Swords of the Six (25 page)

If Specter had been with her and her sisters during their ordeal at Al'un Dai then he must have also been with them prior to that in the forests west of the Eiderveis River.

She recalled Laura's account of the night the dragons had kidnapped her. The heads of the carnivorous beasts had, according to Laura, "fallen off as if severed by an invisible blade." Specter's blade . . . it must have been.

And then there was the moment when she and her sisters had been trapped in Al'un Dai. She'd been holding the traitor's infant son when the walls had iced over. Her sisters had touched their blades together, and the energy discharge which had never failed to crumble stone had had no effect. They'd been trapped.

But at the exact moment they needed help, the wall trembled, the ice shattered. Something had impacted the wall from the other side and the stones had exploded at the sisters, leaving a large hole for the sisters to escape through . . . and she had never known why. Now she understood what had happened.

Specter . . . he was there the whole time.
She couldn't help marveling at how much sense it all made.

Closing her eyes, Dantress drifted into a dream similar to the ones she'd had the past couple of nights. She saw the man's face and felt the adoration of his gaze as if nothing else mattered to him or existed outside of them.

* * *

Ilfedo tore himself from the dream. He could almost feel
her
presence melting off his body like hot wax. Why? Why did this dream recur with such persistent frequency? Where had his mind come up with such vivid detail of a woman who did not exist?

He rolled up his bearskin sleeping bag and strangled it with a leather cord to his saddle. "Ramul." He gently shook the gangly lad awake. "Time we were on our way."

The hilly terrain covered with trees prevented a speedy journey through the wilderness. Ilfedo knew the region well and navigated as direct a path as possible so that Ramul, when he returned to the coast, would be able to find his way back.

From time to time Ilfedo drew his sword and slashed the tree trunks, leaving marks the boy could follow on the return trip.

A few days after leaving the coastal areas, they rode up a long hill to a broad log home set back in the slope and stopped. A portion of the roof appeared to be open, like a window to the sky. The structure was sturdy. They led the horses through large double doors set in the side of the building.

"I don't keep any horses of my own," Ilfedo said as the redhead kicked around the meager piles of straw spread on the stable floor. "But there's plenty of grass outside, and the horses can graze on that tonight." He balanced a pile of metal stakes in his arms and carried them outside, driving them into the ground, then tying the horses to them.

Ramul surprised Ilfedo with his strength. He picked up several of the larger packs and carried them to the front door. Ilfedo was left only with a smaller pack and one large one. By the faint odor of smoke his nostrils picked up when he lifted the larger of the two bags he guessed it held the serpent meat.

"Your door's locked." Ramul pulled up on the thick metal latch to prove his point.

"Stand aside." Ilfedo stepped to the door and rapped twice. "Seivar, Hasselpatch! I'm home! Open this thing, will you?"

There was a commotion in the house—pots and pans crashing to the floor, glass smashing, along with an assortment of other small catastrophes, and the door clicked open.

Two eagle-sized, white birds landed on Ilfedo's shoulders, each stretching a long neck to nuzzle his head. The afternoon sunlight shone off their hooked, silver beaks, and their silver claws clamped over his shoulders.

Ilfedo jerked his shoulder as his injury protested.

The larger of the pair finished nuzzling its master and cawed in Ramul's face, startling him back. He tripped on the threshold and fell.

"Sorry about that, Ramul." Ilfedo stroked both birds' breasts, looking upon them with a softening gaze as their silvery eyes closed in pleasure. "I'm afraid Seivar is not comfortable with strangers."

Ramul swallowed, "Those are—"

"Nuvitors . . . and the only tame pair that I know of," Ilfedo said, nodding his head. "I chanced upon one of the nests fallen from a tree deep in the forest. They would have died had I not brought them home.

The larger of the birds, Seivar, nipped Ilfedo's ear and then jumped off his shoulder to perch on the long wooden table occupying the center of the room.

Ilfedo busied himself removing his scabbard from his belt. He set it, with the sword still sheathed, against the wall in a dark corner of the room.

"But," Ramul warily kept his eye on Seivar, "they're not like parrots. They can have a conversation?"

"Would you listen to
that
, Hasselpatch?" Seivar clipped the air with his beak. "Parrots, indeed! Of all insults—"

The smaller bird crouched on Ilfedo's shoulder then pounced, landing on Seivar's back and toppling him off the table.

"Do not listen to a word Seivar says." She said, looked up at Ramul as her mate rebalanced himself on the floor. "And if he tries anything whilst I'm out of sight, I expect you to tell me immediately." She stood still, waiting.

The bird nodded and dropped to the floor. "Come with me. There are three guest rooms in this house. Um . . . what was your name?"

"Ramul."

"Such a nice name!" Hasselpatch led him to the north side of the house and through a door into one of the small bedrooms at ground level.

Ilfedo looked at the kitchen counter against the back wall. One lamp lay on its side, jagged bits of broken glass spread around it. Several plates were neatly stacked next to the stone sink but around them lay an assortment of pots and pans in a jumbled confusion.

He picked up the humbled bird and let it perch on his arm. The claws dug into his skin but he didn't care. "What a mess, Seivar."

Hanging its head, the bird said, "Sorry, Master, I let my excitement get the better of me."

Ilfedo smiled. "No matter. A little cleanup and everything will be right again. Which reminds me: it feels chilly in here." He glanced to the large stone fireplace set in the wall next to a stone stairway leading to the second level.

The fireplace was huge. Large enough for a full grown man of shorter stature to walk into. A bed of coals glowed inside and meager scraps of charred logs growing cold slumbered atop them. Above the mantle, staring lifelessly back at him, was the head of that first bear. He stretched his shoulders, feeling the bearskin coat that'd kept him warm for several years.

