by Don McQuinn
The control was a large spoked wheel that raised the triangular gates. Lanta berated herself for never having noticed them. Embarrassment over her lack of observation further eroded her confidence.
Dodoy was whispering again. “You open the gates. I’ll take a boat out, tie it up, and come back. You walk out then. I’ll lower the gates and squeeze out.”
She grabbed him, pulled him back. “Why don’t I take the boat out and wait for you? It’ll be quicker.”
He pulled away roughly. “If you do something stupid I’ll be outside where I can get away, that’s why. Let go of me.”
Lanta had to let go or wrestle. A few moments later, she heard the soft noises of disturbed water. She turned the wheel to allow Dodoy and his stolen boat out. Fortunately, the apparatus was well greased. Nevertheless, water dripped from the emerging iron bars, the splash sounding to Lanta like a river’s flood. When Dodoy bumped the boat against the side of the exit channel, she was sure the walls must collapse from the force of the collision.
Before she realized it, her dripping companion had them out on the open water. She wanted to shout, to sing. Until Dodoy raised the sail. The hoist squealed. The boom groaned. The sound of the rushing water was thunder, the white sail was a beacon.
The thought that they had to go all the way to Trader Island made Lanta’s stomach turn. Then she considered they had to come back, do this all over again. She leaned over the side. For a while she was too preoccupied to be afraid.
Landfall on Trader Island was an anticlimax. Dodoy drove the small boat crunching onto the beach with authority. Lanta hopped ashore dry-shod. They were securing a line to a tree when Borbor’s gang arrived. By torchlight, they greeted the new arrivals with suspicion.
Ushered into the Trader’s great hall, Lanta and Dodoy were greeted with warm surprise. Tate, Conway, Tee, and Wal were there. Nalatan was with Borbor at a traders’ meeting. Once the gang men were gone, and Tate had assured that none of the Kossiar servant-spies were about, the group took seats in front of the yawning fireplace. Lanta explained her mission.
Conway’s appearance nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, but her first view of him clawed at her heart.
She remembered the mindless, animal look of the man who’d hurt her as nothing ever had. Consuming hatred coiled across his face now, the same way tongues of flame whirled and twisted around the wicks of the oil lamps dangling from the brass chandelier.
Hate for her, hate for himself.
It suddenly occurred to Lanta that she was no longer ashamed. She’d been shamed; she had no reason to be ashamed. Conway did. And was. Which was why he was angry.
Why, then, if she knew all those things, did his pain hurt her almost as much as her own?
Tate came to her, put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right? Is something else wrong?”
Dodoy’s smug superiority saved her. “She fed the fish all the way over here. The sea’s no place for a woman.”
Conway strode to the fireplace, put his hands on the marble slab mantel and stared into the cold, black maw. The others waited for him. He spun on his heel, pointing at Lanta. “Prove it,” he said. He looked flushed, feverish.
Blinking, Lanta was struck dumb. Tate spoke for her. “Prove what? That the operation’s been blown?”
“I heard the Chair. I heard the Harvester. I was there.” Dodoy’s voice rang with indignation.
Conway ignored him. He walked to Tee’s side. “If anyone knew where the slaves are hidden, they’d have moved on them already. The Chair knows Wal’s the only one who’s requested customs inspection.” He bent to Tee, spoke to her from the side of his mouth, his eyes locked on Lanta’s. “You told Lanta about Moondance’s successful recruiting among the slaves. Then Lanta came back because Sylah wanted her to counteract Moondance’s progress. What did you tell her, Tee?”
“I said I’d recommend against it to all of you. That doesn’t mean she’s lying.”
“Yes it does. They both are. What did Sylah promise you, Dodoy? Or did you make this up because you want to be with Tate and this was the only way you could get here?”
Red-faced, Dodoy shouted denial. “I’m not lying. You don’t like me. I heard the Chair. I don’t care what you believe.”
Tee said, “Lanta I know you’d never lie to us. But the last group of men arrived last night. If a patrol had even come close to the hiding place, a scout would’ve seen them and given us an alarm.”
