Crucible (4 page)

Vehs' unease matched Wil's.
:Yes. I . . . don't like the sound of that name.:

:So, we need him alive so we can interrogate him about who “Lord Dark” is. And we need him alone.:

:Get him when he sleeps?:

Wil shook his head.
:He shares his bed with Sharlot. Eel sleeps outside his door.:
Wil had wandered the inn several times after midnight and had seen the stableboy curled up outside Ferrin's door.
:The boy thrives on crumbs of praise.:
Wil felt a shadow of pity for the young man, but then he remembered the terrible fervor with which Eel stabbed the Guardsman to death. Wil's sympathy withered.
:It's no accident Ferrin picked him.:

Aubryn's voice shouldered into the conversation.
:His rides to the castle.:

She's eavesdropping.
He wanted to be annoyed, but her suggestion matched what he had been about to
propose.
:Yes. That's our best opportunity. Vehs, I have a job for you.:

:Yes?:

Wil settled back, drawing Ivy close to him.
:Go up the castle road. Be my eyes. I need to see it again. Every way to the palace . . . every hiding place. Every secret passage.:

• • •

Ferrin had been wearing a mask every month since he came to Highjorune nearly a year ago.

It had only been him and Sharlot at the castle that first Masque. But now—through word of mouth and careful selection—they'd grown to nearly fifty. It would be time to execute Lord Dark's plan soon.

Ferrin rode up the moonlit avenue toward the castle, feeling positively ebullient. Some people sought intoxication in powders and potions; he found his in performing before a crowd. He'd sorely missed it, the first few months away from Haven.

The Companions had spooked him, but he took it as a sign that the denouement drew near. Highjorune would be one among the many, nibbling away at Selenay's power. Like tiny worms boring into a mighty oak, all it would take then would be one strong wind—say, from the direction of Hardorn—to knock the whole thing down.

That's what the Bardic Circle gets for exiling me to this godsforsaken place.
The memory filled him with white-hot rage every time it crossed his mind.
Like those girls weren't begging for it, the way they dressed and simpered before us. Like there weren't a half-dozen other lordlings doing the same as me.

He took a turn before arriving at the courtyard, heading toward an old stone building. The Companions. Yes, the Companions.
They
would not be a problem soon. Eel had been an experiment—a ridiculously easy one, in the end. Ferrin just needed to extend that to his audience. He had every confidence it would work; Madra herself had told him over and over again it would. His mob
would descend on the inn in an ecstasy of violence, and seal themselves to his cause in their lust to please him. Sharlot hadn't even flinched when he'd mentioned the stable might burn tonight. He'd found a dark spark in both her and Eel and fanned it week after week, month after month. They were his now.

He smiled at that thought.
Mine.

He dismounted, tied his horse to a rusted iron ring, and took a small lantern hanging off the saddle.

He didn't realize he'd been flanked until he felt the swish of air against his cheek.

In his last moments of consciousness, he saw the two Companions looming over him. Incredulously, a small child rode pillion behind a woman on one.

“What—” he started to say.

Then something grabbed him from behind, and he found himself locked in a chokehold. He gasped and clawed at the air as stars sparkled across his vision, then collapsed in on themselves into darkness.

• • •

Ferrin groaned and got up—or tried to. He seemed to be tied up. His head pounded and throbbed. A draft told him he'd been stripped down to his smallclothes. A small lamp lit the space around him, and he smelled a dank, mushroomy smell. Dust and mold. The castle.

A bearded man sat down beside him, his eyes pinned to a point above Ferrin's head. The Bard blinked. “Attikas. What are you—”

Cold gray eyes focused on him. “I've cast Second-Stage Truth Spell on you,” he said.

Ferrin's head swam with confusion. “But . . . only a Herald could do that.”

Attikas' smile stretched thin and toothy across his face. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Ferrin.” His heart pounded and his mouth went dry. “You—this whole time—” His eyes widened. “But—your daughter!”

“Contrary to popular belief,” the Herald said, “even
we
procreate. Now. Who is Lord Dark?”

“My employer.” Ferrin screamed and writhed. “No! Stop! I can't! He'll kill me!”

“What an incalculable loss that would be,” the Herald said with withering dryness. “Where is he?”

“I don't know.” Ferrin felt sweat pop all over his body.

“Name? Face? Description?”

