The Dreamtrails: The Obernewtyn Chronicles

by Isobelle Carmody

  I marveled at Rolf’s cleverness and wondered that such a man could be a mere metalworker, yet in the end, a man was not his trade or craft. Erit went on to tell me that the soldierguards, who had raced to the market believing they were to face a violent rebel outbreak, were more amused than anything else by the anger of the haughty Hedra, for there was a niggling sort of rivalry between them. Naturally, the ill-concealed amusement of the soldierguards incensed the Hedra, just as it was meant to do. Now the Hedra captain was shouting at the soldierguard captain, Erit reported, demanding their help in finding Domick.

  I left Erit and sought Iriny and Rolf. Failing to find them, I returned to Erit. The boy was still absorbed by the confrontation in the market. I bade him give my thanks to his urchin friends for their help and my regrets to Iriny that there had been no time to bid her a proper farewell. Then I withdrew and concentrated on what to do when we reached the gate.

  I had no fear that there would be anyone looking for Domick when we passed through. It was too soon, and from what Erit said, the bad blood between the Hedra and the soldierguards would cause even greater delay. I ought to have been as elated as Erit at our success, but Domick’s fever and grogginess made me fear that the plague might be nearer to becoming contagious than we had guessed. After all, we knew nothing about this disease.

  Golfur ambled into another street, and I was surprised to see the gate. Only one man was waiting to leave with an empty cart, and he passed out even before we reached the gate. A great long line of people and horses and wagons waited to be admitted, and all of the soldierguards at the gate save one were tending them.

  Beyond the gate, the tawny plain stretched away under an enameled blue sky unmarred by a single cloud, and I felt a surge of eagerness to be out in the open and away from the press of people and the reek of the squalid city. Even so, I beastspoke Golfur, asking him to slow down, for I wanted to try one last time to reach Rolf or Iriny. I still could not locate the metalworker, but this time when I sought Iriny, my probe located. To my horror, she was in the hands of the soldierguards, because several people had witnessed her striking the Hedra, and she was unmistakably a gypsy.

  I cast about wildly, and this time I found Rolf. His serene mind calmed me.

  “Do not think of turning back or waiting to see what happens,” he warned me. “I have told you that I will take care of the gypsy. You must trust me and do what you need to do now, for if you fail, Iriny may as well die at the hands of the Hedra or soldierguards.”

  He was right. I sent, “I leave her in your hands, then. I am about to go through the gate. I just … I wanted to thank you again.”

  “You can do that in person when all of this is over.”

  “Good luck to you.”

  Drawing near the gate, I studied each of the four soldierguards. There was little urgency in their manner or voices, but they were thorough. There were no horses saddled and ready to give chase, and I made up my mind that if there was any trouble, I would ask Golfur to pretend to bolt through the soldierguards, and I would screech in pretended terror. With any luck, the soldierguards would laugh and give no thought to chasing after us, but even if they did, no normal horse could match the giant strides of the greathorse, however fleet of foot they were. I hoped fervently there would be no need for it, as I did not want to subject Domick to such a ride. Indeed, I was worried about how well he could breathe, trussed up as he was.

  I was now close enough to the gate to hear one of the soldierguards demand trading papers from a man bringing in rugs from Port Oran. The mention of the city seemed to galvanize the soldierguards, who asked if he had seen any women traveling alone. At first I thought they must be seeking Rawen, but then one of the soldierguards spoke of an older woman with different-colored eyes and named her an assassin from the other side of the Suggredoon, and my heart almost stopped, for I realized it was Iriny they sought. Someone must have seen her at the river after all. Whatever order had been given concerning her must not have been circulated completely, else the soldierguards at the sea market would not be bandying words with the Hedra. But it would not be long before they learned who they had.

  I was about to farseek Rolf when one of the soldierguards finally noticed me waiting and beckoned me. Biting my lip, I shook the reins, and Golfur ambled forward to stop before the gate.