“They’re here? Were they guided in by anyone who guided the others?”
Conway said, “Of course. The guide’s one of us.” The accented last word was spiteful.
Pleading, Lanta said, “Can’t you see? The slave who was beached knew the guide. Torturers will be questioning everyone that poor woman knew. They could already know who he is. He’ll tell them. He won’t be able to resist.”
Deeply troubled, Tate said, “Maybe you ought to listen to Dodoy, Matt. This is sounding really bad.”
Conway brushed her counsel aside. “The boy wants to be with you. That’s all he cares about. As for you, Lanta, what you said just now isn’t what you said before. You told us the accused witch said where the slaves were to be hidden, and that they were to be loaded on a boat. Now you tell us she got the story from the guide himself. You said that after I let you know the guide was the same man in every case. Tee, she’s making it up as she goes along.”
Wal said, “You’re saying too much, Conway. Let it go. None of it matters, anyhow. We don’t dare put those men on my boat now. The inspectors will tear it apart. They’ll find the hidden compartments.”
“Let them.” Tee’s brow was wrinkled in concentration. “Wake your men. Cut doors into those compartments tonight. The customs people won’t be here until morning; when they look, they’ll see nothing but honest spaces, packed with goods. You’ll leave on schedule, then slip back into the bay after dark. We’ll meet you with the slaves in small boats, transfer them over, and you’ll be away.”
Everyone spoke at once in spirited argument.
Lanta’s voice rose above all. She stood, hands outstretched, tears in her eyes. “Save yourselves. Make Wal’s ship safe. Pray the slaves haven’t been found. As cruel as it sounds, you can’t try to rescue them. Not tonight. If they survive until tomorrow night, you can assume the guide died without revealing their location. Even then, attempting to help them will be terribly dangerous. The Chair may leave them in place as bait to trap you.”
Conway said, “You’re determined to frighten Tee away from her mission, aren’t you? It kills you to see her accomplishing something you and your broken-down, oh-so-pure Church can’t do, doesn’t it? You’re quick enough to give up on the slaves, too. They might already be Moondance, so let them die, right? Admit it, all of this is jealousy, personal and Church, just to spite Tee.”
Wal rose slowly, a prairie bear’s towering on hind legs to better examine some irritating disturbance. “I spoke to you about your manners once, Matt Conway. I’m wondering if your fists are half as active as your mouth.” He was unbuckling his sword belt as he spoke.
Lanta put a hand on Wal’s arm. “He doesn’t mean it. It’s all right.”
Tee held Conway’s shoulder. It checked him, but couldn’t erase his expression. Lanta ached to ask him to at least be fair. If she’d goaded him and embarrassed him, could that justify what he’d done, what he was doing? She conceded she was too weak to forget, but she was willing to forgive. She was trying to save his life, the life of the woman he’d rejected her for. What can possibly be left for me to do? she wanted to ask. She was the one wronged, the one hurt. Must she be hated, as well?
Wal was gentle, apologetic. “It’s best you go back, Priestess. This island’s going to be very dangerous in a little while. For that matter, Sylah’s going to need a courageous friend beside her.”
Dodoy leapt to his feet. “I’m staying with Tate. There’s no one in the castle who can protect me. They’ll make me a slave again.”
Tate came to him, took his face between her hands. She was very firm. “You’ll go with Lanta. You’ll do exactly as she and Sylah tell you. I’m staying here with Nalatan. As soon as this trouble’s over, you can come back. I’ll be waiting. Don’t argue. I love you, child, but I swear I’ll tie you up like a chicken for market and carry you to the boat, if I have to. You understand?”
Dodoy knew he was beaten. He headed for the door. “You coming?” he called back to Lanta, not slowing.
She made quick good-byes and hurried after him.
The path to the water’s edge was far more difficult in the dark. Lanta stumbled frequently, to Dodoy’s muttered disgust. During one of his longer complains—the words indistinguishable, the tone all too clear—he stopped abruptly, with a short exclamation of surprise. They were on nearly level ground by then, and Lanta assumed he’d stepped out onto the beach. A moment later, she was on open ground herself. Against the starlit sea, Dodoy seemed to loom, as though he’d grown several inches.