“I don't
know
.”

The Herald nodded. “So you're someone's catspaw. How does Lord Dark communicate with you?”

“His agent, Madra. And I am
no one's
—”

“And the Guard you murdered. Where's his body?”

“The Remoerdis family graveyard behind the castle. You'll find him buried in Jalazar's plot.” He took a deep breath and howled, “What is a
Herald
doing
here
with a
child
?”

The Herald's eyes went momentarily dark.
This,
Ferrin realized.
This is where I twist the knife in.

“Do you know what Lord Dark will do if he discovers her?” Ferrin whispered. “Break every bone in her body. He'll make you watch. He'll—”

The Herald put his hand over Ferrin's mouth. “We are leaving my daughter out of this,” he said quietly. “Let me ask you about Queen Selenay now. You don't actually believe she's insane, do you?”

The hand over his mouth pulled back, and the truth spilled out. “No. Of course not. She isn't mad. She's
soft
and
gullible
. Too kind,
too
forgiving. She doesn't even have a dungeon!” He took a deep breath, tried again. “Your little girl—”

“The Highjorune people whose grief you've been exploiting, your audience. What of them?”

The Bard laughed, he couldn't help it. “Pawns. Lord Dark
wants
them to die. The more blood shed, the more groundswell we build. The goal is to undermine, not overthrow. And we are just the beginning.”

The Herald nodded. “That's what I thought you'd say.”

He grabbed Ferrin and forced him to his feet, half-dragging the Bard across dusty gray stones.

“Let me go!” he screamed, putting the full force of his Bardic Gift behind the effort, attempting to compel the Herald as thoroughly as the Truth Spell compelled
him
.

The Herald chuckled. “Keep trying. Wear yourself out. This Bard I knew . . . she taught me a thing or two about shielding against her own kind.”

When Ferrin realized
where
the Herald was dragging him, his shrieks turned high-pitched and strangled.

The moldering oaken doors of Lineas Castle opened out on the stone landing. Light blazed down as fifty or more pairs of eyes turned to watch Ferrin stumble out before them.

“Now,” the Herald said in his ear, grimly cheerful, “we'll start with Queen Selenay, then move on to the bit about them all being your pawns.”

And the Truth Spell left Ferrin no option but to tell the crowd exactly what he thought.

• • •

In the end, the presence of the Queen's agents was all that spared the Bard's life. The Companions stopped the mob from tearing Ferrin to pieces, and Amelie used her Bardic Gift to amplify Wil's orders for everyone to
calm down
.

The Herald found a bitter irony in that.

Today was the first day he'd had time to bathe since breaking up the Highjorune Masque. Ferrin languished alone in a narrow cell, his guards under strict orders to stop their ears if they entered, one of the Companions posted outside. Eel and Sharlot had likewise been arrested, though they were being housed elsewhere until he could pass judgment on them.

Standing now in one of the Crown's better suites, facing a small polished glass mirror, Wil finally attended to something he'd been itching to do for months now—shaving his beard.

:And then sleep tonight?:
Vehs asked.

:Sleep tonight,:
Wil agreed.
:And tomorrow . . . Forst Reach.:

He'd escort Ferrin that far. A pair of Heralds and another Master Bard would meet them there to take the traitor the rest of the way to Haven. Selenay herself would pass judgment on that one.

Cheeks smarting from the razor, he walked over to a pair of saddlebags and flipped open one, pulling out a compact, red-bound book. He'd retrieved Vehs and Aubryn's tack from a nearby farm, owned by a friend from the war whom he knew he could trust with his life—and Lelia's life's work. Runes covered the page, incomprehensible without their cipher. He'd memorized it in the last three months, and could now read it with ease.

He flipped it open to a page marked with a purple ribbon.
Ferrin.
The page said.
Minor lordling. Records say: exiled to Highjorune. Very strong Bardic Gift; believed (unproved) that he used it to seduce women against their will.
And in the margin, a note from Lelia:
(Opinion.) “Seduced”? Where I'm from, that's “rape.”

There were a great many more names in there, a great many margin notes. He hoped that not everyone she'd written about proved to be as bad as Ferrin. He'd also double-checked the book's contents during a spare candlemark. No mention of a Madra
or
a “Lord Dark.” Uncharted territory, those two.

