The vision faded out of the flames. Juilene found herself gasping and shaking. Cariad still slept and the horses grazed and the fire only burned tamely within the stone circle Cariad had built. Juilene pinched herself. It was a dream, nothing real. She had nodded off to sleep for the moment, and it was nothing, just some play of her imagination. But even as she tried to deny it, her brain recognized the truth of what she had seen. They were searching for them both, Rihana and Diago, and somehow, Cariad had made a terrible mistake by taking the things to give her from Diago.
She shook her head at Cariad’s sleeping body. He was as fallible as Arimond, as likely to make mistakes as Arimond. But would he listen to her, as Arimond would not? She closed her eyes and prayed that Cariad would not be as intractable. She fed the fire and stared at the sky. The stars shone peaceful and serene. She whispered another prayer to the goddess to keep them both safe, and looked down into Cariad’s eyes.
“What’s wrong,” he whispered.
“I saw Diago,” she said, even as she wondered how he knew anything had happened.
A question flickered over his face, but he didn’t move. “Where?”
“In the fire. I wasn’t dreaming.”
He sat up with a stretch and a sigh. “I didn’t say you were.”
“He—he said he would find us again—that there was no escape. He said that the things you took and gave to me made a trail of some sort that allowed him to find us. That he can use it again…” Her voice trailed off.
“Damn me for an idiot.” Cariad slammed a fist against the ground. “I should have thought of that. Forgive me, Juilene. I’ve led us into danger—” He broke off and stared at her, as though seeing her for the first time.
“What is it?” she asked.
He gave her a sad smile. “You’ll think I’m mad if I tell you.”
She made a little gesture.
“I was thinking how beautiful your hair looks in the firelight.” He looked sheepish and she couldn’t control a giggle, in spite of the desperation of their circumstances.
“You mean, we sit here… in the middle of the night, in what must be the most dangerous place in all of the League, a powerful thurge is after us, and all you can think of, is my hair?”
He shrugged. “It was just a thought.” Their eyes met across the fire and she smiled at him in spite of the situation.
“Do you have any others? Any that might get us out of this predicament?”
He shook his head. “Not at the moment, lady. Lie down and sleep. The dawn is still a fair ways off, and you need the rest. I’ll keep the watch the rest of the night and try to think of some way to throw Diago off our track. Though to tell you the truth, discarding everything and going the rest of the way stark naked is the only thing that occurs to me at the moment.”
“It’s a little cold for that,” she said as she settled herself in her cloak.
“Well,” he said, with the same boyish look, “it was just another thought.”
Chapter Thirteen
The day dawned grey and overcast. Juilene shivered as they packed and made their way across the winding track, which led higher and higher into the rocky hills. Huge boulders rose on either side, striated with black and silver granite, and a few spindly pines hung by bare roots to the rocks. Once again, Juilene found herself wondering what kind of place the wilderness was. It was a wild place, untamed and raw, and the terrain seemed to change quickly and abruptly. The wind whined around the rocks, an eerie sound like a low mourning howl, and she glanced all around. She fingered the dagger she wore in her belt. It didn’t seem like much protection, and here, between the high walls of rock, seemed like a perfect place for an ambush.
As if he heard the echo of her thoughts, Cariad paused where the trail widened momentarily and handed her another dagger. “Here,” he said. “Take this. I don’t like the looks of this path—
“Is there another?” Juilene glanced over her shoulder.
“Not that I know of,” he said. “And I’ve no wish to go exploring here, either.” He turned and urged his horse on once again.
Juilene followed as closely as she could. The rocks leaned at crazy angles, some were squared, others lay in crumbled heaps. Building blocks, she thought, and with a chill, she realized that that was exactly what these boulders were.
“Cariad,” she said, just loud enough for him to turn and glance over his shoulder, “what is this place?”
“The wilderness,” he said.
“But—these rocks—these aren’t ordinary boulders—”
“Yes,” he said, “I know. I think this is the seventh city of the League—the lost city.”
A chill went down her back at the name. “Shinqua’Lir?” she whispered. “This is Shinqua’Lir?”
