The Soul Mirror by Carol Berg Read Free Book Online Page A

consideration of desperate criminals reading my lurid speculations on male anatomy, “women’s mysteries,” and what went on in my parents’ bedchamber.
    The planting book went with the journal. The papers he reviewed and tossed aside.
    The scissors and the glass also merited study. The masked sorcerer laid the magnifying lens on a silver plate from his cloak, encircled them with the length of yarn, and mumbled a word that sounded something like fyacor or fillator, words that meant starfish or evil brother or something like. My Aljyssian vocabulary had evaporated for the moment.
    Though he blew a note of disappointment, the Norgandi tossed the magnifier atop the journal. His examination of my scissors resulted in the same.
    “Baggage seems a mite scant for a lahddee traverling.” Though its molded expression remained serene, his displeasure battered me like hailstones. He jerked his head at his men. “Outen their pockies ’n see what’s else hid. Soft wi’ the lahddee. Nae want ’er mussed till we scoff’er spiniks .”
    What were spiniks ? My head was spinning. Not jewels. Treasures? No. Something to be scoffed —stolen. Thank the stars that the cart carrying Lianelle’s letter and charms had lagged so far behind us.
    As he dumped clothes and sundries from Duplais’ case, two of the others sheathed their weapons. While the fellow with the hoop earrings stood behind Duplais, the Fassid searched the secretary from neck to boots. Duplais stood rigid, as the brigand tossed a slim leather-bound book, an overlarge silver coin, and a small, tarnished brass case to the ground.
    Then it was my turn. The man with the hoop earrings laid his thick-knuckled fingers on my shoulders and slid them down my arms all the way to the wrists.
    My flesh shrank away from my skin.
    When he returned his creeping hands to my shoulders, his thumbs strayed above my bodice to my bare throat, and stroked the skin with a slow, discomforting pressure. Then his fingers splayed wide and his thumbs circled downward. The fire in my gut blossomed.
    “Don’t touch me!” I said hoarsely, bringing my forearms up sharply between his and slapping them outward, knocking his hands away. At the same time I lurched backward, right into the arms of the Fassid. I flailed at him and dodged to the side before he could grab me. “I’ve no pockets and nothing you would—”
    A guttural screech split the gloom. Something huge and dark swept out of the trees. A rider.
    Pandemonium erupted as someone’s grunting curse turned to a bubbling shriek. Duplais’ chestnut reared. Ladyslipper whinnied. With frightened snorts, our horses vanished into the wood.
    As I strained and twisted, Duplais enveloped me in his arms and slammed me to the ground. A second horse and rider charged into the fray, so close the wind of their passing fluttered Duplais’ collar into my eyes. They must have crossed the very spot we’d been standing.
    Duplais’ heart drummed through his coat as I tried to wriggle out from under him. Two steps away, the Fassid lay unmoving, an arrow protruding from his eye.
    “Into the trees,” Duplais growled into my ear, before rolling off me. Gripping my hand and pressing my head low, he half led, half dragged me deep into the twiggy underbrush.
    “Fitch the lahddee! Fitch ’er!” The breathless Norgandi sounded as if he were too busy to fitch me himself. Savage grunts accompanied the clank and scrape of steel.
    Duplais gave me no chance to heed my footing. When I tripped on a mass of roots, he had me up again before I could spit out the dirt and dead leaves. We’d gone perhaps twenty metres from the road when he backed me against a tree. Stronger than he appeared, he forced me still and pressed a finger to my lips. I shoved his finger from my mouth, but bit my lip and stayed quiet.
    The weapons fell silent. Hoofbeats retreated toward the crossing. But Duplais did not move until a nighthawk, which did not sound exactly like a proper Aubine