Wanderer: The Moondark Saga, Books 4-6 (The Moondark Saga Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Don McQuinn

  Sylah flinched inwardly when she realized the warmth had fled from his hands on hers. She squeezed them. “I know what it is to be in constant conflict with everything they say is proper. It was that way when I lived in the Iris Abbey. My Abbess saved my life, my mind. If I’ve helped you, you should thank her.”

  “If she were alive, I would treat her very badly. I’d tell her that such wisdom can never be allowed to rest, and I’d demand she become Sister Mother.”

  Sylah chuckled. “My Abbess was the most demand-resistant person ever born.”

  The Chair looked rueful. “You needn’t tell me. I know her child.” Something happened to his features. He released Sylah, turned his back, walked to the wall. “Go. Leave me now. I have work to do, and it’s late.”

  “Not without hearing what troubles you.”

  He turned. The face that sought friendship only moments before was stiff with anger. The pale flutter of dying candles made the eyes fiery, erratic. “The Chair surmounts his own problems. Most assuredly no unperson is capable of helping the Chair.” He stopped, stricken. His hands rose, fell to hang at his sides. “I’m sorry. I wanted to hurt you, make you leave. I can’t maintain the pretense. But you must leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because you’re everything denied me. You’ll be free to go as soon as the slave problem’s under control. I’ll be here as long as I live. I have all this, and it’s hollow, rotten. You’ve seen all the activity here today? The inlanders, the farmers, are speaking of talking to the slaves to forestall an uprising. How do I make them understand that we must maintain unified control until the time’s right for all to free their slaves? You see yourself as alone, struggling for goals you don’t fully understand. Look at one who can never not be alone, yet never know friendship.”

  Sylah said, “I offered to be your friend. I do so again.”

  Swiftly, he moved forward and took her in his arms. He kissed her with a passion that stunned her, swept like surf over the shocked objections clamoring in her head. She forced herself to think of Clas, her husband, of his trust in her. Of her love for him.

  Her body betrayed her. Pinpoints of heat touched where only Clas had started such fire. Her mind rejected his image, yet swung wildly to memories of what he did, how he did it. She ached with sensation, with a yearning she knew was forbidden.

  His lips left hers. Almost dazed, she put her hands on his chest to push away as he reached for her breast. His touch was a whiplash. She thrust him away with alI her might.

  Fury distorted his features. He bellowed. “No!” He shouted, repeating it, louder. Sylah covered her ears. He swept her aside. By the time she recovered her balance, his footsteps were thundering down the stairs. She turned, and saw what he’d seen.

  In Harbor, three separate fires sent pillars of flame into the sky. As she watched, another leapt to life.

  Chapter 29

  Dodoy said, “You couldn’t find me in a hundred years.”

  “Could so.” The other boy was named Fraylan, and he was a head shorter than Dodoy. Fraylan watched Dodoy with the quick eyes of a worshipper confronted by a particularly capricious god.

  Dodoy walked away. Fraylan hurried after. Confident the smaller boy would be immediately behind him, Dodoy spoke without turning. “All right, then, I’ll hide. You have to find me before the timetube falls this far”—he held up two fingers to demonstrate—“or I get to hit you on the arm as hard as I want.”

  Fraylan stiffened; even gods must be challenged. “No fair. We don’t have a timetube. Anyhow, you took longer than that to find me, before. I should get to hit you.”

  “I changed the rules because you’ll never find me. We don’t need a timetube. I can tell the time, ‘cause I’m good at that.”

  “You always say that. You think you’re good at everything.”

  “I’m better than you.” Dodoy spoke with the supreme authority of at least an extra year’s life experience. “Are we going to play, or do I leave you here in the courtyard?”

  “Don’t go. I’ll play.”

  “I don’t know. You always argue about everything.” Dodoy pretended to consider the matter. While Fraylan begged him to stay, Dodoy examined the courtyard carefully for the best place to hide. It occurred to him that there was no reason to stay in the courtyard. From up on the second-floor balcony, he could watch Fraylan chase himself in circles while time ran out. Dodoy pictured the look on Fraylan’s face when he popped up, pretending he’d been hiding all along. Then he’d hit the little fool. He told Fraylan, “You stand over there with your face to the wall. When I holler, you take two more breaths, then come look for me. No peeking, understand? Everybody hates cheaters.”