Clean-shaven and dressed in Whites, Wil left the room and headed to the kitchen. Ystell smiled in his direction as he stepped in. Care of the inn had fallen on her. She ran it as if there'd never been a Sharlot.

Ivy sat at the hearth, spinning her top. Amelie—all in Scarlet—sat beside her, playing Lelia's old gittern, Bloom. Every now and then, Ivy looked up and reached out to pluck a string, making Amelie wince.

“I may have to steal this from you, Herald,” Amelie
said. “Just to keep it safe until your daughter realizes Bloom's not a toy.”

“I can find you,” he replied. “And I can catch you.”

She laughed. “True.”

Ystell moved past, humming the Sendar song as she placed a savory pie on the table. Amelie plucked a few chords, echoing the melody of Ystell's song, a faint smile on her lips.

“Amelie,” he said at last, “it's not armies we need.”

“Mm?” she replied, blinking dreamily in his direction.

“You asked Vehs to send an army to stop Ferrin. But that's not what we need.”

She set the gittern in its case and closed it, then set it up on a shelf where Ivy couldn't reach. “So what do we need?” she asked.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Your songs. Lelia's songs. All the songs that remind people of what's good in the world. You were on the right track. We just need
more
of you.”

“Are you saying, Herald,” Amelie said, slicing into the pie, “that we need more Bards?”

“So long as they aren't Ferrin,” Wil replied, “that's
exactly
what I'm saying.”

:Somewhere, Lelia is laughing,:
Vehs put in.

Wil smiled, hauling Ivy up to sit beside him.

:I'm certain she is.:

Navin picked up the mug and swirled it around, watching as the liquid danced up its sides. The ale was redolent with the rich smell of honey; just enough to make it sweet but not enough to make you forget you were drinking alcohol. Although at this point, he couldn't remember much of anything. Was this his fourth? Fifth? Had he eaten yet today? Navin put the mug down on the table, leaving his hand there to help keep the room from rocking back and forth before his eyes.

The tavern hosted a collection of people, fuzzy figures difficult to make out through his clouded vision. He did recognize one of the servers as she sauntered past his table. Raising a hand to get her attention, he beamed his best smile out when she turned to face him. He felt his cheeks warm, but hoped the flush might just add to his charm.

“I don' suppose it'd be possible to get 'nother round for a thirsty bard visit'ng from Haven?”

“As long as you've the coin, I'll bring as many as you like.”

Navin nodded and fished out a few coins from his belt pouch, tossing them on the table. She offered a half-smile while swiping them up with a practiced motion. Even if he'd been sober, Navin doubted he would have seen where in her dress she'd tucked them for safekeeping. As
she headed off, he picked up the mug again and drained the last of the ale before she returned. He'd just put the mug down when she arrived to replace it with a new one. She hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“If you're a bard, would you be willing to sing us a song or two, or tell us a story? We don't get much entertainment here, unless a traveler's heading to Karse.”

The smile fled from Navin's face, and he could feel the flush retreat as well. The lines around his face grew deeper, and his hand tightened around the mug.

“I—I don't perform any more.”

Some of the patrons at nearby tables looked at him, creating a pocket of silence in the general buzz of the crowd. A couple looked at the server, a questioning look in their eyes, but she shook her head. Instead, she mumbled an apology and wandered off, leaving Navin with his ale. He stared at it for several breaths, no longer in the mood to drink. What once had smelled sweet and enticing was now sour and foul.

After a while, he muttered a curse and stood, pushing his way to the door. Thanks to her question, the numbing effect on his emotions had been sheared away by the blade of bitter memory. He no longer had reason to be here.

As he stepped through the door and down the single step to the street, he stumbled and had to take several quick steps to keep from falling on his face. He veered to the right, reaching a hand out to the wall to keep from falling over. Navin closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, waiting until he regained his sense of balance. Once he felt able to walk again, he wobbled down the street, only half-seeing his surroundings as he meandered through the town of Horn. The hour kept most people indoors, and those who were still outside gave him a wide berth. More than one gave him a pointed look of disgust.

More than once he needed to stop and lean on a building or tree when the walking became too strenuous.
At least the cold air bit through his clothes, helping to sober him up a bit. Over time the stops became shorter and less frequent, the world settling into the one he was both familiar with and tried to avoid.

