Strange Attractors (54 page)

‘It’s a good call.’

They made their way to the central pub, the warmth splashing over them as they pushed through the double doors. Clay went straight to the bar to order, leaving Shane to find a table. He grabbed two mugs of hot spiced wine and turned to the crowd. He stopped short. Shane wasn’t alone. ‘Kreshkali? What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask the same of you.’

Clay cleared his throat. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

He put down the mugs and headed back to the bar to order a third meal. He returned, placing a fresh mug
of hot wine in her hand. She thanked him, but her eyes looked stern.

‘How did you end up here? I sent you back to Treeon. Are you taking the long way around?’

Clay frowned. ‘Treeon?’

‘You did, at first,’ Shane said.

‘At first?’

‘But you came back, Kreshkali. Shortly after.’ Clay looked at her sidewise. ‘You told us to follow Rosette. And we have.’ He ended with a smile, quickly letting it drop.

‘Didn’t you?’ Shane asked.

‘Tell me, boys. How did I come to you, when I said to follow Rosette?’

‘You flew in,’ Clay answered. ‘Just like always.’

‘Black as night,’ Shane said.

‘A black falcon?’

Shane shook his head. ‘No, Mistress. A raven.’

‘A Lemur raven,’ Clay added, his voice a whisper. ‘Are you saying it wasn’t you?’

‘It wasn’t me.’

‘Who then?’

‘If it’s who I think, I underestimated her.’

Their food came and the bards set to it like famished pups. Kreshkali ate lightly, keeping an eye on the front and back doors. Clay stopped before taking a huge mouthful. ‘Are we being watched?’ he whispered.

‘That’s always a good question to ask,’ she said. She pushed her bowl away. ‘And where is Rosette, if you were meant to be sticking to her side?’

‘She and Teg were running straight to the Dumarkian Woods.’

‘And Drayco, of course,’ Shane said around a mouthful of bread. ‘They’d be there now.’

Kreshkali downed her wine. ‘Look at me, both of
you. I don’t want you to misunderstand any of this.’ She had their attention. ‘Stay here. Stay put.’ They were about to protest and she held up her hand. ‘There’s a wave about to break that’ll wash the land clean. I don’t want you caught in the undertow.’ She picked up her staff, nodded to them and left.

Shane resumed chewing. ‘We’re meant to sit on the sidelines? Is that it?’

Clay folded his arms, slowly shaking his head. ‘Not on your life.’

This way, Maudi.

She could see Drayco’s tail in front of her but not his body. He disappeared into the fog.
Wait up, Dray. There’s water nearby. I can smell it.

Is it the creek beside the temple?
Teg asked.

Both are here. Temple and creek.
Drayco snapped his tail and she followed him to the water’s edge, the railing of the bridge just visible above the mist. They crossed it, the arch rising high over the clearing, the outline of the temple grounds before them.

Ruins, Maudi. They are gone.

‘I’d hoped to see them but it’s too late.’

Teg took her hand and squeezed it. ‘As planned, I think,’ he said.

She turned to him, touching her ear and shaking her head.

As planned, I said.

She nodded.

The wind picked up, the tips of the trees swaying like paintbrushes against the starry sky. The crescent moon gleamed, winking in and out behind trailing clouds. A white light illuminated the ruins, the steps discernible only on one side, the other having given way to erosion. They rose up out of the mist, like the edge of an ancient
coastline. Where the steps were still intact, moss and leaf covered them, the stones protruding like bleached jawbones. Trees grew in the centre of the grounds—tall redwoods and a single weeping willow near the other side of the bridge. She let her eyes rest long upon the willow. Tears fell down her cheeks.

What’s wrong, Maudi?

I don’t know.
She brushed her cheeks.
Everyone’s gone.

Not everyone.

They crossed to the other side and the vibration of their boots clicking over the stones ran up her legs. A faint echo of the rhythm sounded. She rubbed her ears, wincing.

You okay, Maudi?

I’d be better if I could hear. It’s eerie in this silence, with only some tones coming through.