  The smaller boy nodded.

  Dodoy raced for the far end of the court. Standing on the back side of the rhododendron, he shouted, “Now!” then ran to the door.

  Dodoy stepped onto the second floor and ground his teeth. Every door leading to a balcony was closed. Irritation overcame his fear of discovery. He hurried to the first one, tried the handle. It opened easily. He knocked, ready to claim an innocent mistake and back away. No one responded, so he pushed in far enough to peer around. There was a narrow bed for daytime reclining or hot-weather sleeping, as well as a small table and some light chairs. Closing the door behind him, Dodoy crouched and scrambled to the railing.

  He laughed silently at Fraylan, speeding about in useless search. It had been a long time since Dodoy thought about his cockroaches in their box, but that was just how Fraylan looked. Only better. Cockroaches didn’t have faces to look scared, and Fraylan was really worried.

  It was so entertaining, Dodoy’s first warning was a muffled voice on the other side of the door. The handle turned. The years of living among the Skan served Dodoy well. Unhesitatingly, he flung himself under the bed. With a presence of mind born of painful experience, he reached to steady the sway of the draped spread that reached almost to the floor. Then he silently eased back until he pressed against the wall where the length of the bed contacted it.

  The voice, no longer muffled by a closed door, froze his heart.

  The Harvester said, “We can talk here. There’s no one in the courtyard but that demented child. What can he be looking for? And the other balconies are too far away for unwanted ears.”

  “Such secretiveness.” The Chair was amused and scornful, at the same time. “Unless you know the whereabouts of the murdering slaves who set fire to the homes of their masters and escaped my warmen last night, I don’t think you need be so cautious.”

  “I can tell you why I think the fires were set. And more.”

  There was a long pause, and Dodoy twitched at the menace in the Chair’s impatient, “Well?”

  “The fires were planned as a distraction. I predict more.”

  “Nonsense. The miserable scum discovered our preparations to crush them and lashed out.”

  “Your torturers haven’t gotten one admission. Every slave you’ve rounded up swears no knowledge of the fires.”

  The Chair barked harsh laughter. “Would you admit to angering me?”

  “Instantly, if subjected to the pain they’re suffering.”

  “Dodoy! Come out! I’m tired of looking for you.” Fraylan’s thin piping drifted up from the courtyard.

  Outside his hiding place, Dodoy heard the Harvester and the Chair shuffling about. He saw the hem of a black robe trimmed with blue and green swirl past the foot of the lounge on the way to the wall. The Harvester said, “So that’s it; he’s hunting for that orphan rat that travels with Sylah.”

  “Come on, Dodoy. You’re not even here. Where’d you go?”

  Dodoy heard a tiny, high-pitched noise and choked at the realization he was whimpering. He bit his lip.

  More footsteps. Heavy and assured. “Boy! Leave the courtyard.” The Chair’s orders echoed.

  “I have to find him!” It was a wail of childish woe, heedless of ranks and titles.

  Dodoy hoped the Chair woul
d order a warman to kill him.

  Surprisingly, the Chair laughed. His voice was stern, nevertheless. “No arguments, young Fraylan. Go home. Now.”

  There was silence then, another reason for Dodoy to be afraid; the adults, so close, must hear his heart pounding.

  The Harvester’s robe swept past the edge of the bed again, and she resumed the conversation. “I treated Fraylan’s mother for a cut finger. The boy talked incessantly of this Dodoy.” She chuckled softly. “I’d be delighted to have such a one in my service. If I had two like him to watch him.”

  The Chair was brusque. “Enough. The slaves. If you know something, let me hear it.”

