Chapter Seven
Guildhouse, Guild of Mages
Edenrich
Halithe’s heart leapt even as her mouth dropped open.
“I see you brought my chains,” Ritathan said. “Excellent.”
Halithe couldn’t help herself. She dropped the chains, ran over, and flung herself into his arms. “Alive, you’re alive!” she shouted.
“Oof,” Ritathan grunted at the impact, but his arms closed around her, warm and wonderful, surrounding her with the familiar scent of incense and old books. “Yes,” he said. “Did I not tell you that not everything is as it appears?”
“But,” she gaped, holding on to him, still not sure the world was tilted right. He was alive, standing there, and— “But you melted.”
Ritathan shrugged. “The hardest part was the smell, actually.”
Forterran cleared his throat, behind her. “Best you get going,” he grumbled as he grabbed the chains from the floor and stuffed them into a small sack.
Halitha spun. “You knew,” she accused him. “You knew, all this time, you knew and—”
“Remember,” Forterran was clearly ignoring her, talking to Ritathan. “You are still bound by the terms of your contract and Guild membership.”
“I am,” Ritathan confirmed.
Halithe huffed at being ignored.
“Don’t do anything I have to kill you for,” Forterran warned, handing the other mage the leather sack.
“I won’t,” Ritathan said.
“Wait. We’re going? Where are we going?” Halithe asked, confused and happy and dying of curiosity.
“Mother, if you would,” Forterran said as he stepped back.
“Mother?” Halithe wondered.
A small, wizened, white-haired woman stepped forward. Her face was so wrinkled all Halithe could see was the old woman’s brilliant smile and two glittering eyes in their depths. Everyone parted before her as she moved toward them, serene and regal.
“My thanks, Ila,” Ritathan said. “Would you care for them for me?” He offered her the birdcage.
“Of course,” she said, her wrinkles deepening even further as she took the cage in one hand and lifted the other. Halithe’s skin prickled as the air changed, cooling and churning.
A great circle of white appeared, with gossamer mist swirling within, large and glowing, like curtains blowing in a breeze.
“Wait. I want to know—” Halithe started, but Ritathan shook his head.
“No time.” He took the leads of the horses and started through. “Come,” he said, as he disappeared into the whiteness. The animals followed as calmly as if they were going out to pasture.
Halitha walked closer to the portal, then hesitated. She trusted him, she did, but this was happening so fast, and she wasn’t sure—
She felt a solid push on her back and stumbled forward, into the glow.
A rush of dizziness, followed by the crunch of leaves underfoot, and Halithe found herself in a clearing in the woods. She stood, blinking in the dim light as the portal closed behind her.
“Take a moment,” Ritathan said. “Just breathe, and the disorientation will pass.”
Halithe did as he said, drawing in gulps of air much colder than that in Edenrich. “Where are we?” she asked.
“Within Athelbryght.” Ritathan responded. “For good reasons that I will explain later.” He held out a leather satchel. “Obeda packed you a bag. You might want to change into something a bit less formal.”
He turned his back. “Don’t dawdle,” he said over his shoulder. “We don’t want to linger here. If memory serves, there is a good inn just down the road. We should reach it before dark.”
The satchel held tunic and trous of a rust color, with heavier shoes to replace Halithe’s slippers.
There was a breastband, and underthings, and moonpads and combs and soap that smelled of flowers.
There was also a small pouch of dried leaves that she stared at before blushing hot.
Fine young ladies of noble blood didn’t use babysbane.
She shoved everything that wasn’t clothing back into the satchel, took off her cloak, and started to untie her lacings.
“I could have changed at the Guild,” she complained.
But her words lacked sincerity. He was alive, and here, and suddenly the world was so much brighter. “It would have been warmer.”
“The less time spent there, the less gossip to be had,” Ritathan said. He was so calm, so serene.
Not Halithe; she was tingling with excitement as she undressed. “Could he really level Edenrich if he wanted?” she asked.
“Forterran?” Riathan was so matter-of-fact. “Of course.”
“Did you really challenge him?” Halithe was breathless as she yanked off her underskirts.
“Yes,” Ritathan responded. “It’s almost a rite of passage. Focus on what you are doing and listen.”
