Chapter 8

As it turned out, not all the horses had run off.  Seyzhavye’s wretched beast was still there, cropping the grass where she’d left it before her abrupt rescue.  Meluryn insisted that both she and I ride the thing, gentleman that he was, but after it tried to bite, kick, and otherwise incapacitate anyone anywhere near it but Seyzhavye, he gave up and let me walk.  I was relieved, and even more so when Rhisiart suggested that Seyzhavye ride ahead to prepare for Meluryn’s triumphant return.
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Sneaking a sideways glance at Meluryn, still wet and now slowly acquiring a coat of mud, I questioned his phrasing, but everyone else seemed to think it appropriate.  Why not?  The… dragon-guy was dead, after all, and Lord Meluryn was hale and returned to them.  Maybe I was just cynical.  I probably was.  Paranoid was a possibility too, since my quest was fulfilled and no mysterious force had appeared to announce my victory and send me home.  Maybe I had to return him home first.  I shuddered slightly at the thought of returning to Lady Ysaere’s welcoming arms and not-so-friendly poodles, but then again, maybe I’d be swept away in the middle of the victory feast in my honor.  That had happened before, hadn’t it?

My thoughts were interrupted by Meluryn’s slight touch on my arm.  “My lady?  Are you all right?”

Déjà vu.  It was easy to tell those two were related after all.  “I’m fine, thanks,” I said, attempting a sincere smile.  There was something about him…  I hadn’t imagined him this way in the book.  I tried to dismiss my apprehensions, since I’d certainly never imagined Wystan or Rhisiart or the Lady Ysaere at all, but… Meluryn was my creation.  I should know him well by now, shouldn’t I?  I’d only been writing about him for years…  Of course, a lot of that would never see the light of day.  Thankfully, I had improved astronomically as a writer since his first incarnation on paper.  I shook myself mentally.  All this rambling wasn’t going to do me any good, and I needed to be careful I didn’t start talking to myself like I did when writing.

Luckily, as soon as Meluryn had figured out that I wasn’t going to make polite conversation, he began asking Rhisiart questions.  Rhisiart answered them, and I was impressed at what a natural knack for diplomacy the man had when Meluryn asked about his mother.  Apparently, as Wystan had implied, she had gone downhill after Meluryn’s disappearance, though she’d always been a bit odd.  Not for the first time, I felt a pang of pity for the Lady Ysaere and her small family.  I refused to count the dogs.



Seyzhavye had her pointed boots up on the nearest tabletop, chair tilted back as we entered.  She waved at the bowls of stew sitting across the table from her.  “Food,” she said succinctly.  Meluryn waited until I was seated, and then fell upon his bowl.

“Bless you, lady,” he said after he’d swallowed several mouthfuls.  “I’ve eaten naught but fish for the past six months.”

She cast an appraising eye over him.  “You don’t seem to be worse for it.”

He blinked.  “Uh- I suppose not.  Still, a man misses good red meat between his teeth.”

Seyzhavye snorted quietly and murmured something in her own language.  Meluryn seemed to be ignoring her, or maybe he hadn’t heard.  It was impossible to tell sometimes.  Still, she was right.  Meluryn did seem to look exactly like he would have six months ago, with no sign (aside from being wet) that he had spent those six months in a cave behind a waterfall.  Well, that dragon-guy had definitely been using magic- shapeshifting and mind reading, and that’s all I had noticed.  Maybe he’d trapped Meluryn in some kind of weird magical suspended animation, only he was animated.  I wished I’d written more about magic, or at least sat down and thought about it more.  But Meluryn was no mage, so it hadn’t seemed to be one of the more important things.  Much more important were his horse Gringolet and his sword Bladesong.  I wondered where both of them were.  I hoped Gringolet wasn’t dragon food; the horse was one of the more magnificent specimens Cerufin had ever produced, and I had enjoyed writing about him.

Meluryn finished his bowl of stew and eyed the one sitting untouched in front of me.  “My lady, do you intend to eat that?”

“Huh?” I quickly turned to face him, startled out of my thoughts. “Oh. No.” I pushed it toward him. “Where’s Gringolet and your sword?”

He frowned slightly.  “I… don’t know.”  He took a bite, chewing the lump of beef contemplatively and swallowing before replying.  “The last thing I really remember is jumping off Gringolet to fight the beast.  He was panicked, and I could not fight and try to control him at the same time.  When I awoke in the monster’s lair, my sword was gone.”

“Gringolet probably ran away like our horses did, and your sword might still be in your prison somewhere,” I said.  “We could ask your guide about Gringolet, and then go back and look for the sword.”

Quickly stifled fear flashed across his face.  “I can get another sword in the Citadel, or back home.  I would not go back into that cave for any number of swords.”

“Was it really that bad?”  I frowned.  He had loved Bladesong.

“Yes,” he said quietly, in a tone that brooked no argument.  



