The caves of Nison-Serth were like a maze. A child could lose himself there—or hide. Teb could hardly keep from staring forward to where the stone ridge rose in a little hump that marked its entrance. But Blaggen was watching him, and he lowered his eyes and tried to look sullen and hopeless. Nison-Serth was there, though, and he would have a chance, now that Garit and Lervey were with him, and Pakkna, too. The old man was crippled and slow, but he could ride, all right.
When Blaggen moved his horse ahead of Teb’s into single file, where the trail narrowed, Teb turned to look back at Pakkna.
He rode at the rear behind the servants, leading three ponies laden with bags and clanging pots. His grizzled gray beard blended against the mountain’s gray stone. Teb looked at him, and Pakkna’s eyes held steady and kind. He studied Teb a minute, a little frown of concern touched his brow; then a small twinkle of smile lit his gray eyes.
Teb faced forward quickly. He imagined just how he would slip out of the camp at night and rehearsed in his mind the caves and tunnels of Nison-Serth. They clustered and wound from one side of the mountain through to the far side, to come out above the Bay of Dubla. If he could make his way through the mountain, he thought he could swim the width of the bay to Fendreth-Teching. And in Fendreth-Teching surely he could find shelter. Though it was a wild land, the dwarfs and picthens who mined the rocky mountains of the Lair were not evil, only secretive and clannish. He would not like to climb high into the Lair mountains, though, if there were indeed dragons about again on the land, for the Lair was their nesting place.
He did not doubt he could escape Sivich, once Garit cut him free; he didn’t dare to doubt it, or to think of failure.
Chapter 4
Sivich made camp at dusk, on the wet, high meadows. Off to their left, in the west, the bare granite ridge ran away north like the backbone of a great, sleeping animal, the sun dropping low behind it. Blaggen left Teb astride the tethered horse while he unsaddled his own, then changed into dry clothes. There was a stand of saplings at one side of the meadow, and Garit and Lervey began to stretch ropes between the trees to serve as hitch rails for the horses. There were dead pitch pines, too, and one of these was dragged to the center of the meadow, the dry heart of it cut out for firewood and then set alight with oil-soaked moss.
When Blaggen was finished making himself comfortable, he untied Teb’s feet and hands. “Get down. Hurry up.”
Teb threw a leg over to dismount, and his hands slipped on the wet leather. He fell and landed on his backside in a shower of mud, sending the horse shying away. Blaggen snorted with laughter, then booted him and shoved him toward a small oak sapling. Here he locked the chain to Teb’s leg, locked the other end around the tree, and dropped the key into his pocket.
Teb leaned shivering against the little tree, wondering if Garit could smash the lock. Or could he steal the key? The last thin rays of the setting sun touched Teb’s face before it dropped behind the ridge. He could hear distant bells and could see a herd of tiny sheep grazing far down the hills, near a stone cottage the size of a doll’s house, and a stream that wandered off toward Ratnisbon. If those folk down there knew he was captive, would they dare to help him? But Teb thought not; this was Mithlan, a country cowed and obedient to Sivich. It had been the first to fall to the dark raiders.
Ratnisbon was different. That country had been hard won by Sivich in desperate battle against Ebis the Black, and many of Sivich’s men had died on the battlefield. Ebis had been thought killed. But he lived and he secretly brought together an army of infiltrators—servants and grooms and other innocuous townsfolk—an army that soon enough overthrew the captains Sivich had left behind and took back their land.
Would Sivich try to recapture Ratnisbon? Surely Quazelzeg, the dark lord Sivich served, would try.
Teb had only a vague knowledge or understanding of the structure of the dark forces, but he knew they employed many pawns such as Sivich, common soldiers lured to the ways of the dark, swearing fealty to the dark rulers. He knew, from his father’s words, that only by use of such ordinary, inconspicuous people could the dark forces hope to rule completely. Sivich, who had served his father’s army since he was a youth, had seemed well above suspicion, doubly so because of the vehemence with which he always spoke of the dark raiders and their ways. He had seemed an adamant enemy of the dark.
