With the contents of her purse, she bought three loaves of bread, a round of cheese and some dried fish. She hurried back to the Avenue with her booty, thinking regretfully of all the other things she would need for her journey but for which she hadn't money enough. Good as his word, Tefkar was waiting for her with Abref, a large bundle between them.
"Oh, bless you!" she cried, when she saw it was a knapsack. She opened it and began to pack away her food, noticing that Tefkar had tucked a flint and steel, a knife and a water flask in with a thick woolen cloak. She fastened the knapsack and slung it over her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said, clasping his hands in her own. She then lifted Abref in her arms and kissed his forehead. "Don't cry for me, Abref. One day I'll return." She set the boy down.
"That's my brother over there," Tefkar gestured with his chin. "You'd best hurry."
"Goodbye, my friends." She smiled at them through tears.
"Farewell, Kaela," Abref said, sniffing valiantly.
"God guide you safely, my princess," the old man murmured, then watched her as she ran across the lawn toward the man in the cart.
***
They made good time, arriving on the fringes of Achra just as the sun was setting. Achra was a pretty town; even its poorer dwellings were charming; many were shingled and had rose trellises or ivy decorating them. The streets were narrow but clean, and the air was scented with spring and damp earth.
She said goodbye and watched the cart clatter off toward the marketplace. Suddenly she felt very much alone. For all her independence, Kaela had never been far from Relsa, and though she had often thought of running away, she had never before been faced with the reality of little to eat and no place to sleep.
Mentally, she shook herself. "Use your head," she said to herself. "Town: people: inn. Tales: food: bed!" She laughed then—it seemed so simple—and set out in search of a tavern.
It wasn't very long before she found one, a modest establishment, two stories high with a small stable and yard. The lawn was neatly trimmed, though in places, rebellious dandelions bloomed like golden stars. The sign that hung by the door had been recently repainted, and showed a lion that looked like a purring tabby wearing a golden wig, curled beneath a rosebush. The lettering, which was neat and precise, read: THE ROSE AND LION INN.
"Well," Kaela said to herself, "it's as good a place as any—and if the lion is a representation of the host, better than most." Feeling confident, she pushed the door open and entered.
The taproom was noisy and smoke filled, and the company was rough clad and rude mannered. Kaela instantly regretted her decision, and as no host appeared, she hesitated between pride and flight. Before she could decide, one of the men saw her.
"A wench!" he cried, and immediately there was a scuffling of feet and chairs. Kaela found herself surrounded by several large men.
"Leave go, leave go!" shouted the one who'd cried out, shouldering the others out of his way and grasping Kaela by the arm.
She put her fists on her hips and glared at him fiercely. "I'll thank you to let go of me," she said sharply.
The man laughed. "None of that, wench. I'll thank you to remember that I'm bigger than you."
"Well," she replied, calm now, "so are most things—but a rare few of them are any smarter."
The other men laughed and even the one holding her gave a reluctant chuckle, but he didn't loosen his hold. "Well then, Miss Brain, tell us how you plan to outwit the brawn." He flexed the muscle of his free arm, which bulged impressively.
"Oh, let her go, Holgrym," came a voice from the far end of the taproom. "She obviously isn't what you took her for. There's no need to frighten her."
Kaela tried to get a glimpse of her new champion, but all she could see was a shadowy figure in the corner. There was something that reminded her of Melina in his voice.
"Keep out of this, Kippen," snarled Holgrym, suddenly vicious, "lest you find we've worse things than rope to bind you with."
"Rope?" asked Kaela unwisely.
"Aye. Does it scare you, Miss Brain?" Holgrym leered. "He's our prisoner, to take back to the Captain when we—
"Holgrym!" cried one of the others. "You really haven't any brain, have you! Do you want to spill everything to this wench?"
"Why not? We can take her back with us, too. Much better than a canary that won't sing."
Several of the men nodded in agreement and Kaela's lungs tightened with fear.
"You'd really be fools to do that," said Kippen acidly from his corner. "Her family would set the authorities after you in no time at all."
"Family?" Holgrym laughed. "Come, Minstrel Kippen, what family would allow a lass to run about in a rig like that?" he demanded, pointing at her shortened skirt. "No doubt she's a wandering minstrel like you. Eh, lass?"
