Maze of Moonlight by Gael Baudino (read with me TXT) 📕

was at his side. “What . . . what is it?” he said when he found his voice.

Christopher planted his elbows atop the parapet, covered his face with his hands. “It's Furze. Dammit, it's Furze.”

Chapter Twenty-one

The smoke rose and spread into the air as Christopher watched. It could only be Furze. Yes, the free companies were in Adria, and yes, their movements were erratic. Indeed, they had completely bypassed Belroi and had instead, knowingly or not, struck directly at the alliance.

A puffing from the direction of the stairs told Christopher that Pytor had arrived. “Get some messengers off, Pytor,” he said without turning around. “Tell Ruprecht we'll need immediate aid at Furze. And tell Yvonnet . . .” He wished indeed that he had strangled his cousin. “Tell that son of a bitch that . . .”

He noticed that Martin looked away quickly.

“I'm sorry, Martin,” said Christopher. “I know you didn't have anything to do with this.” He turned back to Pytor. “Tell him the same thing you tell Ruprecht: that we'll gather the forces at Furze as quickly as possible. Make whatever arrangements you think best.”

Pytor spread his hands. “What about master?”

“I'm going ahead of you all.”

Martin lifted his head, wiped his eyes. “I'm coming, too.”

“Can you fight?”

“Of course I can fight.”

“But not against churchmen.”

Martin colored. “I was stupid. Etienne surprised me. I learned.”

Pytor was wringing his hands again. “Is master sure of this?”

“Of course I'm sure,” said Christopher. “You have the word of a madman.”

Pytor did not look reassured, but before an hour had passed, Christopher, Martin, and Natil were cantering down the switchback road to the lowlands. The men were both armed and wearing light mail. Natil, though, had dispensed immediately with her customary gown and reverted openly to her garments of green and gray.

Christopher performed introductions on the fly. “Natil, Martin Osmore,” he called above the dusty clatter of hooves. “Martin, this is my harper, Natil.”

“God bless you,” said Martin, but Natil, peering out across the miles of dark trees with a stricken look in her blue eyes, acknowledged him but distantly.

When they reached the base of the hill, Malvern Forest lay squarely in their path. There was no road through it—there never had been—and Christopher gestured to right and to left. “It won't make much difference whether we go north or south,” he said. “It's going to be a long ride either way.”

“The south road will take us through the Free Towns,” Martin pointed out.

“Would your father have any available men we could snatch up?”

The lad shook his head, embarrassed. “Father's never taken any of your concerns very seriously, Messire Christopher. I believe he thinks he can buy the safety of his city if the companies approach.”

Christopher wished that he were indeed as mad as he claimed: then he could scream and throw things with perfect justification. “What in the Lady's name happened to the Free Towns? You people fought like devils when you threw out old David a'Freux.”

Martin shrugged. “That was many years ago. Times have changed . . . people are more comfortable . . .”

“And complacent, yes,” Christopher snapped, though when he saw Martin's hurt look, he regretted his words.

Natil spoke. “Some of the Towns have preserved their old ways,” she said. “But times have indeed changed.” She pointed at the forest. “I can take you straight through Malvern,” she said. “We can be at Furze in two days.”

“But there's no road,” said Christopher.

Natil's face was set, and when she looked at Christopher, there was a grimness about her eyes that he had not seen before. “None . . . none of which humans know,” she said. “But our need is great, and so I am willing to reveal what has previously been hidden.”

Martin was suddenly staring at the harper. Christopher saw suspicion in the lad, suspicion rooted on both fear and wonder.

“Will you trust me?” she said.

Christopher did not hesitate. “With my life.”

“Then come.”

Christopher had never been fostered out to a distant baron's household: old Roger had raised him. As a result, Christopher knew Aurverelle and portions of Malvern as well as he knew the halls of his castle. But Natil led him towards the thick trees and overhanging branches, and he found himself riding into an opening large enough for a horse and rider.

And opening he had never seen before.

Natil led her companions onto a path carpeted with leaves and soft moss. It led straight ahead and into the green distance.

Christopher was staring. “Where did this come from?”

“It has always been here,” Natil replied calmly.

“That's absurd. I've been in this forest a thousand times. How could I have missed it?”

Natil glanced back at him. “Well . . . perhaps you were not looking for it, my lord.”

They rode, and the shadows of the afternoon slipped towards dusk. But, occupied as his thoughts were with Furze and what might have happened to Paul delMari, Christopher could not help but think of Vanessa and wonder why Martin had said nothing about her. It had been almost a year since she had taken the road to Saint Blaise: surely there would be some news of her.

Conscious that the already delicate balance of the alliance was steadily becoming even more delicate, Christopher was unwilling to confess his obsession to a practicing sodomite, but as the miles passed, he began to become annoyed. Dammit, Martin's family had as much as been given ownership of the girl. Surely, after all that had happened, the lad would have something to say about her.

But no, nothing.

Selfish bastard.

A chitter from his saddlebag answered his thought, and he started with a gasp. Natil turned, staring, then laughed as Christopher unfastened the bag and extracted the monkey. It grinned at him and clambered up to his shoulder.

Christopher sighed. “Two riders . . . and two monkeys,” he said. “Thank you for reminding me.”

***

Late in the afternoon of the second day, Christopher, Natil, and Martin rode out of the trees and onto the pastureland that stretched eastward from the edge of