The fire was blazing now, and Pakkna had laid his big metal grill across one end and was putting on strips of mutton. The great black soup kettle stood beside the blaze. The smell of cooking meat soon began to fill the air, making Teb wild with hunger. He drank from a puddle cupped in the sapling’s roots, then lay back against its thin trunk. . . .
The next thing he knew, Pakkna’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him awake.
The fire had burned down, and the men were gathered around it eating. Pakkna handed Teb a plate heaped with mutton, boiled roots, and bread. Pakkna had flour on his gray beard and streaking down his dark-stained leather apron. He leaned close as he handed down the plate. “Knife under your meat. Late tonight, cut the sapling down. Take the chain off. Don’t let it crash when it falls. Tie the chain to your leg.” He dropped some leather thongs into Teb’s lap.
“But Blaggen will hear. He—”
“He’ll be very drunk by that time.”
‘The jackals . . .”
“Drugged. Maybe dead, I hope.” Pakkna moved away. Teb watched him slicing meat on the grid. What would the old man put in Blaggen’s drink? In all the drinks? He had heard of deermoss being used that way, to make men sleep. But would it work on jackals? He slipped the knife from his plate and hid it under his leg, then tied into the mutton and roots with both hands. Nothing he could remember had ever tasted so good, hot and meaty and rich. When he was finished, he sopped the gravy with his bread until his plate was clean, ate the bread, then leaned back against the oak sapling. He felt warmer now, and hopeful again.
*
He woke to darkness, the fire only embers, and the camp silent except for snoring. He hadn’t meant to sleep, not for so long. He fumbled for the knife. Where was Blaggen? Where were the jackals? He could see nothing in the darkness. He listened for the hoof-sucking sound of a horse walking the muddy ground, for surely Sivich had set a guard. But he could hear no guard. Maybe the guard was drugged, too? Were all the men drugged? He couldn’t hear the jackals’ rasping snore, but sometimes they were silent as death. He took up the knife at last, turned his back on the sleeping camp, and began to cut into the tree in angled, silent strokes, pressing down.
He cut steadily until a horse snorted; then he froze and lay still. Had someone moved among the horses? Was someone watching him? The horses shifted again, and he waited. Then at last they settled, and he began to cut again, pressing harder. The tree might be only a sapling, but the green oak was tough and springy. He put all his weight on the knife. Was this all the help Garit dare give him, the knife and the drugging of the men? But Garit had said, “We’ll get you away. . . .” What more do I want? Teb thought. Such help was a precious plenty, when anyone caught helping him would very likely be killed.
Should he get away from the camp on foot, or try to take a horse? He might set the whole line of horses fidgeting. He was pondering this, pressing and sawing and wincing from the blister he had made on his palm, when he heard footsteps. He dropped down, shoved the knife under him, and lay still.
The steps came closer, and he tried to breathe slowly and evenly. He could see the tall silhouette against the embers. It wasn’t Garit; the man didn’t walk like Garit, and he was too tall. Before the man loomed over him, Teb shut his eyes. Then a hand reached under him and felt around until it found the knife. Teb squinted to look, and could just see in the darkness the way the hand held the blade, crippled and twisted.
Hibben knelt there fingering the knife.
It was all over now. Teb felt sick and helpless. How had Hibben known?
Hibben turned, still kneeling, so the knife swung close to Teb’s f
ace as he raised it. And he began to cut at the tree.
Long, heavy strokes, swift and sure. Teb stared.
Why was Hibben helping him? Where was Garit? Was this some kind of trick?
Hibben nudged his shoulder. “Stand up. Hold the tree while I cut on through. I’ll take the weight when it falls. Brace your feet.”