Kaela looked indignant. "A minstrel? Certainly not. That's barely respectable."
"Well I like that," commented Kippen, certain that she was up to something but puzzled as to what it could possibly be.
"I am," she continued, ignoring him, "Kaela Dasariat, the finest storyteller north of the River Quianta."
"The River Quianta?" queried Holgrym. ''I've never heard of that."
"Then I am, very likely, the finest storyteller in your entire sphere of existence."
"Tell us a tale, then," cried several voices, but Kaela shook her head.
"My tales come dearly," she told them haughtily, "for they take a great deal out of me."
Holgrym gripped her arm savagely, but she barely winced. ''I'll take something out of you," he growled.
She glared at him coldly and shut her mouth.
"That's no way to make her talk," one man scolded. "You have to use persuasion."
"Very well, Baryl," he replied sulkily. "You persuade her."
"Your freedom for a tale," he said quickly, watching her closely.
"My freedom?" she repeated, almost indifferently. "Not enough. If you want a truly fine tale, freedom must be mine and the minstrel's as well."
Baryl looked shocked. "Kippen's? What on earth is he good for?"
Kaela shrugged. "We wanderers look out for one another."
The men looked at each other, muttering, but one voice rang out clearly. "Oh, why not? The lad doesn't know, or won't tell—it comes to the same thing. Let the girl have him if she wants him."
Baryl nodded. "Very well, then. It's a bargain. Let's have the tale. And it better be good," he admonished darkly.
"You must give me room to think, room for the story to grow—that's better. Now hearken, while I tell you the tale called 'A Wizards' Duel.' "
Kaela settled herself comfortably in a proffered chair, and with a glance in Kippen's direction, began to speak.
A Wizards' Duel
Once, a good while after the sun and stars were kindled in the heavens, there lived a king named Bergyn. He was not a kind king, but neither was he a fool, for a fool and his kingdom are soon parted and Bergyn had been king for many years. He was a harsh man, and his subjects feared him—some even hated him—but most were, in some peculiar way, proud of his ruthlessness, his cunning and his fits of black fury. But no one was ever easy with the king, and now when he leaned back against his cushions and stared at the captain of the guard with a hard, angry look, every other person in the hall was glad it was not he Bergyn had fixed his attention on. The captain was a staunch soldier, but even he felt his knees begin to turn to butter, before the king finally broke the tense hush and demanded that the first of the two prisoners be brought forth.
There were strict laws about outlanders trespassing on Bergyn's territory (mainly, truth to tell, because the king and his subjects needed a good supply of gladiators for the arena), and over the past two days, the guards had brought in two wizards. Secretly, Bergyn was overjoyed, for a wizards' duel would make a nice change from the usual gladiators, lions and bearbaiting.
Now, King Bergyn was as fearful of magic as the next man, so before he sent for the prisoners, he h
ad taken precautions. The wizards' talismans, without which Bergyn deemed them powerless, had been wrested from the two and laid on the dais steps before his feet. He also had ordered that they be fettered in iron, for as everyone knows, even a great enchanter is rendered helpless by the touch of iron. King Bergyn smiled to himself and turned his attention to the talismans. One was a plain, unadorned staff of yew—singularly unmagical looking—while the other was a curious, seven-pointed silver star on a chain. King Bergyn inspected the things, a disdainful expression masking his avid interest, until the clank of chains warned him of the first prisoner's approach. He looked up and gave a slight start of amazement, for before him stood—instead of the graybeard he had expected—a young woman. She was beautiful, in her own strong way, like a statue of marble. She stood before him, her head held high, and her brilliant green eyes staring at him defiantly.
The girl paled a little when she saw the yew staff on the steps, but she continued to glare at the king. "Why have you brought me here," she demanded in a clear, angry voice, "like this?" She rattled the chains that bound her wrists and ankles together. "I have done nothing. How dare you treat me this way?"
The guards gulped and even the king looked startled. "How dare you question me?" he countered, recovering himself. "I am king here, and you were found in my lands. Trespassing is against my law. The punishment is that you are to be a contestant in the arena."