  “Dismount,” ordered the soldierguard in a bored voice. I slithered down ignominiously, landing hard enough to jar my ankles painfully, and then I realized my fine escape plan of getting Golfur to bolt was useless, because how on earth was I to mount him without help? The soldierguard snapped his fingers, and I realized that he wanted the horse’s papers. I dug them out of the saddlebag, hoping he would not notice that my hands were trembling, for he was standing right alongside Domick. If the coercer so much as sighed, we would be undone.

  “What are you carrying?” asked the soldierguard at length, passing the papers back to me. He tapped at the parcel that was Domick.

  “I am taking new leather to be worked to softness, dyed, and cut into belt lengths by grubbers. Once it is brought back, my master will create silver buckles and stamp a design into the leather that he will inlay with silver.” I had concocted this tale on the way to the gate, but beads of sweat dampened my forehead, for the soldierguard was now resting his hand solidly on Domick. Growing desperate, I began to cast my eyes and mind out for someone who could create a diversion.

  But the soldierguard shrugged. “Go on, then, and take care of that beast, for if he is harmed, I suppose your master will want you hide for his belts.”

  He roared laughing, and I was on the verge of walking out through the gate when a cold voice spoke behind me. “Wait.” Both the soldierguard and I turned to face an older soldierguard whose yellow cape proclaimed him a captain.

  “This horse is yours?” the captain demanded of me, flicking his fingers impatiently. Too frightened to speak in case he realized I was not a boy, I shook my head and handed him the papers.

  “Hoy there, how long is this going to take?” someone called from the line outside the gate in a hectoring, impatient tone. The soldierguard captain turned to scowl at the queue.

  “Who asks?”

  No one answered, and the captain took a threatening step toward the line before noticing that he still held Golfur’s papers. He turned and thrust them at me, telling me to be on my way, and then he began to lecture the waiting people. Did they think he was only here to check for traders trying to evade the city tax? No! Didn’t anyone realize that there were no rebels in Halfmoon Bay precisely because the soldierguards were vigilant? Were they not aware that the three-day festival and the crowning of the masked king or queen would make the perfect target for a violent rebel scheme? As it was, a dangerous murderess had crossed the river and had been seen heading toward Port Oran.

  Trembling with relief for myself and fear for Iriny, I led Golfur through the gate. The greathorse plodded steadily past the soldierguards and the people crowded at the entrance, none of whom seemed to find his appearance odd. I wished passionately that I could simply ride off, but absurdly, I could truly think of no way to mount the enormous horse. There was no alternative but to lead him along the waiting queue, which stretched for a good distance along the road. A cluster of makeshift stalls had been erected outside the gate, selling water bladders, pastries, and all manner of other things to those forced to wait in a long queue in the sun. Every stall also sold a selection of cheap and not so cheap masks for those who had forgotten them or had not brought one.

  As we passed the last stall, I noticed a mound of rocks to use as a mounting block. I led the greathorse to it, and spotting me, the stallholder observed in a friendly bellow that he would swear that was the greathorse of Aro the cripple.

  I ignored him and muttered a curse under my breath, for the mound was not quite high enough. Gritting my teeth, I tried jumping from the top of the mound onto Golfur’s back, but he was too tall, and I slipped back and only just managed not to topple
from the rocks.

  “Now, that must be the most inelegant attempt to mount a horse that I have ever witnessed,” said a mocking voice. “You had better let me give you a leg up, young master.”

  I turned to see Merret grinning as she leapt down lightly from the back of a stocky, muscular white horse. In all the drama of taking Domick from the Hedra and escaping the city, not to mention what had happened on Stonehill, I had completely forgotten that she was coming to Halfmoon Bay. I was overjoyed to see her, but I dared not greet her openly with so many watching eyes. I meekly let her boost me into my seat. Then she mounted, too, and we rode on together casually. “You have him?” she farsent with painful force.

  “He is under the packages with a canvas wrapped around him.” I farsent my response with pointed gentleness. “Golfur—that is the name of this greathorse—had to knock him out, and we had to use sleep potion on him.”