  “Very well.” Without warning, the Harvester sat on the bed. Her weight forced a bow in the leather-strap suspension, almost touching Dodoy. He jammed himself against the wall, trying not to breathe. He almost missed her next words. “The escaped slaves you were seeking before these fires started are hidden at a godkill dig. The plan is to smuggle them out by boat. My assumption is that the last of them arrived last night, and the fires were set to see your reaction. Everyone’s aware you plan some sort of massive disciplinary move against the slaves because of the rash of escapes and the rumors of rebellion. The smugglers have to know where your patrols search and where roadblocks are emplaced.”

  “Well reasoned. Tomorrow night begins a moonless period. That For, Wal, is scheduled to ship out the next day. He requested a departure inspection for that morning. Tell me where you got your information.”

  “Church has its mysteries and its secrets. It was ever so.”

  The toes of the Chair’s boots poked under the edge of the bed. Dodoy barely had time to start at the sight before the bulge in the straps descended, dangerously close. Simultaneously, he heard a disturbing gurgling sound directly above him. Then the bed inched away from the wall. Almost imperceptibly, but definitely, his hiding place was being pulled off him.

  The Chair’s voice was almost sad. “Why do you provoke me? We’re going to rule together, remember? Church’s missionaries, Kos’ warmen. Undermine and overcome. Never presume to speak to me again of secrets. Are we united in this?”

  More gurgling. And choking.

  Apparently the noises satisfied the Chair. The lump in the bed returned to normal. The Chair’s feet moved away. The bed stopped moving. Dodoy inhaled, relieving starved lungs.

  Choking sounds continued for a moment longer, then the Harvester, suddenly hoarse, spoke. “The slave I said was a witch knew the guide who takes the escapers to the godkill. The slave had a kind of Seeing. She was trying to help me—help us—learn more. Something went wrong.”

  “I suspected as much. There was a black ropelike thing on the floor beside her. It was a Church article, wasn’t it? A soulseeker, for Seeing a particular person. Sylah.”

  “Her hood cord. The slave stole it from Sylah’s robe at her first meal here.”

  “If you’d confided your plans in me, instead of lying, your slave Seer might still be alive, and none of this would be happening.”

  “How was I supposed to know she’d go mad?”

  “You’re supposed to know two things, Odeel. Know how to control your Church. Know that we have a partnership, and I’m in charge of it. I’ve promised you Church and I’ve promised you Sylah when I’m done with her, but be warned: try to deceive me or obstruct me once more, and I’ll denounce you to Sylah and Church.”

  The Harvester’s voice trembled, but she mustered a touch of defiance. “Sylah’s doomed. I told you. Yasmaleeya and her child are going to die. You said yourself Sylah would be blamed.”

  “Things change. A prudent man changes with them. Sylah’s merely another woman to me, Church prattle notwithstanding. Her friends are another matter. They love her, and White Thunder and Black Lightning control immense power. Nalatan’s worth ten of my best warmen. None of her group will ever transfer loyalty to me. Worse, they’re all simpleminded enough to try to avenge her death. It was already on my mind to be rid of them, and this slave thing may answer.”

  The Chair’s voice changed. Dodoy pictured him deep in thought. “They stay with Borbor, who houses Wal, who wants permission to leave Kos. If I can find the slaves, I’ll set a trap. An ambush. I’m not ready to challenge those lightning weapons directly. Not yet. There has to be a weakness, a way to separate them. I have to think.”

  Leather squealed as the Harvester changed her position. “Think of treating me with more respect. I’m the one who’s uncovered the important information here. You see I’m not without resources. I insist on the respect I’m due.”

  Dodoy heard the hollow bravado, as he’d heard his own bluster. He hated her for reminding him. She moved again, mashing the mattress, flooding his hiding place with an exhalation of warm, musty, straw-tainted air.

  The cockroaches. It smelled like that where the cockroaches hid.

  Casually, the Chair said, “I know how Church disciplines those who connive with profane Seers.” His footsteps moved away, toward the door. The hinges sighed. The Chair spoke again, in a cruel tone Dodoy knew too well. “Or I may simply cut your throat.” The door closed.

  Dodoy had no idea how long he waited under the bed after the Harvester finally made her way off the balcony. He was still shaking. He checked the hall before leaving, forced himself to walk away with nonchalance. Once in the quarters he shared with Sylah and Lanta, he threw himself facedown on the bed.