Teb stood up and braced his shoulder against the tree, gripping the trunk against himself as tight as he could. He could feel the trunk tremble as the knife sliced and sliced, could feel the tree begin to give way. He pressed with all his strength, then he felt it ease as Hibben stood up and grasped it above him. He moved away when Hibben pushed him, and stood helpless to do more. He felt, as much as saw, the tree let down, with a whisper of leaves, onto the wet ground. He knelt at once, slipped the chain over the stump and tied it to his leg, was ready to run when Hibben pulled him up. “Come on.” He pushed Teb in among the horses so he was pressed between their warm rumps. “This one, here,” Hibben gave him a leg up, pressed the reins into his hands, and backed the horse out of line, then led it with his own as they moved away from the camp. Other horses moved with them, led by men Teb could not see in the darkness.
Away from the camp, they stopped to mount. Teb stared at the dark, moving shapes, trying to make out who they were. Garit? He thought so, and breathed easier. And then someone small, who could only be Lervey. They moved out at a slow, silent walk; not even the bits jingled. Teb thought they were wrapped in cloth. There was no sign of the jackals following, no heavy rushing flight at them, no irritable, coughing bark. A rider moved up beside Teb and touched his arm. He stared up into Pakkna’s bearded face. Pakkna squeezed his arm, then moved on in silence. Teb thought he heard Garit whisper a command. They rode for a long time without speaking, up across the rising meadow, moving faster when they were well away from the camp. Then at last they were on drier ground beside tall boulders, and then on a rocky trail.
They had not traveled far over the rough shingle when Garit moved his horse up beside Teb. It was lighter now, for the clouds were blowing away, and the pale constellations of Mimmilette and Casscassonne shone above the ridge. Garit leaned down as if to study the gait of Teb’s mount.
“Your horse has gone lame; can’t you feel it? Picked up a stone, likely. Pull him up and let’s have a look. Go on, Hibben. We’ll catch up.”
Teb and Garit dismounted as the others moved ahead, and soon stood alone as Garit lifted the gelding’s near front foot.
“I didn’t feel him go lame,” Teb whispered.
“Shh. He’s not. I wanted you alone. Now listen well. I am going to give you some instructions pretty soon, in front of the others. I don’t want you to follow them.”
Teb nodded, puzzled.
“What I do want you to do is this. Go to the caves of Nison-Serth as I will tell you. But go on through them, clear through and out the other side, above the Bay of Dubla. Make sure there is no one on the coast to see you, stay hidden, get down the coast and back into Auric. Stay near the shore; keep to the brush and rocks. You can get into Bleven all right, but do it at night. Go directly to the cottage of Merlther Brish on the back street. You’ll know it by the big dray horses in the side yard and the pile of barrels and the smell of malt—he’s the brewer. Give him this note.” Garit pressed a piece of paper into Teb’s hand. “He will hide you. You are to stay there, Teb. Safely hidden. You are to wait there until I can bring you an army. Merlther will do the best he can for you.”
Teb stared at Garit in disbelief.
“You will retake Auric one day. I promise you. I will bring you all the armed men I can muster.”
“But how can I stay there so long and not be discovered? For years, until I grow up? So close to the palace . . . just stay—with a stranger?”
“He is your subject, Teb. Merlther will take the best care of you. And there are ways of hiding someone—cellars no one has seen, passages between the houses . . .”
“I never heard of—”
“Such things can be built in four years. Auric, young prince, has taken a lesson from Ebis the Black. Auric, too, will rise again. Do you think I got myself sent down to the coast for nothing? All it took was a little judicious criticism, a little too much complaining. I know my value as horsemaster well enough to be pretty sure he wouldn’t kill or imprison me, just get me out of his hair. And he did need the colts from down there. Now mount up, lad, before they get curious. I don’t trust any of them, except Pakkna. But they all wanted to be free of Sivich. Maybe they’re all right—time will tell me.”
“But you—what will you . . . ?”
“We’ll get away. When Sivich trails us, it will not be you he follows, but us. And we’ll lose him all right.”
“What about the jackals? Did you kill them?”
“Only one. I couldn’t find the other two in the dark; they dropped down to sleep somewhere, full of deermoss.”
“How long will they sleep?”
“Eight or ten hours.”
“The men, too?”
“Yes. You should be deep in the caves by that time, maybe through them.”
