Triplet (16 page)

There actually
were
precedents for this kind of situation; loose precedents, to be sure, and hushed up like crazy by the people upstairs in the Crosspoint Building, but precedents nonetheless. Every so often a Courier and his group would have such a mutual falling out that continuing on together was out of the question … and when that happened the Courier would often simply give notice and quit, leaving the responsibility for getting the party back to Threshold in the hands of the nearest way house staff. Triplet management ground their collective teeth when it happened, but they'd long ago come to the reluctant conclusion that clients were better off alone than with a Courier who no longer gave a damn about their safety.

And Ravagin wouldn't even have to endure the usual frothmouthed lecture that would be waiting when he got back. He was finished with the Corps, and those who'd bent his fingers into taking this trip had only themselves to blame for the results. He could leave a note with Melentha, grab a horse, and be at the Cairn Mounds well before daylight. By the time Danae had finished sputtering, he'd have alerted the way house master in Feymar Protectorate on Shamsheer and be on a sky-plane over the Ordarl Mountains … and by the time she made it back through to Threshold and screamed for Hart and vengeance, he'd have picked up his last paychit, said bye-and-luck to Corah, and boarded a starship for points unknown.

He could do it. No one would do anything more than yell at him … and best of all, even Danae couldn't complain too loudly about it. After all, she'd only wanted him for a test subject, and his leaving her on Karyx would be a dandy data point to add to her collection. Ravagin, the great veteran Courier, actually deserting a client. Genuinely one for the record books.

Yes. He would do it. He would. Right now. He'd get up, go downstairs, and get the hell out of here.

Standing up, he gazed out at the moon … and slammed his fist in impotent fury on the low railing in front of him.

He couldn't do it.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt. “Damn, damn,
damn.
”

He hit the railing again and inhaled deeply, exhaling in a hissing sigh of anger and resignation. He couldn't do it. No matter what the justification—no matter that the punishment would be light or nonexistent—no matter even that others had done it without lasting stigma. He was a
professional,
damn it, and it was his job to stay with his clients no matter what happened.

Danae had wounded his pride. Deserting her, unfortunately, would hurt it far more deeply then she ever could.

In other words, a classic no-win situation. With him on the short end.

And it left him just two alternatives: continue his silent treatment toward Danae for the rest of the trip, or work through his anger enough to at least get back on civil terms with her. At the moment, neither choice was especially attractive.

Out in the grounds, a flicker of green caught his eye. He looked down, frowning, trying to locate the source. Nothing was moving; nothing seemed out of place. Could there be something skulking in the clumps of trees, or perhaps even the shadows thrown by the bushes?

Or could something have tried to break through the post line?

Nothing was visible near the section of post line he could see. Cautiously, he began easing his way around the widow's walk, muttering a spirit-protection spell just to be on the safe side.

Still nothing. He'd reached the front of the house and was starting to continue past when a movement through the gap in the tree hedge across the grounds to the south caught his attention. He peered toward it … and a few seconds later it was repeated further east.

A horseman on the road toward Besak, most likely … except that Besak had long since been sealed up for the night by the village lar. And Karyx was not a place to casually indulge in nighttime travel. Whoever it was, he was either on an errand of dire emergency or else—

Or else hurrying away from an aborted attempt to break in through the post line?

Ravagin pursed his lips. “
Haklarast,
” he said. It was at least worth checking out.

The glow-fire of the sprite appeared before him. “I am here, as you summoned,” it squeaked.

“There's a horse and human traveling on the road toward Besak just south of here,” he told it. “Go to the human and ask why he rides so late. Return to me with his answer.”

The sprite flared and was gone. Ravagin watched it dart off across the darkened landscape and then, for lack of anything better to do while he waited, continued his long-range inspection of the post line. Again he found nothing; and he was coming around to the front of the house again when the sprite returned. “What answer?” he asked it.

“None. The human is not awake.”

