The Heart of the Sands, Book 3 of The Gods Within (20 page)

The four whitefaces went silent as they pondered that,
uneasy looks on their faces.

Morgin continued. “In any case, I’m
tired of goat.” He held up the stave. “I’m
going to finish this bow, then do a little hunting. Anyone care to join me?”

Chapter 15: A Journey
Remembered

Tulellcoe’s horse crested a small rise
southwest of Lake Savin. Built centuries ago on the peak of a distant hill,
Castle SavinCourt commanded the countryside. Even larger than Elhiyne, its
parapets, ramparts and bulwarks lent it a decidedly formidable air.

Tulellcoe and Cort let their horses walk at a leisurely
pace. They followed a road little more than a cart path, deep ruts forcing them
to keep to the edge of the road where they found much better footing.

“What do you think?” he asked
Cort, gauging the distance to SavinCourt. “Mid-afternoon?”

She stood up in her stirrups and arched her back,
stretching the kinks of a long ride out of her muscles. “Yes,
mid-afternoon, or even earlier.”

At noon they were close enough that they decided to
continue on without stopping for lunch. They found the gates of the castle
open, a continuous stream of carts, people on foot and mounted riders coming
and going. The sergeant at the gate recognized Cort. “Why, it’s
the Balenda!” He bowed his head. “Lady Cortien, are
you expected?”

“No,” she said. “We
were just riding by, and are a bit tired of trail rations.”

The sergeant eyed Tulellcoe, obviously not recognizing
him, so Cort said, “This is Tulellcoe et Elhiyne. Lord Eglahan
knows him well.”

The sergeant’s back stiffened, and he bowed
from the waist. “Lord Tulellcoe. I’ll send a runner
to let Lord Eglahan know you’re here. Do you need a guide?”

Cort answered him. “No, I know the way well.”

SavinCourt occupied the better part of the hill, with the
inner keep at its crest, and while much of it sprawled outside the outer
bulwarks, the interior contained what amounted to a small city. This wasn’t
the first time Tulellcoe had come to SavinCourt, but without Cort’s
greater knowledge of the place, he might have had to search a bit to find the
inner keep.

Eglahan awaited them there. “Tulellcoe, Cort,”
he said as he descended the steps from the main entrance. “What
brings you to SavinCourt?”

Tulellcoe said, “Just passing through, and we’re
hoping you can provide us with a soft bed and a decent meal.”

“Of course,” Eglahan said. “Have
you eaten anything today?”

“Just some jerky and journeycake this
morning.”

Eglahan ordered up a hearty lunch from the kitchen and
they talked while they ate. Tulellcoe asked Eglahan, “We’ve
been away from Elhiyne for more than a year, but I’ve been hearing
rumors of disunity in the Lesser Clans.”

Eglahan’s eyes narrowed warily. “There
is some disagreement, perhaps a bit more than usual.”

He had clearly chosen his words carefully, spoken as one
diplomat to another. Tulellcoe speared a piece of cheese with a knife, and
said, “Come now. Speak freely. We’ve known each other
far too long for you to fear I’ll be carrying tales to Olivia.”

Eglahan rubbed the top of his bald skull. “There
is a fearful schism growing between Penda and Elhiyne, and both Olivia and
BlakeDown seem bent on provoking one another.”

Cort asked, “How so?”

Eglahan hesitated and glanced at Tulellcoe, clearly
reluctant to say the wrong thing in the presence of a member of the ruling
family of Elhiyne. He spoke carefully. “At the meeting of the
Lesser Council Olivia proposed Brandon as warmaster of all the Lesser Tribes.”

Tulellcoe couldn’t believe what he’d
heard. Cort groaned and said, “That is poking the beehive with a
stick.”

But something didn’t add up, so Tulellcoe
said, “But that is such a blatant provocation, and my aunt is not
that blind.”

Cort raised a questioning eyebrow, so Tulellcoe added, “Yes,
she’s a scheming old woman who’ll use any of us to
gain even the slightest advantage, but she’s neither foolish nor
stupid, especially not when it comes to BlakeDown. She’s always
known exactly what levers to push with him.”