At one such stop, he looked up at the sign of the building he was leaning against. It showed a bard in full revelry, leaning back in a chair with a lute across his lap. His scarlet uniform was chipped and faded from the sun and weather and had been repainted more than once. The scrawled words underneath read
The Bard's Cottage
.

That image burned in his vision, and Navin wanted nothing more than to tear it down and set fire to it. His hands clenched into fists, and the muscles of his jaw tightened. Bending down, he scooped up a rock and hurled it at the sign. It struck the wood with a solid
thwack
, and another piece of paint chipped off. The sign swung back and forth on the post, the metal hooks squeaking as they moved.

Navin picked up another rock and hurled it at the swaying portrait of what he used to be. He picked up a third and cocked his arm back to throw it when a thick hand closed around his wrist and tightened like a vise, forcing him to drop the stone.

His attacker spun him around and pushed him up against the wall hard enough to make his head smack against the wood. The man seemed to be on patrol, wearing light, comfortable clothing, with a sword visible on his hip and a bow strung over his shoulder. He held his hand against Navin's chest, pinning him in place.

“How about you stop damaging other people's property? Maybe you should let me escort you out of town.”

Navin swatted the hand away and lurched forward. The man turned his shoulders, moving out of Navin's way as he stumbled into the street. Navin turned and walked backward so he could address his assaulter. He made sure his words dripped as much sarcasm as possible.

“Your kindness is much appreciated, but I can find my own way.”

He flashed a smile and made a motion to doff a hat that he wasn't wearing. The patrolman sighed and shook his head before turning and walking back toward the center of town. Navin chuckled at his joke, and offered a bow as he stumbled backward into the street.

“Watch out!”

Navin whipped around and saw a galloping team of horses pulling a carriage, and rushing straight at him. He froze, watching as they charged at him, only a few yards away now. The driver pulled hard on the reins, trying to get them to turn, but they were moving too quickly. Navin closed his eyes and relaxed, ready to accept his fate.

Something struck him in the side, and he tumbled to the edge of the road, rolling in the dirt and mud several times before sliding to a stop. He snapped his eyes open and looked around, trying to see what had hit him. A gray form that looked like a gigantic dog turned a corner in the distance, but it was too blurry for him to make out anything more of the creature. After rubbing his eyes, the animal—or whatever it was—was gone.

The driver finally stopped his team and jumped off the carriage, rushing over to Navin. The former bard continued staring at the corner where the gray creature had disappeared.
Did I imagine it? I must have. It was just an alcohol-induced hallucination. I probably just slipped in the mud and rolled aside on my own.

As he shook his head, he became aware of the bone-numbing chill seeping through his wet, muddy clothes. He graciously accepted the driver's help to get back on his feet.

“You all right? Looks like you had one too many. Come on now, my house isn't far. You could use a fire and a warm meal, I'd wager. It's the least I can do after almost running you down. We'll get you a good place to
rest and get some warm food in your belly to chase off that chill.”

The driver escorted Navin up to the driver's bench, helping him climb into the seat. The older man sprang up next to him and clucked at the horses while snapping the reins. They began trotting down the street. Navin turned back and looked one last time at the corner, but he saw nothing.

:You must create.:

“What did you say?” Navin turned to the driver and asked, shouting to be heard over the clopping of the horse hooves on the ground.

“Nothing, lad. Probably just a bit of ringing from the tumble you took. Don't worry, me and mine will get you back on your feet in no time.”

Navin shook his head. He knew he'd heard someone.

• • •

Navin stayed the night, but he decided to leave the next day before he overstayed his welcome. The stranger had shown him nothing but kindness, and he didn't want to return the favor by draining the wine cellar and chasing off servants.

So it was that he found himself on the road again, heading south. The direction wasn't important, as long as he continued to put distance between Haven and himself. Perhaps with distance or time spent in a foreign land, the memories would start to fade.

Over the course of the day, Navin kept off the main road—close enough to navigate by it but far enough away to not have to exchange pleasantries with other travelers. As night started to fall, he turned to the west, heading deeper into the wilderness for at least an hour. Out here, he could be in peace.

After lighting a fire, Navin went through the motions of eating, practiced so long that he never thought about them. He didn't even bother seasoning the food, knowing he wouldn't taste it anyway. He watched as the fire
faded to embers, poking it with a stick once in a while until the pit was filled with ash. When there was just a flicker of light, he began to sing.

