Falcons of Narabedla by Marion Zimmer Bradley

touched me, and studied my face dispassionately. At last he raised his head, turning to the fat man, my captor.
    â€œThis isn’t Adric,” he said. “This man is a stranger.”
    I should have been relieved; I don’t know why I wasn’t. Instead, my first reaction was bewilderment and angry annoyance. How could he tell that? I was as furiously embarrassed as if I’d been accused of wearing stolen clothing. My beefy captor was as angry as I was. “What do you mean, this isn’t Adric?” he demanded belligerently, “We took him right out of their accursed cavalcade! If it isn’t Adric, who is it?”
    â€œI wish I knew,” Narayan muttered under his breath. His eyes, still fixed on my face, were level, disconcerting. He was tall and straightly built, with pale blond hair cut square around his shoulders like a squire from a Provencal ballad, and grey eyes that looked grave, but friendly. I liked his looks, but he had a trace of the uncanny stillness I’d noticed in old Rhys, in Gamine. For a moment I decided to tell my whole fantastic story to this man with the grave eyes. He would surely believe it. But to my surprise, he spoke and called me Adric; definitely, as if he had forgotten his doubts.
    â€œAdric,” he said, “Do you still remember me? Or did Karamy take that too?”
    I sighed. I didn’t dare tell the truth, and I felt too chilled and exhausted and disoriented to lie convincingly. Yet lie I must, and do it well.
    The fat man scowled and fronted Narayan. “Karamy—Zandru’s eyelashes!” he growled. “Look you, did Brennan come back this afternoon? He knows his way around Rainbow City. Ask Adric what happened to Brennan!”
    The clamoring broke out around us again, but Narayan never took his eyes from my face as he answered gently “There is always danger, Raif. Blame no man unjustly. Brennan knew he faced all the dangers of Rainbow City. And even Adric is not to blame if a she-witch has him under her spells.”
    â€œTraitor!” Raif snarled at me and spat.
    I loosed the saddle-horn and stepped dizzily forward. “You might try asking me,” I said with a weary anger.
    â€œAre you Adric of the Crimson Tower?” fat Raif snapped.
    â€œI don’t know—” I said tiredly. “I don’t know, I don’t know!”
    Narayan’s eyes met mine in puzzlement. Abruptly he put out one hand and took my wrist in a firm grip. “We can’t talk here, whoever you are,” he said. “Come along.”
    He led me through the thinning crowd into the frame house at the grove’s edge; Raif and one other man trailed after us, the rest clustering hive-fashion around the door. Inside, in a great timbered room, a fire burned and glowing globes chased away darkness. I went gratefully toward the fire; I was stiff with riding and I felt chilled and stupid and empty with the cold. From a wood settle near the fire, a woman rose. She was slight and dark and around her shoulders the luminescent shimmer of her winged cloak flowed like another flame. Cynara.
    â€œAdric—” she said half-aloud, holding out her hands. I took them, partly because she seemed to expect it, partly because the girl seemed the only thing real in a world gone haywire. She flung her arms suddenly around my neck and held herself to me with a shy deliberation. “Adric, Adric, Adric—” she begged, “I slipped away in the dark—I suppose Gamine knows—but they’ll never find me here, no, never—”
    Narayan’s hand pulled the girl sternly away from me; she shrank before the annoyance in his eyes. “Please—Narayan, no—”
    The blond man looked at her without speaking for long moments. At last he said gravely “Sister, you must go back to Narabedla. I would not make you go if there was another way; but you must, for a time.” He beckoned to one of the men.