“Pardon me,” she said acidly, “but in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re all damaged goods in some way.”
“’Ey, speak for yourself,” said Grunthor.
“I am. This girl needs me, needs us. And I need her. I’ll be responsible for her. If you don’t want us with you any longer, that’s fine. But I’m not leaving her.”
Achmed exhaled angrily. “All right, she can come. But she needs to understand that she is responsible to all of us, not just you. We can’t have a member of this team we can’t trust. You can tell her where we’re going, but nothing about our past. Are we agreed?”
Rhapsody threw her arms around him, knocking him off balance. “Yes. Thank you.” She released him quickly and straightened his askew cloak. “Now hurry. Be careful, and tell Lord Stephen to send medical supplies, too.”
For more than a week the strange group stayed within the cave, waiting for Achmed to return. Rhapsody kept the children warm with her fire lore, heating the rocks as Achmed had suggested, until the cave was as cozy as a house with a roaring hearth.
Food was plentiful; Grunthor had been provisioned for several weeks’ journey, and one day’s food rations for him fed all of the children with some to spare. With no need to have a fire for warmth they avoided having one, keeping the air of the cave fresh and leaving no trail of smoke by which to be spotted.
The absence of light initially frightened the children, so Rhapsody drew Daystar Clarion and stuck it, tip first, into the soft ground in a corner of the cave. Its flames gave off no smoke, and licked quietly up the blade, illuminating the cave and filling it with a warm glow, made sweeter by the quiet songs she sang to keep the children amused. With the herbs from her pack she treated their wounds and kept them tranquil, trying to avoid making any noise that would draw attention to their hidden den.
She softly maintained her morning and evening devotions, however. As she sang, the faces of her newly adopted grandchildren, Gwydion and Melisande, rose up in her heart, smiling as they had when last they were together. The warm memory stood in stark contrast to the bleak, anxious countenances that stared back at her now. It made her frightened for all the children of Navarne.
Once, while she was staring at the small faces, the knots of worry barely eased in their sleep, memories of the old days flooded her mind. She thought back to Analise, the child she had saved from Michael, whom he had derisively called Petunia.
The day after Michael and his men had left on their assignment she had taken the child, under the protection of Nana’s guards, to the Wide Meadows, the great open plain that surrounded Easton on three sides. Together they had searched out the leader of the Liringlas who made their home there.
The Lirin house had taken the child in warmly, and Rhapsody had long comforted herself with the image of Analise, sitting before the leader on her horse, waving goodbye and smiling for the first and only time she had seen. She had smiled and waved in return, knowing that Analise would be well cared for.
It was not until much later that the pain had come, loss that was not eased with the knowledge that she had absolutely done what was right for the orphaned child. She missed her still, and wondered whether she had ever found happiness after the terror she had experienced at Michael’s hands. Rhapsody had vowed to herself, from that time forward, that no child would ever be abused if she could prevent it, no matter the cost to herself. She caressed the tiny heads in the darkness, choking back the memory.
For several days a wild storm raged outside, howling around them like a pack of wolves at their concealed door. Rhapsody took comfort in the fact that the pounding wind and snow had undoubtedly covered their tracks by now, but it was hard to stop feeling uneasy.
The children screamed in terror at the first crash of a tree above them, and scurried to Rhapsody, trying to burrow beneath her arms and legs for cover. Some were frightened enough to seek solace in Grunthor, and found him to be a highly satisfactory refuge. He comforted them with repulsive jokes and had them laughing even as the thunder rumbled around them, shaking showers of dirt and rocks from the cave walls and roof. Eventually the storm abated, but the children remained, sleeping or playing near their new gigantic friend.
Grunthor kept watch by day until the supper hour, sleeping until midnight, when he took up the guard post again. Rhapsody and Jo stood guard together while he slept, but no one came to disturb their hiding place, not even woodland animals. The tainted evil of the forest had driven the wildlife away long ago.