I listen for you.

Thank you, lovely.

She explored. A huge slab lay on its side, the monolith once a central support. Vines crisscrossed its surface, brambles growing where sacred fires had burned. Rosette pointed her nose at the night sky, sniffing the breeze. A bird of prey whistled. She heard that shrill call clearly enough. It circled high above. ‘Kreshkali,’ she whispered. ‘She’s here.’

She held out her arm, noticing Teg do the same. He lowered his, taking a step back. The black falcon landed, back-winging onto Rosette’s forearm. She perched there for a moment, tilting her head, wings not quite folded over her back. In a burst of energy she leapt off Rosette’s arm, shifting into human form before her feet touched the ground.

Rosette shut her eyes, opening them slowly when the gust dissipated. Kreshkali and Teg were staring at each
other, a silent exchange. Drayco’s tail snapped, and Kali turned to her. ‘You made it here in good time,’ she said.

Rosette cupped her hand behind her ear.

We made it in good time
, Teg repeated.

We did, but has anyone else?

Hotha comes,
Kreshkali said, using her mental voice.

With how many Lupins?
Teg asked.

His voice sounded different. It was low and smooth—a new confidence. He must have passed some test he didn’t tell her about. Good.

With more Lupins than this woods has ever seen.
Kreshkali turned to Rosette, resting her hand on her shoulder.
Are you all right?

Rosette straightened. ‘I’m fine. Just a little deaf and a bit sore.’ She spoke aloud, crossing her arms.

‘Still no sword?’

There was no mistaking the question, even though Rosette didn’t hear it properly. Her hand went to her empty belt. ‘I’ve had some trying events, Mistress.’ She said the words formally. ‘I’ll replace it, again.’

I’m sure you will, but I doubt you’ll like the weight and feel of the Corsanon blades.
She pulled Rosette into her arms and hugged her.
I know what you’ve lost.
Her eyes drifted over to the willow tree.

She followed her mother’s gaze.
Is he there?

Kreshkali nodded.

Rosette buried her face in her mother’s bosom.

And I know what you’ve gained!
Kali touched the fine silver chain at her daughter’s throat.
Keep it safe, keep it hidden.
She turned to Teg and motioned him closer.
Things are going to get messy tonight. Corsanon rides, one hundred strong. I don’t want them setting a foot on our sacred land, but if they do, I don’t want them to ever leave.

Drayco roared, planting his forepaws on Rosette’s shoulders, his head inches from her face. She embraced him, joining his song, feeling the vibration in both their throats. Teg morphed, threw back his head and howled. As their chants died down, she turned to Drayco.
Anyone answer?

Many—all Lupin. They come.

A
n’ Lawrence signalled his archers and they spread out, taking up vantage points all around the valley. He kept them in check, though he could see their itchy fingers even this far off.

Why not now, Rowan? The camp sleeps.

Tactically it’s a good move, Scylla, but we are badly outnumbered. I’d rather wait for Bangeesh and Treeon to arrive.

We didn’t last time.

But last time Nell had the spell and Rosette wasn’t born. This isn’t a recapitulation of previous events. The same strategy may not work.

If not a repeat, what then? I’m a little confused, Rowan.

An’ Lawrence rubbed the sweat off his face. He was a little confused himself and it didn’t help knowing Scylla felt the same. She was usually the crystal-clear one. Her unruffled, unfettered mind often contrasted his over-analytical or blocked viewpoint, but not today.

Scylla, I…

Rowan, I hear Drayco. He says it’s time.

Now?

Dawn. We can’t let them join up with the temple priestesses.

How far have they got?

Scylla bristled.
To the edge of the Dumarkian Woods.

He groaned. There would be no waiting for the other temples’ support. He would launch an attack on these warriors at sunrise.

We may want to free the horses, Rowan?
Scylla purred, an offer of comfort.

I was thinking the same. You keep watch. I won’t be long.

I will come.

Not this time, lovely. These are Corsanon horses. Most have never seen a creature such as you. You’ll alarm them as sure as beating a drum.

