Part 15 (1/2)

He never did give me any further explanation as to the reason for his ”warning.” Perhaps he had no other that he could truly articulate. In retrospect, I can only a.s.sume that his desire was to make me nervous. I think he wanted to see me sweat, or at the very least plant in my head some degree of apprehension about the task that lay ahead. In short: He didn't want to take the slightest chance that I might actually take some pleasure in what was to come, no antic.i.p.atory glee in the prospect of being trusted by the queen herself to be the personal escort to the future ruler of the throne. Morningstar might very well have confused my motives with his own. I knew his type all too well from having seen it not only around the palace, but all my life. He had his own serious ambitions for social climbing. He probably thought that I was of a similar persuasion, and that I would have regarded some sort of mandated close relations.h.i.+p with the princess as a potential tie to the king or the throne. In that spirit, he probably didn't want to take a chance that I might, even for a short time, be pleased about the a.s.signment. So he thought he'd spoil my mood.

He didn't comprehend that my mood had been spoiled the day that I was born, and it had only been downhill from there.

Chapter 13.

It was comforting to know that I still retained enough of my skills in woodsmans.h.i.+p to smell smoke when it was out there.

The journey to the Holy Retreat had gone without incident until that point. Indeed, it had been so utterly trouble-free that I found myself getting a bit nervous about it for no reason that I could determine. Our escort party numbered about twenty, which seemed more than enough. We were under the command of Sir Nestor, one of the king's personal guards. He was affable enough, although all business when it came to matters of security. He kept an advance party lurking about, making sure that the way was clear. He exuded a quiet confidence that I found somewhat heartening. Sir Umbrage, for his part, didn't seem especially heartened by it at all. Instead he had a tendency to keep looking around the woods, squinting against the sun, trying to see something that did not readily appear to be perceptible. Perhaps he was trying to find random threads of fate and sort them out.

I had asked him before we set off why, if he was so apprehensive about our little mission, he didn't simply pull some sort of stunt similar to that which had gotten him out of our war effort. ”There is a fine line between unfortunate happenstance and perceived deliberate inept.i.tude,” he had replied.

”You're saying you think they might have caught on.”

He nodded. He was probably right although, considering how things turned out, he might have been well advised to take that risk.

For my part, I had found myself doing the same thing during the trip as Sir Umbrage. I scoured the forests, the beaten pathways ahead of us, for some sign of pursuit or some danger that might be approaching us. None had been readily apparent.

And yet . . .

And yet I couldn't help but feel that something was out there. I couldn't determine precisely what that might be, nor was I able to figure out what might prompt me to think that. Yet I thought it just the same. I would glance deep into the woods, sometimes quickly snapping my gaze in that direction at random intervals as if trying to catch someone watching us. I never saw anything. Yet I kept having the feeling that there was something out there, just beyond my perceptions, dancing just outside of my field of vision and-worst of all-laughing at my inability to spot him or her or it. The woods and forest areas through which we traveled had none of the sheer oppressive mood of the Elderwoods, which had been my primary former haunt. My new surroundings were innocuous enough. But I still felt there was something there, and I misliked that I couldn't begin to guess what it might be. In all likelihood, it was simply my imagination. The problem was: I wasn't that imaginative a person. So when such things presented themselves, it tended to make me . . . apprehensive.

I had restrained my worries, though, because we had a journey of several days ahead of us, and nothing was going to be served by my fretting and voicing concerns the entire way. All I would do was annoy Sir Umbrage, who was already in an apprehensive enough mood, and the other knights and squires in the company who seemed to regard my presence as something of an aberration at best, an annoyance at worst.

At least I had been given a horse for the purposes of the journey. That was a b.l.o.o.d.y great relief. I managed to get about well enough on my lame leg, but even with the aid of my staff, lengthy walks were not my favorite pastime. Not unless I had the opportunity to rest repeatedly along the way. The horse was nothing special. She was a relatively small, dabbled beast named Alexandra, and I doubted she was very fleet of foot. Then again, neither was I, so I could hardly condemn the poor creature for not possessing that which I also lacked.

