The scene she confronted did not confirm her expectations. The attackers had emerged from the shadows to finish their work. There were four of them-brawny figures roughly garbed in homespun and heavy boots, with kerchiefs hiding their lower faces. They were not the glamorous midnight-cloaked highwaymen of her imaginings. These men looked like farmers gone wrong. They had set their crossbows aside in favor of plain, heavy blades, which they plied with businesslike efficiency. One of them dispatched the driver within seconds, and then all four engaged the surviving guards. The two Belandor retainers acquitted themselves well, even managing to kill one of their attackers before they themselves were cut down.
Jianna swallowed a cry as the last of her defenders fell. She must be quiet, very quiet and still, and then perhaps the bandits wouldn't notice her.
Idiot. The carriage was the first place they would check for passengers and valuables. Run away. If she sprang from the carriage right now and made a dash for the shelter of the foggy woods, she might still escape. She was young, light, and fleet. Perhaps she could outrun them. Even as she gathered herself to jump, fresh horrors froze her in place.
A burly fifth marauder emerged from the woods for the first time, and with him he dragged Reeni. The young girl-disheveled, hair streaming-struggled vigorously. Unable to escape, she changed tactics, lunging at her captor to claw his face. In doing so she dislodged his kerchief, uncovering a wide, fleshy nose, ripe lips, and heavy prognathous jaw. He raised his free hand to his cheek, and the fingers came away red with blood. Instantly the same hand balled into a fist that slammed Reeni's jaw, sending her to the ground.
This time Jianna could not repress her own sympathetic cry, and did not even try. All five marauders heard her-their heads turned as one-but she hardly cared, for the outrage boiling up inside her momentarily quelled fear. No point in trying to hide, and she certainly did not intend to let these savages find her cowering like some trapped rabbit on the floor of the carriage. She was a Belandor of Vitrisi.
She stepped forth into the open. They were staring at her-four pairs of eyes above dingy old kerchiefs, and a fifth pair, the pale lifeless grey of aged slush, set in a square scratched face. They might kill her or worse, but for the moment she did not care.
"Leave my maid alone." She addressed herself with an outward show of assurance to the dead slush eyes. "Don't touch her again."
He looked her up and down unhurriedly, then observed, "So. Skinny. Prinked up. High-nosed. About what I expected."
Expected? She had no idea what he meant, and no inclination to analyze. "Reeni?" Jianna started forward. "Can you answer me? Are you badly hurt?"
"You stay still," the bare-faced man advised, voice flatly expressionless.
He took a step toward her, barring her path, and she stopped, intimidated by his looming muscular bulk and his impassive square face, her brief rush of courage already ebbing. Ashamed of her fear, she lifted her chin and commanded, "Stand aside."
He neither moved nor spoke. She forced herself to return his gaze, and discovered that the heavy-lidded eyes in the broad face were so wide-set that it was nearly impossible to meet both simultaneously. The opaque eyes revealed nothing at all, and her concealed fear deepened.
Reeni sat up slowly, looking dazed. Her jaw was twisted violently awry; beyond doubt it had been broken. When she met her mistress' eyes and tried to speak, an unintelligible gabble emerged, concluding in a whimper of pain. Tears spilled from her eyes.
Jianna's anger flared anew. "Do you vicious louts know who I am?" she inquired with an air of icy contempt. They had probably recognized the coat of arms on the carriage, but best to be certain. "My father is the Magnifico Belandor. He'll pay well for our safe return. But if you hurt me or lay another hand on my servant, he'll hunt you down wherever you hide and nothing in the world will save you. You'd do well to remember that. Now get out of my way and let me go to her." Reeni's assailant stood like a monolith. Sidestepping him, she advanced.
Despite his palpable menace, she was unprepared for the iron pressure of his grip on her arm. Taking her above the elbow, he swung her around and gave her a shove that sent her sprawling.
"I told you to stay still," he said.