When we started back to the Citadel, then, Meluryn rode a horse of doubtful heritage but a willing enough spirit, wore a borrowed guard uniform, and had no sword.  There was just something wrong with that, but I couldn’t figure out why, apart from the superficial differences.  He looked mostly the same, but he was Meluryn, Lord Cerufin.  He shouldn’t have to be rescued, and certainly not by anyone like me.  Maybe that’s what was bothering me…  He certainly looked fine, laughing and joking with the guardsmen.

Rhisiart, however, did not join in the general good humor, but nudged Sunheart forward beside my palfrey.  “Lady, I think you have as much unease about my lord as I do.  Is it something your magery has discovered?”

“I- don’t know,” I said slowly.  I hadn’t thought about testing him with magic before.  “Is that really Meluryn?” I said, concentrating on him, and was rewarded by a sudden, massive headache.  I bit my lip and kept concentrating, but the pain merely got worse.  As soon as I stopped thinking about him, it ceased.  When I opened my eyes, Rhisiart looked concerned.  “Has he got wards or something?” I asked, massaging my temple with the hand that wasn’t holding reins.

Rhisiart’s face changed from concern to contrition.  “Yes, lady.  I am sorry. I forgot.”  

“It’s fine, the headache’s gone now, but…” I shook my head. “Yikes. I guess I’ll have to wait and get him to dispel them when we camp tonight.”



I was immensely grateful when we rode into a village about sunset.  I didn’t remember being able to stop at any villages when we were riding toward this charming little patch of nowhere, but if it meant I didn’t have to sleep on the ground again, I wasn’t going to be too critical.  Seyzhavye hadn’t made a fuss about anything, and it was entirely possible that we were merely taking a different route.  After supper, more stew of doubtful origin but good enough taste, I hastily caught Meluryn before he could either fall asleep or join a group of guards at one of the tables of dice.  “Hey, um, do you mind letting me through your wards for a bit?  Just to check and make sure there’s no residual enchantment or anything like that.”

He looked slightly startled.  “Of course, lady.  Where would you prefer to do it?”

“Um- here is fine,” I said quickly.  The last thing I wanted was any reason for gossip, and going off with him into some room was a good way to get people to talk.  “We can sit at that table over in the corner.  It shouldn’t take long.”

He nodded, and we settled ourselves across the battered table from each other. “Ready?” I asked, and he nodded again. I noticed from the corner of my eye that Seyzhavye seemed somehow to be keeping one eye on me and one eye on her dice. Judging from the modest pile of coins in front of her, she also seemed to be winning. Gingerly, I began concentrating on Meluryn again. When no headache seemed forthcoming, I looked harder. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but nothing seemed wrong with him. “Is this really Meluryn?” I asked quietly, barely moving my lips. The answer came almost immediately, and was an unequivocal yes. I frowned and shook my head, breaking my concentration. “Okay. I’m done. Thanks.”

He inclined his head.  “Think nothing of it.  I am glad that the foul beast left no lingering traces upon me.  That would be the sort of thing that would amuse it.”

I smiled vaguely and stood.  “I suppose I’ll see you obnoxiously early in the morning then.”  The seemingly small amount of energy I’d spent still left me feeling too tired to bother with an attempt to socialize.

“Good night, lady.”  He stood and made his way to the nearest table, the one with Seyzhavye and her winnings.  I went upstairs to the room I’d been shown earlier and almost didn’t bother taking off my boots before falling asleep.  



Upon awaking, I reflected that I really should bother undressing before falling asleep.  Not having to get dressed was convenient, but wearing the same clothes for days on end…  I decided not to think about how long it had been since I’d had a decent shower.  At least we’d be back to the city in a day and a half or so.  There was a knock at my door, which proved to be an inn girl bearing a tray of breakfast.  I thanked her, recognizing the smell of asthi immediately and settling myself crosslegged on the bed to eat.  I was halfway through a delicious fruit pastry when Seyzhavye strode in, muttering angrily in her own language.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She answered with what were presumably several choice phrases before spitting, “Fay Folk.”

“What?”

She straightened, turning to face me.  “They are not to be trusted.  A small army of them now occupies the capital, welcomed with open arms and gates by that…”  Words appeared to fail her momentarily.  “-queen.  The news came by some old storyteller who just happened to escape.  Lord Meluryn is not pleased.”

Of course.  Because things were going too smoothly beforehand.  “What are we going to do?”

“How should I know?  This is not my fight.  I should not be here.”

“Then why ,i>are you here?” I blurted before I could stop myself.  “I never asked you to attach yourself to me like that.  Why don’t you go home if you hate it here so much?”

The expression on her face was rather frightening, and too late I remembered the flash of her sword as she’d dispatched the Fay.  “Do not be a fool, outlander.  I have reasons of which you would understand nothing.  The air of our land is clear, and the eyes of our people are not clouded like your city mages.”  Snatching up her saddlebags, she whirled and strode from the room, spine stiff with indignation.

Well, that was just peachy.  Great.  Something was very wrong, and now Seyzhavye was mad at me.  I stared at the remains of the pastry I held, then stuffed it into my mouth and pulled on my boots.  At least Rhisiart wouldn’t go all mysterious and offended on me.