Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [118]
Brand frowned as Tressalara swaggered off into the trees. “That lad bears keeping an eye on. He’s got the makings of a fine warrior. I would never have suspected to find such skill at arms in a callow stripling.”
An odd smile played about the corners of Cador’s firm mouth, and he turned away to hide it. “Yes. I do believe that in time we will learn there’s far more to young Trev than meets the eye.”
It was not far to the riverbank, but the journey seemed to take an eternity to Tressalara. The strain of trying not to wince or grit her teeth against the pain took all her concentration. She was relieved to discover that the wound was superficial and would heal quickly. It would not do to have her sword arm stiff and unresponsive in the days ahead. When the rebel army attacked Lector’s stronghold, she intended to lead them.
She knelt on the sloping bank. The river’s cold would stanch the blood and ease the line of fire burning along her skin. It would do little, however, to put out the flame that Cador had ignited within her with his casual touch. That had had more effect on her than the deep scratch from Nidd’s rapier. In the span of seconds her heart had seemed to stop, then start again, beating doubly fast. Simultaneously her throat had gone dry, and her legs had felt as if they had turned to suet.
Whatever this magic of Cador’s was, Tressalara wanted none of it. She had already been in one man’s power and would never willingly relinquish control to another again.
While Tressalara bared her arm and bathed it in the clear-flowing water, two frogs watched from among the reeds. “I still don’t see how we escaped from the caverns,” Illusius croaked in a language that only the wild creatures of the forest understand. “And I still don’t know why we’re here.”
Niniane’s eyes were trained on Cador, standing tall amid the busy routine of the camp like one of the legendary heroes from the mists of time. He was looking for Tressalara, while pretending not to.
“I’m not quite certain, either,” the sorceress frog replied, “but I’m beginning to get a hint. I just wish there were some quicker way for us to get around instead of hopping. I wish we could fly.”
She tried to remember the words of the shape-changing spell, but there seemed to be gaps in her memory. Illusius filled in the blanks. Suddenly tiny pinpricks tickled their speckled hides, and they felt themselves expanding rapidly.
Tressalara hadn’t noticed any large waterfowl nearby, but a loud flapping of wings rent the air. To her surprise, a brace of birds flashed out from among the reeds and launched themselves into the sky.
Swans. One black, one white.
Lord Lector paced his chamber by flickering torchlight. The ascetic room that had belonged to King Varro was now filled with every luxurious indulgence. Two weeks had passed since Tressalara’s escape, and the wizard Rill, brought at great expense, from foreign lands before the coup, had not produced the promised results. The princess and the crystal still eluded Lector.
The first was a matter of outraged pride but also, like the second, a necessity. The need to capture both princess and crystal was great. From all reports, the insurgent army was growing by the hour. His own troops had cowed the countryside with their swift and brutal punishments, but they were not sufficient to counter a full-scale rebellion. Worst of all, according to rumor, Cador, his old enemy, had joined forces with them. Cador, the one man who could bring all of Lector’s plans and ambitions to naught.
That was where the Andun Crystal entered the picture. The crystal had been found in the legendary Mystic Lake by Saint Ethelred, King Varro’s ancient ancestor, and could be used for good or ill. Its radiance could bring fair weather, good crops, and robust health and prosperity to all. In the wrong hands, it could bring disaster, famine, and plague.
It could also be used to bend the people’s