywhere. I can still feel the pain from what they did to me. I can still remember them doing it.” She took a long shuddering breath. “But there doesn’t seem to be any physical damage. I touch my fingers and hands and arms—which I thought were all torn apart and broken—but they’re just the same as always.”

  “Everything about you is fine. You don’t have any damage anyone
can see. You look just the same. When it gets light you can see for yourself. All those things you said happened to you—they didn’t. Something was done to make you believe they happened, but they didn’t.”

  She was silent for a long time. “I imagined it all?”

  “You were made to imagine it, I think.”

  “Maybe not all of it.”

  He hesitated. “No, I think maybe everything.”

  “Not the Elven woman. Not her. She was real. She was there every time I opened my eyes. Mischa was real. You said so yourself. They were both real, but maybe Mischa is dead now. I saw her head on a table.”

  Grehling squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them. “I don’t think she’s dead. And neither do you. Think carefully. You saw her when we escaped. I struck her with my fist. You saw that happen.”

  “Did I? I’m not sure. I don’t know if I remember that. I think it was the Elven woman. She was the one you struck.”

  The boy sighed and yawned, reluctant to have this discussion now. “I have to sleep. So do you. We can talk about it in the morning. But I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  “Promise?” she asked softly.

  “Promise.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence. His breathing deepened and his eyes closed. He was almost asleep again when he heard her say, “When I see her again, I’m going to kill her.”

  He didn’t have to ask who she meant.

  NINETEEN

  WHEN MISCHA SHAMBLED INTO HIS OFFICE AT DARK HOUSE late that evening, a huge bruise on her forehead and both eyes blackened, Arcannen knew at once what had happened.

  “The girl got away,” the witch spat, confirming it.

  It was with some effort that he managed to keep his composure. “How did she manage that?” he asked.

  She slumped into a chair, her head in her hands. “She had help. A boy. I don’t know where he came from, but he must have broken into the building, found her, and taken her out.”

  “He was able to free her from the magic?”

  “Apparently. It wasn’t that hard. If you were determined enough, you could walk into the room, break the web apart, and free her.” She looked up, her face twisted in pain. “You will remember I told you to be careful not to go into the room when we looked in on her. That was the reason. The strands have a powerful effect on the intended subject, but are otherwise weak.”

  “This just happened?”

  “A short time ago. I went out for ingredients for the potions that form the bands. When I returned, they were coming out the door. The boy hit me before I could stop him.” She pointed needlessly to her forehead. “When I woke again, they were both gone.”

  He hesitated, thinking it through, resisting the urge to leap up and do something. Haste now would be a mistake. The damage, however bad, was already done. He glanced out the window to his right. Darkness had settled in, the light gone out of the world for another day. Another complication.

  “How far along do you think the process was? Is she sufficiently subverted by now that she will do what you have set her to do, even though she has been freed?”

  Mischa gave him a dark look. “The magic needs time; there isn’t an exact way to measure how much. You know that. It varies with each subject’s strength of will. She has already endured a stronger dosage than most, and still I was not satisfied that she was completely won over. Yes, she is deep under. But another day would have been better.”

  “Well, we don’t have another day now, do we?” He only barely managed to conceal his disdain for her incompetence. “So what is your best guess?”

  The witch was silent for several long moments. “A better chance that she will than she won’t, I suppose. But if I could get her back—”

  “Yes, you would be happier,” he interrupted. “And we would both like to get our hands on this boy. Did you recognize him?”

  She shook her head. “I may have seen him somewhere. I can’t be sure. But I’ll remember his face. Sooner or later, I’ll find him.”

  Very helpful, I’m sure, Arcannen thought. “He must have had some connection to her,” he mused aloud. “Otherwise, why would he bother to help her? For that matter, how did he even know where to find her, whatever the connection? It wasn’t like her stay with you was public knowledge. You must have done something to give it away.”

  “I did nothing to give anything away!” she spat at him. “Everything was done as we agreed. No one was allowed to see anything. She was not allowed to know anything. For her, it was all a dream. Nothing was real, but it all felt real. For anyone watching, there was no way to know who she was or why she was there.” She sat back. “Are you going to do anything about this?”

  He shrugged. “She will either go to ground or try to get out of the city. I will send men to watch the airfield. I will send others to search the streets. But I have to assume we won’t catch her again. If whoever helped her takes her to her brother, things might still turn out the way we want them to.”