  He thought of the Harvester, glad she was in such trouble. Soon, though, he was more curious about how she’d wriggle out of her problems. He was sure she would.

  He rolled over and sat up when the Priestesses came in. One look, and they remarked on his color, his nervousness. Lanta asked what was wrong. Sylah asked what had happened. Dodoy noted the difference. He answered Lanta, telling her that the slave-smuggling plot was exposed. When he added that the Harvester suspected the time of the escape attempt, he thought the small woman was going to be ill. She turned to Sylah. “We have to warn them.”

  Sylah paced the room, brow furrowed. When she spoke, there was a quality to her voice that reminded Dodoy of the Chair. It made him angry in a way he couldn’t explain. Sylah said, “It’s time for Yasmaleeya to deliver her child,” and when Lanta tried to say something, Sylah cut her off with a significant look. Dodoy noted that, as well. Sylah continued, “There’s going to be a great deal of excitement. It’s going to bring the child. I’m sure you understand.”

  Lanta nodded, although Dodoy wasn’t sure she really did understand, from the dazed look of her. Then she said, “How can we warn the others? The Chair’s sure to learn exactly where the slaves are being kept.”

  “The danger goes beyond that,” Sylah said, still pacing. “He wants more than the slaves recaptured. He wants whoever’s behind the effort to free them. Now he knows it’s someone on Trader Island. He’ll attack.” She stopped in front of Dodoy. “You’ve been gone all afternoon. What else did you hear?”

  “He said he was going to be the Harvester’s partner, and she could have Church.”

  “What? You’re sure? That’s exactly what he said?”

  It was what Dodoy expected. Disbelief. Always the same. She never liked him.

  They were both very frightened. The only one with the strength to help him was Tate. Getting her off that island and close to him was important. That, and making sure stupid Sylah knew only what he wanted her to know. “The Harvester said you’d be blamed if anything happened to Yasmaleeya and her baby. Then the Chair said things change. He said everyone loves you, but he wants the lightning weapons.” That was enough for her. It would make Tate come for him, too, and then they could run away. That was a necessity. And if Sylah didn’t want to believe the Chair meant to get rid of her, then she could find out for herself.

  Sylah was flushed. She said, “That’s not the same as saying the Harvester will have Church. Not at all.”

  Lanta said, “That’s not important. We have to escape from here. Warn the others.”

&nb
sp; “No.” Sylah shook her head, mouth drawn down. “I’ve got to deliver that child, healthy, with a healthy mother. Church can use them, and I have to save him for the Chair and for Church. We have to get you to Trader Island, though. Is there a slave we can bribe? We need someone who can sail a boat.”

  “I can,” Dodoy said.

  The women stared, openmouthed. He snapped at them. “I was the captain’s slave. Who do you think he sent on errands in the small boat? I know everything about sailing. Anyhow, where would we get a boat?”

  Sylah put a hand on his shoulder, not gently. “You’re going to steal one.”

  Chapter 30

  Lanta and Dodoy crouched in the darkened healing house, seeking the guard they knew must be present. The boat basin was deathly still, without even the occasional slap of a wave. The shapes of the boats were indistinct, black on black.

  The couple whispered agitatedly, Lanta certain she’d heard a cough. Dodoy was equally sure the Chair’s planned action against the slaves had stripped all warmen from the fort, save those manning the berms on the landward side.

  For once, the boy had been completely cooperative. He even learned that the reduced guard force contained no watch reliefs for the night; the warmen on post would remain until sunrise.

  Both Dodoy and Lanta also knew there was sure to be a defensive gate of some kind to close off the exit tunnel to the bay. If it was secured, escape was probably impossible.

  Cramping limbs demanded they move. Clumsily, they crept out, keeping together by touch. At the basin’s edge, Dodoy disengaged himself from Lanta, leaving her alone. When his shadowy figure materialized silently beside her and his hand returned to hers, icy cold, it nearly broke her composure. He put his mouth to her ear. He smelled of seawater. “There’s two gates, one at each end of the tunnel. I fit between the bars. Come.”