  I said nothing more, having noticed two riders sitting motionless at the side of the road. I sensed they were watching us, and I was about to say so, when I recognized the coercer-knight Orys, though he now wore his hair in the Norse style, with side plaits. The other rider was the empath Blyss, who had been a fragile child when she left for the west coast. She had grown into a lissome, blond beauty with pale gold hair that was cropped short, so it flew about her head like pale feathers, and she was riding black Zidon, whom I had last seen ridden by Merret when they left Obernewtyn for the west coast. I beastspoke the horse with pleasure, but on the heels of my delight at seeing them all safe came a darker thought.

  I glanced about to make sure there was no one close enough to hear me, and then I stopped Golfur some little distance from them and said loudly and clearly, “Blyss, Orys, I am more glad than you can imagine to see you are safe. But now you must ride away, for I am sure you all know that Ariel infected Domick with plague. Merret has already come so close that if Domick is contagious, she is doomed, but you are safe yet.”

  “Have no fear for us, Guildmistress,” said Orys. “Dell foretold you contacting Merret and heard all that you told her about Domick, so she did a casting focused on him. She saw that although Ariel had intended and believed that Domick would become infectious today, he will not be capable of passing on the plague before dusk on the morrow. She bade me ride to Aborium at once, and I did so, arriving only shortly after Merret had told the rebels what she had learned from you. Dell asked me and Blyss to ride to Halfmoon Bay with Merret to escort you and Domick to the Beforetime ruins, where Jak can care for him without his sickness endangering anyone.”

  “What else did Dell foresee?” I asked, for the futureteller was one of those whom Atthis had used to save me from drowning.

  Merret shrugged. “That you would come out this gate closer to noon than dawn; that you would have Domick with you, and that you would need help. It is lucky for you that we came, too, for who else would have made that man in the queue shout at the soldierguard?”

  I said softly, “Merret, you know as well as I do that no futuretelling is ever absolutely set. Dell might be wrong about Domick not being infectious until tomorrow evening.”

  A ghost of a smile touched Orys’s lips. “Dell said you would say that. She said to assure you that she checked her futuretelling about the course of Domick’s sickness a dozen times.”

  Merret said, “We will camp at dusk. We will be on the main road by then.”

  “I would rather ride straight through,” I said.

  “I too. But Dell told Blyss that we must make camp at dusk, for a great troop of Hedra will ride out from Halfmoon Bay cloister then, searching for a woman of your description, last seen leading a missing Herder into a lane. Half of the Hedra will ride toward the Suggredoon, and the other half will go toward Murmroth. Apparently, every traveler with horse or cart will be searched, but Dell says they will initially ignore those camped, because no sane fugitive would blithely pitch a tent so near the scene of a crime. We have food and medicines to ease Domick, as well as fodder for the horses.”

  “Then we are well provisioned, for I have those things, too,” I said sharply. Then I chided myself for my lack of gratitude. Dell had foreseen enough to send the help I needed, and it was wonderful to know that Domick was not infectious yet; better still, to know that Jak would be able to help him, for I had truly feared he would die.

  We rode at an easy pace up to the main coast road, but there was no chance to talk properly because of the number of travelers we passed. It was easier to ride in silence, thinking our own thoughts. But when we reached the main road and began to make our way along it, I took the opportunity of a gap in the travelers to ask Merret what had happened when she had broken my news to Gwynedd. Domick had bruised my throat badly enough that it hurt to talk, but that was far less painful than enduring a farsought conversation with a coercer as strong as Merret.

  “He was appalled, of course,” Merret said. “They all were. But Gwynedd quelled the fuss by saying calmly that we Misfits have shown ourselves time and time again to be competent and honest, and that you were one of our leaders and had performed dangerous rescues many times over the years. He said that your Talents would aid you in finding Domick and that panicking was a waste of time. One of the others asked if he advised them to do nothing, and he said, ‘Warn everyone of the attempt by the Herders on Herder Isle to start a plague that would kill Councilmen, Herder priests, and ordinary folk alike, leaving nothing but a barren wasteland, and prepare all rebel groups to evacuate the cities with their families and enough supplies to set up isolated desert camps.’ Then Orys arrived with Dell’s futuretelling that you would succeed.”