  He paused, remembering suddenly. “Did she take the knife with her when she left?”

  The witch reached into her robes and pulled out the Stiehl. “I doubt she even thought of taking it, as deeply under the magic’s spell as she must have been.” She placed it on the table between them. “The boy probably knew nothing of it. It was still sitting on the nightstand where I left it.”

  He was furious now. Use of the knife was essential to his plan. A weapon against which there was no defense, it would have assured that matters were concluded as he had intended from day one. Now he would have to rely on opportunity and luck.

  “That’s too bad,” he said through gritted teeth. He got to his feet then, irritated beyond measure. “I have work to do. Maybe we can find her after all. You never know.”

  She staggered up with him, still clearly not recovered from being struck. Well, she was old, after all, witch or no. “I’ll not leave this to chance or luck, Arcannen. You have your men watch for her, and if they find her let me know. In the meantime, I intend to track her down myself. That boy thinks himself so clever, but he doesn’t know he’s already marked himself just by breaking into my rooms. I can track him using magic, and I will. It might take a day or so, but I will find him.”

  She straightened. “When I do, you can have the girl back again after another day of treatment, but the boy is mine. I will use him a bit, experiment on him, and then make him disappear for good.”

  She turned and shuffled out of the room, bent and shapeless and somehow more loathsome for seeming so pathetic. But she was immensely dangerous, and he never forgot it when he was in her presence. The evil she exuded was palpable, and he would not have liked to be that boy once she went hunting.

  The Stiehl lay on the table in front of him where Mischa had placed it. He looked down at it thoughtfully, then reached out and picked it up. There was still a chance it might find a use in his plans. If not in one way, then perhaps in another.

  He slipped it into his black robes and went out to summon his men.

  Mischa left Dark House and went out into the surrounding streets, seething. She hated having to go to Arcannen like that, hat in hand, admitting her failure to hold the girl prisoner as she had been charged to do. She loathed having to confess like a penitent schoolgirl. But mostly she burned with rage at having had this brought about by a mere boy. As she said to the sorcerer, there was definitely something familiar about him. She had seen him somewhere, although she could not remember where just at the moment.

  But she would, she promised herself. At some point, she would.

  She shuffled her way back to her rooms, passing through the darkness like one of night’s shadows, ignoring the few other denizens of the time and place who passed her by. Most knew her on sight, even faceless and obscured. All avoided her. Arcannen was right: She had the look of a harmless old lady, but she was anything but. Mischa was a creature capable of great evil.

  She was think
ing even now how she would dissect the boy while he was still alive, listening to him plead, smiling at his misery. Oh, he would be made to regret what he had done to her, of that there could be no doubt.

  But finding him came first.

  How best to do that?

  When she reached her building, she paused at the entry and examined the lock. Picked by someone who knew what he was doing. So the boy was a little thief with talent. She touched the lock and the door frame. His essence was all around her, caught on the materials he had touched. She smelled the air. It was there, too.

  She went inside, aware of the pounding in her head, but unwilling to let it subside while it fed her hunger for vengeance. The walk upstairs was slow and painful, her head throbbing, regret and impatience eating at her. If she had only come back from her errand a little sooner. Just a little. But she knew to put that aside. In the end, she would have what she wanted.

  At the door leading into her room, she paused. Once again, she read the signs of the boy clearly. Enough to track him. Enough to hunt him down. If she had the proper creature to do the hunting.

  She went inside and closed the door behind her. Not yet midnight. Still plenty of time. She walked to the center of the room amid the frayed remnants of her carefully constructed web of magic, now in tatters, all of it destroyed, all of it invisible to the ordinary eye. She could even sense the boy here. Yes, there was enough to work with. But the magic would be strongest in the bedroom where the girl had been wrapped in it and the remnants of it still remained to mingle with the boy’s scent.

  Stretching her thin arms wide, she summoned new magic, using words and gestures, elements and memories, her skills brought to the fore by years of practice and a sizable measure of self-confidence. When she had this mix collected and roiling within the room’s empty confines, she left momentarily to bring back potions and a brazier. She lit the brazier, set a small kettle on the flame, and threw in the potions. A fresh glow of pale green surfaced and a terrible stench from the kettle assailed her nostrils. But to her the smell was sweet and welcome, and she breathed it in.