“Nay,” Narthing said. “Lord Verice opened a portal.”
Her eyes were wide at that. Narthing had heard that very few humans were gifted with powers.
“He’s been inspecting his border towns and seeing to the defenses. But we’re based here in Octara, the capital of Tassinic. Now then—” he almost called her recruit. “What say we get you a wash and a meal, and then some sleep. Tomorrow’s soon enough to show you around and answer any questions.”
“I’d rather—” She stopped suddenly. Narthing’s ear twitched as he caught the faint sound of a grumbling in her stomach. The lady smiled wryly. “Food would be good.”
“This way.” Narthing gestured toward the door, signaling two men to bring up the rear. He’d noted that she hadn’t promised to stay, and she was too fleet of foot for him.
He escorted her out of the High Baron’s office, and down to the barracks dining hall. The cooks there were setting another dinner shift, and he gestured Warna to a corner table. As the serving lads seated her and served kav, he gave soft orders to the others to see to her housing.
He’d talk to Constable Ricard. They’d shift maels and rooms around a bit tonight, give her a private chamber. Tomorrow they’d make more permanent arrangements.
From the stares of the men, word had already gotten around. Curiosity, more than anything, about the human woman Lord Verice had brought within the castle walls. Tongues would be wagging, that was certain. There’s no worse gossip than a bunch of hardened warriors.
She made an odd picture, that was true enough. A slim, lovely human woman, with golden hair, seated in a roomful of armed and armored elven warriors. Narthing shook his head as he settled himself across from her. What was his lord thinking?
She gave him a nod as he settled and poured a mug of kav for himself. She was lacing hers with cream and honey, he saw. He preferred his black.
“The fare is plain, lady, but good and plentiful.” Narthing leaned back as the lads brought platters with baked spiced fish and turnip cakes. A basket of bread and a crock of soft white cheese also appeared, along with a clatter of plates and silverware.
He saw an unwilling smile on her face as the lads banged the plates down before them.
Not condescending either, not like he expected.
But she was puzzled. “Why aren’t we in the castle, Captain?” She reached for the bread. “One of your rank would normally dine at the High Baron’s seat, at least in Farentell.”
“Here as well, lady,” Narthing said. “But the castle’s abandoned, by Lord Verice’s command. Left to the Ancestors.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I’ll leave that for Lord Verice to say,” Narthing said firmly. “Tuck in, lady. While it’s hot and within reach.”
Thankfully, she did just that. Narthing breathed a sigh of relief. If the Ancestors were kind, she’d not press the issue. He’d see her safe in a bunk and then be off to his own.
Tomorrow was Lord Verice’s problem.
Chapter Four
Verice waited until after midnight to begin his casting.
He’d planned the spell the moment he found a long golden hair caught in his armor. A simple matter, really, but it was a casting he hadn’t done in some time. It would involve the protections he’d built into the castle walls, but that was a minor complication.
He dug a silver bowl out from one of his chests, and set it on the table next to the pitcher of crisp, cold well water he’d drawn himself. Clearing off the maps and markers from the table, he set them carefully to the side.
He stripped off his chest armor, setting it on its rack, and hung his swords and daggers with care. Sometime soon he’d need a day to see to them. That wasn’t a task he cared to have anyone else do, but he might not have a choice.
He stripped to the waist and pulled the ties from his braid, letting his hair flow free down his back. Kicking off his boots, he pulled off the thick socks he wore underneath. The rough wooden floor felt cool under his feet.
He took a moment to stretch, trying to loosen the muscles in his back. Tight and tense from a long day in the saddle, casting portals, dealing with his people and their fears. Just this one last little chore and then he’d sleep, if the nightmares would let him.
With the door and shutters closed and bolted, the room was dark, but his concentration was assured. With a wave of his hand he lit one small candle.
All was in readiness.
He stood listening for a moment more, for the silence of the warriors sleeping in the barracks, for the tramp of the night guard along the walls. He touched the web of protection that he’d set around his castle, even into the city itself. Those protections cost, in his time and energy, but it was well worth the price. This particular casting would add to the burden, but it must be done.
He started the chant, the words flowing soft and formal from his lips. The bowl began to glow as he poured in the water. Carefully he wrapped the hair around his fingers, and touched the water’s surface. “Warna,” he breathed.
