music. But then Kevin heard the Dark Elf murmur fiercely, as though angry with himself:
“There is no time for this!”
‘‘There never is,” Lydia retorted.
The shrouded figure straightened slightly at that, and Kevin caught a Hash of anguished eyes. But instead of the sharp reply the bardling was expecting, Naitachal asked simply, “Does it always hurt like this?”
“Always.” Lydia paused, frowning slightly. “What, have you never lost a friend before?”
Naitachal glared. “Have you forgotten who and what I am? I have never had a friend before.”
“You have some now,” Kevin reminded him softly.
But the Dark Elf, plainly embarrassed by his own grief, pulled his hood savagely forward, hiding his face once more. “I intend to sleep,” Naitachal said shortly. “1 advise you to do the same.”
Kevin and Lydia exchanged wry glances. The woman shrugged. “He’s got a point.” She hesitated for a long, awkward while, then added quietly, “Kevin, for the music and all that, I... Ah, hell. What I’m trying to say is, thank you.”
The huddle of black cloak stirred faintly. “So am I,” Naitachal admitted softly, then was silent once more—
Night passed into day, and day into night, and the fugitives continued to flee through the forest. Tich’ki’s “unmagic” did seem to be throwing off Carlotta’s aim when it came to any direct sorcery, but her trackers remained grimly on the trail. Once Kevin, hiding flat in the underbrush, not even daring to breathe, caught a glimpse of them: squat, powerful, sharp-fanged beings, monstrous human-ogre hybrids that sniffed the ground like so many deadly hounds. If he fell into their ugly hands, the bardling was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to worry about Carlotta any longer.
That time, the trackers missed their prey completely. But no place was safe for long. Kevin thanked the Powers for Tich’ki, who confused those trackers as best one fairy could, and for Lydia, who somehow kept moving her friends from concealment to concealment without their getting caught, skillfully doubling back and forth on their tracks like some hunted wild thing.
Which she is, Kevin thought wearily. Which we all are. I can’t remember the last time I had, a good meal, or a full night’s sleep. Ha, and if I don’t get a bath pretty soon, those trackers are going to be able to just nose me out!
What was truly frustrating was knowing he bore the manuscript holding the spell to destroy Carlotta—and yet not being able to do anything about it. When they came to a temporary hiding place, a crushed-down thicket that deer had used for a bed, Kevin pulled the manuscript out in desperation and showed it to Naitachal.
“What do you make of that?”
The Dark Elf had grown almost haggard during the chase, skin drawn tightly over the high cheekbones and eyes glittering eerily from under the shadow of his hood. “Let me see.”
He barely moved the arm the arrow had grazed, and Kevin felt a little pang of worry shoot through him. “Naitachal ...”
“It’s nothing,” the Dark Elf insisted, as he had every time one of the others had tried to examine the wound. “Give me the manuscript”
He studied it for a long, puzzled moment, then raised his head, frowning.
“I can’t make anything of the text, Kevin. And I mean that quite literally. There’s magic here, all right, but it’s keyed strictly to you. The glyphs won’t hold still long enough for me to read them. Only if you can copy the spell out for me can I hope to do something with it.” The Dark Elf’s eyes glittered with a sudden cold rage. “And once the spell is deciphered, I shall be the one to deliver it” His words were made all the more chilling by being delivered in a quiet, totally controlled voice. “We owe Eliathanis this much; his death shall be avenged in full upon Carlotta and the traitor count her ally.”
“Uh,y-yes. It shall.”
Kevin was almost positive that the weird, unexpected words in elfish had to be the components of the spell. He could copy those out, all right. But on what? And with what?
Wait ... when I was making the copy back in the library, I tucked the parchment into my lute case for safekeeping.
Ha, yes, it was still there, in the pocket meant for music scores, and with it a small flask of ink as well. A twig should make a decent enough brush.