She lay on her back in the mud and the wet leaves, staring up at him. Never in her eighteen years had anyone lifted a hand against her. Even in the midst of obvious danger, an unconscious part of her had continued to view her physical self as somehow sacrosanct. Now her reluctant mind opened to new possibilities. She became aware that the fall had displaced her skirts, exposing the slender length of her legs. His flat gaze pressed her thighs. His four companions were motionless and piercingly watchful. She went cold inside. Determined to mask her terror, she climbed to her feet, met the empty grey eyes squarely, and remarked, "I've always believed that it is only the weakest and most cowardly of men who turn their wrath on women."
His face did not change in the slightest. She might have thought that the insult went unheard had he not stepped forward to deal her cheek an open-handed blow that knocked her down again.
"You need to learn some manners," he told her unemotionally. "Get up."
Her ears were ringing and she could taste blood in her mouth. She shook her head to clear it.
"Up. Don't make me wait." Grasping her coil of dark hair, he hauled her to her feet. "Now, what was that clever remark you made just then? I don't think I caught it all the first time, and I wouldn't want to miss a single word, so you'd better say it again. Nice and clear. Come on."
She stared at him.
"I said, spit it out. Are you really going to make me tell you again?"
"My father," Jianna attempted, voice shaky. "My father is the Magnifico Aureste Belandor. He-"
"Have you forgotten what I told you to say? Or are you trying to make me angry?"
"Listen to me. My father-"
"Still not what I told you to say. You learn slowly. Maybe a reminder will help."
He slapped her and she tottered, but his grip held her upright. Her eyes swam for a moment, but she was able to see his hand come up to strike again and she also saw Reeni, broken face contorted, behind him with a rock clutched in her fist.
One of his gang shouted a warning and his reaction was startlingly swift. Releasing Jianna, he wheeled in time to dodge a blow intended to smash his skull. The descending rock missed him by a whisper. He smiled slightly and Reeni shrank away from him, but there was no place to go. He caught her wrist and twisted. She cried out in pain and the rock dropped from her hand. Wrenching her arm behind her back, he forced her to her knees.
"Let her go. Please." Jianna found her voice; a high, thin voice, but adequately steady. "Don't hurt her, she was only trying to protect me. She's a servant of House Belandor, and my father will-"
"I know all about your shit-licking kneeser father," the slush-eyed man returned, shocking her into silence. "You want to see what I think of your father and all his precious little servants? Pay attention, I'll show you." Drawing a dagger from his belt, he deftly slit Reeni's throat wide open.
A red torrent gushed from the wound. Reeni dropped to the ground. A few spasms convulsed her small frame, but very soon she lay still.
Jianna's mind attempted to reject the reality of the scene, tried to dismiss it as a hideous hallucination, and failed. She stood staring for a numb eternity at the dead girl stretched out on the dead leaves. At last, her eyes rose. Reeni's murderer was watching her, and his face told her nothing at all. She discovered in that instant that she hated him more than she had ever hated another human being.
"Come here," he said.
He still clasped the bloodied dagger, and she wondered if he meant to use it next on her. She stood motionless and let the hatred show on her face.
"Disobedience. Disrespect. Two big mistakes," he told her. "But you'll learn."
Three long strides brought him to her. She did not allow herself to flinch. Before she recognized his intention, he jabbed a short punch to the midsection that doubled her neatly. A second blow took the point of her chin. The world exploded around her, then ceased to exist.
She emerged from nothingness to find herself blind, sick, and disoriented. Her head throbbed cruelly. Various body parts ached. Her position-face down, head dangling-was momentarily incomprehensible. She could see next to nothing, but an animal odor filled her nostrils and she could hear men's voices close at hand. She was moving, carried queasily along on something. Her wrists were bound behind her back, her ankles were likewise tied, and a blindfold wrapped her eyes.
