The Royals

Chapter 30

Ceeley giggled. 'Oh, Papa-Willam. Sometimes you are so silly.'

'The girl's right, Willam. We were just talking and looking into the river.' She paused. 'I've missed the river in our travels."

'Yes,' Willam agreed and there seemed more emotion in the one word than he normally spoke in a hundred. They joined him on the cliff overlooking the water. After a while, he said, "There's somethin' wrong with that river.'

'It's not as fast as the Queen's River,' Lyda said.

'True, but it's not just that. There's somethin' else.'

Lyda's misgivings grew. First the child, now her hus band. Why didn't she feel what they did? Hadn't the elves helped her to see beyond the surface? She took a step backward. Suddenly she knew the elfwitch had led her here - which the elves she had so dutifully obeyed were in league with - Willam! Ceeley! Move away from-' She didn't get to finish her sentence. Celia grabbed her foster parents, one per hand, and pulled with surprising strength until all three jumped feet first into the sluggish water.

Remembering Celia's question about the addle-brained, Lyda said a quick prayer to protect the young and the foolish. What had come over the child?

The water was surprisingly warm. It felt like swimming in a shallow lake… or blood. Efforts to head for shore were utterly wasted. The river corrected for each stroke and returned them to the central flow. Lyda had no fear of drowning. The water buoyed them as the current carried them where it would.

Willam, who didn't know how to swim, was strangely the calmest of the three by far. He seemed to be smiling as he drifted along.

Ceeley fought the hardest, splashing and thrashing and having no effect whatsoever. Finally, she gave in to it. 'It's no use, is it? We'll go where the elfwitch wants us to."

'We're bound to see the elfwitch and the realm of transformations,' Willam sang.

Lyda didn't need to see her husband's face to know the expression would be other-worldly. His voice and words made it quite plain he had misplaced a few of his pegs.

'Willam, what's gotten into you?' Lyda asked, not sure she wanted to know.

He floated on his back, totally at ease. He raised his hand from the soup around them and pointed to his chest.

'Me, Lyda dear? Why nothing, nothing at all. I'd say, it's the other way around. What have we gotten into? Not, what's gotten into us.' He swirled away from her.

She put her arm out to grab ahold of him but missed. She could not reach him or Ceeley. She looked from one to the next and felt panic rising in her throat.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Ceeley nodded to Lyda. Suddenly her eyes and mouth closed, and her body went limp.

'Celia! Celia! Lyda's shouts did not rouse the child. But neither did she sink below the surface.

The river… no, the elfwitch, did not want her dead. This was somehow the most terrifying thought yet.

'Not to worry, not to worry, lovely Lyda, lovely Lyda,' Willam sang. He hadn't called her that since the early years of their marriage. It did not comfort her to hear those words now in this unnatural sing-song voice. 'Oh, Willam.'

'Oh, Willam.

Oh, Willam,' he echoed. 'Lyda, Willam, Ceeley, floating out to sea-ea, floating out to sea.'

I should hope not. She was afraid to speak the thought aloud for fear he would tell her something else she couldn't bear to hear just now.

Lyda's tears slid down her cheek and mixed with the blood-warm river. The three swirled in their separate eddies, each unable to influence the others.

It was a disaster from the start. The instant Tom touched the wall, he felt eyes on his back. Strange fears such as he hadn't felt since his maiden battle threatened to consume him. 'We have to turn back, reconnoiter. They know we're here,' he whispered to Grosik.

'And give them that much more time to prepare their defenses?'

The dragon was right. It was now or never. Maybe this was just a general warding, not directly set against Wanton Tom the mercenary. Then he might yet have a slim chance. He reached the top of the wall and quickly took in the surroundings. The huts were arranged in concentric rings as he'd been told. Ginni would be in one of the inner circles for best protection. He lowered himself to the ground.

Suddenly the irrational fears ceased. He breathed a sigh of relief even though he felt worse. They had something special planned for him, he was sure of it.

Despite the hour and the cold, Ginni sat in the courtyard as pretty as you please. She was humming quietly to herself and knitting.

Humming maybe, but knitting? This was not a good sign. Still, he'd know his daughter's face anywhere.

'Ginni? he whispered.

She looked up at the sound. Gone was the fearsome glare he knew as Roslin's. In its place was something even more frightening, a complete lack of recognition.

Her eyes widened as he stepped closer and her mouth opened to scream. He rushed forward to cover her mouth, then stopped in mid-stride when he realized there was no need. She seemed unable to speak.

A woman stepped out from behind the silent girl. Something tickled the back of his brain. They'd met before, many years back. Was this Roslin's nemesis who'd plotted her dismissal? Outraged at Ginni's con dition, Tom lost all fear. 'What have you done to my daughter?' he demanded.

'No more than she asked for.'

'I doubt that.'

The witch shrugged, unconcerned with what he thought. 'She was troubled by her mother. This is no longer the case."

'I'll bet.'

Through it all Ginni's expression merely went back to its former placidity as she returned to her knitting.

Suddenly it all went confusing. An unexpected wind from Grosik's great, beating wings scattered dead leaves and twigs as he landed and roared a challenge.

Tom realized the dragon must have decided no sign was as much a signal as the proper one. The mercenary tried to turn so that he could snatch Ginni and flee, but found that he could not. His legs seemed rooted in place. All sound swirled inside a bell-jar.