Eglahan rubbed his beard and his eyes narrowed in thought.
“You do have a point there. But she is provoking him. There is no
doubt of that. So the question is: why? What does she hope to accomplish?”

~~~

At the knock on the door of her hut, Rhianne looked up
from the herbs she was preparing. She stood, crossed the small room and opened
the door. Fat John stood there, his hand raised, ready to knock again. “Ah,
Mistress Syllith, good day to you. Lady Jinella wants to see you.”

Rhianne asked, “The Elhiyne witch?”
She tried to hide the fear in her voice, but failed.

The innkeeper simply said, “Aye, but you’ve
nothing to fear from her.”

Rhianne shook her head. “For simple people
such as you and me, gaining the attention of a noblewoman is never wise.”

“True. But you can’t avoid it,
mistress.”

Rhianne had acquired a shawl, simple homespun, but still a
nice touch that added a hint of formality to her attire. She put it on now,
closed the door to her hut and walked beside Fat John down the dirt, main
street of Norlakton.

Rhianne knew of Jinella, was thankful she’d
never met her face-to-face. A Tosk of high rank but middling power, Olivia had
spoken of her as a possible bride for one of her grandsons. If she was now
esk et
Elhiyne, then she had likely married either
JohnEngine or Brandon.

As they walked down the street, Fat John said, “She’s
taken up residence at a table in the common room. Sittin’ there
like a queen on her throne, she is. Ruinin’ me business, she is. Be
glad when she goes.”

As they approached the inn Rhianne looked carefully at her
hands. The illusion she had spent so much time crafting gave them the
appearance of middle age, with the creases and lines and calluses of a woman
just a step or two above the status of a peasant. The spell would do the same
for her face.

When she stepped into the common room, Jinella’s
power hovered at the edge of her senses, like a cat waiting patiently for
movement in the brush where a mouse might hide. Rhianne almost reacted
instinctively, almost fortified the spell, but the spell’s
subtlety might be broken by such an overt act, so she willed herself to
calmness and didn’t touch her power.

Rhianne hadn’t been in the presence of
another witch since she’d left Durin, and she sensed now that she
could command far more power than this Jinella. That surprised her; she herself
had been a witch of middling power, but she realized now that she had grown,
that her power had blossomed and matured far beyond the simple spells she’d
learned as a young girl. That reminded her of the blade, and she wondered if
resisting its pull had strengthened her power, just as a blacksmith’s
muscles grew and thickened with use.

“Come, child,” Jinella said.

Rhianne hesitated, surprised at the audacity of a woman
who would call another woman, apparently twice her age,
child
.

Jinella misinterpreted her hesitation as fear. “Don’t
be afraid. I won’t bite. Come and sit with me.” With
a wave of her hand she indicated a stool at her table.

Rhianne kept her eyes downcast as she shuffled across the
floor, imitating the fear-filled walk she’d seen Braunye adopt so
many times. She stopped at the table.

“Sit down,” Jinella said
impatiently. “Don’t be so fearful.”

Rhianne sat down on the stool and kept her eyes downcast,
though out of curiosity she looked up for just an instant. Jinella was quite
beautiful, blond hair, shining blue eyes, and she actually had a pleasant smile
hidden beneath the arrogance. Rhianne remembered looking beautiful herself,
what seemed ages ago. But now, even without the illusion that added decades to
her age, she had none of the trappings of a young noblewoman, and a piece of
her longed to return to that life, to be young and beautiful again.

Jinella said, “I’m here to
understand your capabilities. We take our responsibility as rulers of these
people quite seriously, and would be most displeased were we to find a
charlatan preying upon them.”

“Charlatan, Your Ladyship?”
Rhianne asked, knowing her best defense would be to pretend to a very limited
education. “I don’t know what that word means.”

“A faker,” Jinella said. “An
imposter with no real power who mixes false potions and takes advantage of
these people.”

Rhianne didn’t answer, though her confidence
grew as she realized she could easily fool this witch with her far greater
command of power, and with the spells she had so carefully crafted. Jinella,
like any witch, could sense the magnitude of another witch’s
power. But Rhianne had learned to mask her power, had learned to cast a veil
that hid her own capabilities from other witches, and allowed them to glimpse
only the tiniest hint of her abilities. So, in Mistress Syllith, Jinella would
find a low level hedge witch of rather limited strength, but not a charlatan.

Jinella quizzed her for a good portion of the afternoon,
asked her to demonstrate her
most powerful