The arm that snaked out of the darkness to close against her throat struck with swift silence. Her attempt to scream died against choking pressure. Her struggles were completely ineffective. She was lifted, her feet dangling. Clawing fingers sought her captor’s eyes. Too quick for her, he buried his face into the back of her head. Desperate, feeling consciousness drain away, she scratched at flesh. A male voice exclaimed angrily. A jerk of the arm around her throat nearly broke her neck, but it also changed the arm’s position. She forced out a gasping cry.
Then the pressure was back, and she was sinking.
From out of the night came a voice. Mocking. Nalatan. “Careful, careful. You’ll never get answers out of her if you kill her. And think what the Chair will do to you then.”
Chapter 31
Pain.
It throbbed through Lanta’s skull, sent out vibrations that shivered along muscles and nerves throughout her body.
Motion.
Swaying, rising and falling, irregular and unpredictable.
A deep voice intruded. “She stirs. I think she’s coming around.”
Other sounds slipped into her awareness. Water. Wind.
Without moving, Lanta slowly opened her eyes to peek out from the depth of her hood. She was semireclining, her back wedged into the bow of a small boat. A figure astern held the tiller. Closer, between the mast and the gunwale, someone faced her. The person was large, heavily bearded.
Lanta read the stars. The boat was moving west. There was no way for her to tell if they’d passed the fort. So slowly it made her skin twitch with impatience, she pulled her left arm across her body. The black sleeve against the black robe was invisible. She slipped her right hand into the sleeve, clutched her shortknife.
The chant filled her mind. Little by little, it compressed the fear, forced it farther and farther from her consciousness until she could ignore it.
She drew the knife from its sheath. Struck.
The bearded man grunted, a bass rumble of pained surprise. She pulled the blade back. Struck again. The man caught her forearm in one hand, grabbed her wrist with the other. He said, “Don’t do that. That hurts.”
She’d stabbed him. He was indignant.
It was too funny to bear. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of her.
Tears drowned the amusement.
The strong hands took the knife. Then, unbelievably, she was inside an embrace, cradled, comforted. Deep, soothing sounds rolled in the massive chest of the man holding her. The beard tickled her ear where her hood had fallen back. She felt safe.
She decided that meant she’d gone crazy, but she didn’t care.
Dodoy said, “I told you she had more tricks than a fox. You didn’t believe me. Nobody believes me.”
Lanta lifted her head, looked aft. “Dodoy? You’re here?”
Scornfully, Dodoy answered. “Keep your voice down. Where else would I be? You heard what Tate said.”
Straightening, she pushed herself away from the man. He made no effort to hold her. Neither did he make an effort to give back her shortknife. Lanta said, “Who? What? Where?” and bit her lower lip to stop the babble.
The man said, “I’m glad you feel better, Priestess. Please go back to the front of the boat. There are things I must tell you. In confidence.”
“You almost killed me.”
Dodoy’s muffled laughter was like a cruel whisper. “He and Nalatan saved us. “Don’t you know anything?”
“A man choked me. Nalatan said the Chair wanted me alive.”
Gently, but with irresistible firmness, the man forced Lanta back to the bow. Leaning close, he whispered, “Nalatan caught the spy-servants trying to steal you and the boy. They’ll trouble no one again.”
Lanta swallowed, trying not to think about the significance of the last remark. She said, “You were there?”
“With Nalatan. Name’s Helstar. Smith to Trader Island. Me and Nalatan heard your scuffle with the Kossiars on our way to warn the Tee one. The slaves are discovered.”
Lanta straightened. “I warned them. The Chair knows everything.”
“Chair doesn’t know the slave revolt starts tonight. Why I’m with you and the boy. Show the Flower to Safety.”
“I know who you are. My companions on the island spoke of you. You’re not their friend.”
Helstar’s quiet chuckle had the sound of release. He said nothing for a time, and then, as if to confound Lanta completely, he continued in an entirely changed speech pattern. The voice was the same. Nothing else was. “There are things I am ordered to tell you. That’s the other reason why I’m here.”
