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Chapter 4: By Command
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The guards rubbed their eyes but didn't make an effort to stand up straight, lounging on the half-rotten wooden posts that marked the start of the stone bridge over the Lydis. The players walked towards them with open palms held upwards, their postures jovial rather than wary. The effect was spoiled slightly by the strong gusts of wind that blew through the thin mountain pass. When they neared the bridge a particularly heavy blast made them stagger, and the soldiers laughed.
"C'n tell they're from t'Sooth, c'n't yeh?" One of them said, his voice deliberately overloud as he confided in his friend. The other soldier didn't answer, but spat downwind with a wide grin on his face. Grasmar scowled as he regained his balance, obviously having to force the cheerful grin back onto his face.
"Greetings, my brothers!" He bellowed roundly against the howling weather. "May I bend your ears on this tempestuous eve?"
"What's a one o'them, then?" The loud guard asked, one eyebrow comically raised. Grasmar's ears went red.
"Verily, 'tis this climate in which we lowly mortals must dwell, may the gods have pity…"
"Does he speak common, yeh think?"
"… can I speak to your captain?" Grasmar managed through gritted teeth. The soldier smiled warmly and clapped him on the back, pretending not to notice when the player flinched away.
"Oh aye, 'course yeh can. Why d'n't yeh say?"
"Thank you." The player said, watching him leave with a baleful eye before muttering against the deafening wind, "And may the imps of the dark gods take the minute fragments of your perishing soul to the underworlds from when you were spawned…"
"That'd be Lurpshire." The quiet guard said impassively, and nodded backwards up the pass at the player's stricken look at being overheard. "It's a farming hamlet. Still plagued with imps, mind."
The rest of the troupe were trying to hide their smiles when the first guard returned, bringing with him an older man with a tired expression. Unlike the two guards, this man walked with the casual assurance that his sword was never far from his hand, and he knew well how to use it. He held up his other hand to demand silence before Grasmar even so much as drew breath, and then beckoned the group closer.
"I have no patience with shouting over this wind, so listen well." he said wearily, barely looking at them. "I know you have many sick children, starving grannies and homeless pets, but I must give you the same answer everyone else got: you cannot trade here. The route is closed. Go home, sell your wares, and spend the extra time with your families. But do not think to trade in Salydis."
"But we're not traders," Grasmar cut in, a cunning smile starting across his face. "I am sure…"
Again, the man held his hand up, an annoyed line between his eyes. "The route, sir, is closed. What about that fact makes you wish to argue?"
"We're players…" the master started again, this time with no artifice.
"The Lady Salydis asked for us to come." A quiet voice broke in, carrying clearly in the lull of the wind. Half the players turned to gape, let alone the guards, but Numair ignored them to keep looking directly at the captain. His eyes were as honest as the tale was false, but his voice held a vein of pure iron. "She knows our names. Give her our names, and ask her if our journey here has been wasted. We did not come all the way here to be turned away at the gate!"
The captain blinked, and for the first time looked around at the troupe. They smiled back uneasily. Some were wearing the bright costumes they performed in, as an extra layer against the cold mountain wind, but most of them simply looked like mud-stained, weary travellers. He rubbed the bristle on his chin thoughtfully. "Players, you say?"
"That's right." Grasmar chimed in, but the captain's eyes locked again with Numair's. The mage looked back, his gaze perfectly unreadable.
"I d'n't know…" the noisy guard started uncertainly. "She has some odd ideas s'mtimes, but she wouldn't let'm in… what with the…"
"Hush." The word was soft, but undoubtedly an order. For the last time the captain's eyes passed over the troupe, and came to rest on Numair. He sighed and pointed back down the mountain.
"Go back where you came from, about six miles, there's a town there called Keteyn. Set up there for a few days, rest, perform, eat fire, whatever it is that you do, with my blessing. As soon as you get there, write down all your names and send them back to me- I'm Erik of the castle guard, the runners will know me, just tell them to bring it to the border. I'll go and ask her Ladyship on your behalf. Whatever Idama says, I'll come and meet you in Keteyn the next day. If It turns out you're wasting your time, you'd better be running away back down the mountain by the time I get there."
"We're not." Daine promised, avoiding the half-scared looks of the others. "Even if you just gave her one name, it would be enough."