It was a wordless song, birthed deep in his stomach and rolling up past his throat in smooth, light tones. The music was deep and carried through the woods, echoing the sadness that Navin felt too strongly to acknowledge. His throat caught on a note, but he continued singing, closing his eyes and letting it flow through him rather than using conscious thought. After the third time his throat caught, he stopped, feeling the tears resting in the edge of his eyes.

:You sing beautifully:

Navin said nothing, taking several deep breaths and trying to ignore the voice in his head. Now that he was sober, he recognized the Mindspeech for what it was.

:You need rest.:

Navin stood and hurled the stick into the ashes, scattering them and getting a brief flash of red dots. He turned and faced the darkness, hoping for a glance at whoever it was that had invaded his mind.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

:I was appreciating the talents of a bard such as yourself. I need your help.:

“I'm not a bard anymore. Leave me alone.”

:You still are. You've just lost your way. You will find it again, in time.:

“You don't know what you're talking about! Just let me die in peace.”

Navin dropped back down to the ground, collapsing into a slump so his arms hung over his knees and his head hung limply over his legs. Images floated back through the morass of his sodden memory, flashing in front of his eyes every time they closed.

At first they brought a smile to his face, bittersweet as it was to see Artis' smile the first time they met. As always, the memories became treacherous as he watched his
lover's beautiful portrait change. His skin stretching and paling, dark spots appearing on the forehead and cheeks, and his bones becoming brittle and prone to breaking. Navin had watched Artis die, his body succumbing over time to a horrible, wasting disease the healers didn't know how to cure. The only thing that remained were his clear emerald eyes, vibrant until the very last moment, when all light left them.

Wet streaks chilled Navin's face as the tears formed and dripped to the ground yet again. Would the pain ever stop? It had been years, and still the images haunted him. Every time he thought he was over the pain, it found new ways to strike him again. And his music was the worst.

:You will never be cured of this weight. You need to learn to accept it.:

“Get out of my head! Leave me alone! I have nothing left.”

:You still have your Gifts. You will be great again. It is not your time to leave this world yet.:

Navin wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. Once his face was clean, he gritted his teeth and snarled at his unseen tormentor as he scrambled to his feet and marched away from the road. He'd show the voice. If death would not come to him, he'd go out and find it. There were wolves in this area, and probably other predators too. Let them claim his flesh so at least it would be over, and he could serve one last purpose.

As he stumbled through the darkness, Navin tried to see his would-be saviors. He screamed into the darkness, wordless calls of rage that he hoped would get a hungry animal's attention. Anger fueled his charge into the black. When he finally saw a dark shape moving under the limited starlight, he stopped, holding his arms out and raising his chin.

“Come and feast.”

A pair of yellow eyes were visible in the shadows, accompanied by a low-pitched growl that made the hairs
on his arm stand on edge. Two more pairs of eyes joined the first, and when the wind shifted, Navin caught a whiff of their scent. It was musky and heavy, a scent his brain associated with power and danger. The beasts came closer, one step at a time, their growls continuing but occasionally interrupted by the audible licking of their chops.

As one, the growls cut off, and the creatures' eyes widened as they raised their heads. Their attention was focused on something else, to Navin's left. He turned in that direction but saw nothing. Hearing a rustling sound, he turned back to see the predators running into the darkness on all fours.

:I told you, it is not your time yet.:

• • •

For the next couple of days, the voice was mercifully silent as Navin traveled to Sweetsprings. He tried to avoid thinking about it as much as he could. Not that it did him much good. He had quite a bit of experience trying to avoid thinking of something only to find it brought things to the forefront of memory with greater force. Alcohol was the only solution to his memory plague, and even that was temporary at best. It also didn't always work. But soon he would be in Sweetsprings and could attempt to find temporary relief once again.

But what was the point? It sounded like a grand plan, to get away from Haven and everything that would remind him of Artis, to go somewhere new and different and shock himself into a new life. But even after weeks and miles, the dreams were just as vivid and just as powerful. They would never leave.

Navin looked to the East, where he could see the Jaysong Hills in the distance. Between him and those hills was the Terilee River, flowing from Haven almost all the way to Karse. It was swift and dangerous to try to cross, with many rocks scattered throughout its depths. What if that was his answer? Navin took one last look
down the road to the south before turning left and heading toward the hills.