They had trussed her up and dumped her like a sack of flour across the back of a horse or a mule, she realized. She had no idea where they were taking her or what they meant to do with her. Her confused mind struggled to resume normal functioning. If they intended rape and murder, she reasoned laboriously, there was no particular reason to remove her from the site of the attack. Probably they planned to hold her for ransom. They would let the Magnifico Aureste Belandor know the price of his daughter's life and honor, they would tell him how and where to pay it, and they would set a deadline of some sort. Then they would settle back to wait. And while they waited, the Magnifico Aureste would contrive to track them down, and then he would see to it that they were hanged as they deserved for what they had done to Flonoria, Reeni, the driver, and the bodyguards.
So she bravely assured herself, but the thought of her murdered companions brought dreadful images. She saw again Aunt Flonoria's staring dead eyes, and the fountain of blood spurting from Reeni's severed throat. Nausea seized her then, and her flesh went clammy. She retched, but it had been hours since her last meal and there was nothing left in her stomach to lose. Only a very little while ago, she had been plotting to force Aunt Flonoria to dine this evening in the common room of the Glass Eye. It had seemed so tremendously important at the time.
She could see a sliver through a hairline gap at the bottom of the blindfold. She glimpsed dead leaves, churned mud, and nothing more, no matter how she shifted and strained. The movement only intensified her nausea, and she retched drily again. Untie me, let me sit up. The words quivered on her lips, but she did not let them fly. Into her mind thrust the vision of a square, impassive face with dead grey eyes, and she would not let herself ask anything of that face. A moan sought escape and she held that in, too.
Her mouth was dry and foul. She could not judge how long it had been since she had last tasted water, for she had lost all sense of time. The world had reduced itself to sick pain, bewilderment, and fear that left room for only one comforting certainty: No matter where these murderers were taking her, the Magnifico Aureste would find and rescue his daughter. Jianna Belandor would be safe at home within days or less, and her abductors would be punished. All of them.
The miserable blind span seemed to stretch on forever. Her thirst waxed and her headache sharpened. Eventually her limbs went cold and dead. At one point the band halted briefly, perhaps for relief and refreshment, but she could not be certain, for nobody removed her blindfold, loosened her bonds, or offered her water, and she refused to beg for it.
The journey resumed and the knife-edge of fear dulled as Jianna sank into a stuporous state. Thought and sensation receded; there were lost intervals during which consciousness may have lapsed. The voices around her faded. Either conversation had ceased or else she did not hear it. The tiny slice of the world visible below her blindfold was darkening. Night was coming on, or perhaps her eyes were failing.
Measureless time passed. She was chilled to the bone, parched, and light-headed when they finally halted. Someone cut the cords at her ankles, lifted her down, and set her brusquely on her feet. Her legs gave way at once and she would have fallen but for the support of a powerful arm whose touch was intolerable, for she knew on instinct whose it was. Expressionless square face, wide-set heavy-lidded eyes of dirty slush.
She tried to pull away from him, and his grip tightened. Then he was hurrying her along, forcing her on when she faltered, never slackening his pace when she stumbled. Resistance was pointless and she offered none.
He steered her up a low set of steps, probably stone, and through a heavy door or gate that groaned shut behind her. The still, musty quality of the air and the level flooring underfoot told her that they had entered a building of some sort. On they went for some chilly, drafty distance before she sensed herself passing through another doorway into a perceptibly warmer atmosphere. She caught the whiff of wood smoke and heard the crackle of a fire.
They stopped, and the man beside her spoke.
"Here, Mother. See what I've brought."
"Well done, boy," answered a woman's voice, unusually deep and assured. "Get that rag off her face and let me take a good look at my new daughter."
THREE.