The captain shrugged, and pulled out a scrap of paper and a stick of charcoal from his belt purse. Grasmar opened his mouth pompously, and then keeled over in a coughing fit before he could speak. While the other players rushed forward to give him some water, Numair shrugged and said, "Well, I suppose my name will do. Numair Salmalin… of Lon."
"Lon." Erik said the word flatly, but his eyes flicked up and a strange expression crossed them. Before they could ask him what was wrong, he had folded up the scrap and tucked it back into his belt. "I will meet you in the town square tomorrow, at noon." He said dismissively, and turned away before another word could be said. As soon as the man's back was turned, Grasmar's coughing fit stopped.
"Did you w- witch me?" He demanded, tears streaming from his eyes. Numair nodded apologetically, and handed the man a flask of water.
"I am sorry," he said, "But your name wouldn't have gotten her attention."
"My name..!" The player drew himself up proudly, and then stopped to take a drink, rather spoiling the effect. He sighed as he replaced the stopper and wiped his mouth. By the time they were walking back down the pass, he was quite cheerful again. "Well, no harm done, I guess, as long as we get in. You could have just asked me."
"Next time, I will." The man promised solemnly. "But I hope that this is the last time you are implicated in our plans."
"Implicated?" For once, Grasmar seemed at a loss to understand a four-syllable word. "Are you saying this is… is dangerous?"
"We don't know yet." Daine said, her voice quiet so that the other players wouldn't overhear. "But… we know something about the lady. Something which could hurt her. We don't know what she'll do about it, yet, but…"
"Stop- stop- stop!" The circus master made a sweeping motion and then placed one finger delicately to his lips. "If you don't mind, I like the idea of knowing lessthan you, seeing as how it'll make me safer! You keep your secrets between the two of you."
The player danced off down the trail, catching up with the men he always gossiped with while they travelled. They had left their horses further down the path, not sure if they'd have room to turn the whole parade about in a narrow pass if they were refused entry, but the players walked as rapidly as they rode, joking about the wind when it caught them and forced them in a different direction. Numair walked in silence for a long while, studying the swirling dust on the ground thoughtfully, until Daine caught his hand and asked what was wrong. He looked up, and then glanced down the trail at the distant Grasmar.
"I almost wish I hadn't told you." He said. "He's right, it's dangerous."
"She won't know that you told me." Daine replied lightly, "Or else, you might not have told me, and she'd've guessed that you had, and then I would be confused as well as in danger, and that would probably be worse, don't you think?"
"That's why I used the qualifier 'almost', magelet." Numair's voice was tart, but the corners of his eyes turned up in a smile. "Of course youshould know everything. I just have to remind myself of that, sometimes."
"Did you see Erik's face when you mentioned Lon?" Daine asked, changing the subject quickly. "He looked almost scared, for a moment."
"He also called the lady 'Idama' when he wasn't guarding his words." The man replied, his eyes flicking back up the trail. It looked peaceful. Gorse bushes lined either side of the trail, growing strong even in the staggering bursts of wind, and tiny white butterflies let the breeze carry them from flower to flower. Still, lurking over it all, the distant peaks of Fort Salydis loomed, shining in the sun until the grey stone looked like the jagged silver teeth of a huge immortal. It was an unsettling contrast, and Numair shivered at the sight. "It seems we might not be the only people keeping secrets on this mountain."
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The wind picked up over the next few hours, growing from the short bursts which had hurried them down the mountain to an almost constant roar of wind, taking people's breath away. The roustabouts opened extra sacks of iron pegs, hammering twice as many ropes into the ground as normal, and still several tents tore themselves free before they were firmly secured.
"That man's here." The snake-dancer said, watching the crowd milling outside of the women's tent, one heavily=painted eye pressed against a hole in the canvas. "The soldier from before- the quiet one. He's watching us."
"Like a punter?" One of the dancing girls asked, sounding bored. The snake-dancer shook her head, making the bells on her Carthaki headdress chime brightly.
"No, like… he's taking stock. Watching us."
"I bet it's for the lady." The dancer whispered, darting forward to peer through the gap an then flitting away, hands fluttering. "She wouldn't just take our word for it, whatever that juggler says. He'll be watching, waiting for us to slip up so they can turn us away." She pouted and brushed her hands down her costume, making the thin fabric snug against her flat stomach. "It's enough to make my butterflies start dancing with me."
"Bother your butterflies; how do you think my snakes will feel in this wind? They'll try to curl up inside my armpits against the cold, you know they will, and then they'll tickle me so much I'll laugh."