The weather had been quite temperate, the conversation pleasant if a bit strained from time to time, and the entire trip had been fairly free of stress, aside from my free-floating anxiety that we were being pursued, watched, or in some other way being monitored. So it was somewhat jolting when I first scented the smoke. I could tell from Alexandra's reaction that she sensed it too. There was some slight hesitation on the part of a couple of other mounts, but the puzzled looks on the faces of the other knights indicated that they weren't quite certain what was putting the horses out of sorts.

”There's a fire ahead,” I said.

This drew looks from Nestor, Umbrage, and several others. ”I smell nothing,” said Nestor. ”Are you sure? I don't smell anything.”

”Yes, I'm sure. The horses smell it, too. Look at them.”

Nestor raised a hand, palm up, indicating that the rest of the group should come to a halt. They did so and he tilted his head back, sniffed the air. Finally he nodded slowly. ”Yes. Yes, you're right. Redondo, Messina.” He summoned two of the more reliable members of the advance scouts. ”Check on ahead. Report back. See if it's a camp of some sort. If so, see if it's hostiles.”

”It's not an encampment,” I said with conviction. ”It's bigger than that, I'd warrant.”

”Perhaps. We'll see.”

We waited then for what seemed an interminable time, although I doubt it was really all that long. Then Redondo and Messina returned, and they appeared quite agitated. They went straight to Nestor and the three of them spoke in low whispers. I didn't have to see Nestor's face to tell that he was clearly upset, and then he turned to us and said, ”Full speed, lads. It's the Holy Retreat. Someone's torched the place!”

The announcement galvanized everyone in the group. Even Umbrage seemed inclined to drop his usual air of quiet befuddlement and called out, ”The princess? Is she there? Is she unharmed?”

”We don't know,” returned Nestor. ”The squad spotted some people milling about, but it was hard to discern. No talking now! Full speed, I said, d.a.m.n your eyes!”

I can tell you, there's nothing like having someone say ”d.a.m.n your eyes” to let you know that they're genuinely concerned.

So with our eyes in serious danger of d.a.m.nation, we spurred our steeds onward until we were practically thundering through the woods. Soon the smoke was strong enough that one could have smelled it through a raging head cold. We emerged from the woods then and we were able to see, in the near distance, the Holy Retreat of the Faith Women . . . or at least, what was left of it.

I had never been to the Holy Retreat, although I had heard that it was a simple but elegant structure which had served the unadorned needs of the Faith Women. I would never have been able to tell firsthand, however, because the place was in ruins. We arrived just in time to see one small, still-remaining part of the structure collapse in on itself. It simply gave up and fell with a groan of splintering wood.

Cl.u.s.tered around the front of the Holy Retreat were a number of forms which I would have a.s.sumed to be women. It was an a.s.sumption because the Faith Women tended to dress in rather dreary, as.e.xual garb. Indeed, the only reason we knew for sure that they were female was because they called themselves the Faith Women. I'd spotted Faith Women from time to time, embarking on missions of mercy and such. A couple of them had more of a mustache than I, so in a way we were all more or less taking their word that they were as advertised.

We thundered across the open ground, we knights, and I fancy that we made a rather impressive sight. After all, there's nothing like seeing twenty armed men arriving too late to do anything about a disaster that truly stirs the heart to bursting with emotion. We reined up a respectful distance from the Faith Women, who were simply standing there and staring at us. Their faces were inscrutable. We had no idea whether they were happy to see us, or distressed, or even cared one way or the other.

”Who is in charge here?” he called to the group.

