The Pixilated Peeress (27 page)

             
He faced a problem. To hold the picture out from the wall and boost the Countess into the aperture, he would need both hands and some cooperation. But if he re
leased her, she would try to run to Orlandus and thwart his efforts at abduction.

             
At last he sheathed his sword and brought out of the pocket in his robe a strip of cloth with which he had meant to bind or gag Yvette. He held her slender wrists in the grip of one broad hand, bound the cloth around them, and released her, holding the
free end as she continued to strain away from him.

             
Through the left-hand door Orlandus called: "Open up, here!"

             
Thorolf hauled Yvette over to the picture and pulled it out from the wall. But how to get his recalcitrant victim into the hole?

             
Holding t
he picture away from the wall with his head, he clamped both hands on her slender waist, prepara
tory to heaving her up and in. Then he heard the sounds of a chant, followed by the clank of a withdrawn bolt.

             
Thorolf whirled. In the doorway stood Orlandus
in a nightrobe, below which his shanks and feet were bare and above which his scalp was bald save for a narrow fringe of mouse-colored hair. Evidently the Psycho-mage was wizard enough to force a door to unbolt it
self, even if not enough to grow hair on
his pate, which Thorolf had always seen concealed beneath a wig of glossy black.

             
"Who the devil
—
" began the Psychomagus, starting forward. Then he checked. "Sergeant Thorolf again, I see. And wearing one of our habits!"

             
Thorolf's attention was distract
ed long enough for Yvette to whirl out of his grasp and run toward Orlan
dus, trailing the strip of cloth by which Thorolf had tried to control her.

             
As the Countess approached Orlandus, the cultist threw an arm around her. With his other hand he whisked
a dagger out of his robe and placed the edge against her throat.

             
"Yield!" said Orlandus. "Or your jade's dinner for my hounds!"

             
Thorolf measured the distance between himself and the pair. He could doubtless whip out his sword, cross the distance in two
bounds, and smite Orlandus to earth. But it would take even less time for the Psychomagus to slash open that slender neck.

             
"Throw down your sword, scabbard and all, unless you're fain to see her weazand slit!" barked Orlandus.

             
Thorolf hesitated, frant
ically weighing alternatives. Then he took the one that seemed to offer the likeliest chance. He hoisted his baldric over his head and, stoop
ing, laid the belt and scabbard on the floor, at the same time easing his dagger from its sheath.

             
When he straig
htened up, the dagger was in his right hand, away from Orlandus. It was a sizable weapon, weighted for throwing, and he threw. The fact that Or
landus was a full head taller than Yvette gave Thorolf a reasonable target.

             
He hoped to drive the blade into t
he magician's eye. Instead the dagger, turning in its flight, buried itself in Orlandus' shoulder. The mage's right arm sagged, and his dagger clattered to the floor.

             
Thorolf scooped up his scabbarded sword, drew, and leaped toward his enemy. The cultist
, releasing Yvette to reach for his dagger with his unwounded arm, cried:

             
"Hold! Be reasonable, man! Think of what I offer you
—
"

             
As he spoke, Orlandus abandoned his quest for his dagger and, beginning an incantation, backed hastily away from the chargi
ng Thorolf. Unaware of his direc
tion, the cultist backed, not out the door, but into the frame of one of the diamond-paned windows. The case
ment flew open at the impact of the magician's shoul
ders, and Orlandus fell out backward. Thorolf glimpsed the m
a
ge's bare feet inverted and heard a hoarse cry. Then came the sound of a body striking the bailey be
low.

             
Thorolf put his head out the window. He could see nothing in the darkness; but the cry and the thud of the fall had alerted the guards on the outer
wall. One called:

             
"What was that?
...
Let us go down for a look
...
"

             
Yvette stood with her hands still bound behind her, looking dazed. Thorolf said: "Are you free from the spell, Countess?"

             
She stared at him but made no answer.

             
Evidently she was n
ot yet free. Thorolf sheathed his blade, donned his baldric, and carried Yvette over to the picture. This time he hoisted her, unhelpful but un
resisting, into the tunnel and scrambled after her. As the picture swung back into place, shouts and clatter of
armed men came through the canvas, together with a curious intermittent hiss, like the sound of a monster breathing.

             
Thorolf knew he should flee without pause, but his curiosity proved too great. Placing his eye to the tear in the canvas, he saw two of O
rlandus' mailed guards glancing wildly about the room. One, just then peering under the divan, bore a halberd; the other carried a cylindrical device with a handle at one end, while the other end tapered to a slender orifice. The guard was rhythmically pu
l
ling the handle out and pushing it back in. With each push, a pillowy puff of flour spouted from the orifice. The clouds of flour dust rapidly fogged the room until vision was useless.