A hand fumbled at the back of her head, and the blindfold dropped from her eyes. Jianna blinked and looked around her, devouring her surroundings at a glance. She stood in a moderately spacious chamber with walls paneled in dark wood, smoke-blackened beams exposed overhead, and a couple of narrow, deep windows presently admitting no light. Cold, dusty stone floor underfoot, no rugs. Big, old-fashioned fireplace with a plain stone mantel and a generous blaze within. Split logs stacked beside the hearth; a giant brindled boarhound and a brace of lesser canines sprawled before the fire. Not much furniture. A crudely fashioned, heavy table of oil-finished wood supporting a pitcher and several earthenware goblets; a few substantial chairs innocent of upholstery; a three-legged footstool; nothing more.
The only illumination came from the fire and from a pair of utilitarian oil lamps hanging from the rafters. By that warm-colored glow she observed the faces of four companions. One of them she recognized too readily, with revulsion but without surprise-the hulking slush-eyed murderer, standing beside her. Three others sat at the table-one male, two females. The man was youthful, muscular, snub-nosed, and square-jawed. One of the females was likewise youthful, translucently pale of skin and hair, emaciated to the verge of invisibility. The other woman was much older, well advanced into middle age, with grey streaks marbling her mass of brown hair and deep lines framing her lips, but hardy and strong-looking. She was dressed in an unadorned gown of some sturdy dark stuff, no better than an upper servant might have worn, although it was obvious that she was no servant.
Jianna hardly noted the costume; she was caught and held by the other's marked resemblance to Reeni's murderer. There was the same coloring of hair, eyes, and skin. The same broad, square, heavy-jawed face, same assertive nose and full lips, the same wide-set, thick-lidded light grey eyes. While the size, shape, and color of the eyes were identical in mother and son, the expression differed. Where the son's eyes were chill and seemingly vacant, the mother's glowed with active intelligence.
They were scrutinizing Jianna with equal attention, and presently the woman remarked, "She has something of her father's look. It's in the eyes and brows, I believe. We shall soon know if she's inherited his nature as well."
The authoritative contralto carried an unexpected aristocratic accent. Jianna contained her surprise. Facing the other, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "My father-" she began, but her dry sticky mouth and tongue played her false, and only a hoarse croaking emerged.
"Sounds like a sick Sishmindri," the woman observed with amusement. "One thing I'll give her father, he could speak." A new thought appeared to strike her, and she inquired, "Has the girl been properly watered?" There was no immediate reply and she prompted impatiently, "Onartino, speak up."
The slush-eyed hulk beside Jianna stirred uncomfortably. His flat gaze wandered.
"Now."
"How would I know?" The murderer addressed as Onartino shrugged. "That's a business for servants."
"You imbecile." The woman spoke with an air of confirmed expectation. "You want to kill her before you've had the good of her?" Without awaiting reply, she commanded, "Nissi, see to it."
At once the blanched young girl rose from her chair, took up one of the earthenware goblets, came around the table, and raised the vessel to Jianna's lips.
Jianna gulped down watered wine. When the glue that seemed to line her mouth had dissolved, she looked up to encounter Nissi's luminous, almost colorless eyes inches from her own. The lashes were exceptionally long, but pale and fine as cobwebs. The image of Innesq Belandor's haggard visage flashed across her mind and it seemed to come from nowhere, for there was no discernible resemblance between her uncle and this wraith of a girl. For an instant the eye contact held and then, as if responding to some spoken command or plea, Nissi set the goblet down, shifted position, and applied herself to the cords that bound Jianna's wrists. Her touch was cool and weightless as mist, but surprisingly effective. Within a moment, the cords fell away. Jianna brought her hands before her and stared at them in amazement. Her fingers were cold and numb, but when she flexed them, they stiffly obeyed.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"No one gave you leave to turn her loose, you little maggot," Onartino observed. "Have you lost the few insect wits you ever owned?"
Nissi appeared deaf.
"Put those ropes back on her," Onartino commanded, "or else I will. Which d'you think will be the worse for her, maggot-if you do it, or if I do it?"
Nissi regarded the floor attentively.
"Shut your mouth, boy," the older woman suggested. "You're not out in the woods."
"Mother, this is my concern."
"And I wish I could trust you to manage matters intelligently, but you've all the judgment of a stag in rut."