The Faith Women looked at one another, and then one of their number stepped forward. We should have been able to tell that she was in charge. She was the only woman I'd ever seen who had so much facial hair, she could have braided her eyebrows. Her hands were hidden within the folds of her garment, her hair obscured by a hood. Her eyes were hard and cold. She said nothing, simply waited. That she said nothing didn't surprise me. Faith Women tended to be a fairly conservative lot, cheris.h.i.+ng words as if they were coins, and loath to toss them around in a wasteful fas.h.i.+on.

”I am Sir Nestor, dispatched by King Runcible to retrieve his daughter, the Princess Entipy.” His horse moved around slightly, apparently still a bit spooked by the smoke wafting into the air. He steadied his mount and continued, ”Obviously, you have had a great disaster here.”

The Faith Woman nodded. Her face remained impa.s.sive.

”Do not think me insensitive to your plight, or uncaring of the fate of all of your order, but my mandate requires me to be a bit single-minded,” Nestor continued. ”My first, my only, priority is the princess. So let me get to the heart of the matter: Is the princess all right? Was she injured? Is she-” He obviously didn't want to say the word ”alive.” None of us were looking forward to the prospect of returning to the king carrying a large vase and informing His Highness that his only child was in residence within.

The Faith Woman did not answer immediately. She seemed to be searching for words. Then, apparently opting for a mute reply, she stepped aside and gestured toward her a.s.sociates.

A hooded figure stepped forward. She was smaller than the rest, the face fully obscured by the hood. She took a few steps, stopped, then squared her shoulders, arched her back, and withdrew the hood.

She looked rather small, almost swimming in the outfit she wore. Her face was carefully neutral. Her long hair was unkempt, although that was probably understandable given the circ.u.mstances. I saw nothing of autumn and raging seas in her, as Morningstar had described her. She seemed rather sullen, actually, fairly unremarkable in appearance, although there was a sort of vague prettiness about her. She did have a regal bearing, I'd certainly credit her that. She was no longer a child, but instead clearly a young woman.

”Princess . . . are you all right?” asked Nestor with concern that was mixed with obvious relief.

She nodded. That was all. Just nodded. So far none of the females had spoken a word.

”We're here to bring you home. Your father and mother very much look forward to seeing you once more.”

Another nod.

Nestor turned his attention back to the women. ”Now . . . my dear Faith Women . . . this is clearly a great tragedy. Would you care to tell me how this came about? Was it by accident, or did some swine attack you? If the latter, we can make sure that justice is done. If the former, we have means of offering compensation, for the king and queen are most grateful for the fine tutelage you have given their daughter . . . and their grat.i.tude will be vastly increased upon learning that you have clearly managed to save her from any jeopardy this unfortunate conflagration might have presented. In short, I am asking: How may we be of service to you?”

The Faith Woman looked at her compatriots in stony silence. Their expressions were as granite-etched as her own. She looked back to us, and then one of her hands emerged from within the folds of her sleeves. It was long and a bit bony, and she pointed it, trembling somewhat, at the princess.

And the Faith Woman, speaking each word in a careful, measured tone, said, ”Get . . . her . . . the f.u.c.k . . . f.u.c.k . . . out of here.” out of here.”

There was no reaction of horror or shame at the profanity spoken by their leader. Instead all the heads of the Faith Women bobbed up and down in silent agreement.

That was when Entipy smiled. Really smiled.

I had never seen a smile quite like it. She looked at us-looked at me-with that smile, and the smiled seemed to say, h.e.l.lo. You're going to your grave, and it's going to be my doing. h.e.l.lo. You're going to your grave, and it's going to be my doing.

And Umbrage leaned over in his saddle and murmured to me, ”Well, this this certainly doesn't bode well.” certainly doesn't bode well.”

Master of understatement, Sir Umbrage was.

Nestor angled his horse toward me as we prepared for our ride back to Isteria and he said in a low tone, ”Good luck.” He didn't seem sarcastic in that respect; I think he genuinely felt bad for me. I couldn't blame him. I felt bad for me, too.