It was not long after they joined the others that Garit called a second halt, and the riders moved close together, their horses nosing one another, as Garit gave Teb the false instructions. They had moved up behind boulders now, where sight and sound were shielded from the plain below. Starlight touched the cliffs, and now Teb could see that the sixth rider was a tall, thin soldier called Sabe, a pale, saturnine man whom Teb had never liked. Six riders and seven horses, the seventh laden with pack. Garit put a gentle hand on Teb’s shoulder.
“Sivich’s men will follow us as soon as they wake and see we’re gone. There was no way to hide our tracks in the wet meadow. They will follow our trail, Teb. You must leave us now. You must go to the caves of Nison-Serth and hide there. Pakkna tells me you know the caves well.”
Teb nodded.
Garit pulled at his red beard. “The plan is this. You will go on foot from here up across the rocks, where you will leave no trail. You will wait in the caves of Nison-Serth and watch the meadow and the camp from there.
“You must wait until Sivich has sent out his trackers and the two jackals after us and has himself moved on toward Baylentha. I don’t think I misjudge; I think he will take the main party there, he’s that eager for the dragon. He’ll want the troops who trail us to kill us, all but you, and bring you there to him.
“When the meadows are clear of him, you must move down across the border to Ratnisbon at night, and seek safe sanctuary from Ebis the Black. He will be happy indeed to shelter the Prince of Auric, for he has no love for Sivich, as you well know.”
Teb nodded again and swallowed. Who among this group did Garit not trust, that he must lay a false trail? Hibben? Sabe? Surely not Lervey; he was only a boy, hardly older than Teb himself.
“It will be well if we leave a clue or two for Sivich’s trackers,” Garit said. “We have a length of chain for Lervey to wear when we camp, to drag through the dirt, for his feet are like in size to yours. If you will take off your tunic, Teb, I have a clean one for you in my pack. Yours will carry your scent with us, for the jackals.”
Teb stripped off his brown cloth tunic. It smelled pretty high, all right. He’d worn it a long time. He put on the leather one Garit offered. It was warmer and well made, though very big for him.
Garit settled his horse, which had begun to paw. “You’d best go, Teb. Climb from the saddle onto the boulders so you make no trail. Stay atop them along the ridge to the caves. Here, we’ve fixed you a pack. Rope, knife and some cord, food, candles and flint and a lamp. A waterskin.”
Teb climbed from the back of his horse up the boulder, then reached down for the pack and waterskin and slung them over his shoulder. Garit gave his hand a parting squeeze. He stood watching as the riders turned away and faded into the night, the sound of hooves growing quickly softer, then gone.
He turned and made his way alone toward Nison-S
erth.
He would be safe in Nison-Serth. He moved toward it eagerly, feeling ahead of him in the darkness where, even in the starlight, shadows could be chasms. Nison-Serth would shelter him. He thought of his mother there, how she had loved its beauty, and it seemed to him that something of his mother beckoned to him now, a power of calm protection linked with the power of the caves.
Clouds blew across the moon, so he had to go more slowly in the dark and feel ahead carefully. He fingered the pack and felt the reassuring hard curve of the candle lamp inside. He longed to light it. He could imagine carrying the thick glass chimney before him to show him the way and to warm his cold hands.
But it would be a deadly beacon to draw Sivich. Well, if he lost his way or the going got too rocky and difficult, he would sleep among the boulders and go at first light, before anyone could see him from below. He imagined the great stone entrance of Nison-Serth, its rough triangular arch of pale stone, and tried to guess how far ahead it was. It would be hard to miss. He could picture the two standing boulders inside carved with the ancient pictures of animals and birds.
Twice he heard a noise like something slipping along behind him, and went cold with the thought of the jackals.
But they were drugged; surely they were drugged. He hurried ahead, scrambling and slipping. He had to climb higher now, around a steep drop. He could not remember this part of the cliffs near to Nison-Serth. He was tempted to light the lantern, shield it with his pack. He climbed again, then found a way down, afraid he would go too high and miss the entry. Just when he thought he had missed it, there it was, towering before him in the night, a pale vaulting arch pushing at the sky. He slipped inside.
Nightpool Page 4
