Aliphor

CHAPTER TWO
By Beck McLaughlin

There were mercenaries everywhere! Again and again, Elfie found herself cut off. Although it was the last thing she intended, the young thief found herself pushed back into the hills. By noon, she was lost -- again.

Then, in a rare stroke of good fortune, the clouds vanished. Sunlight poured through the dark green canopy to warm the ground. The touch of it on her skin was like heaven after a week of cold and damp. She was almost able to forget about the fact that her stomach was collapsing in on itself. Filled with misgivings, she tried once again to reach Storchi. This time the shade appeared almost at once.

"Where have you been?" Elfie demanded, relief roughening her voice. "Every time I need you, you're nowhere to be found. What use are you?"

The misty spot that floated several feet above the forest floor billowed in an excellent approximation of annoyance.

What did you expect, girl? I have no wish to attract the attention of the Swordslave -- nor that mage who rides with him.

"Dammit, Storchi! You were the one who sent me to them! Simple travelers, you said. Easy pickings! Thanks ever so much!" Then: "What the hell is a swordslave?" Something you're better off not knowing.

"Storchi! Answer me!"

It seemed to Elfie that the shade sighed heavily. "'Tis a creature cursed, a Swordslave. One hears a great deal when one is caught in Twilight. This wretch is doomed forever to seek out victims to feed his demon blade. Never can he lay it down. There is no freedom save that of death and then only if the demon chooses to so release him. No friends may the Swordslave have, no family, no beloved, for the demands of the blade shall always overcome the strength of human will and endurance."

"Damn," Elfie said after a long, shocked pause. Almost, she could feel pity for such a creature. Then she remembered the way the Blade had knocked her around and was less sympathetic. "Well, they're gone to whatever hell they've chosen," she said. "And I'm hungry. Do you suppose you might condescend to direct me toward some food that doesn't belong to mages and demon-servers?"

For a moment, Elsie was afraid that Storchi would depart in a tiff, but after a moment, the ghostly voice wafted through her head: There's an inn only a few miles to the north. The landlord will shortly receive a most important guest. In the excitement, it is likely that no one will be paying much attention to what is going on in the kitchen.

"You'd better be right this time, you old bastard. Who is this august personage?"

Storchi, however, had said all he had to say. With his usual maddening lack of warning, he was gone again. Elsie sometimes wondered why Storchi came around. A Master Thief while still alive -- Elsie had never actually met him -- known the irascible son of a bitch only by his considerable reputation. Storchi had been a thief of the old school, weighed down with unnecessary scruples. The fact that he'd reached a ripe old age without ever seeing a l'Sanjilese dungeon had been irrelevant to a younger Elfie. It was no longer so.

The sun began its slide toward the sea, Elfie walked for some time before reaching the edge of the forest. Sprawling against rolling, wooded landscape was an inn. It stood just off a respectable-sized road, large and prosperous. Carriages and wagons crowded the front. Delighted, she ran for a closer look.

Once she had an eyeful of the horses and livery filling the yard, Elfie immediately revised her modest goal of pilfered food. Adopting a purposeful air, she threaded through the noisy crowd, looking for a likely target. A tall merchant nearby was speaking intently to a gentleman - neither of them paying any heed to their surroundings. Elfie flexed her fingers, liking the shape of the merchant's pocket.

"Boy!"

She jerked around with a start, heart leaping at the imperious voice. "S. . .sir?"

Eyes wide, she took in the vision standing behind him. An astonishingly handsome young man regarded her doubtfully. He had striking, silvery eyes, blue-black hair that brushed his shoulders, and was dressed in a beautifully embroidered coat. A servant hovered protectively at his shoulder, livery almost as fine. Behind the elegant lord was a small army of maids, grooms, footmen and outriders. There was a coat of arms on the coaches, but Elfie didn't recognize it.

The servant held the reins of the nobleman's horse, a creature as magnificent as its owner. Scowling at Elfie, the servant called: "It's about time! Take the horse, boy! Are you deaf and dumb?"

