He found himself looking into Warsword Lhauntur's cool brown eyes—down the shining length of the man's short, broad, and deadly looking sword.
"I'll gag you if I hear even the first sound of what might be a spell, wizard," the knight promised calmly. "And if I find you've been working at that cord, I'll personally break your thumbs and your forefingers." Then Lhauntur smiled and with the same ironic tone that Rod favored when dealing with publicists, added, "So be welcome in Hollowtree Keep."
Rod gave him an empty smile, and then turned to Taeauna and asked innocently, "Lady, are these bad men?"
Emerald eyes widened ere Taeauna said soothingly, "No, goodman. I've been well treated here in the past. Just do as they say." She reached out a finger to his chin, as if to guide him into looking straight into her eyes, and gave him a silent look that said as clearly as if she'd shouted it: "Don't overdo it, Dark Lord."
"Yes," Rod told her, trying to sound vague and yet contented. "Yes, of course."
Only the emerald eye that was farthest from the four Hollowtree men rolled derisively, a feat that left Rod staring at Taeauna in fascination. How did she
do
that?
Probably because I once dreamed Aumrarr could, he reminded himself ruefully, as the warsword made a curt gesture with his sword and they all started to trudge along the lane up to the castle.
The map wasn't
a sheet of weathered parchment at all, but a table covered with faintly evil-smelling mud that had been painstakingly shaped into what was presumably a miniature duplicate of the landscape of Falconfar. Every inch of the terrain close to Rod bore overlapping thumbprints; it had obviously been worked and reworked with care. Large green stains undoubtedly denoted forests, and tiny slivers of wood had been whittled into castles and thrust into place atop hills.
“So nameless goodman, mark you anything l.iiniliar?"
Lord Eldalar's question was sharp, but by now Rod was used to being regarded with suspicion. They'd retied his hands behind him after throwing a loose robe around him; beneath it, he was still barefoot and naked except for his boxers. Taeauna, on the other hand, was being treated with a respect bordering on awe.
She'd stayed close beside him, and made it clear that, wizard or not, the mind-mazed stranger was under her protection. Rod could feel her gaze on him now, watching him almost as closely, no doubt, as were Warsword Lhauntur and the gray-bearded Lord of Hollowtree.
"I'm sorry, but no, lord," Rod replied, looking up to meet gruff old Eldalar's eyes. It wasn't hard to sound honestly bewildered when that's exactly what you were.
The map, however, was fascinating. It reminded him of a wargames table he'd seen in his youth, strewn with tiny model tanks and surrounded by chainsmoking men in suspenders who were waving tape measures in the air and chuckling a lot. If you almost closed your eyes, to make the green stain look more like trees and less like colored mud, this might just be a real landscape that you were hovering over...
As if by magic...
"Where are we?" he asked, pointing with his chin down at the model terrain. "Hollowtree, yes, but where's Hollowtree on this table?"
Eldalar stared at him, frowning, and then stabbed a finger down at one of the smallest castles. "Here, of course." The old lord did everything gruffly and stiffly, it seemed. Even his magnificently embroidered tabard, or tunic or whatever it was, looked stiff.
Right now, he was thrusting his old neck out like a tortoise toward Rod, and harrumphing. "And you, goodman, came from...?"
Rod looked helplessly at Taeauna.
Who leaned forward, still clad only in shards of armor and a few straps, and said firmly, "From somewhere far beyond here, lord. Beyond Dalchace, this road runs to a moot of two rivers, and there are many smallholdings in the wedge of land between their upper courses. We were at one such, a place I saw only briefly, hight Aunduth."
So she could lie like a banker. Hmm.
Rod almost grinned. The candle-lanterns in this dark-paneled inner room stank of tallow, and the flagstones were cold underfoot, but he minded not a whit. Nor did Taeauna's lie or the cord binding his hands bother him overmuch. He was in Falconfar, and this was all real.
And for the first time in years—decades—he was having an adventure. An honest-to-God adventure. If what Taeauna had said about his power was true, he could even heal himself if he got hurt, though he felt no eagerness to let some bowman or knight with a sword test that power. From her brief warning, it seemed as if revealing he was the Dark Lord just might prove very unpleasant.