Halithe didn’t waste any further breath, it was too cold.
“You should know that mages and magic are not welcome in Athelbryght.” She glanced at him, at that, and saw that he was scanning the woods. “You know of the vore?”
“I’ve heard the stories,” Halithe answered.
“Yes, well, vore are magical constructs, and not by choice. They are sensitive to the use of any power. Smart, cunning, and clever. Use no magic in their presence. Ordinarily I wouldn’t come here, but there are two reasons why.”
He didn’t wait for her to ask. “The first is that Athelbryght was and is neutral territory. Ever since King Xykahn’s time, before that even, the Barony has been ruled by a Chosen. The vore are sworn to the protection of the Chosen, for historical reasons that I assume would bore you to tears.”
“Maybe not so much now,” Halithe said as she wiggled out of her dress, shivering in the chill.
“Such is often the case.” Ritathan snorted. “We will save that for later. I am known to the Chosen, which means we can seek her aid.”
Before she pulled on the tunic, Halithe checked inside her breastband. The single strand of Caris’s hair was still there, still safe, curled in one of her handkerchiefs. She made sure it was tucked in tight.
Ritathan continued, “but until we reach her manor, we are a scribe and his daughter-apprentice, seeking to flee the chaos behind us. Our real names are fine, but you might want to practice ‘father.’”
Halithe froze in the act of pulling on the tunic. The idea hurt. She didn’t want to think of him that way. “No, not that,” she said. “I will call you Papa.”
“As you wish,” Ritathan said. “We will leave the rest for when we are in our room at the inn, after a full meal. Then you can pester me with all the questions you like.”
“I want to know who killed you,” Halithe said. “How they thought they killed you.”
“No,” Ritathan said slowly, “I don’t think you do.” He looked up at the sky. “Are you finished?”
“Yes,” she said, sweeping up her cloak and putting it over her shoulders. She glanced down at the dress, underthings, and slippers at her feet.
“Take it with you. Let’s not leave any traces,” Ritathan said, so she crammed all the layers into the satchel, with no regard for wrinkles or the delicate stitching.
It felt oddly satisfying.
Ritathan handed her the reins to one of the horses. “I assume you can ride?”
Of course she could ride. She was a fine young lady of noble blood. She mounted, then he mounted his horse and took the lead of the pack horse.
“This path should take us to the main road.” Ritathan urged his horse on, the pack horse following.
The woods were quiet, the breeze ruffling the trees above them. The air was crisp and cold and stung her cheeks. “I think you owe me more answers,” she said.
“I do,” Ritathan said over his shoulder. “But it’s getting dark. Best we talk once we are on the road.”
Halithe shivered in the cold, crisp air, and had to agree, as much as her curiosity was eating her alive.
But she had no desire to sleep out in the woods.
Although there was enough fabric in her dress that she would be able to use it to wrap up and keep warm.
That mental picture made her suppress a grin.
Then she realized there was no one near to scold her for grinning or laughing, and so she laughed, suddenly wanting to spur her horse into a wild gallop.
The scent of horse and crushed leaves filled her lungs. She settled into the saddle. She felt so damn free. But now was not the time for giddiness. Proper daughters of Master scribes did not send their horses plunging down the road at a gallop, now did they?
Maybe they did. Which thought made her grin until it felt like her cheeks would crack.
In a short time they were out of the shelter of the trees, at the edge of a road with a brim. Ritathan urged his horse up and then she followed, moving her horse to walk next to his.
“Now we can talk,” she said.
“That might have to wait,” Ritathan’s voice was rueful, and at her glance he nodded down the road.
Men on horses sat there, apparently waiting. For them? In front of the riders stood two very large dogs…Halithe corrected herself immediately.
Not dogs. Vore. They had to be.
They were huge, the size of small ponies, but their heads weren’t shaped like any dog or wolf she’d ever seen. Their jaws were large and square; they had the bunched shoulders of a bear, covered by a thick ruff. Their eyes glittered, assessing, staring, studying her.
The little hairs on the back of her neck rose.
“Ah,” Ritathan said calmly. “You sensed the portal.”
Halithe choked, then coughed, giving him a side glance.
