I swallowed porridge to bare my teeth. “I broke the effing pervert’s hand—and none of the players had splints or bandages.”
“Broken bones can be hidden, cousin,” Jusson said. “I asked you a question, Mistress Gwynedd. I suggest you answer it—”
The king broke off in mild astonishment as Gwynedd sprung up out of her chair. She didn’t make it very far, though, as Guardsman Hugh stopped her with a heavy hand to the shoulder. She was shoved back down, hitting the hard wooden seat with a spine-jarring thump.
“That was surprisingly stupid,” Jusson remarked, “for stupid is one thing you’re not.”
Tears sparkled once more in Gwynedd’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I am so afraid.”
Jusson’s brow rose. “You weren’t before. Why start now?”
“I didn’t know what he’d intended, Your Majesty. None of us did. He came to us, making all kinds of promises—” Gwynedd swallowed. “But we were tricked—” She swallowed again as a tremor shook her. “Fooled—” Another tremor shook her, harder than the first. Her dark eyes turned sky blue, then rolled up into her head.
At first everyone just stared, wondering if it were another ploy. Then Jusson shoved back from the table, jumping to his feet as Gwynedd toppled from her chair, her body violently shaking.
“Cais!” Jusson shouted and the majordomo came running in from the kitchen, Laurel with him. They headed my way at first, but changed direction midstep as the king pointing to where Gwynedd lay convulsing. Beollan was already there, holding the player’s head to keep it from banging against the stone floor while he thrust a rolled-up napkin into her mouth to prevent her from chewing on her tongue. Or chewing further. Blood-specked foam bubbled on her lips as she thrashed about. I started to rise to help, but Wyln grabbed hold of my arm with surprising strength, pulling me down.
“No,” Wyln whispered. “I don’t think you—or any of us—can do anything.”
Cais knelt next to Beollan on the floor, and in the strong light from the mess windows the majordomo’s features were sharper, his irises taking on a purple hue. “She is having a seizure, Your Majesty,” he said.
“I can bloody well see that,” Jusson said. “What caused it?”
“Some are prone to fits,” Cais said, restraining her legs. “She may be one of them.”
“If so, it was mighty convenient,” Thadro said. He moved Jusson away from Gwynedd’s thrashing limbs. “She was going to name the sorcerer behind all this.”
Laurel had veered off to one of the braziers, picking up a teacup from the table on his way. At the Lord Commander’s words, he turned, his amber eyes meeting Wyln’s somber ones. The Faena then walked to where the player lay, smoke rising from the teacup, filling the room with the aromatic smell of burning leaves. Laurel handed the cup to Beollan, who held it under Gwynedd’s nose. However, the player’s convulsions didn’t lessen.
“I don’t think that will help, Faena,” Wyln whispered.
“I agree,” Laurel said.
“What do you mean?” Jusson demanded. “What won’t work?”
“The leaves are a remedy for moon madness,” Laurel said. “But I don’t think she is moon struck.” He crouched down, laying his paw, its rune shining, on Gwynedd’s forehead. Immediately she stopped convulsing, though her eyes remained rolled-up white, her breathing harsh.
Jusson thumped the table. Hard. “What is it then? What’s wrong with her?”
Laurel looked up at the king. “She has been bound—”
“Bound?” Ranulf asked. He too had risen and now stood staring down at Gwynedd. “Like what the sorcerer tried to do to ibn Chause?”
“Exactly like,” Laurel said. “And through that tie, her master has taken her mind.” He stood, wiping his paw on his fur. “I cannot find her; she is not there.”
Jusson’s face was full of rage. “This sorcerer would’ve done that to Rabbit?”
“Could have, certainly,” Laurel said. “If the binding had been completed.”
Everyone began talking at once, the town elders wringing their hands and exclaiming their ignorance, the aristos shouting at each other and at Laurel. Jusson, not bothering to go through Thadro, did his own shouting and immediately I was surrounded by royal guards, as if the Own could ward off an attack of the talent. I, though, didn’t cavil at the invasion of my personal space.
“Did you see?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Yes,” Arlis said, his teeth chattering once more.
“What?” Jusson demanded. “See what?”
“For a moment the player looked like Slevoic—”
All of a sudden the wind gave a hollow moan that rose into a wail then died away again, the unnatural hush once more returning.
“God save us!” Again I started to rise, this time making it to my feet. “Where’s Dyfrig?” I asked.
Laurel swiftly headed for the door. “He went upstairs with Finn to check on the wounded and make sure that the funeral urns had not been disturbed by the manifestation—” He stumbled, his eyes wide as his paw went to his chest. Ranulf caught him as his knees buckled.
“Laurel!” I tried to push through my wall of guards, but they held me fast.
Dyfrig and Finn hurried through the doorway, followed by a royal guard who had been sent to the roof. Finn went to his uncle, while the guard stopped next to Thadro and Jusson. The doyen headed towards me, the air sphere that had hovered over his shoulder gone.
“What has happened?” Dyfrig asked.
“Where’s the sphere, Your Reverence?” I countered.
“It disappeared just before that unearthly wailing started,” Dyfrig said, the skin stretched tight over his young-again face. His hand went to his chest. “It feels as though the weight of the world rests here and I can’t catch my breath.”
“The demon has just taken someone with air,” Wyln said hoarsely. “As it has taken someone with fire. Can you summon earth, Laurel?”
Laurel shook his head, his beads rattling. “The Lady is far from me,” he softly yowled.
Water, air and fire already gone, without me feeling anything other than cold and hunger. Now earth, without me feeling anything at all. My hand went to my wounded side.
“At the time of turning, when She is entering her time of sleep and is at her weakest,” Wyln began, but he lost part of his audience. Dyfrig’s gaze landed on Cais and Finn lifting Gwynedd onto a cot, and his brows snapped together.
“What did you do to her?” the doyen demanded.
“Even the aged doyen is not immune—though I suppose you’re not so aged anymore, are you?” Jusson asked impatiently. “The player was in league not only with this hell-born sorcerer who has been plaguing us, but also with whoever murdered the jailer Menck, her brother, your clerks, and who would kill us too. But never mind the treacherous player.” He indicated the guard from the rooftop. “He has brought news.”
The royal guard blinked at becoming the focus of everyone’s attention. “Yes, Your Majesty. There is a crowd forming on the street but we can’t tell if they’re with Helto or not. They’re armed.”
“Every person who could’ve countered the sorcerer’s attacks hobbled, and now people with weapons appearing in the street.” Jusson drew in a breath and released it. “Well, we’ve two choices. Stay here and wait for Helto’s challenge, or go out and meet it.”
“There is a third, sire,” Thadro said. “If the taverner is to be believed.”
“We are not running away like whipped curs, our tails between our legs,” Jusson said. “Two choices, messirs. Fight now at our choosing or fight later when it’s forced upon us?”
“Surely it’s better to spring the trap than to wait for its springing, Your Majesty,” I said.
“Hah!” Beollan’s silver eyes were molten. “Well said, ibn Chause. No more delays, sire. Let us engage the enemy.”