Reunion

The maidservant who had come with Rachel to Ughelor had fled long ago. That night she'd discovered them coupled together in the glade outside the castle, with unfathomable spirits watching them from every tree and shadow. Unable to free herself from her fear of sin, Cador had pursued her and struck her down. She was buried now in the sea, that domain that had first been claimed by the deep gods.

It only meant that Rachel needed to carry her own saddlebags to the stables. A girl from the village, Judith, had been summoned to accompany her back to Losk so that she would have an entourage befitting her station. Her true pupil would remain behind to keep Cador entertained while she was away.

A young man waited by the gate, dressed for bloodshed. This was Cador's squire, Art, a young man of ninteteen years. He couldn't compare to his mentor or her in power, but he was capable and unbothered by morality. Rachel almost wished he could come with her to Losk. "Good morning, Art," she said, leading her roan mare Brogena by the reins.

"My lady," he said with a nod. "Is it time?"

"None like the present."

He lowered his head. "We'll miss you, my lady," he said.

She grinned. "I'll expect you will," she said. She'd never let him taste her flesh, but he'd accompanied her on many voyages outside Ughelor to defile herself with the spirits of the wilds. He had developed a taste for watching, she suspected.

The gates swung slowly inward so that only the iron portcullis barred the way between her and the knights. She ran her hands down her braid and let tears shine in her eyes. They would see it as worry for their good and valiant selves, and be wary of a deception by Cador. Together with three others of Cador's sworn men Art **** the great gate-wheel to move, and the portcullis slowly lifted. When it was open the squire signaled for one of the other men to bring the stake, and jammed it into the wheel's center so that it could not budge.

Odo was ahead of his fellows. He had his sword bared in his hand, as if Cador were going to spring out from Ughelor's maw to fall on them. "Lady Rachel," he gasped. He didn't believe you were alive, thought Rachel, barely able to stop herself from grinning. Or... in one piece.

She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh, Odo," she cried in his ear. He was barely taller than she, but she allowed herself to drape her body from his neck. He's grown old in the time since I've been away, she thought. She remembered him young and powerful, kneeling before her father's seat and offering the banners of the barbarians of Unton who had insulted him. Now she reckoned he was fifty, no less skilled with the sword but a touch slower in body and mind. Only a touch. "Take me away from here!"

"At once, milady," he grunted, straightening his back and pointing to one of the younger men. "Get her horse!" he commanded.

Rachel remained where and as she was. **** for the tender touch of another soul, she thought in spellsong, feeling the minds of the men all around her. With only that faint touch they couldn't help but come closer to her. "How long until we're back in Losk?" she asked. Her voice sounded like wind chimes.

John Osteler moved to stand between them and the castle. To ward off the demon, thought Rachel. "Only four days," said the gallant knight. "I never thought I'd come so close to Ughelor."

She broke from Odo and turned to face him with a curtsy. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and golden haired. It was the mark of the royal line. Since the day of his knighting six years ago he had been the greatest fantasy of so many ladies of the realm. Had she seen him in her earlier years, thought Rachel, he might have enchanted her too. "I'm in your debt," she said. "More than that. Please, tell me that my father offered you treasures for taking on this duty."

Osteler laughed. "Some, but it was the duty that moved us," he said.

"Where's that girl?" asked Odo once he disentangled himself from the arms of Lord Fulke's daughter.

Judith presented herself. She was close to Rachel's age, and could have been her kin. For nights upon nights Rachel had studied the faces of all the peasants around the castle from a grimoire. Those faces moved like fitful sleepers, and with them Rachel had decided on her proxy. "Sir," said the servile girl, lowering her eyes from his.

"Is that all of us? Gods, I don't want to leave anyone behind," said Odo.

Rachel grabbed his hand. "It's everyone. Let's away," she pleaded.