Lanta’s failure to answer was as much a matter of shock as caution. Helstar read it as the latter. “It pains me to be suspected, but I understand.”
“Pain.” Lanta blurted the word. “Your wound. I stabbed you.”
Helstar extended the shortknife. As Lanta took it, he said, “A little thing like you isn’t likely to drive a blade through a mail shirt made by Helstar the smith. The point pricked me enough to sting.”
“Oh. Well. You said you have something to tell me?”
“Much. Listen well. We’ve little time. There are those who think you possess the True Stone or know its location. You will keep whatever you know to yourself. Trust no one. Those who instruct me direct me to tell you to use whatever knowledge you have to see that Church survives. For now, however, serve the Flower.”
When he paused for breath, Lanta practically spat hushed, strained words at him. “You dare speak to me of what I know? Don’t know? Must say? Can’t say? I serve Sylah because she is my friend, because I believe in what she does. You have nothing to say of Church. Leave me.”
“Priestess, listen. Church has eyes and ears beyond your dreams. I am but one who helps. I’ve delivered my message. You will do as the One in All moves you to choose. My other mission is to guide you and Sylah away from the fort.”
Something about Helstar’s resolute dignity made Lanta pause. If he was telling the truth about the Kossiar spy-servants, he’d probably saved her life. Now he claimed to be sent to save Sylah’s, as well.
By whom?
The best liars were the ones who told the biggest lies. “Why do you say the slave revolt starts tonight?”
“All Kos knows the Chair means to repress all hope. The slaves are convinced they must rise while the nomads threaten. They hope the nomads will help them.”
“Will they?”
Helstar’s voice slowed to worried thoughtfulness. “They say the new siah among the nomads owns lightning stronger than the weapons of your friends. They say he is the moon’s own child. He enslaves all. Moondance is his lash, his chains. The slaves ignore that. You cannot make a man who’s drowning at the dark bottom of a well fear the heat and thirst of the sun.”
“Can the nomads overthrow the Chair?”
“Who knows?” There was a pause, a sound that could have been a chuckle. “I’m told you’re a Seer.”
She smiled
in spite of herself. “There are things I’m not allowed to discover.”
Dodoy’s warning hiss was like an icy spray. Helstar and Lanta tensed. The boy scrambled forward from his tiller, catlike, to drop the sail. Instantly, the boat lost way. In the absence of the cloth’s soft drum, the adults heard what had frightened Dodoy. Voices, many of them, mumbling indistinctly. Dodoy flattened himself on the gunwale, scanning toward shore. A moment later he pointed. Lanta and Helstar got as low in the boat as they could.
Four large Kossiar balancebars stood out in silhouette against the starry night. Ghostly pale sails drove them east, plowing white, curling waves. A horse whickered. A rough voice followed. Helstar’s single word was a warning whisper. “Warmen.” The trio drifted until they were sure the vessels were out of hearing. Dodoy hoisted the sail slowly, listening.
They were only underway a short while before Helstar touched Lanta’s wrist. “The wall. There. I join the boy now. Be silent. Whatever happens, remember; the Flower must leave here immediately.”
“You said you’d guide us to safety.”
“I hope so, little one. If I fail you, forgive me. But run first, you understand?”
Cautiously, Helstar and Dodoy eased down the sail. Stroking the sea with muffled oars, they inched into the small channel leading to the entry tunnel.
Lanta was certain the pounding of her heart would bring a challenge.
Dodoy slipped into the water without a splash. Lanta watched him paddle to the iron-barred gate and wriggle through. An eternity later, the gate shuddered, swung up and open. Dodoy returned, clambering aboard. As the boat entered the tunnel, Lanta cowered in the angle of the bow. There was a light burning in a room high above the boat basin. She was sure its beams sought them.
When she looked aft, Helstar was gone.
Dodoy guided the boat into the basin, going to the same ring. He slipped past Lanta to tie it up. That done, he darted away like some small, furtive animal. By the time Lanta was out of the boat, the inner gate was easing into place.