"You must be tired and hungry," the Lord of Hollowtree said suddenly, his tone a firm dismissal. "Go with Lhauntur. He'll see you both provided for."
He reached for Taeauna's shoulder, as if intending to murmur something more for her ears alone, but she slid gracefully out from under his fingers and said gently, "I thank you deeply, lord. You are as gracious as always."
Rod heard nothing but warmth in her tone, but Eldalar flushed as if she were his mother snapping a firm and well-deserved rebuke at him, and waved them both away abruptly.
As they went out, Warsword Lhauntur's eyes were narrow as he regarded the Aumrarr, but all she said to him was, "I recall days when no hold in Falconfar needed to be wary, and regret that those days are gone."
"As do we all, lady," he replied heavily, as they went back down the dark and curving stair that had brought them to the map chamber. "As do we all."
As
they passed
the last lantern hanging above the stair, Taeauna turned as swiftly as a striking hawk, laid a warning finger to her lips, then mimed slumber by bending her cheek onto the back of her angled hand, and then repeated the warning finger.
Rod kept his face carefully blank, because the warsword had reached the bottom step and was already turning to watch them.
"This is a good place," he told Lhauntur slowly, trying to sound vague. "I remember a keep like this, but not this one."
The warsword's reply was a noncommittal grunt. He turned away again, and Taeauna flashed Rod another warning look.
This time, he gave her a grim nod.
He was still nodding in the gloom as they went through a half-open door and along a passage hung with old swords and ancient, rusting shields. He was smiling, too.
Oh, yes. I
am
enjoying myself. The Lord Archwizard of Falconfar has come home. Tremble, dragons! Echo, castles! Die, Dark Helms!
In front of him, Taeauna stiffened as if he'd slapped her across the back. The severed stubs of her wings actually quivered.
And suddenly, Rod Everlar didn't feel like exulting at all. Yes, this was real. Too real.
Taeauna, can you hear my thoughts?
The Aumrarr was walking normally again, and if she could hear what Rod was thinking, she gave no further sign of it.
Oh, damn. What have I gotten myself into?
Into my dreams, of course. But what if they turn into nightmares? What then, over-clever thriller writer?
He traveled the entire length of the next passage, and the next, without coming up with any sort of answer.
Except to discover that he still knew how to shiver.
They ate at
a simple table that was evidently the warsword's customary dining place. The fare was some sort of thick, strongly spiced meat stew ladled over oval wooden bowls full of what looked like Cornish hens on skewers. Gray-green, scorched hens. Taeauna ate eagerly, purring with enjoyment, so after a brief hesitation that he hoped Lhauntur wouldn't notice but knew the warsword would, Rod fell to. At least Lhauntur had retied his hands in front of him, and even allowed him about a foot of cord between his wrists. Knives and the two-tined forks had been moved out of reach, though, leaving him with a ladle-like spoon and a pair of whittled wooden tongs. The taste was strange—a little like some spiced eel he'd once sampled—but good. Very good.
Lhauntur's meal was one long stream of interruptions, as grim-looking warriors, some in splendid armor but most in motley garb of leather jacks adorned with ill-fitting metal plates strapped on here and there, clanked up to the warlord for instructions. All of them carefully avoided looking at the two guests, and even turned their faces away so Rod and Taeauna wouldn't overhear the terse murmurs Lhauntur traded with them.
When Taeauna was done, she helped herself to more from the decanter whose contents had made Rod's eyes water with a single swallow, leaned back in her chair, and purred, "Lhauntur, I can't help but notice you've a lot of men under arms. Are you expecting an attack?"
The warsword gave her a hard look. "Samdlor and Raeth are good men, and they both swear you appeared in the lane right out of empty air, but magic or no, if Dark Helms you were fighting, Dark Helms may follow you here."
He glanced at Rod for a moment, and then back at Taeauna. "Wizards wield Dark Helms like the rest of us swing swords. And if the Helms come to Hollowtree, this night or the next, we'll have to be very good at swinging swords. Every one of us."