“Are you sure?” Ravagin asked, frowning. He'd once learned the hard way about the hazards of sleeping on horseback—most Karyx natives weren't stupid enough to try it. “Really asleep, not injured?”

“I do not know.”

Of course it wouldn't—spirits didn't see the world the way humans did. “Well … is he riding alone, or is there a spirit with him protecting him from falls?”

“There is a djinn present, though it is not keeping the human from falling. There is no danger of that.”

And with a djinn along to—“What do you mean? Why isn't he going to fall?”

“The human is upright, in full control of the animal—”

“Wait a second,” Ravagin cut it off. “You just told me he was asleep. How can he be controlling the horse?”

“The human is asleep,” the sprite repeated, and Ravagin thought he could detect a touch of vexation in the squeaky voice. “It is in control of its animal.”

“That's impossible,” Ravagin growled. “He'd have to be—”

Sleepwalking.

“
Damn!
” he snarled, eyes darting toward the place where the rider had vanished, thoughts skidding with shock, chagrin, and a full-bellied rush of fear.
Danae
—

His mental wheels caught. “Follow the rider,” he ordered the sprite. “Stay back where you won't be spotted by any other humans, but don't let her out of your sight. First give me your name, so I can locate you later. Come on, give—I haven't got time for games.”

“I am Psskapsst,” the sprite said reluctantly.

“Psskapsst, right. Now get after it—and
don't
communicate with that djinn.”

The glow-fire flared and skittered off. Racing along the widow's walk, Ravagin reached the door and hurried inside. Danae's room was two flights down, on the second floor; on a hunch, he stopped first on the third floor and let himself into Melentha's sanctum.

The room wasn't much brighter than the starlit landscape outside, the bound dazzler having been muted down from its level of earlier that evening. The place had made Ravagin's skin crawl even with good lighting, and the dark shadows stretching around the room now didn't improve it a bit. Shivering reflexively, he stepped carefully around the central pentagram and over to the table where Melentha had put the bow and Coven robe when she'd finished her spirit search.

The robe was gone.

Swearing under his breath, he turned and hurried back to the door—and nearly ran into Melentha as she suddenly appeared outside in the hallway. “What are you doing in there?” she demanded, holding her robe closed with one hand and clutching a glowing dagger in the other.

“The Coven robe's gone,” he told her, “and I think Danae's gone with it.”

“What?” She backed up hastily to let him pass, then hurried to catch up with him. “When?”

“Just a little while ago—I think I saw her leaving on horseback from the roof. I just want to make sure—”

They reached Danae's room and Ravagin pushed open the door … and she was indeed gone.

“Well, this is just great,” Melentha growled as Ravagin took a quick inventory of her possessions. “What the hell does she think—”

“She's not thinking,” Ravagin cut her off. “That's the whole trouble. She's into that open-eyed sleepwalking thing again.
And
she's not alone—the sprite I sent to check her out said there was a djinn accompanying her. Probably from the robe.”

“That's impossible,” Melentha said flatly. “I checked it thoroughly—you watched me doing it.”

“So someone on Karyx knows more about trapping and disguising spirits than you do,” Ravagin snapped. “That come as a big surprise? Look, never mind
how
they did it for now—we've got to get her back before she winds up dead.”

Melentha nodded and headed for the door. “I'll have a couple of horses prepared right away. You want any special equipment along?”

“Bring whatever stuff you'll need if we have to do a complete exorcism,” Ravagin said, following her out and turning toward his own room. “Standard survival pack, if you have one made up.
And
a good bound-spirit sword, if you've got one. Doesn't look like Danae even took a change of clothing, let alone any sort of weapon.”

“I've got a dazzler sword you can use—the mate to my dagger,” Melentha called from the stairway. “Though if the bandits are smart, they'll leave her alone anyway.”

Yeah. Maybe.
Gritting his teeth, Ravagin ducked into his room to grab a few essentials of his own. Sleepwalking or not, Danae had a fair lead on them, and it could turn out to be a very long chase.