She purred louder, sweet in his mind.
Be safe. I’ll keep watch. Bangeesh is not far off.

Can you hear them?

I hear Peony, the High Priestess’s familiar.

What does she say?

They are breaking camp. She says they’ll be here not long after sunrise.

An’ Lawrence wrapped his arms around Scylla’s neck and kissed the top of her head before slipping out of the shadows. Turning the horses loose was a grand idea, if he could get them to run without raising the camp. He’d heard of the loyalty of these Corsanon beasts, especially the golden ones. He hoped it was more myth than fact.

He worked his way down towards the camp, keeping his eye on the guards. They were posted at
every corner of the valley and at the midpoints halfway between. They paced back and forth, two death dogs straining at the ends of their leads. Voracious animals. He shivered while watching them chew up the ground as they lunged against their restraints. The bullmastiffs were huge beasts, bigger even than Rosette’s glamour. Certainly more dangerous. These animals couldn’t be called off. They were trained to attack, to latch onto their prey and not let go until they held a limp carcass. They would then shake them like rags, crushing bone with their teeth. He’d seen two of them dispatch a small calf. Gruesome.

It was said that they came from an ancient line of Dire wolves, a species long extinct. Not surprisingly they made the horses nervous, and that might be to his advantage. Surely there would be none posted near the picket lines.

He was right about that. There were no death dogs at the picket lines. There was something worse.

Demons!

What’s wrong, Rowan?

Mules.

Mules?

Tied among the horses.

That’s a shame.

It was more than a shame. He’d planned to untie the first horse of the line, jump on and gallop away with the entire string. With mules in the picket line, that was not going to happen. Those creatures wouldn’t budge. He’d have to think of something else.

Think quickly, Rowan. The camp is waking up.

He muttered to himself, crawling along on his belly. He stayed downwind of the death dogs, but the thought of them and their slobbering jaws so near was not helping him concentrate. The horses were a
stone’s throw away, the one nearest him restless. It was a palomino gelding with a sour disposition. He could tell that from a distance, in the dark. It was tossing its head, ears pinned back, teeth bared.

Has he spotted you, Rowan?

I don’t think so. He just doesn’t like his stable mate.

An’ Lawrence crept closer until he was at the edge of the tall grass. He was about to make a move when Scylla hissed in his ear, her whiskers tickling his chin.

What are you doing here? I said, wait.

And I said, be safe. You clearly are not.

Down!
He pushed her head to the ground. A stableboy was saddling the gelding, and having a difficult time of it.

He’s the bugle boy, readying to wake the camp. This is luck.

Wait until he tightens the girth, Rowan. Remember the time…

I remember.
He turned to her.
And please, you must wait here. Stay hidden. You can run flank when I cut these beasts loose.

Meanwhile?

Meanwhile, handle the death dogs, if they come this way.

My pleasure.

He waited until the lad led the horse away from the picket line and was about to mount up. The horse didn’t seem any happier with the boy than he’d been with his stable mate. His ears pinned back and he took a swipe with his near hind hoof, almost kneecapping the lad. A string of curses filled the air and An’ Lawrence jumped in. ‘I’ll take him off your hands, thanks,’ he said, knocking the lad out.

He grabbed the reins and vaulted astride. The horse planted all four feet and trumpeted, the sound
echoing across the valley. An’ Lawrence stood up in his stirrups, cracking the split reins behind him. The gelding lurched forward and he drew his sword. The horse immediately came under his control, arching his neck, ears forward, gait smooth. ‘So you’re battle-trained,’ An’ Lawrence said. ‘Good lad. More luck for us!’

It took little urging to push the horse into a gallop. He rode down the picket line, sword arm extended. Every horse and mule pulled back, front legs braced, haunches to the ground, tethers tight as fiddle strings. He lowered his sword and sliced through each rope, freeing the horses to scatter up the valley walls. He was a quarter way down the line when he hit metal; his arm jarred, the concussion nearly ripping the sword from his hand. A mule brayed as if demons were chewing its legs off.