Clearly, with her tattered breeches and cropped hair, they mistook her for one of the stable lads - all of whom were running frantically about, dealing with the lord's entourage. Shoving the reins into her limp fingers, the servant continued, "and see that he's properly cared for. Mark my words, boy -- I'll be back in a little while to check on him. If I don't approve of your care, I'll have you whipped!"

The fancy lord, annoyed at being forced to stand out in the open, raised a pristine kerchief to his nose and swept regally toward the inn, his satellites scurrying to keep up. Whinnying, the horse nudged the thief with its velvety nose. Elfie regarded it with some trepidation. She had little experience with horses and this was a very large horse indeed! She again looked about for one of the lads. As she did so, her eye was caught by a flash of light. Something hung from the saddle -- a dagger with a fine, jeweled hilt.

"My tip," she grinned. A quick look around reassured her that no one was paying her any attention. Talking in soothing tones, with a quick flash of her own small knife, she severed the thong that held the dagger to the saddle. The horse watched her with interest and tossed its heavy mane.

Fool! Put the cursed thing back! Storchi returned without warning. "Go away, ghost!" Elfie slid the dagger into her shirt, ignoring the spirit's agitation. If there was an inn, than chances were good there was a village not too far up the road. Villages had pawn shops. She would surely get enough for this pretty bauble to feast sumptuously -- maybe even sleep between real sheets for a change!

You don't know what you're doing, girl! He's ...

"GO AWAY!" she hissed, tired of it. She rounded on the ghost angrily. There was a pop, a fading wail, and silence. "Damned shivering coward' ... "

Belatedly Elfie remembered there were people around. Fortunately, no one was looking. With one last pat, she bid adieu to the animal and left the inn behind.

"We found him, my lord."

Moric pulled Stormer around, ignoring the animal's irritated snort, and faced Anton. "Where?"

"Asleep. In a glade not far from here."

"Excellent. Lead on."

"My lord," his father's captain scowled. "This is nonsense. We could have handled this without putting you at risk ..."

"Don't be absurd, Anton. What risk? You're here, and your two men!"

"We are in unsecured territory in the middle of the night. There have been four separate merc patrols spotted roaming the countryside." The captain glared back at him. "Your father would have my head if he knew!"

"Then we don't tell him."

Anton met Moric's lazy smile with stony disapproval. The viscount leaned back in his saddle. "It's Kellin who'd have my head if he knew I'd lost that damned dagger. Which is why I'm risking my fragile person on this midnight romp. Let's get on with it."

Ahead through the gloom were two more of his reluctant escort. Moric slid from Stormer and, leaving the horse in Anton's seething care, walked silently through the trees toward an open spot in the forest.

As he'd suspected, it was the boy from the inn. The brat lay curled up in a suspiciously new-looking blanket, sleeping like the baby he was. Long eyelashes, soot-black against the grubby cheekbones -- damned pretty for a boy.

The youth stirred, muttered and settled back into his slumber. Then, unexpectedly, Moric found himself looking sharply around. For a moment, the presence-sense confused him. There was no one in sight. And yet ...

Moric caught his breath and was unsurprised when the boy awakened. The guttersnipe's attempt at bolting was thwarted by the blanket; its folds quickly tangled him up. Moric pushed him back into the dirt with one foot.

"Don't bother, thief," he said. "You're surrounded."

The boy struggled anyway, so Moric applied a bit more pressure. "My dagger," he said gently. "Where is it?"

There were grunts and muttered oaths as the thief continued to struggle. Only when he'd given up did Moric step away. The boy looked into the viscount's face and grimaced.

"I ..." he gave a slight, helpless shrug. "... sold it."

"Where?"

"A ... a pawnshop in Gilberson."

"On your feet," Moric ordered.

By now, the boy had regained what small intelligence he possessed and scrambled to obey. "I ...what if I steal it back?"