They were on her trail within fifteen minutes—a trail, it turned out, that was remarkably easy to follow. Every kilometer or so Melentha sent a sprite ahead to locate Psskapsst and confirm Danae's direction, and each time the messenger came back reporting her still headed in a northeastwardly direction. Circling Besak, clearly, and the giant lar silently enfolding the village … and Ravagin's stomach tightened at the obvious destination the direction implied.

His fears quickly proved to be correct. The trail passed around the northern edge of Besak and continued almost due east toward the dark mass of Morax Forest. Toward it and, an hour later, into it.

“Now what?” Melentha asked tightly as they reined in beneath the first row of trees.

“We go in after her, of course,” Ravagin growled, glaring ahead in a futile attempt to pierce the darkness. “I do, anyway. You probably go back and see if you can find someone who knows exactly where in Morax this Coven is located—I'd rather not trust a sprite to scout out the territory if I don't have to. Any hard information you can locate would be appreciated, too.”

“No one in Besak knows anything,” Melentha shook her head. “I'd have heard.”

“Then send sprites to the other way houses as soon as the nighttime lares are down,” he snapped. “The one in Citadel, especially—
someone
on Karyx has to know something about the place.”

“All right.” Melentha twitched the reins, turning her horse back around toward Besak and home. “How do I find you?”

“I'll send out sprites periodically. Let me have that provision bag, huh?”

She tossed the double satchel over the back of his horse. “What if you can't send out any sprites?”

“Why wouldn't I—? Oh. Hell. Well … if they're interested in blocking even outgoing spirits, I'm in trouble anyway.”

“Oh, that's a
fine
attitude,” she snorted. “Nothing like walking up and putting your head on the block for them.””

“All suggestions cheerfully received. You got one?”

“At least wait until morning to head in there.” She tossed her head back toward the trees. “Forests aren't fun to travel through in total darkness even under normal conditions, which these certainly aren't. Besides which, who knows what sort of nocturnal eating machines live here?”

“I suppose I'll find out, won't I?” Ravagin gritted. “Look, Melentha, I don't have any choice in this. Danae's my client, and I have to do my damnedest to get her out before anything happens to her. You've never been a Courier; you wouldn't understand.”

“I suppose not.” Melentha sighed. “All right—I guess all I can do for now is wish you bye-and-luck. And suggest you try and avoid doing any more spirit invocation than you absolutely have to.”

“Agreed. See you later.”

She nodded and galloped away. Biting at his lip, Ravagin watched her go, then reached into his pack and pulled out a stone and a long, tightly wrapped cylinder. He'd been ridiculed more than once by his fellow Couriers for making and carrying such things around on a world where light and fire were there for the invoking … but maybe he was about to get the last laugh.

Assuming he survived this at all, of course.

The dazzler sword lit the forest up briefly as he drew it from its sheath. Advertising his presence to anyone who happened to be watching. … Ignoring the knot in his gut, he swung the sword, striking the stone in his hand a grazing blow. A shower of sparks burst out and onto the tip of the cylinder, igniting the highly flammable resin saturating it there. The torch flared brightly for a few seconds, then settled down to a quieter, steadier glow.

Fire and light. With luck, maybe even animals who were used to the presence of firebrats and dazzlers would shy away from it in this form. With even more luck, whatever spirits Coven had protecting their forest wouldn't notice it.

Taking a deep breath, he sheathed the glowing sword and nudged his horse with his knees. Torch held firmly aloft, he headed into the forest.

I
T WAS, AT FIRST
, easier going than Ravagin had expected. The trees were large and well packed, with wide skirts of branches reaching out to pluck at the casual traveler, but whether by design or accident Danae had entered at a spot where a trail of sorts formed a twisted path around the worst of it. With the light from his torch pushing the darkness back a few meters, Ravagin was able to keep pretty much to the trail. Even with that mysterious djinn along to show her the way Danae was unlikely to make much better time, and urging his horse along at a fast walk Ravagin almost began to hope he'd catch up with her before they reached Coven.