It was during this time that she and Jo got better acquainted, and found themselves developing a fond liking for each other, though the teenager still refused each request to share more details of her name. They had similar senses of humor, and each often struggled to keep from laughing aloud at the other’s observations, particularly about Grunthor.
It was hard not to think back on her own childhood when watching Jo, which always left her feeling morose. Jo’s life on the street had been a result of unfortunate circumstance; Rhapsody’s painful history was of her own making. Jo had no family; Rhapsody had thrown hers away, left behind people who had loved her, had protected and cherished her, and who had died, never knowing what became of her. The dreams that followed such waking thoughts were so torturous that they must, at least on some level, be penance for her crimes.
Rhapsody found herself wishing that she were taking the girl back to Navarne, to a safe place, instead of into the belly of the Bolglands. Eventually she shared this sentiment with Jo, who reminded her with a nod to the sleeping children that danger was everywhere these days; it was better not to be deluded into feeling safe.
Finally, after almost a week, Achmed returned with reinforcements. The caravan was audible from a great way off, with Grunthor having been alerted early on to its presence on the land through his Earth lore.
Rhapsody stumbled out into the painful brightness and shielded her eyes, searching the frost-covered branches of trees and forest brush for their rescuers.
In the distance she could hear the sound of horses and wagons, making slow progress through the thick woods along the path they had traveled on their fateful visit to the House of Remembrance.
Almost an hour after she had heard them, soldiers came into sight, more than two score of them, led by Achmed and Lord Stephen himself on horseback. When Achmed came within range she rose and waved, bringing a smile to the face of the duke. Stephen dismounted and ran to the cave, sweeping her into a frenzied embrace.
“Sweet All-God the Creator, Rhapsody, are you all right? I’ve been worried sick about you ever since Achmed arrived.” He pulled away and looked at her intently, then cleared his throat as color flooded his face along with obvious relief.
Rhapsody patted his shoulder reassuringly. “We’re all fine, Lord Stephen, thank you. The children are inside the cave with Grunthor.”
“Well, haul them out of there, and let’s see who we’ve got,” he said, bending and peering into the entrance of the den.
At the sight of Stephen’s face, Grunthor marshaled the small troops. “All right, ya bloomin’ skels, ’op to it and line up,” he ordered. At the command the children leapt to attention and formed a wiggling line, chattering with excitement, the first jollity they had been allowed in a very long while.
One by one Grunthor handed the children up to Rhapsody, who passed them to Lord Stephen. The duke spoke reassuringly to each child, recognizing some, questioning others, until fourteen of the children had emerged and had been handed over to the care of the soldiers near the wagon. Finally, Jo appeared, walking ahead of a strong push by Grunthor. Rhapsody took the girl’s thin, pale hand; it was trembling.
“Lord Stephen, may I present my sister, Jo?” She gave the girl an encouraging smile, then looked back at the Duke of Navarne.
Stephen stared at Jo for a moment, then turned to Rhapsody, whose smile grew noticeably brighter. “How do you do, Jo?” he said a moment later. “It’s an honor to meet a member of Rhapsody’s family. I’m sorry we didn’t
meet earlier.”
“I’m not,” muttered Jo under her breath.
“Was that all the children, then?” Lord Stephen asked.
Rhapsody’s smile faded. “I’m afraid so,” she said sadly. “I wish there had been more. We searched the House of Remembrance thoroughly, but we didn’t find anyone else.” Not alive, at least, she thought grimly.
Lord Stephen took her gently by the shoulders. “I’m grateful to all of you for finding these,” he said. “There are many grieving parents and relatives who will be celebrating at week’s end when we return.”
“I only wish there could be more,” she said, thinking back to the small lifeless bodies strung hideously from the slaughter altars. “I hope you sent troops with strong stomachs and no children of their own.” She turned and watched Grunthor handing the children up to the soldiers in the wagon, then looked back into the young duke’s smiling face. She regarded him seriously.
“Please go home with these children,” she said gravely. “You’ve already suffered enough. It’s better that you leave the cleanup of the House to others, m’lord.”