  “Did Gwynedd accept the futuretelling?”

  Merret gave me an odd look. “You will find that the rebels here are a good deal more ready to accept our abilities and their benefits than many on the other side of the river. Maybe because so many of us died along with the rebels on the Night of Blood. Once Gwynedd told the rebels what Dell had seen, they began to talk of what else you had told me—the invasion of the Hedra and the overthrow of the Faction on Herder Isle. Which reminds me, Gwynedd is very keen to speak with you of what has been happening on Herder Isle. You know, of course, that he is a Norselander?”

  I nodded.

  “Guildmistress,” Blyss broke in shyly, “I know there is much to tell of what has been happening here and on the other side of the river, yet it would please me—all of us—if you would give us news of Obernewtyn.”

  I obliged, speaking for a time of small matters as well as large. I told them of the powerful bond that had grown between Gavyn and the white dog Rasial and of Kella’s tiny owl, Fey, that now rode on his shoulder. I told them of the Teknoguild house in the White Valley, with its lack of doors and floors, and of the opening of Jacob Obernewtyn’s tomb. I told them of Dardelan’s request that I journey to Sutrium to make formal charges against Malik and of the proposal that Obernewtyn become a village. Orys asked me about finding Rushton, and I was not sorry to have my tale interrupted by the arrival of a group of riders who galloped up and then slowed to match our pace.

  A gray-haired man asked if we had heard of the gypsy assassin the rebels had dispatched across the river to kidnap a priest from Herder Isle sent to officiate at Halfmoon Bay’s masked moon fair. I left Merret and Orys to gossip with them and asked Golfur to move slightly ahead, telling myself I ought to be glad rumor had bypassed me. But I could not bear the thought that I might be the reason Iriny would suffer yet again at the hands of the Herders.

  After a time, the newcomers set off again at a gallop, but almost at once we were overtaken by a portly man and his wife riding equally portly ponies. Once again, I left them to Merret and Orys and rode wrapped in silence until dusk fell and Merret announced that we would stop to make camp. She had chosen a place between two noisy groups of people already camped by the wayside, and while I understood that we were safer amidst these folk, I wished we might have camped alone. There was a tense moment while the couple contemplated joining us,
but finally the wife said she would rather go on and sleep in a real bed.

  Merret heaved a sigh of relief after they had ridden off, and she and Orys swiftly erected a dun-colored tent. By the time this was done, the sun had set. We carefully untied Domick’s canvas-wrapped body and bore him inside the tent where Blyss had laid out a blanket and lit a lantern. As we laid him down, she went out to start a fire to boil some water, and Orys went to tend the horses, leaving Merret and me to unwrap the coercer. Loud laughter and snatches of song rose from the surrounding camps, and I was glad of it, for as we lifted Domick to slide the canvas out from under him, he moaned loudly.

  Merret said, “If he is still like this when it begins to quiet down, I will visit both camps to see what news they offer and mention that we have a companion with terrible constipation.” Catching my look of indignation, she shrugged. “It is better to have them laughing than suspicious, Elspeth, and Domick is in no position to feel humiliated.”

  I sighed. “I know you are right. It is just that he has suffered so.” I was unfastening the small ties down the front of Domick’s Herder tunic so we could remove it and cool him down. I glared with loathing at the demon band he wore, wishing I could unlock it, but the taint in it was simply too potent.

  “Don’t worry about the Demon band,” Merret said. “Jak can remove it easily once we arrive.” I nodded and pulled open Domick’s Herder tunic. I was sickened to see that there was almost no flesh on his body without cuts or burns, and many of the scars were puckered and angry-looking, as if they had never properly healed. Blyss was just entering the tent again and gave a cry that was as much a reaction to our horror as to the savage scarring on the coercer’s pale, emaciated torso.