The hitherto silent young man at the table guffawed, and the speaker turned on him. "You hold your tongue, Trecchio," she advised. "You're not one particle better than your brother-in fact, you're not as good; you haven't half his courage."
Trecchio's laughter promptly died. "I'm no coward," he declared with a glower.
"There's my little hero." She bent an unkind smile upon him, then returned her attention to Jianna, demanding, "You are Aureste Belandor's daughter?"
"The Magnifico Aureste is my father," Jianna replied, voice emerging clear and composed. "He will pay my ransom."
"His title is false," the other informed her, "and there will be no ransom. Shall we trade one of our own for money? You look confused, girl, as well you might. Allow me to enlighten you. I am the Dowager Magnifica Yvenza Belandor, widow to the Magnifico Onarto Belandor. Is that name familiar? No? It should be. Onarto Belandor is the kinsman whose title and life your father stole some twenty-five years ago. These two likely lads here are my sons, Onartino and Trecchio. The elder, already known to you, is the rightful Magnifico Belandor by the laws of inheritance. This girl, Nissi, is undeniably Onarto's daughter, but she is not mine. For the sake of the blood that she carries, she has a place in my house, which is not grand, yet meets our immediate needs. We do not live in high state here at Ironheart, but have no fear-we anticipate great change in the near future. My dear-distant niece, I suppose I must call you, for now-your long-lost family members bid you welcome to your new home."
Yvenza Belandor fell silent and Jianna stared at her in frozen incomprehension. The woman's words, while clearly and cogently spoken, amounted to so much gibberish. Some sort of response seemed to be expected, however, so she collected herself to answer, "I don't understand what you mean by all of that. You seem to be playing a game, but I don't know the rules. I only know that your men attacked my father's carriage on the open highway, killed everyone I was traveling with, and carried me here against my will. You seem to be telling me that you are not ordinary criminals and highwaymen. Perhaps you aren't ordinary, for you chose your target with unusual care. You know who I am and you know that my father will pay well to secure my return, as soon as you name your price."
Yvenza Belandor laughed out loud at that. "So young and such a cynic, else a simpleton," she observed. "You haven't been listening to me, girl. Or perhaps you're slow of understanding. I say that we haven't taken you for your father's coin, although you may be certain he'll pay dearly. In the end, he'll give all that he owns. Or I might more properly promise that he'll give back all that he stole."
Any reply was sure to be wrong. Jianna said nothing.
Observing her keenly, Yvenza observed, "I begin to perceive that you are less dull-witted than genuinely ignorant. Your father, doubtless relishing the sweet flood of daughterly affection, has gone to some lengths to preserve your innocence. He's told you little or nothing of your family history."
"He's told me to disregard the slander of his enemies," Jianna returned. "And so I do."
"And do you similarly disregard the recollections of your kin? I'll share a few of my favorites with you," Yvenza offered amiably. "Let me transport you back in time some twenty-five years or so. The civil wars have recently concluded and the dynastic issues have been resolved, not precisely to the satisfaction of all concerned. The island of Faerlonne, ancient seat of art and learning, has succumbed to the military vigor of neighboring Taerleez. Faerlonne is occupied by Taerleezi forces, and what was once a sister state of the Veiled Isles is now regarded as a conquered enemy. The Faerlonnish citizens are disenfranchised, stripped of their property, taxed to the verge of starvation, and subjected to new laws too unjust and outrageous to accept without a sense of degradation.
"My husband, the Magnifico Onarto, has forfeited the bulk of his fortune and property. He has seen his brothers and his closest friends die in the wars, and he himself has lost his right arm. For all of that, he is one of the more fortunate among the Faerlonnish. As head of one of the Six Houses of the Veiled Isles, he's been permitted to retain his title, the family house in Vitrisi, and enough money to sustain a life of sorts. Those Belandor family members residing with the Magnifico are comparatively safe from the worst of the Taerleezi persecutions, and they will not starve. Mindful of his favored position, the Magnifico Onarto extends protection and hospitality to as many of his relatives as he is able to shelter beneath his roof.