The prisoner protested that she was no gladiator, but the king replied smugly that she was an enchantress, and that she would fight a duel of magic with another wizard, also his prisoner. Then he turned to his guards, motioning them to take her away.
The girl threw King Bergyn such a look of hatred and contempt as she was led off that he trembled a little in spite of himself.
After the girl had been taken away, the king ordered the other prisoner to be brought forth. When the guards returned, the king laughed, a short mirthless sound. This prisoner was an old man—not the fierce and frowning enchanter of legend, but an old, wrinkled man, with a white beard and hair framing a gentle face and a pair of kind, green eyes.
"This is no wizard!" King Bergyn exclaimed, then frowned. "Or are you?"
The old man looked at the king steadily, smiled, but did not speak. The king was taken aback and repeated his question. But again, the old man did not reply. The captain then reminded the king of the talismans and pointed to them. The old man, following the gesture, frowned, for he recognized the seven-pointed star for what it was: the emblem of a journeyman: one skilled in illusion but just learning the spells of true magic.
"Ah, I see you recognize the talisman. Then you must be a wizard," mocked the king, "though truth to tell, you resemble a rabbit more than a true Lord of Power. But we shall meet the truth on the morrow; you are to fight a duel of magic with the enchantress of the seven-pointed star. A duel to death—or liberty. Take him out of my sight."
When the heavy iron-barred door of the cell clanged shut behind the old man, and the retreating footsteps of the guards told him that he was unobserved, he sat down on the hard floor and wearily rested his head in his hands. He was troubled, for he had no wish to duel with anyone, much less a journeyman enchantress. He felt a vague unease, for his own daughter, Lidra, was a student of magic. But it could not be she, he told himself, for the star had been seven pointed—of that he was certain—not the five-pointed emblem of a novice illusioner. And surely, surely his little Sparrow was safe at the academy where she belonged.
But even if the other were not his daughter, there was still the trouble of the duel. There was no way that a journeyman—even one close to winning her yew staff—could hope to defeat Fordryn, for despite his frail appearance, the old man was a renowned master. The duel could not possibly be a fair one, and he could not think of a way to tell his opponent he was no foe. With the iron fetters of the king about his wrists and ankles, the great Fordryn could not possibly put so much as a sending through—even if he had known where and to whom he should direct it. He sighed heavily, and turned the problem over again and again in his mind until at last, he slept.
Far on the other side of the dungeon, the girl lay on the straw pallet of her cell. She was too frightened for sleep to approach and too proud to release her fear in tears. "And to think," she lamented, "only three days ago I was so happy I could not have wished for more." She had been promoted from novice illusioner to journeyman in midterm—a thing practically unheard of at the academy—and had been granted two weeks' leave in which to go home to see her father. It seemed so unfair that the glow of her happiness should be so harshly extinguished. And it wasn't true that she had been in Bergyn' s land. Close by the border, yes, but not across it!
Lidra was no fool; she had seen the staff of a master, and she knew that on the morrow, she would die. Despite her resolve, a tear slipped down her cheek, and she rose and pounded her hands helplessly against the unyielding door.
In the high halls above the dungeons, preparations had begun. King Bergyn ordered a feast for everyone after the duel. The commoners would be served in the streets while the gentry would eat in the king's huge banquet hall. Huntsmen were in the royal forest, killing game for the feasting. The cooks in the kitchen were running about like turkeys at feeding time. Everywhere there was activity. The work went on long into the night, while King Bergyn was asleep dreaming of dragons and enchantresses.
The morning of the duel dawned fair and fine, and from his bedroom window, the king could see the sky, blue as a robin's egg, and streaked by a few multicolored streamers that hung on the light breeze like falcons. He rose and dressed and then ordered his guards to fetch the prisoners and take them to the arena. The guards rushed to carry out their orders. They went first to Fordryn's cell, where the captain, unlocking the door and peering into the darkness, ordered the old man out. Fordryn rose to his feet and walked to the door. He stood straight, strong, untired and unbent. His frailty had vanished in the night.
The captain was awed and asked the old man whether he was truly a wizard. Fordryn spoke for the first time, saying, "Yes." His voice was rich as velvet. The captain looked him up and down appraisingly, then remarked that the king could lay money on the enchantress if he liked, but that he'd wager on the old man.