The smaller of the vore growled, and showed its fangs. The bigger one’s ear flicked back and down, then up.
A woman, in armor, moved her horse forward, between the vore. “You are not welcome here,” she said, but she was staring at the larger of the vore.
“Yes, well, I understood that much, Interpreter.” Ritathan was also looking at the vore. “I am Ritathan, Guild Mage of Edenrich, chained through contract to the Airion Blood of Xy. This is my apprentice, Halithe, also of Edenrich. We seek shelter in Athelbryght.”
“We remember you,” the human woman said. Her tone was not warm. “Do not think to cozen us, mage. Word has reached our ears of the loss of the Airions and the rise of the Wyverns to the Throne.”
“There will be no deceit on my part.” Ritathan said. “I seek only to speak to the Chosen of Athelbryght.”
The vore stared at Ritathan. The humans remained silent, staring at the vore.
Curious. Were the vore the ones talking? Halithe wondered. She reached out without thinking—
The world shifted.
The flare of light that surrounded the vore made Halithe cry out; her senses were swamped with light and heat, the stink of horse and the roar of the winds.
She slammed her eyes shut, trying to cut off the glare.
Dizzy, disoriented, she slumped in the saddle and felt herself sliding, unable to catch herself.
“Halithe,” Ritathan cried out in alarm, but as if from a distance.
There was a scrabble of claws on packed earth. Halithe fell onto a hard lump of fur and bone, and then went sprawling on the road. One of the vore, cushioning her fall.
Hands caught at her then, trying to lift her. She promptly vomited as her stomach rebelled against movement.
There were strange voices all around and growls more worried than fierce, but how did she know that? The hands kept her on her side as she heaved, then eased her down, supporting her head.
She opened her eyes, staring up at the people around her, their heads dark outlines against the terrible glare. Above them, in the clear blue sky, a golden-red, silken, bond-cord stretched, high and thin and unwavering.
“Let me through,” Ritathan’s voice echoed in her ears. She tried to lift her hand, trying to draw his attention to the bond-cord, but his cool fingers encircled her wrist and her bracelet and squeezed.
The world shifted back.
“No insult was intended,” Ritathan was speaking rapidly. “Apprentices sometimes struggle with control of new-found abilities.”
Halithe lay still, gathering her wits. Around them voices rose, including an odd combination of barks and growls that were not being translated. She started to sit up, but Ritathan’s hand on her shoulder pressed her down. She glanced up and he gave a quick shake of his head.
So she stayed sprawled on the road, surrounded by legs both two and four.
Clearly, the vore were upset. It was her fault, she’d spoiled it all. Halithe’s heart sank. She felt weak and helpless and so very stupid. Tears started. So much for the beginning of her great adventure.
The larger vore suddenly sniffed and swung its head to stare at her. Halithe dropped her eyes, mopping at them with her sleeve.
The vore barked and the legs all moved. One of the humans approached, holding a waterskin and cup. “Water,” he said, and offered it to her.
Ritathan helped her to sit up, and she drank. It was warm but wet and it helped clear her head. “Thank you,” she coughed.
“A bit too much in one day, I think.” Ritathan still knelt beside her and brushed her hair from her face.
“The mage sense,” Halithe whispered, then coughed at her scratchy throat. “I can’t control it.”
“Not unusual. I’ve blocked it for now. Can you stand?” Ritathan asked. She nodded. Once she was on her feet, he checked her over, brushing off the road dust.
She didn’t dare look anyone in the eye, feeling awkward and foolish. Her legs trembled and she was so tired she couldn’t even lift her arms.
The smaller vore was whining, but the larger one had settled on its haunches and was staring at them again.
“The truth, mage,” the human spoke again, but Halithe was certain these were the words of the larger vore. “Why have you come?”
“To seek shelter, as I said,” Ritathan wrapped an arm around Halithe. “But there is another reason.”
The smaller vore barked as if in triumph.
“To find the one who holds my key.” Ritathan admitted.
Halithe sucked in a breath but said nothing. The silence that followed was complete as both vore and humans considered what he had said.
“We will escort you to the Chosen.” The vore stood and shook itself. “Come.”