Lord Stephen looked at the ground. “It’s Stephen,” he said. “And I will abide by your counsel.”
“We’re ready, m’lord,” called the captain of the regiment. Rhapsody and the duke looked at each other a moment longer, then Stephen reluctantly released her shoulders.
Once free, she trotted to the wagon and bade the children goodbye, blowing them kisses. The small faces looked back, some blankly, some smiling; the trauma would take a long time to heal. The driver of the wagon clicked to the horses and the cart lurched forward, flanked by mounted soldiers, and slowly made its way back down the forest road.
Lord Stephen stepped over several fallen logs and went up to the two Bolg. He extended his hand to each of them.
“Thank you,” he said. “You have the gratitude of Navarne, and my family, always. I’ve provisioned four horses for you, and have included a letter of introduction under my signet if there is anyone to whom you think it might be useful. Know that you are welcome in my home at all times.”
“Thanks, guv,” said Grunthor, wringing the young man’s hand.
“Where are you headed next?” the duke asked Achmed, absently rubbing his shoulder.
The mismatched eyes studied the royal face. “Canrif,” Achmed said finally, “but I’d prefer you to be the only person who knows it for the time being.”
“Done. I’d suggest you head north to the Orlandan Plateau and follow the main road through Bethany to Bethe Corbair; that’s the last province of Roland before the Bolglands.” Achmed nodded in agreement. That was the route sketched out in the notebook.
“Once you get to the province of Bethe Corbair, at the place where the rolling hills flatten into the Krevensfield Plain, travel southeast and approach the city from the south; it’s safer. And if you get into trouble in Bethe Corbair, ask to see the duke, Quentin Baldasarre, or, failing that, sue for religious asylum and see the benison, Lanacan Orlando. He is a very kind man. Show him my letter, and I’m sure he will aid you in any way he can.”
Rhapsody had joined the group with Jo. “Thank you,” she said. “And may I suggest you have your soldiers who are going on to the House take whatever scrolls or items you wish to save. The perpetrator of these crimes considers that house his own, and may be back.” Lord Stephen nodded.
“I’ve already briefed him extensively, Rhapsody,” said Achmed, “and we’re going to lose the light if we don’t leave now.”
“Goodbye, m’lord,” Rhapsody said to Stephen. “Please give my love to my grandchildren.” He took her hand and kissed it, then tried to do the same to Jo, who snatched her hand away and glared at him hostilely. Grunthor and Achmed walked the duke back to his steed and bade him goodbye as he mounted and rode off after one more backward look.
“Well, these ’orses ain’t too bad,” said Grunthor to Rhapsody, who was still watching long after Stephen had ridden out of sight. “’Oo gets the big one?”
Rhapsody turned and looked in the direction of the giant. Three of the four horses were of muscular riding stock, while the last, roughly half again the size of the others, was a full-breed war horse.
“I think you should ride the mare, Grunthor,” said Rhapsody, pointing to the most delicate of the four.
Grunthor was about to throw back a humorous answer when a choked voice spoke up.
“I can’t ride.” Jo sounded as if she were strangling.
Rhapsody took her hand. “Just because you never have doesn’t mean you can’t. You can ride with me.”
Achmed nodded. “We can put the heaviest supplies on the fourth horse, and travel faster that way.”
After a little repacking by Achmed and Grunthor, and much wheedling, reassuring, and coaxing of Jo by Rhapsody, the four finally saddled up and rode off to the northeast, across the provinces of Navarne and Bethany, south through the Krevensfield plain toward the capital city of Bethe Corbair, the gateway to the dark realm of the Firbolg.
36
“What do you mean, I can’t go into the city? I’ve ridden this bloody horse for a week, and now I can’t go into the city? You’re a fornicating pig, Achmed. I hope you get the pox. It couldn’t make your face any uglier than it is.”
Achmed cast a glance at Rhapsody, who had turned away quickly, trying to contain her laughter. Then he dismounted with an annoyed sigh.