"If they come, Lhauntur," Taeauna said quietly, "I'll swing a sword right beside you."
"And your goodman, here?" the warsword asked, just as quietly. "What will
he
do?"
"Wonder if you have a spare hayfork," Rod offered calmly. "I'm getting pretty good at forking Dark Helms."
A hard and sudden silence fell, and Rod felt the back of his neck prickling. He hadn't noticed more armsmen approaching, nor Lord Eldalar with them.
And then Lhauntur started to wheeze as if he were choking, a rattling convulsion that grew and grew until Rod's mouth fell open in alarm, and the warsword slapped the table and burst into an open roar of laughter.
Laughter that spread, all around Rod, and included Taeauna's high, lacy mirth.
Lhauntur shook his head at last, pointed a finger at Rod, and said, "You're not a wizard. You're worse than that: you're a jester!"
There were groans and some chuckles and mutterings, and then the warsword and the Lord of Hollowtree said, more or less in unison, "Untie him."
Someone hastened to do so, at about the same time as a stout and aging maidservant rushed up to Taeauna with a frilly gown in her hands, spread it out down herself, and asked breathlessly, "Will this do? 'Tis all we could find, lady, seeing as you're as tall as..."
The Aumrarr made a face. "Thank you, but no. I'd rather go naked."
"I'd rather you went naked, too," Rod muttered to the table in front of him in little more than a whisper, but Lhauntur heard him and plunged into fresh bellows of laughter.
Which was when the maid screamed, and men whirled and cursed all over the chamber, and Rod lurched around in his seat in time to see what they were all staring at.
High up amid the guttering candle-wheel lanterns overhead in the lofty-beamed hall, a dark, flickering shape had faded into view. To Rod, it looked like the ghostly images that sometimes faded in and out of view on an old black-and-white television set he'd once owned, way back when; there one moment, and gone the next.
It was a Dark Helm, drawn sword in hand and visor down. It hung there silently, peering around the hall from its height, looking at this man and then at that one. Then it turned abruptly away, as if angry, and... was gone.
"Searching for a wizard and finding none," Lhauntur said grimly, giving Rod another glance. "Wake the stable lads. I want runners going around the doubled guard all night through, making sure no one falls without the rest of us knowing."
"I'll fight at your side," Taeauna promised, shooting to her feet.
"You'll stay here, and your friend with you," the warsword replied curtly.
The Lord of Hollowtree put a hand on the Aumrarr's shoulder—he had to reach up to do it—and this time Taeauna left it there. She even leaned back against him and let the old lord murmur something comforting that Rod didn't hear, that brought a brief smile flashing across her face.
Oh, Christ, Rod thought to himself, there's so little I know about Falconfar. And if anything happens to Taeauna, I'll be alone here, and won't even know what mistakes I'm making.
Hmmm. Not so different from life back in the real world, after all.
No
Dark Helms
came that night, and in the morning Taeauna insisted they depart. The warsword and Lord Eldalar disagreed, but not forcefully enough to entirely hide their relief, even from Rod.
Lhauntur sent maids scurrying in all directions as the man who'd thought, just a day ago—had it been only a day ago?—he'd invented Falconfar, went behind the corner curtain to avail himself of the chamber pot.
Rod had spent the night in this cold stone room. Its only other furnishings were a blanket and a heap of straw for a bed that erupted in squeaking mice when the guard who'd brought him there kicked at and-then trod on it. It wasn't quite a jail cell, but the door had been firmly locked behind him, and Taeauna had slept somewhere else.
He'd kept his robe on because of the cold, and was glad of it when the door rattled open not long after dawn and the Lord of Hollowtree, his warsword, four bristling-with-blades guards and Taeauna had all trooped in, all fully dressed and with the alert faces of folk who'd been up and doing things for hours. Someone had given Taeauna patched and well-worn leather armor that was tight enough to creak, here and there, but hung loosely in other places. Her welcoming smile, however, lit up Rod's morning like the sun.