spells. Rhianne pulled out a few spells young witches were taught in their
first lessons, and pretended to struggle mightily to summon even that limited
ability. Jinella sent her back to her hut to bring samples of the herbs and
potions she’d prepared. She didn’t bring anything
strong or powerful, nothing she might use on a truly bad injury. Jinella
examined them carefully and seemed satisfied. Yes, she would leave under the
impression Norlakton had a middle-aged witch with only a very limited command
of true power, and that would suite Rhianne well. No one would learn Rhianne
esk et Elhiyne still lived. No one, especially not that old witch Olivia.

“Well, Mistress Syllith,”
Jinella concluded. “You’ll be a good thing for this
village. A good sized village like this needs a healer, and should you need
help, don’t hesitate to call on those of us more capable.”
And with that, she dismissed Rhianne.

She walked back to her hut, careful to keep her eyes
downcast, the meek and mild commoner. And not until she stepped through the
door and closed it behind her did she relax. She sat down at the small table
that served as a place to dine, and as a work place for preparing her herbs and
potions, and there, once again alone, she breathed a sigh of relief.

But wait! Where had Braunye gotten to?

“I sent her on a meaningless errand.”

Rhianne gasped and jumped up from her chair; only then did
she see the shadowy presence in the corner of the room. She sensed the vast
power it commanded, though she understood she sensed it only because the witch
before her wanted her to.

“She thinks it was you who sent her on the
errand, so when she returns, don’t confuse the poor girl by
denying it . . . Mistress Syllith. But shouldn’t I call
you Rhianne?”

Rhianne gasped again, and the shadowy presence floated
toward her. “You have grown in power since we last stood
face-to-face, grown considerably.”

The shadowy presence snapped her fingers; the veil of
illusion hiding her features vanished, and before her stood a tiny woman
dressed in black from head to foot, a veil of thin material now hiding her
features. She lifted the veil and said, “And don’t worry.
I won’t give you away to grandmother.”

Rhianne blinked her eyes, and had to look twice to realize
NickoLot stood before her. “Nicki,” she said, and
rushed forward to wrap her arms around the tiny woman. And then it hit her:
Nicki, AnnaRail, Roland and JohnEngine, people she loved.

“Oh Nicki,” she cried, tears
streaming down her cheeks. “I miss you so much.”

“Then why don’t you come back?”

Rhianne released her and shook her head. “I
can’t. I can no longer tolerate that old woman’s
meddling.”

“But AnnaRail and Roland and JohnEngine all
miss you; they mourn you.”

“Give me time,” Rhianne pleaded.
She stepped away from NickoLot, threw out her arms and said, “Look
at me.”

NickoLot raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You look
like a common laborer.”

“No!” Rhianne said, spinning
about once to take in the entirety of her small domain. “Not that.
Oh, yes, I’d love to wear beautiful dresses and look pretty again.
But I’m doing something good for these people, doing it without
the aid of the clan—doing it in spite of the clan.”

NickoLot hesitated, and did look carefully about the small
hut.

Rhianne continued. “When I’m
ready I’ll get a message to you somehow, and you can tell them I’m
still alive. But right now, Olivia would just find some way to use me. And I
can’t let that happen anymore. I need to be my own woman. So
please, keep my secret for now.”

“But what of Morgin? Why don’t
you go find him wherever he’s gotten to?”

“Oh, Nicki, you know he’s dead.”

“I don’t believe it,”
NickoLot said with absolute finality.

Rhianne hugged her again. “I’m
certain I would sense his soul in some way if he were still alive. But there’s
nothing; all I sense is that cursed sword. You have to accept reality.”

“You sense the sword? Where is it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t
sense direction or distance. I’m not even sure if it remains on
the Mortal Plane. But how did you find me?”

“I’m here with Jinella. Mother
thought it would be good for me to get away from grandmother for a while, and I
must admit, she was right. But you’ve spent quite a bit of time at
the inn, haven’t you? And you’ve practiced some magic
there, right?”

“Ah,” Rhianne said. “I
see. You recognized the residual scent of my magic.”

Nicki smiled, the first time she’d shown any
happy emotion that day. “Yes, so I went sniffing about. And since
Jinella has never met you, she didn’t. She’s Brandon’s
new wife, you know, and I rather like her; she’s quite a pleasant
person.”

Nicki helped her dry her tears and they spent a brief time
together. Nicki promised she’d keep her secret. But after she
left, all Rhianne could think about was the strangeness in her eyes, old eyes
for such a young girl, very old eyes.