Mercedes Lackey: Castle of Deception

And as the day progressed, it was surely only a sorcerer’s will that kept Naitachal going. But all at once a fallen branch twisted under the Dark Elf’s foot. As he struggled to catch his balance, his wounded arm struck against a tree trunk. With a choked cry, the Dark Elf collapsed to one knee.

“Oh hell.” Lydia tore at the makeshift bandage even as Naitachal weakly tried to fend her off. “Stop fighting me! You’re burning up with fever and—Oh hell,” she repeated helplessly, staring.

Naitachal’s dark skin hid any sign of inflammation, but the swelling around the still raw-looking gash was obvious even to the untrained Kevin.

“Wound-fever,” Lydia murmured. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“What could I say? What could you do?”

“I could have done something’. I knew the brandy wasn’t enough. Why didn’t I—”

“No. This is not your fault, Lydia.” Naitachal sighed.

“My people have somewhat more immunity to iron wounds than do the White Elves, possibly from living as close as we do to the inner Earth Dark. But such things are still perilous to us.”

“You still should have said—”

“No.” Naitachal struggled to his feet. “To stop is to die, as simply as that Come. I will keep up.”

“I doubt it.” Lydia muttered under her breath. “There’s a limit even to a sorcerer’s will.”

“I will keep up,” the Dark Elf repeated flatly.

Just then, Tich’ki came whirring back. “Strangers! A whole troop of people and wagons up ahead!”

“Wagons!” Lydia shook her head, puzzled. “Can’t be soldiers or those cursed trackers. Tich’ki—”

“I know. Find out more about them. I’m gone.”

She was back within a short time. “Forget any help from them. They’re nothing but some traveling minstrels.”

“Bah.” Lydia turned away in disgust “They’re useless.”

But Kevin, moved by a sudden wild hope, told Tich’ki, “Go on. What else can you tell us about them?”

The fairy shrugged in mid-air. “What can I say? They’re a colorful lot, and their leader’s a sharp-faced fellow with bright green eyes.”

Kevin started. It couldn’t be, could it ... ?”D-did you happen to catch his name?”

“Ber-something, I think.”

“Berak?”

“That’s it!” The fairy stared at him. “You know him?”

“In a way.” Stumbling over his words in sudden ‘eagerness. Kevin stammered, “L-listen, everyone:

Berak and his troupe is—are—friends of Master Aidan. We can hide with them for a while!”

“Look,” Lydia said shortly, “we’ve been lied to and tricked along every step of this little adventure of ours. Do you really think we can trust them?”

“We can! I can be fooled, even you can be fooled, but my Master’s a full Bard. No one’s going to fool him. Come on! Maybe we can actually beg a hot meal out of Berak—And he and the troupe might even have some valuable news to share!”

Lydia shrugged. “On your head be it, kid!”

For one brief, startling moment, Kevin could have sworn no time at all had passed since he’d first left Bracklin. There were the same gaudy red and blue wagons, the same cluster of brightly dressed men, women and children gathered around a communal campfire, and the bardling was overwhelmed by such a sudden surge of homesickness he nearly staggered. There was Berak, exuberant and arrogant as ever, pacing restlessly back and forth, as though he bore too much pent-up energy to be still.

He stopped short, staring at Kevin. “Ha! So there you are!”

“You ... were expecting me?”

“Oh, eventually! At least I was hoping you’d show up! You’ve been stirring up enough excitement in recent days for a dozen bardlings.” The sharp green eyes noted Naitachal—completely hidden in his by now tattered black cloak—and came to rest on Lydia. Berak swept down in a theatrical bow. “I had no idea you were traveling in the company of such a lovely lady.”

“Ha,” Lydia said, but to Kevin’s astonishment, she reddened slightly anyhow.

“Ah, but from the looks of the lot of you,” Berak continued without missing a beat, “you could use a good meal. Come, join us.”

But Naitachal never moved. “Kevin,” he said faintly, “Remember when I boasted I could keep up? I can’t. In fact,” the Dark Elf added, swaying slightly, “if I don’t sit down, right now, I think I may do something foolish. Like faint.”

Kevin and Lydia caught him just in time. In the next moment, they were surrounded by the minstrel troupe, helping hands reaching out. Berak wormed his way through the crowd and slipped a supporting arm around the Dark Elf

“Back off!” he shouted to the others. “Give the man room to breathe! You and you, drag that bench over here. Someone go get Seritha. And you ...”

Berak’s voice faltered for an instant as Naitachal’s hood slipped back, revealing his unmistakably Dark Elf features. But then the minstrel shrugged and shouted, “Seritha! Seritha, hurry!” He added to Naitachal, helping him to the bench, “She’s our Healer. Have you up and well in no time.”

To Kevin’s surprise, Seritha turned out to be the plump, motherly woman he’d first seen in buttercup yellow: hardly the sort, he thought, to harbor any sort of Power. But she laid bare the arrow gash with quiet skill. And as soon as she placed her hands on the wound, Kevin saw Power well up about her, encircle her in a pale blue cloud, brightening to dazzling blue-white where her hands touched Naitachal’s arm. The bardling thought he saw unhealthy flesh slough away under that touch, and felt his too-empty stomach lurch in protest. He hastily turned away, but after a time sheer curiosity made him look once more.

Seritha, looking worn but satisfied, was straightening—Naitachal, eyes wild with relief, was getting to his feet—and not a mark marred the smooth skin of his arm. At Seritha’s wave, a little boy brought them flagons of something that smelled sharply herbal and was presumably strength-restoring. Both Healer and Dark Elf drank thirstily then smiled at each other. Naitachal bowed.

“I am forever in your debt, lady.”

She beamed. “I’m hardly a lady. And I only did what any Healer should do.” Seritha made a shooing gesture with both hands. “Off with you now. Go reassure your friends.”

Naitachal grinned. “I hear and obey!”

As the Dark Elf approached, Kevin asked breathlessly, “How—how do you feel?”

“Healed. Absolutely, totally healed.”

“Now that’s truly amazing,” Lydia said. “I never thought an ordinary human could wield that type of Power.”

“No,” the Dark Elf murmured thoughtfully, “neither did I.” His glance locked with that of Berak. But then Naitachal shrugged. “So be it,” he said, so meaningfully Kevin could have sworn he’d meant to say, I’ll keep your secret.

What secret? What was going on between those two?

But then the wonderful aroma of roasting meat hit his nostrils, and Kevin forgot all about secrets for the moment

“Don’t gobble,” Lydia warned him. “Your stomach’s shrunk. You’ll make yourself ill.”

Oh, but it was a struggle not to wolf down the meat and bread and cheese, the wine and sweetmeats. At last, feeling alive again for the first time in he didn’t know how many days, Kevin sat back with a contented sigh.

“My friends,” he told the minstrels, “we can’t possibly repay this.”

They laughed. “No need! No need!”

“But,” the bardling added, as casually as he could, “we ... ah ... separated a good many days ago.”

“Separated!” someone teased. “You ran off, is what happened!”

“Uh, well, yes,” Kevin admitted reluctantly, aware of Lydia’s amused glance. “But now, what have you been doing since then? Have any news?”