Fordryn's only reply was a sigh. He was led out into the sunlit streets by a company of seven guards. They were observed with much curiosity by the villagers. One little girl ran up to him, staring round-eyed. Fordryn snapped his fingers and suddenly held a pure white rose. Silently he gave it to the small girl; she smiled and Fordryn smiled back.
The arena was a great pit, a hundred yards long, with seats of stone rising up around it. There was sand on the floor, and at either end stood lion cages, draped in black velvet. Fordryn was led to one of them and shoved into it. Then the guards returned to the dungeons to fetch the other contestant. When Lidra was brought out by the guards, she walked through the crowds aloof, ignoring her guards, the townsfolk and her fear. People fell back from her; the small girl clutched her flower and hid in her mother's skirts. At the arched gate, Lidra took a deep breath, trying to quiet the furious pounding of her heart. She, too, was shoved into a velvet-draped cage.
Soon, there were crowds in the seats, and the king sat in his royal box. The last order he'd given was to find out the wizards' names, so that he, as king, might announce the challenges. The captain of the guard went to a cage and, lifting one of the velvet draperies, asked the old man his name. Fordryn told him and asked whether the challenges would be announced. At the captain's nod, Fordryn bowed his head sadly. His name, he knew, would terrify his young opponent.
The captain approached the other wizard much more carefully. There was something in her manner that made him shiver. And the way she had stood up to the king...! When he asked her, she told him, sharply to be sure, that her name was Lidra. Quite suddenly, the captain recognized her defiance for fear. When he thanked her, a little of his pity must have shown in his eyes, for Lidra softened.
"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice trembled. "You know, don't you, that youth is no advantage in a wizards' duel."
"Aye," he replied, heavily. "I fear I've been betting on Lord Fordryn—" He broke off, for at the mention of the name, Lidra had gone very pale indeed. She asked the captain, in a whisper, whether the challenges were to be announced. He nodded and Lidra thanked him, turning away. She would have to warn her father before he struck the first blow, in case he couldn't hear the challenges, or didn't recognize her from such a distance. There was a chance, a faint chance...
The king announced the challenges and guards opened the cages and let the contestants out. Fordryn was given his staff, Lidra her star, and at once a sparrow circled twice about the enchantress's head. It flew straight toward the man, and he realized the sparrow meant that his adversary was, indeed, his beloved daughter.
As the king watched from his box, Fordryn advanced slowly to meet the enchantress. He betrayed no emotion, but stood quietly, waiting. He did not wait long. A great dragon, thirty feet long, flew toward him, spouting vermillion flames. Its wings seemed made of mica flakes and its great eyes gleamed like molten gold. Fordryn stood rooted for a moment, before he mouthed a spell. A giant knight leapt forward to meet the dragon. He was ice; bitter cold to pierce the fire of the dragon. His steel blue armor glittered coldly. The sword in his hand was clear, but light blazed on it with a wintry fire. The dragon's flames seemed not to touch the knight as he drove home his blade. Both vanished.
While the gasps of the audience were still audible, three great birds stooped from the sky like hawks for the kill. Fordryn flung out an arm and immediately, three lions stood on their hind feet, with golden longbows bent and arrows nocked. The bolts flew like staves of silver and buried themselves in the birds' breast feathers. Again, all vanished.
Lidra raised her hand and stones flew at Fordryn; but before they struck, they became daisies and fell harmlessly at his feet. Then Fordryn took the offensive and a taloned harpy flung itself at Lidra. She clapped her hands and a silver unicorn reared, thrusting its twisted crystal horn through the harpy, which vanished. But the unicorn wheeled and charged at the old man, who thumped his staff and was suddenly shielded by a wall of fire. The unicorn vanished as Lidra threw back her head and closed her eyes. The king knew this was the supreme effort and now, once and for all, she would dispose of that troublesome Fordryn. Slowly, she raised her arms, palms up, but before her hands could touch, a vicious sheet of blue fire with billows of green smoke engulfed her. When the acrid smoke cleared, Lidra was gone and Fordryn's wall of flames had guttered out.