Startled, Moric kept a straight face, but with difficulty. "That dagger was my great-great-grandfather's. It has been in our family for well over a hundred years. It had great sentimental value -- and much more. I should run you through, insect. As it is, I haven't the time." His eye was caught by the fine new backpack, bulging at the seams, the brat's slightly crumpled, but well made shirt. "Were these things purchased with the pawnbroker's money?"

The boy's jaw worked. He glared. "Not all."

Moric shook his head. While the brat stared in fury and dismay, he bent and snatched up the pack. Tossing it to one of his guards, he said: "Ordinarily, I'd take you to the nearest Blade post and have you strung up. This will have to do for justice."

The blanket roll was next, and the boy moaned, watching with wide eyes as Moric tossed it over his shoulder, grinning. When Moric reached for the shirt, the boy suddenly twisted, eel-like, from his grip.

"Hie!" Moric dropped the things, but it was too late. The hellspawn was gone, vanished into the dark. He cursed. "Gilberson, eh? Damnation." Turning back to a grinning Anton, he sighed. "Let's hope the pawnbroker is a light sleeper."

Reven saw the dawn arrive -- as usual. He lay sleepless on the lumpy ground, listening to the Doctor moving about by the horses, watching the morning's ghostly radiance fall through the broken roof. There was stirring elsewhere in the ruined building, small animals rustling in the rafters, birds chirping in their nests among the walls. He rolled over, knowing that sleep was out of reach. In a gesture that had become automatic, he slid his hand under the blankets to meet the hard, cold shape of Bloodsinger. Feeling a little better about the morning, he wriggled out of his bedroll.

The Doctor appeared as Reven was shaving, trying to see his face in the small, tarnished mirror propped on his knee.

"Well?" asked the mage. "Any dreams?"

Reven shrugged. "Of course," he said, "but ... what the hell is that?"

Voices! Dropping the razor, Reven snatched up Bloodsinger and went to the door. Outside, the morning mist blurred their surroundings to little more than fuzzy outlines. He saw nothing. The Doctor stepped up behind him. The shouts came again, louder now, from downhill somewhere.

"You said the locals are terrified of this place."

"So they were," said the Doctor thoughtfully, "but then, times flies. I keep forgetting that."

Whoever it was, they made no attempt to conceal their presence. Shouts, a whinny, the crack of twigs drifted uphill. Eyes widening, the Doctor said: "Rassilon! Get your things into the back. Keep Jihadran quiet and I'll deal with them if need be. Barusa!"

His Montav mount appeared in the doorway. Seizing its silky mane, the Doctor swung lightly onto its back. "And whatever happens," he admonished, "don't draw the sword!"

Reven swore, hastily snatching up his belongings. The last stall was filled with dust, spider webs and bird-droppings, open to the sky. The tall swordsman dropped his things in a corner and hunkered down, back against the wall, Bloodsinger laid across his knees. The big war horse greeted him with a whicker and nudge. Reven tapped the animal lightly on the nose, his signal for silence. Jihadran blew noisily, then subsided.

Reven waited, hearing the general noise resolve itself into distinct sounds. Chief among them were Barusa's hooves receding across the slope. Other hooves pounded after them, coming closer and closer. Dread seeped through Reven, and resentment. There had been a time, an eternity ago it seemed, when he would have stood his ground proudly to meet any challenge. A Kelblade commanded respect, awe, and fear. Now he could only wait silently, praying to escape notice, hoping desperately that he would not be forced to kill a brother guildsman to defend his own life.

The clatter was loud now -- they were slowing. Reven's heart sank. If the patrol should enter the stables and find him here ...

He heard familiar sounds, rattling mail, the barked orders of Command -- and the shouted exhortations of someone else riding with them. A Seer? That frightened Reven, for a Seer might detect Bloodsinger should he feel it necessary to Look. Even the pure silver scabbard that kept the demon under some semblance of control could not completely damp its evil aura.

Then, to his vast relief, the noise faded. They were following the Doctor, thank the gods! He sagged back, bowing his head, but not yet relaxing completely. A Kelblade patrol usually had a rearguard to snag its quarry, should that quarry decide to double back.

