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

of the loveliest castle of Adria rising against the sky. Somewhere nearby was the hamlet where she had been born, the little cluster of houses and huts that had first nurtured, then rejected her. Christopher wondered whether her parents were alive or dead. He was not sure that he cared. They had sent their youngest daughter off into the care of strangers and therefore had, in his opinion, renounced all claim to her.

The sound of Saint Adrian's spring was loud in the cricket-sown darkness as they rode into a stand of trees and dismounted. Above them, the mountain was dark, the fortress that surmounted it a collection of white walls and towers and spires that turned silver as the moon rose. Lights gleamed from a few windows.

“Baron Paul and his people are nearby,” said Natil. Her voice was pitched economically: just loud enough to carry above the water, no more.

Martin seemed awe-struck by her certainty. “Can . . . can you find them?”

“I believe I can.”

Still carrying her harp, Natil led them deeper into the trees. Christopher tried to leave the monkey with the horses, but the three had not gone twenty paces before the little creature came scampering after them. It clung to Christopher's neck and refused to be dislodged. It was not an encouraging sign.

The forest was thick, dense, but this was not Malvern. Once, perhaps, this place might have been wild and forbidding, but the years it had spent in the good-natured hands of the barons of Furze had gentled it. Nonetheless, it was a dark place, and the moonlight only patched the forest floor with isolated puddles of silver.

After a time, Natil halted. “The patterns are confused, my lord,” she said. “They have faded so much . . .” She bent her head.

Christopher put an arm about her shoulders. She seemed terribly thin and frail tonight. His demands had been draining her for weeks, months perhaps, but for some reason she was willing to give, to keep giving, to heal and to help so long as there was strength left in her. It seemed at times to be her only reason for existence.

To heal and to help? Natil had once said something about that. Christopher could not recall exactly what.

“Patterns?” said Martin.

“She sees the way the world works,” said Christopher. He was suddenly defensive, unwilling to expose a trusted friend to the judgment of someone like Martin.

But Martin's eyes widened. “Fair One!” he said softly.

Natil shook her head, then led them onward. Slowly, they worked their way around tot he side of the mountain opposite the road to the castle. Here, the ground was steep, overgrown, the trees close together as though shouldering and jostling one another. Not quite Malvern now, but close.

The monkey murmured. Christopher shushed it. “I learned from you,” he said softly, “now you learn from me. Be quiet.”

A gruff voice suddenly, heavy with threat. “Halt i' the name of the baron o' Furze.”

Natil stopped. The monkey snuffled. Christopher suddenly sensed men ahead, to both sides, and behind. They had been surrounded.

“Who comes?” said the voice. A ring of a sword sliding from its sheath. “Speak or die.”

Natil answered, her voice clear. “Natil of Malvern Forest and her friends,” she said, bowing. “Be at peace, and blessings upon you this day.”

A torch suddenly appeared, its light revealing a number of armored men who wore the gryphon and silver star of the delMari family. Their faces were gaunt and grim both, and their eyes were wary. “Messire Paul ha' upon occasion mentioned sa'one by the name o' Natil,” said a man who seemed to be their captain. “An' he gave us also a test. Who wa' your father?”

Natil stood, unarmored, slender, her harp slung from her shoulder. Christopher did not dare put his hands anywhere near his sword, but he decided that if one of the guards even touched her, he would draw it regardless of the consequences.

Her answer, though, startled him. “I have no father,” she said. “My Mother brought me forth, and I am She.”

The guard nodded and sheathed his weapon. “We're honored, Fair One.”

“Natil?” came a voice from deeper among the trees, and Paul delMari was suddenly striding into the circle of light. His face was careworn and etched with grief, but it brightened with pleasure when he saw the harper. “Natil! It is you! Oh, dear Lady, beyond all hope!” Paul seemed close to tears as he and the harper embraced. “Alanae a Elthia yai oulisi, marithea.”

Christopher stared, as bewildered by Paul's greeting as by Natil's words.

“Manea,” said Natil. “I grieve that it took so long to find you.”

“It wasn't supposed to be easy,” said Paul. He shook his head as though infinitely weary. “It's what kept us alive these last days.” But then he caught sight of Martin. “Martin! Come back to us! Is everything turning around?” He caught the boy about the neck. “Oh, in the name of the Lady, welcome and welcome again!”

“Lord baron,” said Natil. “There is a third among us.” She nodded to Christopher. “Christopher delAurvre, lord of Aurverelle.”

“Messire Christopher!” Paul bowed deeply. “A pleasure, sir.”

Christopher took his hand, still confused. “You . . . you know Natil?”

“Of course,” said Paul. “Natil and the other Fair Folk used to come to Shrinerock quite often. We haven't seen any of them in years, but ever since I got that letter from you, my good baron, I had a feeling that the Elves were involved!”

Elves? Christopher looked at Natil, his stomach suddenly clenching. Elves?

Natil looked away, biting her lip.

Paul suddenly became aware of her consternation. “Oh . . .” His hand to his mouth, he looked up at the dark canopy of leaves and branches. “Oh, dear. I . . . imagine I wasn't supposed to say anything about that, was I?”

Chapter Twenty-two

The forest that lapped about the lower slopes of Shrinerock Mountain was thick with the growth of ancient trees and riven by a multitude of ravines and crevasses. It was the perfect place to