Shadow of a Dark Queen (13 page)

“My friend is hurt,” interrupted Roo.

Suddenly the old woman's manner changed again as she caught the sound of the dogs on the wind. “King's men are hunting you?”

Roo thought about lying, but Erik said, “Yes.”

Roo said, “Baron's men, really.”

“Same thing. Soldiers.” She spat the last word. “Well, you'd better hide.” She motioned for them to enter the tiny hut. “They won't find you in there.”

Roo helped Erik into the hut and gagged at the stench. Erik's eyes watered and he gasped, “I thought Tyndal's room was bad.”

Roo said, “Try breathing through your mouth.”

Gert knelt down next to Erik and said, “Let me look at that,” motioning to his bloodstained shoulder.

Erik pulled aside his tunic and the rags. The rags pulled the skin where blood had dried and he gasped in pain. Gert probed at the wound with a filthy finger and said, “Sword wound. Seen a hundred of
them. Swollen around it. Got the hot sickness in it. Going to kill you, boy, if we don't clean it out. You got a strong stomach?” she asked Roo.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I'm here and haven't thrown up yet, haven't I?”

“Ha!” She almost cackled as she laughed. “There's more to you than meets the eye, Roo Avery.” She rose up as high as the low floor permitted and said, “I have just the thing to put you right. Be back in a jiffy.”

Roo lay back, glad to be resting despite the stench of the hut. He glanced around; enough gaps in the wall permitted light to enter, and he saw what looked to be a water jar with a long neck. He moved the clay vessel and heard a promising sound of liquid. Pulling the cork, he sniffed and got no odor. He sipped and was rewarded with fresh water. Drinking a huge mouthful, he suddenly realized he was ignoring his sick friend.

He put the neck of the jar to Erik's lips and he drank several mouthfuls, then sank back into the pile of rags. A fly began to buzz around Roo's head and he absently swatted at it.

Erik drifted off into a difficult slumber, his fatigue overwhelming his fear. His breathing came heavily, and perspiration continued to pour off his brow.

Roo tried to relax, wondering if they could trust this strange old woman but knowing that further flight was next to hopeless. Then suddenly there was the sound of barking nearby, and Gert's shriek cut the air.

Erik came awake with a start at the sound. “What . . . ?” he began, but Roo grabbed his arm.

Dogs could be heard barking nearby and Gert shouted, “Shoo! Away with you!”

Then horses approached and the boys heard Gert shout, “Get these miserable curs away! They'll be bitin' old Gert in a minute.”

A commanding voice said, “Have you seen two men, one large and blond, the other short and dark?”

“And if I did, what's it to you?”

“They're wanted for murder.”

“Murder, is it?” There was a long pause, punctuated by the sounds of the dogs sniffing the area and the occasional odd yelp of inquiry. “What's the reward?”

Erik felt Roo's hand tighten on his arm at that, and the answer was, “The Baron's offered one hundred golden sovereigns for their arrest.”

“That's a tidy bit, isn't it?” said Gert. “Well, I haven't seen them, but if I do, I'll want the gold.”

“Check inside the hut,” ordered the leader.

“Here, now!” Gert began to protest.

“Stand aside, old woman.”

Erik backed away, trying as hard as he could to push himself backward through the dirt wall, while Roo drew the ragged, filthy blankets up below his chin.

The leather door was swept aside, and the light was almost blinding after the darkness. “What a stench!” said the soldier, drawing back.

“Go on,” commanded the leader of the troop.

The soldier stuck his head back inside and blinked against the darkness, then looked directly at Roo and Erik. He looked to one side and then the other, and at last pulled his head back out. “Nothing in there but filthy rags and some pots, Captain.”

Roo and Erik exchanged glances of wonder in the gloom. What magic was this?

“What's the matter with the dogs?” asked the captain.

The man who must have been the Houndmaster said, “They seem to have lost the scent. The charcoal must be confusing them.”

“Then let us go back to the last place you know they had it, and begin again. Lord Manfred will have our ears if those murderers escape.”

The dogs began to bark as the Houndmaster blew his whistle, commanding them to follow. The horses rode away, and Roo let out his breath, held since the soldier stuck his face into the hut.

“What caused that?” asked Roo.