Turning away from the bear's head, he stepped around a pillar rising from the floor and supporting a broad beam running the length of the house. He slapped the rough wood. Solid as the day he'd nailed it in place.

His thigh brushed against a rope hammock, strung from one pillar to the other. The hammock rocked gently.

Outside with the cool late afternoon air surrounding him, Ilfedo grabbed the steel axe by its head and pulled its handle from under his belt. Balancing it in both hands he bent his elbows, drawing them back in preparation for the swing. The thick trunk of an oak rose before him, its first branches at least ten feet above the ground.

Seivar's weight lifted from his arm, and the bird flew to a white birch. It was out of felling distance. Cocking its head in his direction, the bird awaited the first strokes of his axe.

Hacking with strong but steady motions, Ilfedo cut into the tree until the amount of chips littering the ground equaled a wedge of missing wood in the trunk almost halfway through. He stepped around the trunk, being careful not to step in front of the carved portion of tree, and stood behind it.

Again the axe that had served him in his battle with the Sea Serpents, carved deep. The cut he made was slightly higher than the wedge cut on the opposite side. He deepened it until the wood cracked. The tree creaked, then leaned away from him with a mighty groan, and it fell southeast along the edge of the clearing.

It must have been a couple hours later, Ilfedo couldn't be sure because he couldn't remember precisely where Yimshi's disc had been when he started the job. The red-headed lad with the gangly legs ran out of the house and into the stable. At first, as the lad disappeared through the stable doors, Ilfedo thought that something must be wrong.

He rested one foot on the fallen tree's trunk. Seivar glided from the white birch, his white feathers rustling as he landed on a branch of the felled oak.

"Trouble, Master?"

"I'm not sure." Ilfedo let go of the axe with one hand to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead. His other hand still rested on the axe's smooth wood handle, the head he left embedded in the tree's trunk.

But Ramul ran out of the stable moments later, his legs seemed to almost lose their balance with every stride and an axe swinging a bit carelessly from one hand. "Mr. Matheliah, Sir?"

"It's
Ilfedo
, Ramul."

"Right! Sorry." The lad's face reddened, and his freckles seemed to triple their numbers. "How 'bout I help you with the wood . . .? If I may."

Ilfedo pointed to the axe in Ramul's hand. "Do you know how to use it properly?"

"No," the lad admitted, green eyes hopeful. "Could you show me?" Seeming to become uncomfortable with his request, Ramul bit his lip.

But Ilfedo patted him on the shoulder, pulled the axe out of the tree's trunk and raised it over his head with both hands. "If you want to help then I accept. Hold the handle like so, a firm grip but not too much; you must let the momentum of your swing do the work . . .."

That evening Ilfedo and Ramul pulled wooden chairs up to the hearth. Ilfedo stretched his feet to the crackling warmth of the fire. Ramul leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms behind his head. Then he thrust his feet beside Ilfedo's.

A pile of split logs now stood several feet above the floor to the left of the stone fireplace. Burning seasoned wood would have been easier, but somehow the task of cutting an adequate supply had eluded Ilfedo the past few months. Or, more accurately, he had avoided it. Besides, fresh cut wood always smelled better to him than old, dry logs.

Into the orange, red and yellow glow emanating from the fire the Nuvitors strutted. Seivar took the lead, momentarily spreading his wings over the warm hearth stones before fluffing his feathers and lying down. Hasselpatch cuddled beside him. Two white beauties in the light of the flames, their feathers spotless and pure.

The birds blinked a few times, their chests heaved with deep breathing. Seivar's silver iris trained on Ramul as Hasselpatch's eyes closed.

Ramul, half-asleep himself, leaned back in his chair with his long arms draped over the chair arms.

Bringing his finger to his lips, Ilfedo murmured to the bird, "Sleep, my friend. The lad will be no trouble."

His silver eye swiveling in its socket to return Ilfedo's gaze, Seivar regarded him for a moment. Then, fluffing his feathers once more, the bird closed his eyes and drifted asleep.

For a long while afterward, as the fire burned on, Ilfedo sat in silence.

The hoots of owls mingled with a chorus of crickets outside in the deepening night. From down the hill in a small swamp, frogs croaked, some loud, others weak. He imagined that, somewhere, far from all human civilization, was a dark-haired young woman dressed in purple. Perhaps even now she was leaning over that pool with the dull roar of the waterfall filling her ears as she watched starlight dance on the water.

Rising from his chair, he dropped into the hammock and twisted onto his side. The ropes tickled his cheek a bit but he didn't care. The hammock swung ever so slightly.

For now he would sleep. Maybe tomorrow would find him feeling fresh and invigorated. He hoped so. His right shoulder still felt a bit strange, a bit swollen and numb.

He remembered the white eyes of the Sea Serpents, their fangs dripping venom. And he was glad he'd come home. Back to the wilderness . . . where the most dangerous creatures left were large cats and some bears.

Venison!
He licked his lips, almost tasting fresh cooked meat sitting on his table.

Tomorrow might be a good time to round up a few of his friends. It had been a little while since they'd last gone on a hunt together.

Chapter 3: Before the Dawn

As Specter followed Dantress through the woods, moving smooth and silent, he studied the trees around her. The damp darkness of early morning could hide any number of beasts waiting to pounce upon her.

His fist clasped the handle of his scythe with firm resolve and confidence. Nothing could see him while he remained in his gray shrouds. He was a secret guardian doing his duty out of love for his master and a desire to see the evil of his one-time-pupil, Letrias, negated.

He peered from beneath his hood at the shapely young daughter of the great white dragon.