For several long minutes, the young nobleman waited, ears straining. His heart plunged when he heard them returning, much more slowly. Soon, he made out voices, one of them the Doctor's. Reven crept into the front of the stable and found a hole in the wall. Soon he saw them -- five soldiers and a thin, ratchet-faced man wearing a blue, heavily embroidered tunic. High Kel. Not a standard, local patrol. Worry deepening, he saw the Doctor in their midst and -- that damned thief!

The Doctor was a prisoner. He walked beside the thief, carefully not looking at the stable. Barusa was in the possession of a rider, tossing his head in disgust. The thief stumbled along beside the mage, looking somewhat the worse for wear. Her clothing was torn and filthy. There was a bruise on her thin face. Both prisoners were bound.

The patrol did not stop, but circled the ruins, heading south. Reven sighed, seeing all his hopes dashed. He owed the Doctor too much to stand by and do nothing. He whistled for Jihadran, then, heavy-hearted, he laid hands on the hilt of his foul mistress and stepped out into the morning sun.

The seer reacted instantly, twisting around in the saddle.

"Good morning." Reven's voice was clear and steady -- courteous.

The Kelblade commander reigned in his horse, raising his hand to stay the others. For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Reven saw the man's gaze travel over him, lingering at the shoulder where the city patch was conspicuous in its absence. The Doctor glared, disappointed and annoyed. Looking numb, the thief blinked at him without comprehension.

"You have my friend," Reven said, still calm, still polite. "There has been a misunderstanding, I'm sure. Release him and I'll have no further quarrel with you."

"Do nothing of the sort, captain!" The priest was watching him narrowly. "We've had word from our Order in l'Sanjil about a fugitive Blade, a murderer a dozen times over."

"I've broken no laws here," Reven replied evenly "nor has my friend."

"Your friend says he's a Time Lord -- some sort of mage, I presume -- but has no papers." The commander watched Reven narrowly. "And the other is a thief."

"You are welcome to the thief, Lord, but the Doctor goes free."

"I have papers!" The Doctor protested. "I just lost them."

The thief said nothing through all this. She stared at the ground, bruised and battered, seemingly indifferent to her fate. Reven, however, was not deceived.

"Why do you hesitate?" the Seer demanded.

"Sir," the commander said shortly, "murder is a serious charge. Given the ... unreliability of word out of l'Sanjil, I'd prefer something a bit more solid than rumor."

"Then consider this! Where's his Mark, eh? A disgraced Kelblade with a price on his head, an outlaw mage and a thief -- all found in this ill-named place! That is more than sufficient cause to question them!"

The commander remained unconvinced. He scowled at the Doctor, who returned the look with a smile and a shrug. Jihadran chose that moment to answer Reven's summons, tossing his head and rolling his eyes at the soldiers. To a man, the men knew that it would take only a single word for the beast to turn into a killing machine.

The commander said finally. "I respectfully suggest that we invite them to the post and check their stories there. I would not like to offend the Mage Guild. And, as you both admit -- there is no local warrant for a Blade, disgraced or otherwise."

Clearly, the Seer was not of the same opinion. "You would rather insult the law of l'Sanjil than these heretics? You have interesting priorities, captain."

"l'Sanjil does not yet rule Kirmil. Will you accompany us, Lord?" The Commander addressed Reven, Blade to Blade, grimly ignoring the angry priest.

"What about his weapon? You won't even disarm him?" the priest persisted, losing ground and knowing it. Reven's unaffiliated state was a serious matter, but such was the clannishness among Kelblades that the commander would give him the benefit of the doubt if at all possible.

"If he will swear not to raise it against his brothers, I'll be content."

Relief nearly sending him to his knees, Reven nonetheless managed a credible bow.

"Release the mage."

"I will report this, Captain!"

"As you will, sir," replied the captain without heat.

A man dismounted to cut the ropes that bound the Doctor's hands. His belongings were returned to him. He whistled and Barusa, tugging free, cantered to his side. .

"Fine animals," the Captain noted. "Montavan?"