Erik said, “I don't know. Maybe it was too dark to see.”

“No, it was a spell. This Gert is a witch of some sort.”

Erik said, “The captain said ‘Lord Manfred.' My father is dead.”

Roo didn't know what to say. He glanced at his friend; in the gloom he saw that Erik had leaned back and closed his eyes.

After a few moments, the leather door was pulled back. Instead of Gert, a young woman appeared before them, tall enough to have to lean forward to enter. Her hair was dark, black in the gloom of the hut, and her features were masked, as she was silhouetted against the daylight.

“What . . . ?” began Roo.

“Say nothing,” she replied, then turned to Erik. “Let me examine that wound.”

Something in her manner caused Roo to feel uncertain. Her clothing was nondescript, at least
what he could see of it: a simple dress of some middling color, perhaps grey, perhaps green or blue; it was difficult to tell in the dark hut. Her features were partially visible now that the door was again shut. She had a high forehead and regal nose, fine features that would have looked pretty had they not been set in an expression of concentration.

She pulled back Erik's tunic and glanced at the wound. “This will have to come off. Help me,” she ordered Roo.

He helped Erik stay upright as the woman gathered up the bottom of the tunic and pulled it up and over Erik's head, causing him no little pain. He lay back, perspiration running off his body, panting as if he had exerted himself in hard work for hours. She touched the wound and he grunted in pain, teeth clenching.

“You're a fool, Erik von Darkmoor. Two, three more days, and you'd be dead from blood poison.”

Roo got a good look at the woman and thought she was beautiful, but something very offputting in her manner made him view it as a distant, unobtainable sort of beauty.

“Where's Gert?” asked Roo softly.

“Off on some business for me,” came the answer.

“Who are you?”

“I told you to say nothing, Roo Avery. You need to learn there are times to speak and times to listen, and which time is which. When you have need to speak, you may call me Miranda.”

She set about tending Erik's wound. From somewhere in the cluttered hut she produced a bag from which she fetched a small vial. Opening it, she poured the contents over the wound, and Erik gasped
at the pain. Then he relaxed. She next pulled the cork from a flask of liquid and said, “Drink this.”

Erik obeyed and made a face. “It's bitter.”

“Not as bitter as untimely death,” said Miranda.

She quickly finished tending Erik's wound, placing a poultice over it and then bandaging it. By the time she was finished, Erik was asleep. Without another word she rose and left the hut.

Roo watched Erik sleep for a minute, then got to his feet and peeked outside. There was no sign of another person and he left the hut.

Looking around, he saw only the charcoal kiln smoldering and a pile of dog droppings from when the pack had been nearby, but otherwise the area was deserted.

“Hello there, love!” came a cheerful voice behind him, and Roo jumped. He turned to find Gert approaching with a pile of wood in her arms.

“Where is she?” asked Roo.

“Where is who?”

“Miranda.”

Gert stopped and made a face. “Miranda? Can't say as I know any Miranda. When the soldiers left, I went to get more wood to burn, and haven't seen any Miranda.”

“A young woman, about this tall”—he held his hand up a bit higher than his own head—“with dark hair, very pretty, came into the hut and tended Erik's wound.”

“Pretty, you say?” Gert scratched her chin. “I think you must have been dreaming, boy.”

Roo took a step toward the hut, drew aside the hide door, and said, “Did I dream that?” He pointed to the fresh bandage on Erik's shoulder.

Gert stared at it. “That's a puzzler, now, isn't it, dearie?” She stood there a minute. “All manner of queer folk in the woods, though. Perhaps she was one of those elf creatures you hear of, or a ghost.”

Roo said, “She was the most flesh-and-blood ghost you'll ever see. And she looked nothing like any elf I've heard of.”

He looked at Gert and saw her smiling; then her expression turned somber. “Well, some mysteries are best left alone. I've got wood to burn, so get back in there and take a rest. I have something to eat around here somewhere.”

Roo felt fatigue wash over him. “Rest is good,” he muttered, suddenly tired beyond belief. The thought of sharing a meal with Gert did nothing for his sense of well-being, but sleep was welcome. Reentering the hut, he was surprised he didn't notice the stench this time. Must have gotten used to it, he thought.