“Remind me again why I allow you to share our food with her,” he asked, tossing the reins over the horse’s back, ignoring Jo utterly.
“Because you like her,” Rhapsody answered, her green eyes twinkling affectionately.
“Hmmm. Well, perhaps you had best go over the plan with her again. Explain to her that we can’t risk her walking the streets of Bethany lest she be snapped up by the local charm school as an etiquette instructor.”
Rhapsody pulled her saddlebag down and carried it to the copse of trees where Grunthor had laid camp. Jo trailed behind her, arguing the entire way. Finally she turned back to the whining teenager.
“All right, look. Achmed and I are making a quick foray into Bethany. Bethany is the capital seat of Roland, and there are three times the number of soldiers and guards as there are in Navarne.” She chuckled silently as the color drained from Jo’s face.
“We need to be in and out as rapidly as possible. But our next stop is the province of Bethe Corbair’s capital city. We’re going to do some provision shopping there, and some scouting. You’ll get a chance to go into the city then, if you behave yourself.”
“All right,” Jo said sullenly.
“Look, I’m sorry this isn’t as exciting as your life on the streets, but it’s safer, believe me,” Rhapsody said, untangling a snarl in Jo’s stringy blond hair.
“Not necessarily,” said Grunthor. He was stretched out under a leaf-bare tree, hands behind his head. “If you want the lit’le miss to still be ’ere when you get back, make sure to leave the food behind when you go.”
“You always say that, but when was the last time you actually ate someone?” asked Jo, still not mollified.
“Dead or alive?”
Rhapsody shuddered. “All right, we’re going now. Goodbye, Jo.” She held out her arms, but Jo just nodded. The Singer turned instead to the Firbolg giant, who leapt to his feet and swept her up in a warm embrace.
“You be careful,” he warned as he put her back down.
“We expect to be back by morning,” Achmed said to Grunthor under his breath. Frost hung in the air between them, like frozen words hovering for effect. “Give us a day or two slip factor. After that, you and Jo are on your own.” He signaled to Rhapsody and shouldered his pack. A hint of a smile crossed his face.
“And for that possibility I apologize most sincerely.”
Bethany was a round city, two or three times the size of Easton by Rhapsody’s estimate, with a wide ring of settlements and villages outside its ramparts. From a distance it appeared to be almost dome-shap
ed, with the tallest buildings in the center, tapering down to those of lesser heights at the perimeter walls. The battlements within the circular walls looked out in all directions, the sweeping panoramic defense of a spherical city, in the middle of the province, at approximately the midpoint of the nation of Roland.
Their initial reconnaissance of Bethany had included a ride around the entire perimeter, keeping a respectable distance, back before they parted company with Jo and Grunthor. Achmed had determined early on that the number of soldiers and defenses, visible and otherwise, made anything but entering on foot in the guise of humble peasants impossible.
So now Rhapsody and Achmed stood, robed and hooded in the simple garments they had been given at Llauron’s, outside Bethany’s southeastern gate, one of only eight entrances they had seen during their scouting.
While Navarne had been a province primarily of scattered farms and villages broken by the large land holdings of its nobles and a small, charming capital city, Bethany appeared to have been designed from the very beginning to be a cultural center, the epitome of an Age now long gone.
Even at the city’s outskirts the streets were paved, with small shops, inns, and taverns interspersed with rows of buildings that each seemed to house several families. Within the city proper every street was lined with more lanternposts than Rhapsody had ever seen, glass domes covering the wicks atop gleaming brass poles. Watering troughs for horses as well as hitching racks appeared at the same place in each street.
By law all cattle and other animals of trade could only enter the city by certain gates, demarking Bethany into different districts. Markets and mercantile areas were limited to the eastern and western sections, while museums and the public gardens were located to the north and south. The basilica of fire and the castle of Tristan Steward, the Lord Regent and Prince of Bethany, the two most elevated of Bethany’s structures, stood near each other in the heart of the city. Only the barracks of Bethany’s soldiers could be found in all directions.