Cobweb Forest (Cobweb Bride Trilogy) (30 page)

“So the Black Knight has broken with his father,” said Goraque. “Well, this should be interesting.”

“My father is dead,” replied Beltain. “I have broken with a madman to whom I cannot owe allegiance.”

“And so you think you can just march in here, into
my
camp, and all will be forgiven? All years of grievances forgotten? Do you know, Chidair whelp, that I still have an old, poorly healed cut on my thigh that you have delivered unto me three years ago?”

“Is that so, Your Grace?” Beltain’s countenance was granite. “I do believe my own arm has a scratch from you, and all other parts of me can thank quite a few of your men for their well-placed favors. We are as even as can be.”

The Duke maintained a stare, and then he exhaled wearily. “No doubt, you are right, Lord Beltain,” he said, giving up any more pretence of posturing, for he was more tired than he let on. “And apparently our differences have now become secondary. We are at war with things we cannot explain, forces that are unnatural. . . . Now, who are all these people with you, Chidair?”

The introductions were made, and Duke Vitalio Goraque politely acknowledged the newcomers. He gave a slightly longer glance to the new Lady Jelavie San Quellenne, no doubt noticing her youth, and then upon learning the circumstances, expressed his condolences on the recent loss of her mother. He then introduced the knights present in the room, including a high ranking operative of the Emperor, a well-composed handsome man with raven-dark hair and fierce aquiline features, by the name of Ebrai Fiomarre.

Percy started at the name and immediately understood why the man looked so familiar. Beltain mentioned that he knew a “Marquis Vlau Fiomarre.”

A notable change came to Ebrai’s features, a complete closing off, so that he was an impenetrable blank. “Yes,” he replied in a neutral tone. “It is my brother.” And then he said nothing else.

At one point, Goraque’s gaze rested upon Percy.

Percy, in her ordinary peasant attire and poor coat, looked out of place in this gathering of nobles, and was originally assumed to be someone’s attending servant or lady’s maid—something she did not mind perpetuating. But seeing the Duke’s attention upon her, Lady Jelavie pronounced: “And this girl has some kind of sorcerous ability with the dead. However she has served my people well in leading us through the mist and here into your Realm—”

Beltain paled slightly, for he had hoped to keep Percy and her role as quiet as possible, considering Goraque’s general intentions were still unclear—but it was too late.

“I am Percy Ayren, Your Grace,” she said, with a modest curtsey.

“And she is under my protection,” Beltain added in a forceful voice, glancing at the Duke point-blank, and then at all the rest of the men in the room.

Duke Goraque raised one brow, noting Beltain’s agitated forcefulness. But then he examined Percy with renewed interest and an evaluating stare. “So, who are you exactly, girl? Sorcery over the dead? Ah! Are you by any chance that girl they talk about who can kill the dead? What is it they call you—Death’s Champion?”

Ebrai Fiomarre immediately turned and was staring at her with dark-eyed intensity.

“Yes,” Percy said, since there was no avoiding it.

“Very interesting!” The Duke gave her his full attention. “So is it true what they say you do?”

“I have no notion what it is they say,” Percy replied, looking up at His Grace to stare directly in his eyes. “I put the dead to rest. That part is true.”

“And what of your ability to find passageways through shadows?” Lady Jelavie persisted. “Whatever you did, did not take us to Death’s Keep, but it did bring us here to relative safety.”

Percy nodded, but did not elaborate.

“Well, well,” said Goraque. “If this is indeed true, then it can make a great difference in our favor.”

“It must be repeated that this girl is under
my protection
,” said the black knight again, angry heat flooding his cheeks.

Goraque glanced again at Beltain, noting his high color. “Yes, I understand what you said the first time, Lord Beltain. If she is also your bedwarmer, have no fear, you have made it abundantly clear that your claim of that nature is made. However, since you and she are availing yourselves of our hospitality, then it might be expected that a little accommodation on her part might be expected in return. If she can put the dead enemy to rest when we are attacked, as I’ve heard it was done at Letheburg, then it will go a long way toward smoothing the differences between Goraque and Chidair—”

Before Beltain uttered anything he might regret, Percy interrupted them both. “Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace. I will endeavor to do what I can to help—to the best of my ability.”

Beltain stared at her with earnest agitated eyes, and once more her heart felt a sharp pang of impossible affection.

“I am glad, girl, that you are so accommodating,” Duke Goraque said with an exhalation of relief. “We are all fortunate to have you among us—indeed, all of you, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He nodded to the room in general. “Now, if I can have you join us, let my men show you to a favorable place where you and your people can set up your own area within our camp. Because we are about to attempt an approach to Letheburg. And a good rest can do everyone some good before we march.”

“With all due respect to Your Grace, and frankly our gratitude for your exceedingly kind hospitality, but we are not interested in a war,” Count Lecrant D’Arvu spoke up. “We have worked very hard to escape as far as possible from the centers of conflict. Indeed, many of the people of the Lady San Quellenne’s party are simple townsmen and peasants with their families and children and beasts of burden, looking to settle down somewhere safe, and they have no knowledge of arms or fighting—”

Vitalio Goraque raised one hand to interrupt. “My Lord D’Arvu—”

But the Count went on, “Furthermore, if we might be allowed to rest overnight, we would happily proceed on our way and not inconvenience you any further, as we seek a peaceful spot in your Realm, or for that matter
anywhere
as far as possible from Her Brilliance, the Sovereign—”

“My Lord D’Arvu. I see you have no notion of what is happening here. No notion at all.
 . . .” The Duke rubbed his forehead tiredly. He then pointed to the map on the table before him, and beckoned with his finger, motioning for the Count to approach.

Frowning nervously, Count Lecrant stepped up to the table, followed by Beltain and the others.