"Who cares about your toothless old earthworms, Denna?" The dancer started, her voice growing shrill. Daine stepped up to the gap in the curtains, glanced through, and calmly turned to take her wings from the costume chest. As one, both women gasped and grabbed at her hands.
"What are you doing? You can't possibly climb up there in this!" The dancer tried to unpick the girl's hands from the fabric, her painted nails catching in the gauze. The snake-woman was less violent, but her eyes were panicked.
"I have to, if they're watching. We have to get through the border. Why would they let in a rope dancer who won't dance?"
"Because they know you're not an idiot?" The dancer shrilled, looking around to the other women for help. Some of them nodded, but most of them shrugged and turned away.
"They put my poles up for me. They're fine. The wind didn't blow them over, and the rope always catches the wind a little anyway. I'm fair used to a bit of breeze." Daine knew she was being foolish, but some stubborn part of her mind fought against the fear. "If I do it I'm a player, not a spy."
"You're more likely to be a puddle of flattened grease on the ground." The snake-woman said brutally. Daine shook her hand off and ducked out of the tent, gripping the wings tightly when the wind caught them and tried to tear them from her hands. There was another reason she wanted to climb, now that she knew they'd peaked Idama's interest, and she didn't have the spare time to worry about being safe. I can always turn into a bird, and fly down. She told herself, reaching the notched pole which had so many ropes strung to it that it looked like a strange triangular tent.
I can do this. From there, I'll be able to see for miles. It will be perfect. She squared her shoulders and gripped the first notch on the pole, feeling the familiar roughness of the splintering wood tremble in the wind. The high piping of the minstrels was torn away as soon as they played, dancing through the valley and further down the mountain towards the tiny hamlets they'd passed on their way through the valley. Men, women and children from those farms had been trickling into the town all afternoon, curious about the brightly coloured canvas strung across the town square. The wind clawed at the flags, already ripping some of them from their ropes. As she climbed Daine saw a bright blue pennant carried so high into the sky that even the birds would not be able to reach it. Her eyes followed it, and then the horizon. Looking, searching, scanning the mountains…
The platform shook under her feet, but she kept her balance easily. The wind had settled from a string of quick bursts to one continuous roar, and she realised she could work against it quite easily. She couldn't hear Grasmar's words as he wooed the crowed, but suddenly he was gesturing towards her, both arms extended and shaking in the wind, and she raised her own arms in reply.
The crowd were a distant blur of ashen faces below her as she took the first step.
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She woke up to a strange stinging sensation, utterly unlike the empty pain that had been throbbing through her dreams. She blinked, her mind still misty, and tried to look around to see where she was. A hand touched the side of her face, comforting but firm as it stopped her from moving.
"Ssh, stay still sweetling. You fell, but you… you're safe. You dislocated your wrist. The healer's fixing it."
"I have to put it back in place." The second voice was brisk, more business-like. "It will hurt."
Daine shut her eyes again, trying to remember falling rather than wondering when the healer would snap her wrist back into position. Now that the fogginess was clearing she could remember the wind… and the sound of the crowd… and the metallic perfume of snow from the mountains…
There was a sudden sunburst of pain in her arm, and all thought fled from her mind in a black whirl. When the red lights behind her eyelids faded she cautiously opened her eyes, willing herself to breathe normally now that the pain was ebbing away. The healer met her eyes and smiled reassuringly.
"There." He said, standing up and dusting off his hands. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He waited for her weak smile before nodding a farewell and turning to leave, pocketing his payment with casual grace and leaving orders for the patient to rest. Numair closed the door of the caravan behind the healer and returned to the bed.
"Please don't tell me I shouldn't have done it." Daine said, pushing herself upright with the hand that wasn't aching fiercely. "There was a good reason. It was worth it."
"I wonder what you'd have had to break to make it a bad reason." He said sharply, and then sighed and sat closer so that she could lean against him. He kissed her forehead in a silent apology for his outburst. "We have a pass to get through the border now, if that's why you did it. I think the word they were using was 'fearless'. Idama has an excuse to be intrigued about us."
"That's good," Daine wished her head would stop spinning; even when she rested it on the curve of Numair's shoulder it still refused to settle. "But that's not why… there was another reason…" she frowned and pressed a fingertip between her eyes, suddenly confused. "There was another reason. I know it. I just can't remember what it was."