Reven nodded, not certain what the man was about. With unexpected courtesy, the captain ordered his men to help the travelers retrieve their gear. Then, in a very few minutes, they headed away, south to a road that wound gradually down the steep hill.

The Kelblades were stationed in Kirmil. The Doctor guided Barusa in beside Jihadran, leaning over the saddle toward the swordsman. "I could have handled this, Reven. You should have stayed out of sight."

"We can't afford the delay. You know very well it would take over a week for them to get word back from Seroult of your license. Why didn't you cast a spell or something? Conjure a swamp-flit to lead them away?"

"I told you when we met. I'm not that kind of mage."

"That's too bad, Doctor, because if the good Captain asks me to surrender my blade at the post, many will die."

"Wait," the Doctor urged softly. "Wait before you draw the thing again." Then, with one of his mercurial switches of attention: "Poor girl. She does seem to have the worse luck."

Reven followed the direction of the Doctor's gaze. The thief stumbled along, looking always at her feet. Unconvinced by the forlorn, drooping facade, the Kelblade asked: "I still find it hard to believe that's female. What did she steal?"

"Bread."

Reven grinned faintly. "Desperate villainess, indeed."

"We should get her away, as well."

"You cannot be serious!"

"That was a l'Sanjilese mark on her arm, Reven. You do realize what that means, don't you? We weren't the last to get out before they sealed the city."

Within the hour, the little party reached Kirmil. The Kelblade post was a low, brick building nestled against the hillside, its red-tiled roof still sparkling with dew. Further downhill was the town, cedar buildings with their like-tiled roofs descending gently to the cold, sparkling sea. It looked to be a prosperous, pleasant place, resplendent with colorful gardens, and old, stately trees trimmed and well-tended.

The post yard was empty except for three stable lads who hurried to take the horses. One of the Kelblades took the thief away while the others dismounted. Reven steeled himself, dreading what was to come, expecting at any moment to be asked to turn over his weapons. Such requests were not unusual when inviting strangers into the post, brother Kelblade or not. Miraculously, the commander did nothing of the sort. Instead, all courtesy, he ushered them into the building and, after ordering tea from an underling, into his office.

The underling returned with the tea -- a chipped ceramic pot and serviceable mugs on a tray. Reven felt himself relaxing in the familiar surroundings and promptly told himself to stay alert. The Doctor did not look particularly comfortable, but was going along with it for the moment.

"Shut the door on your way out, Jens," the captain said. In the silence that followed, the man dropped a couple of sugar lumps into the steaming beverage.

"I'm Captain Endersyn," he announced finally. "Sugar? Cream?"

Both his guests demurred, watching his expression anxiously.

"We've been expecting you, Doctor. My orders have come directly from the High Kel itself. There has been no word from l'Sanjil for nearly two weeks. The council has dispatched one of their agents to meet you in Shale Beach and escort you north. All provincial Blade posts were given orders to see to this should we come across you."

"Then we may go, unhindered?"

Endersyn nodded. "As soon as possible, if you please. There's more than a little sympathy for Ankaran in these parts. No offense, mage, but country folk take a rather orthodox view of your Guild -- the "reforms" in Seroult don't sit well out here."

"You're probably right," the Doctor agreed absently. "We'll be off at once. There's just one more thing -- the thief. What are the charges against her?"

"Her?" The captain's eyebrows rose.

"Her," the Doctor repeated gently.

"Hmph. She broke into a woodsman's cottage and was absconding with that worthy's breakfast. Pure and simple theft. Why?"

"If we were to reimburse the woodsman, do you suppose you could release the girl to us?"

"Whatever for?"

"I believe she has information related to my mission for the Kel."

Endersyn looked increasingly unhappy. "You would pay?"

The Doctor nodded and dug into his pockets. The captain blinked as a small, but heavy bag clinked into his hand.

"All right," said Endersyn reluctantly "Take her. Old Crenshaw will spend the money to get filthy drunk, I suppose. At least then he's not likely to make much sense if the Seers come asking questions."