“You have endured enough from Medan afid his men.” Laurana said, her voice cool with anger. “You are fortunate you weren’t killed!”
“They had no need to kill me,” Kalindas said bitterly. “They must have struck me from behind. Did Master Palin and the kender escape safely with the magical device?”
“We believe so. The rebels found no trace of them, and we have received no reports that they were captured.”
“What about the Solamnic?”
“The Lioness reported signs of a fight. Two of the Neraka Knights were killed. They could not find Gerard’s body and so they assume that he was made prisoner.” Laurana sighed. “If that is true, I could almost wish him dead. The rebels have their spies in the army trying to discover information about him. He is not in prison, that much we know, and that is all we know.”
“As for Palin, Kelevandros has just returned from a meeting with the griffons, who arrived bearing a message, which I hope is from Palin.”
“I have it here, madam,” said Kelevandros. He removed a roll of parchment from his boot, handed the roll to Laurana.
“Are you certain you are all right?” she asked Kalindas, accepting the scroll. “Shall I call for a glass of wine.”
“Please read your letter, Madam,” Kalindas said. “Do not worry about me.”
After another worried glance, Laurana went to her writing desk and sat down. Kelevandros lit a candle for her, brought it to her desk. She unrolled the parchment. It was covered with ink and smelled faintly of lemon. The words written in the letter were inconsequential. A former neighbor told Laurana of the crops that he had planted, how big his children were growing, how he’d recently purchased a fine horse at the Midyear Day’s Fair. He inquired after her health, hoped she was well.
Laurana held the parchment above the candle’s flame, taking care not to hold it too near, taking care not to bum the paper or singe it. Slowly, more writing began to appear on the parchment words written in between the lines of words written in ink. She passed the paper back and forth above the flame until the hidden message written on the parchment was revealed.
Placing it on the desk, she read the missive silently, to herself. The handwriting was not Palin’s. Laurana was puzzled as to who had written the letter, looked to see the signature on the bottom.
“Ah, Jenna,” she murmured.
She read on, growing more amazed with each line.
“What is it, madam?” Kalindas asked, alarmed. “What has happened?”
“Strange,” she murmured. “So very strange. I cannot believe this. Going back in time to find the past no longer exists. I don’t understand.”
She continued on. “Tasslehoff missing.” She shook her head.
“He did not come here.”
She read on. The brothers exchanged glances. A dark line marred the smooth skin of her forehead. Her brows came together. She read to the end of the scroll, stared at it long moments, as if willing it to say something other than what it said, she slowly released the end. The scroll curled in upon itself, hung limply in her hand.
“We are being spied upon, it seems,” Laurana said, and her tone was deliberatly even and calm. “Palin and Tasslehoff were chased by a dragon, one of Beryl’s minions. Palin believes that the dragon was after the artifact. That means Beryl knows of the artifact’s existence and where it is to be found. The Neraka Knights did not stumble across the four of you by accident, Kalindas. You walked into an ambush.”
“A spy! In your own house. Perhaps one of us? That is impossible, madam,” Kelevandros stated heatedly.
“Indeed, it is,” said Kalindas.
“I hope you are right,” Laurana said gravely. “An elf who would betray his own people. . .” She shook her head, her tone was sorrowful. “It is hard to believe that such evil could exist. Yet, it has happened before.”
“You know that none of us would betray you,” Kalindas reiterated, with emphasis.
Laurana sighed. “I don’t know what to think. Mistress Jenna suggests that perhaps there is a mentalist among the Neraka Knights, one who has learned to see into our minds and gather our thoughts. What a bitter pass we are come to! We have to set a guard now upon what we think!”
She slipped the message into the girdle of gold she wore around her waist. “Kelevandros, bring me some lemon juice and then ready Brightwing to carry a message to the griffons.”
The elf did as he was told, departing on his errands in silence.
He exchanged a final glance with his brother before he left. Both noted that Laurana had not answered the question about Palin.
She had taken care to change the subject. She did not trust even them, it seemed. A shadow had fallen over their peaceful dwelling place, a shadow that would not soon be lifted.
Laurana’s answer to the letter was short.
Tasslehoff is not here. I will watch for him. Thank you for the warning about spies. I will be on my guard.
She rolled the message tightly so that it would fit in the small crystal tube that would be tied to the hawk’s leg.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, madam,” Kalindas said, “but the pain in my head has increased. Kelevandros told me that the healer spoke of poppy juice. I think that might help me, if my brother would bring it to me.”
“I will send for the healer at once,” Laurana said, concerned.
“Lie here until your brother returns to fetch her for you.”
Marshal Medan walked late in his garden. He enjoyed watching the miracle of the night-blooming flowers that shunned the sun and opened their blossoms to the pale moonlight. He was alone. He had dismissed his aide, ordered him to clear out his things. The Solamnic would arrive tomorrow, start upon his new duties.
Medan was pausing to admire a white orchid that seemed to glow in the moonlight, when he heard a voice hissing from the bushes.
“Marshal! It is I!”
“Indeed,” said Medan, “and here I thought it was a snake. I am weary. Crawl back under your rock until morning.”
“I have important information that cannot wait,” the voice said. “Information Beryl will find most interesting. The mage Palin Majere has used the artifact to journey back in time. This is a powerful magical artifact, perhaps the most powerful yet discovered in this world.”
“Perhaps.” Medan was noncommittal. He had a very low opinion of mages and magic. “Where is this powerful artifact now?”
“I do not know for certain,” said the elf. “His letter to my mistress said that the kender had run off with the artifact. Majere believes the kender has gone to the Citadel of Light. He travels there to attempt to recover it.”
“ At least he did not come back here,” Medan said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Good riddance to him and the blasted artifact.”
“This information is worth a great deal,” the elf said.
“You will be paid. But in the morning,” Medan said. “Now be gone before your mistress misses you.”
“She will not.” The elf sounded smug. “She sleeps soundly. Very soundly. I laced her evening tea with poppy juice.”
“I told you to leave,” Medan said coldly. “I will deduct a steel piece for every second you remain in my presence. You have lost one already.”
He heard a scrabbling sound in the bushes. The marshal waited a moment longer, to be certain the elf was gone. The moon disappeared behind a cloud. The garden was submerged in darkness. The pale glowing orchid vanished from his sight.
It seemed a sign. A portent.
“Only a matter of time,” he said to himself. “Days, maybe. Not longer. This night I have made my decision. I have chosen my course. I can do nothing now but wait.”
His pleasure in the night destroyed, the marshal returned to his house, forced to fumble his way through the darkness for he could no longer see the path.