Angelslayer: The Winnowing War (18 page)

“But would that not be a truth?” she said and half-smiled, trying to ease his tension.

“I suppose you have a point,” he said, but he did not smile. His emotions ran deep, she could tell he struggled hard to keep them in check—that being a minstrel turned warrior had never come easy for him. Emotion was something he would never be comfortable with.

“I will follow you, Loch,” she said earnestly. “I know your heart as I know my own. But maybe you can tell me what to do with these images still screaming in my head?”

“Use the ring. Take it out of your belt and put it on your finger.”

“Put it on my finger. Maybe I should just show it to Lamachus, point out how beautiful the stone is.”

“I see what you mean. Maybe … perhaps you could wear gloves.”

“Why did I not think? Of course, I wear gloves all the time.” Finally, a smile from him. She took his hand. “I understand, Loch. I know my world has changed, that we must hide, we must become runners, and for tonight I must pretend. I trust you, I believe in you, so I will do my very best at pretending. And, in fact, I did play with dolls. It was not that long ago, I suppose.”

“Good. The ring will help. It may even let you fool yourself, let you slip back into your familiar world—turn reality into a dream and make the dream reality. It did that for me on occasion, let me escape. Just pour your thoughts through the ring.”

They returned through the caverns and back to Terith-Aire. But she did not realize it was Aeson they were riding up to until they had almost reached him. Once close, she had to smile because he made quite a pretty girl—hair in braids with lace and baby's breath flowers. He wore a rich, gilded bodice. His eyes were painted and he had on an expensive silk tunic and skirt. Those alone were worth more than her entire wardrobe.

“Do you know the way out of the city?” Loch asked him.

“Yes, certainly,” he answered as if insulted.

“Then I will trust her to you.”

“Fine. I mean thank you … your majesty.”

Loch turned to Adrea. He held up his hand and spread his fingers in the sign of the word. She returned it, saddened that she was leaving him so soon. To love someone so true and so deep, it was a kind of madness. Perhaps in time that would change.

“Faith's Light,” he said. He backed his horse away and nodded to Aeson. “Safe journey, Aeson.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

Aeson pulled on the reins, turning the horse, and left at a gallop, anxious to be gone. Adrea paused only briefly before she turned to follow.

Once past the gates of the Daathan city, once away from the smell of them, Aeson slowed his pace and rode alongside Adrea at a lope so they could talk. He drew back his lip. “Maiden's chamber,” he cursed. “They first threatened me as an assassin and threw me in this maiden's chamber where they told me the truth would be stretched out of me. But it turned out there was nothing in there but actual maidens, and they … they did this to me.” He glanced at her. “And you? What was it all about? What did he want with you?” “I will explain when the time is right.” “He is planning to abduct you, is he not?” “Do I look abducted?”

“No, but I saw the look in his eye. It was as if he already owned you. He is going to take you. Tell me I am wrong.” “As I said, I will explain in time.” “Why not now?”

“Because
now
is not a good time.”

“Lochlain, son of Argolis—they spoke of him as if he were some god, his maidens. They told me they were his attendants, whatever that implies. I have heard that the Daathan prince is touched. You know, a little bit crazy. His women certainly are. What did you think? Is he touched?”

“Perhaps a bit.”

“Well, I do not trust any of them, Adrea, not one of them. And look what they did to me! You should not trust them, either. He is a prince that keeps all those women like a stable of fine horses. He is most likely planning to add you as another mare. These Daath—Father is right, they are all mad.” He glanced behind. “Are they following?”

“No, we are alone.”

“I will not trust that until we are home beside the hearth.” Aeson was riding with grim determination, despite the fluttering, expensive veils. When they reached the northern pasture, he paused to think things over. “We should split up,” he decided. “You think?”

“Yes, I will need to take the long way around, perhaps down past the stream where I can muddy myself up.”

Adrea stared at him a moment, taken by the way they had painted his eyes, green malachite with the top of his lids dark, extending outward across his temples. She would like to try that herself.

“Stop staring at me,” he demanded.

“I am just admiring the workmanship.”

“You know, Father said the gathering was all a plot of the Daath. I think he is right. I think things were far better off when we were separate tribes, doing as we pleased.”

“How would you know? You were not born yet.”

“I just know. I am guessing. The gathering wars were a mistake. We were fine with our old ways.”

“We still have our old ways, Aeson. The Daath have forced nothing on us.” “You are defending them now?”

“No, just pointing out they did not force their ways or their faith on any of the tribes; they merely united them.”

Aeson paused, pulled a strand of baby's breath from his eyelid, and stared at it, puzzled. “What is this?”

“It is woven all through your hair.”

“They have put flowers in my hair!”