“See this?” Goraque pressed with his finger a portion on the map marked as Letheburg. “Do you know where this is?”

“I am assuming, a number of miles south of here,” Beltain spoke up in the Count’s place. “We are about a mile north of Lake Merlait on Chidair land, if I suppose correctly.”

“No,” said the Duke. “We are not.”

Beltain frowned. “Then where are we?”

The Duke pointed at the entirety of the map of the Realm, waving his hand from one edge to the other. “Most of what is shown here, most of the landmarks depicted on this map
no longer exist
. What still exists as far as I know is this—” he pointed to Letheburg—“and I am assuming, this—” he pointed to the Silver Court—“and possibly a small part of this—” and he pointed to the northern portion of the Kingdom of Styx. “Morphaea is gone, most of Lethe is gone—”

“So then where are we, if not in Chidair?”

“Right here.” And Goraque pointed to a spot on the map just north of Letheburg. “Except that all this part is gone and this is where the Chidair northern forest is now—four miles away from Letheburg! We can see the Trovadii red through the trees if we go out a bit of distance past the next rise! They surround the city, and we are just hiding here a couple of miles away, biding our time.”

“Impossible!” Beltain exclaimed.

“So then what is Your Grace’s point?” Count D’Arvu observed in some confusion.

“My point is, you have nowhere to go! You and your family and your people cannot escape this war, nor can you keep running, because the land—
this
land, any land—is likely going to disappear tomorrow!”

“Dear God
 . . .” The Count paled.

“Then we are not going to run!” Lady Jelavie San Quellenne slapped her elegant gauntleted palm on the map, right in the center of Letheburg. “We will stay and we will fight. Because one way or another we will die anyway. Or should I say,
not
die. We will remain in this horrible world—unless this girl Percy sends us off—and we might as well try to make something of it while we rot!”

I
t was late afternoon, and the Goraque campsite had swallowed up the newcomers with the ease that comes from an excess of difference. It was composed of so many other refugees that it welcomed all.

Percy sat before a small tent, warming her feet near a fire, next to Beltain and the family D’Arvu. The Count had generously invited them to share his tent for the night, since the cold was rising, and it was likely to snow later.

Percy had a flash of memory of just a few days ago, of sitting in Grial’s cart, with Betsy hitched before her, huddling against the wind, pressing herself against Beltain’s sleeping body—at that point he was still a stranger, unfamiliar to her, and yet already there was something so wondrous—the other potential Cobweb Bride girls curled in lumps. . . . And then she remembered that Grial was Hecate . . . and that the real Cobweb Bride was found, and that she was right here, sitting not more than two feet away from her, silent, dead, and entirely unwilling to die or even meet her immortal bridegroom.

Percy turned to stare at Beltain as he held a hot mug of tea, the vapor from it curling in the air, and brought it to his lips. She watched the lean lines of his stubbed jaw, the comely profile as he turned slightly to pick up something, a chunk of bread and cheese, then turned, as if sensing her gaze
 . . . and her heart danced at the look of his beautiful eyes, and his immediate smile. He offered it to her.

“Beltain,” she said softly. “As soon as the evening comes—the twilight—I will go to see Death in his Keep.”

He immediately set down the food and the smile left him, replaced by a grave expression.

“I have to try to see him, Lord Hades, and find out what has happened and why we did not end up in his Hall this last time, and also, to find out what is to be done.”

“I am going with you,” Beltain said.

But Percy shook her head. “No, my beloved, I must speak to him myself.”

“There is no way I am letting you be alone with
him!
Not ever again!”

“Why?” she said.

“Because of what
he
is. Because of what he can
do
—to you. I
know
him now.” Beltain’s face was a mask of intensity.

“He showed you something, did he not?” she guessed astutely. “That last time when you followed me on your own?”

“Yes. . . .”

“What was it?”

But Beltain shook his head. “No,” he whispered, “I cannot.”

Percy had no chance to say anything else because a familiar girlish voice sounded right behind her.
“Percy Ayren!”

Percy turned, and there was Jenna Doneil clambering toward her through the snowy campsite. “Percy! Oh, Lordy Lord, it’s you! Oh, Percy, am I glad to see you!”

“Jenna? Oh my Lord! What are you doing here?” Percy was amazed and she sprang up, seeing the familiar twelve-year-old girl from her home village. She rushed to embrace her, but Jenna was there first, and she bodily hurled herself at Percy, hugging her so tight that they almost collapsed, and burying her little red-nosed face against the front of Percy’s coat.

“Oh, you are here, Percy! Thanks be to the Lord Almighty! I just knew it! Now that you’re here, everything’s gonna be all right!”

“How did you get here? And who else is here?”

“Oh, lots of folks from Oarclaven! We’re way back thataway!” and Jenna pointed behind her at a distant smoking fire.

Percy’s heart lurched with sudden hope. “Are my folks here? Ma and Pa, and Belle and Patty?”

Jenna’s wildly joyful face lost some of its enthusiasm. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Percy, I don’t think they made it out.
 . . . At least I don’t remember! When things started fading on our street, I just went a little crazy! I was running and screaming, cause I been through all that awful shadow stuff with Death’s Keep already, and I knew it when I saw it! So I was screaming my head off, and some people came out and started running too, and all the streets and houses were getting all transparent and horrid, and you could see right through them, and then I just ran and ran and ran!”

And Jenna began bawling, and wiping her face against Percy’s coat.

Percy held the girl, gently stroking her head covered by a poor, much-worn shawl, from under which wisps of flaxen hair were sticking out.

Moments later, Jenna quieted and she looked up, and her eyes again brightened. “You know, Flor Murel and Gloria Libbin made it out! They’re back there! And so did old Martha Poiron, cause I dragged her by the hand, as soon as she came out the door—”