Quickly he felt a heavy lethargy sweep over him. Odd sounds intruded, but he found them difficult to identify. He lapsed into a deep sleep, ignoring the very busy sounds of preparation from outside.

A chattering from above caused Roo to sit upright, brushing leaves from his face. He looked around, then up, and saw the author of the scolding racket, a red squirrel defiantly challenging their right to be camped under his tree. Before Roo could clearly focus on the creature, it vanished around the bole.

Then he realized he was outside. He turned and saw Erik sleeping soundly, under a clean blanket, his chest rising and falling evenly, his color good. Roo looked down and saw he was likewise bundled against the night's chill in another heavy blanket, and
he felt behind him, to where his head had rested.

Like Erik's, his head had rested on a travel bundle. His own was missing. He opened the new one, fearing he had been robbed. Inside, he discovered a clean tunic and trousers, a fresh pair of underdrawers and stockings, and at the bottom he found his money pouch. He quickly counted and was pleased to find his twenty-seven golden sovereigns and sixteen silver royals all there.

Roo stood, and found himself remarkably rested. Of the charcoal burner's hut there was no sign, not even ashes from the kiln. Roo felt he should have been alarmed by this, but he found himself amused and close to happy.

He knelt beside Erik and tried to examine the bandage. It was still clean and, if anything, looked as if someone had just changed it. He gently reached out and touched his friend on the arm. “Erik,” he said.

Erik came awake, blinking for a moment, then sat up. “What?”

“I wanted to see how you felt.”

Erik looked around. “Where are we? Last thing I remember . . .”

“A hut and an old woman?”

Erik nodded. “And someone else, too. But I can't recall who.”

“Miranda,” said Roo. “She said that was her name, but old Gert said she knew nothing of her.”

Roo stood and extended his hand to Erik. Erik took it and let his friend pull him to his feet. Expecting to be the worse for wear, Erik discovered he felt fairly fit.

“How's the shoulder?”

“Stiff,” he answered as he moved it experimentally. “But better than I thought it would be.”

Roo looked around. “There's no hut, no kiln, no Gert, no nothing.”

Erik said, “And what are these?” He pointed to the two blankets and bundles on the ground.

“Someone was taking great pains to see we don't freeze in the night, and they've given us clean clothing.”

Erik suddenly looked at the clothing he was wearing, and then pulled away his tunic and sniffed. “I should smell like a horse after a day in the field, but I don't. And this shirt feels clean.”

Roo examined his own clothing. “You don't suppose old Gert gave us a bath?” He found fear rising up rather than humor.

Erik shook his head. “I don't know what to think.” Then he glanced around. “It's about nine of the clock from the angle of the sun, so this day is a quarter over. We'd better get moving again; I don't know why the soldiers didn't find us in the hut, but they'll come back and check again, I'm certain.”

“Check your bundle,” said Roo. “See what's in it.”

Erik did as he was bidden and found his was packed much the same as Roo's: fresh shirt and trousers, underdrawers, and stockings. Also there was a small loaf of hard bread, and a note.

He unrolled the tiny parchment and read aloud: “You lads are safe for the time being. Make straight for Krondor and Barret's Coffee Shop, Erik. You are now in our debt, Gert's and mine. Miranda.”

Roo shook his head. “Running from the King's justice and now we're in debt to a pair of witches.”

“Witches?”

“What else do you think?” said Roo, looking as if a demon were about to leap up from the earth and snatch him to hell. He glanced around, the color gone from his face. “Look at that! That's the same low ridge we had to come down to reach the hut! There was a hut, and a kiln—now there's no sign that anyone has ever been here.” He walked over to where the kiln had been. “There's no soot, no ashes. Even if you moved the bloody damn thing, you couldn't clean up this much.” He got down on one knee. “There's got to be something!” His voice was growing loud, as if he was becoming angry at discovering the hut and kiln missing. “Damn it, Erik! Someone stripped us, bathed us, cleaned our clothing, and dressed us again, and we never woke up. What else could it be but magic!” He rose and went over to Erik. He put his hands on his friend's arms, and said, “We're trapped by a debt to two evil black witches.”
His voice continued to get louder, and Erik realized anger was quickly turning into hysteria.