"The healer said you didn't hit your head," Numair frowned and gently pushed her hair back from her temples, checking for bruises. "Does it hurt? I can fetch him back."
"No, I'm fine. I just can't remember! I can remember climbing up there, and stepping onto the rope… and then I woke up here, but I can't remember why I decided to do it! I can't even remember falling."
"Well," the man's voice was light, but the joking tone sounded oddly strained. "I can remember that part. I don't think I'll ever forget it." He gave up trying to sound cheerful and suddenly held her tighter. "You scared me, magelet. I don't… I know I can get overbearing, but even the thought of losing you terrifies me. No reason would ever be good enough to risk that. I was even going to tell Grasmar to stop the show, to order you down. But you seemed happy enough." He grinned suddenly, "Sauntering across the rope like it was lying flat on the ground, like you always do. But then you got halfway across and just… stopped. You were so still the people started wondering if you were a badly cast illusion. And then… it was so quick… one moment you were on the rope, the next you were falling. The rope caught you but it snapped your wrist out."
"You were watching?" Daine asked sleepily, lowering her hand from her forehead, "Then why didn't you catch me? Like you did when I found Kit?"
He opened his mouth to answer, and then a bewildered expression crossed his face. He raised a hand to touch his forehead, and then paled and lowered it, recognising the gesture the girl had made a few minutes before. "I carried you back here and asked the townspeople to find a healer… I watched you fall. I can remember every second of it. And I … I thought…" he rubbed his forehead then, leaving an angry red mark between his eyes. "Daine, I can't remember either."
"Did I pass out?" Daine persisted. He nodded and glanced at her wrist. "No, not from that. I mean on the rope. Before I fell."
"I don't know." He said slowly, lowering his hand from his own forehead to hers. For a second the touch of his fingertips felt icy, spearing a strangely glacial memory which melted away as quickly as it had appeared. Daine instinctively drew back, trying to capture some fragment of the memory before it faded, but it was gone, and all that was left was an abhorrent coldness that seemed to be as much inside her head as on her skin.
"Daine, are you angry at me?" Numair asked, drawing his hand back at her involuntary gesture. "I would have caught you, I know… I just can't remember…"
"I know." She said quickly, smiling to try to chase away the stricken expression on his face. "I really do believe you. Honestly, I do. It's a few minutes we can't remember, not the rest of our lives! But…" She reached up, impressed that her wrist had already stopped aching after such a short time, and trailed her fingertips gently along his forehead. When he blinked and drew back she nodded, suspicions confirmed. "There. It happened to you too, right?"
"It's… cold." He said, sounding confused, and then angry. "No, that's impossible! How did they do that? We both guard our minds with our magic, they couldn't possibly have gotten inside our thoughts without us realising!"
"Then perhaps that's what they made us forget." Daine whispered, and shuddered. The iciness lingered in her head like a taunting whisper, selfishly hoarding the minutes she had lost and refusing to return them. The gap in her memory felt worse the more she thought about it, like a yawning pit, violating the rest of her thoughts into a confused, tarnished whisper. "I don't like the thought of someone being inside my head."
He didn't answer, but his arms tightened again for a moment. She wrapped hers around his shoulders, recognising some of her own horror in the hard set of his jaw and wondering if the comforting gesture felt as useless for him as it did for her. "Who do you think it was?" She asked, hoping that giving their silent attacker a name would make them less ghoulish. "The lady?"
Numair looked into the grey eyes of the girl who loved him, and wished he could take away the fear which cobwebbed her eyes into silver. He wished he could explain to her what he thought, what he knew or even what he just suspected. But it had taken him years to accept the revulsion his own thoughts led him towards, and even longer for the memories to stop warping his dreams into nightmares. He didn't want those dark shadows creeping into her bright eyes, dulling them into the lifeless gaze of that other girl who had died so many years ago.
"No." He said finally, raising her face so he could kiss her. Her lips were cold and tasted of salt. "No," he said again, drawing away so he could wipe the trace of that single tear from her cheek. "Not Idama. She's flesh and blood, sweetling, like the rest of us. She couldn't do this."
"Then… tell me who could?" She whispered imploringly, not caring to hide the fear in her voice. He shivered and looked away briefly, trying to blame the howl of the wind for his own answering dread. His answer couldn't be spoken out loud, because some part of his heart still believed that if your nightmares had no name, they couldn't possibly hurt you.
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