"Among them is included Aureste Belandor, a second cousin sprung of a poor family branch, energetic and intelligent, but ambitious, ruthless, and reputedly treacherous. Onarto is warned, but he is generous of heart and chooses to give his cousin the benefit of the doubt. It is the mistake of a lifetime. Not six months following Aureste Belandor's arrival, the Magnifico Onarto is secretly denounced as an active enemy of the Taerleezi regime-a saboteur, terrorist, and conspirator. If he is taken and tried, he will suffer torture prior to public execution. As it is, he receives warning in time to flee Vitrisi with his wife, children, and several retainers. The fugitive family finds refuge in a wilderness stronghouse called Ironheart, and there they live as outlaws. The traitor Aureste remains in the city as new heir to the Belandor title and fortune, courtesy of his Taerleezi cronies, whose favor he has courted at the cost of all loyalty and honor. Tell me, little maidenlady-what do you think of the tale so far?"
The woman had not abandoned her air of pleasant equanimity. Jianna, sensing the imminence of explosion, felt her jaw muscles tighten. Loath to display weakness, she met the other's eyes and replied evenly, "You speak of the traitor Aureste, but where's the proof against him? You claim that the Magnifico Onarto was secretly denounced. If that's true, what right have you to assume that Aureste did it?"
"Ha. Logical questions, evidence of a mind at work." Yvenza's air of ominous amusement remained intact. "You will be disappointed to learn, however, that the matter scarcely amounted to a mystery. Aureste stood to profit hugely by his benefactor's downfall. Moreover, his character was by that time known to all."
"Is that what you call evidence?" Jianna dared to speak with a hint of scorn. "And what of the charges against this Magnifico Onarto? You haven't said, or even seemed to care, if they were justified or not. Was he in truth a saboteur and terrorist? If so, was it wrong to stop him?"
"Someone will have to file the edges off that tongue," Onartino remarked.
"Patience; let her ask what she pleases," his mother decreed. "It's more than time that she learn the truth."
"Truth?" Jianna shook her head. "So far I've heard only lies about my father."
"Mother never lies," Trecchio interjected.
"Quiet, boy," Yvenza told him. "Give my little niece a fair chance to digest a deal of new information. It's all unfamiliar to her, and she hasn't even heard the whole of the story. Let us continue her education, while observing the effects of instruction upon an impressionable young mind." Refreshing herself with a sip of wine, she resumed.
"You might imagine that the new Magnifico Belandor, satisfied with his stolen property and title, would permit his disgraced fugitive cousin Onarto to eke out a wilderness existence in peace, but such was not the case. Evidently troubled by his wronged kinsman's mere presence in the world, Aureste Belandor issued orders, and Onarto vanished from the very heart of his supposedly hidden fastness. Three days later, his remains were discovered in the woods, not a quarter hour's walk from this stronghouse. The cord embedded in the flesh of his neck described the method of execution. The beasts of the forest had partially devoured his body. The birds and insects had likewise been at work, but I had no difficulty identifying my husband."
They did not intend to ask for ransom. They hated her father unreasoningly, wanted vengeance, and doubtless meant to kill her in as gruesome a manner as they could devise. But she would not give them the satisfaction of witnessing her terror. Moistening her lips, Jianna replied with an appearance of detachment, "Aureste Belandor issued orders, you say? How do you know that? Did anyone hear him speak? Was this Onarto's executioner ever found, and did he implicate my father in his confession? Answer if you can."
"The murderer, unquestionably a member of my household, was never identified," Yvenza recalled pensively. "Investigation and deduction narrowed the suspects to a trio of servants, but the guilty individual could not be determined and I was therefore obliged to hang all three. Justice was served and my surviving followers received a valuable lesson. A wise move, wouldn't you agree?"