             
Smiling quietly, Thorolf picked up his pack and cloak and herded
Yvette down the tunnel.

-

             
T
horolf lay close beside Yvette in the darkness of his little tent, which accom
modated two sleepers only by crowding. The cold com
pelled them to sleep in their clothes, he in his Sophonomist rob
e and she in her nightwear, with his cloak over both.

             
Once they were out of sight of Zurshnitt, he unbound her hands, warning her that, if she tried to flee back to Castle Hill, she would get lost and perish. She had obeyed in a dazed sort of way, as if
Orlandus' death had robbed her of all volition. Thorolf could understand how her delta became quiescent when its sorcerer-master was no longer present to command it; but still he was wary. The spirit might force Yvette to do some
thing utterly unpredictab
l
e.

             
When they retired, Thorolf had tied up his sword with his scarf and lain down upon the bundle, so that Yvette could not draw the weapon without arousing
him. His dagger had gone out the window with Orlan
dus.

             
The lumpy bundle, together with the co
ld, made sleep hard to come by, despite the fact that the night had been well along towards dawn before Thorolf halted their flight to set up the tent. A nasty little thought kept steal
ing into his mind: If he tried to futter her now, she would probably
n
ot resist, at least not hard or long. Feeling ashamed of himself, Thorolf banished the idea; but it kept creeping back.

             
He was lying in the dark, concocting and discarding plans for taking care of Yvette until she was restored, when he became aware of a
faint illumination that was not dawnlight. A little twinkling point of blue light, like that of a firefly, appeared over Yvette's face. It rose, danced about for a few heartbeats, then streaked out the crack in the tent flap.

             
Thorolf raised himself on on
e elbow to watch the apparition's progress. The movement aroused Yvette, who sat up crying: "Where am I?"

             
"In my tent," said Thorolf, "on our way to the Sharmatt Range."

             
"Your voice doth sound familiar
—
are you Sergeant Thorolf?"

             
"The same, madam." He
gathered himself to rise. "Let me strike a light."

             
Soon he had a rushlight sending up its feeble flame. Yvette reached out and touched his face. "I do perceive that you are in sooth Thorolf! I recall your taking me from Castle Zurshnitt when something
befell the Psy
chomagus; but all is confused. Is he dead?"

             
"I have reason to think so. And the delta that pos
sessed you, left masterless, has departed your body."

             
"Ah, it all comes back! To you I owe my liberation; you are a true hero even if a Rhaeti
an." She seized his head between her hands and kissed him. "A pity you are of your class, or I should know how truly to reward you. And now I can talk again!"

             
"Why couldn't you before?"

             
"When the Master asked me how you escaped from the castle, my delt
a would have answered; whilst I stood firm against exposing the secret, lest you essay another rescue and be trapped. So bitter was this opposition internal that I found myself stricken dumb. How came you to my chamber so timely? By the tunnel again?"

             
"I
followed the sketch of the interior made under your direction. Finding the room empty, I sat down to await your return."

             
"I was with that beast Parthenius."

             
"So I feared. Did he
—
ah
—
you and he were disputing the matter when I broke in before."

             
"Aye,
nor did he abandon his quest. But today, at his behest, Orlandus commanded my delta to obey Par
thenius; so tonight I did attend him."

             
"How
—
I mean, was it?
...
" Embarrassed, Thorolf let his voice trail off.

             
"Did he pleasure me, mean you? Never! He is b
rutal and insatiable; after three bouts he finally fell asleep and I slipped away, or he'd be at it yet. A troll were a meeter lover."

             
"Poor dear!" said Thorolf, whose mind was running on the reward Yvette said she would have given him had he only a litt
le noble blood. Her tale gave him a mixture of disappointment and relief. He had long fan
tasized about making love to her, if he haled her away from the castle and got rid of her delta. But his antici
pation was qualified by a tiny fear that she would ma
k
e some scathing comment, comparing him to one or an
other of her former lovers. He therefore felt some relief at having their relationship settled for the time being. Perhaps his father was right in warning him away from titled ladies.

             
Yvette said: "And
you are the lad who cared nought for rescuing maidens
—
or at least ladies
—
from vile en
chanters! Now tell me all that has befallen!" She spoke briskly, fast resuming her old authoritarian self.