“Along with gold filet. What did they do with your clothes?” “I do not want to talk about what they did, at all, any of it. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course.”

“In fact, it will be fine when I can wash this off, get back in my own clothes, and forget this day ever happened. Throw all this down some well.”

“Perhaps you could save me the bodice?”

He lowered one brow, but this only made Adrea chuckle.

“You go straight for the cottage,” he said. “I will circle around through the village and come over the west fence, try to crawl in the back window. Maybe I can sneak in and change clothes before Father spots me.”

“Let us hope so.”

“I find nothing about this humorous.” “Perhaps I should get you a hand mirror.” “Ha, very funny, it is all a big joke, I suppose.”

“Just make sure as you circle through the village that none of the boys make ill advances toward you. Be very firm with them, Aeson.” “I can handle this. I have been in worse situations.” “All right, but take my word for it, some of these boys can be quite bold.” He gave her a last warning glance, turned the horse sharply, and started down the hill. She smiled watching him ride off, straight in the saddle, braided hair bouncing, veils streaming. But once he had gone, she felt sadness close over her. The memories were swiftly returning. She reached into her belt and slipped the ring over her finger, whispering to it in her mind,
hide me, return me to simple ways.

Then she noticed something. It was a figure, far to the north, along the edge of the forest, watching. It was Sandalaphon, the protector of the Daath. She was one of them now. But the idea that she was to be their queen seemed impossible.

Aeson rode past the tall twisted oak that marked the east field, down its embankment, and started through a shallow stream below. He pulled up on the reins, and was about to dismount—at least wash some of the gunk off, when he openly gasped. “Oh, God …” he muttered silently.

Lamachus was coming directly toward him, moving slow, pushing several head of cattle before him. Aeson panicked, but there was nowhere to turn. All he could do was wait and hope. Maybe Lamachus wouldn't notice. But just in case, he began desperately trying to quickly think up some explanation.

As he passed, Aeson's father actually did not notice at first. Lamachus simply nodded with a curious glance, a glance one would offer an interesting stranger, and rode through the stream lazily. He looked pretty tired. His thinning hair was sweaty and tangled, his face was dusty. Poor Lamachus. He was so tired from finding all the baron's cattle that he hadn't even noticed a golden-fileted, painted trollop in the middle of his eastern field. Aeson held his breath.

Suddenly, Lamachus paused, pulling up on the reins. Slowly, he turned in the saddle, squinting. Then his mouth dropped open. He turned the horse sharply, splashed through the stream, and pulled up directly in front of Aeson, staring, astonished.

“Good God! Boy, is that you?”

Aeson swallowed, uncertain he had voice. “Yes, Father. It is me.”

“Blessed mother of us all!”

“Am I ever glad to see you, Father.”

“Explain that to me, boy.”

“Well, this morning I … I was near the road looking for cows, when suddenly …” He paused a moment. “Yes, yes—when suddenly?”

“When suddenly this caravan passed. Lots of painted wagons.”

“A caravan?”

“Yes. Actors, I believe.”

“Actors?”

Aeson nodded. “I think so. I first tried to outrun them. But they had fast horses.”

“Actors with fast horses?”

“Yes. Surprising, is it not? You would not think acting paid that well.” “But why on God's good earth do you believe actors would run you down?” “I wondered of that! I did!” Lamachus curled his lip. “And?”

“Perhaps there were not enough actors. For their play, I mean. Perhaps it was just a very important play and they needed another. They were headed for Terith-Aire. Yes, thinking on it now, they must have needed another player very badly. For the part of a girl. Which is … which explains why they … ah … tied me up and did this to me.”

Lamachus stared wide-eyed. His mouth parted but he said nothing.

“I know … it must sound odd, but—”

“Odd? Boy, that is the most amazing story I have ever heard and it makes no damned sense at all.”

“No?”

“Not a shred of sense.” “I suppose not.”

“But it is obvious what has happened here.”

“It is?”

“Slavers.”

“What?”

“Good God, they were slavers. Not actors!” “You think so?”

“Well, of course I think so! God gave me a brain, though you must have stepped out of line to void your piss when they were being handed out! Think on it! If someone tied me up and painted me like a trollop, I would not for the love of frogs think actors had done it!”

“Ahhh …”

“Lord, boy, we all know good actors are hard to find, but to think they would kidnap villagers to play parts! God save us.” Lamachus shook his head. “Must have been planning to sell you on the block. But how could the fools take you for a girl!”

Aeson thought this over. “Perhaps …”

Lamachus waited.

“Well … they knew I was not a girl, but—look at me.”

“Indeed,” Lamachus mumbled. “On my mother, you look fit to be married! God in heaven, I would marry you. You should kiss the earth, boy. Give thanks you have escaped!”