“No one knows for sure,” he said. “But it would explain why the wilderness is such a blasted place.”
She peered around with morbid fascination. The lost city of Shinqua’Lir was only another legend, told to her by the nursery maids, scoffed at by her parents and Neri. It seemed that so much that her parents told her had been, perhaps not wrong, but at least not right, and that the legends that the nursemaids scared her with as a child were more real than what her parents would have her believe reality was. What sort of a world was this? Why had her parents not told her the truth?
She followed Cariad, lost in her own thoughts. All around her the ruins of a city so old its history had faded into the mists of time lay beneath the shrouded sky. Some even doubted its existence. But the legends said that once, Shinqua’Lir had been the most beautiful city in all of the Sylyrian League—more beautiful and grand than Sylyria itself. And if that was true, could it be true that the grimmen were the remnants of the people who had once lived in that city?
So lost was she in her thoughts, she was scarcely aware that Cariad had reined his horse and was holding up his hand, listening intently. His face was fixed and grim.
“Cariad?” she whispered.
Before he had a chance to answer, she heard it, too. It was borne by the wind, a curious, low, snuffling sound, as though something was breathing, very near and very hard. And a stench was borne on the wind, so that she gagged and reached for her dagger, even as Cariad dug his heels hard into his horse’s sides and cried out, “Ride!”
She dug her heels into the animal’s sides and urged the little mare on, and their hoofbeats rang eerily against the rocks and stones, and down the streets of the lost city. She saw movement in the rocks and on the stones, and out of her peripheral vision, she saw squat, roughly human shapes emerge from behind the rocks, clad in rags and armed with rude weapons.
There were hundreds of the things, and Juilene knew that if they were caught, there would be no chance of escape. The things surged over the rocks and onto the track like a living tide. She crouched low on the saddle and urged the horse on. The little animal needed no urging. She had the stench of blood in her nostrils, and her ears were flat against her head as the little mare galloped for her life and Juilene’s. The track was full of the things, and more were scrambling up and over and leaping down into the track. Cariad had his sword out, and slashed viciously at the grimmen who reached for them.
She bit down hard on her lips and prayed that the horses wouldn’t trip or fall or slip on the rough track. Finally they seemed to have outrun the things. Their legs were clumsy and badly bowed and Juilene realized that that made it hard for the grimmen to pursue their prey.
Finally Cariad reined in his stallion. The little mare was heaving hard, but her nostrils were no longer distended, and she whickered and flung her head as Juilene tugged her to a stop. He looked back the way they had come. “I think we’ve lost them.”
“Are you sure?” Juilene asked. She had no wish to encounter those creatures again.
He held up a hand, and except for the heavy breathing of the horses, there was silence. Juilene heard nothing but the moaning of the wind through the rocks. “Yes,” he said at last. “I am. Let’s walk fo
r a while—give the horses a chance to rest.”
Juilene slid off the mare’s back. As her feet touched the ground, she once more felt horribly vulnerable. How could she and Cariad hope to survive if those things attacked them while they were on the ground? But Cariad was already guiding his stallion down the track, and so Juilene hastened after.
The wind blew harder and the shadows up ahead seemed to move of their own accord. So many things seemed to threaten. At every noise, Juilene jumped and turned over her shoulder. A fat drop of rain stung her cheek, and she gasped and clapped a hand against her face. The mare shied and whinnied.
Cariad turned. “Are you all right?”
She managed a weak smile. “Yes. Forgive me. This place disturbs me so—it would seem there’s something hiding under every rock.”
“Just stay close.” He turned away and Juilene glanced down at her ring. In the dull light, it glowed a bright and fiery blue. She cast a quick glance around. Could there be more of those things?
“Cariad?” she whispered
He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Yes?” There was the barest edge of impatience in his voice.
“My—my ring.” She held her hand up and the sapphire blazed in the gloom. “There’s danger—”
He opened his mouth and might have said something when a low snuffle came clearly to their ears. Cariad froze, and the blood turned to ice in Juilene’s veins. He beckoned noiselessly. They turned down a street at right angles, and he peered right and left. He made a vertical motion and a jerky nod and Juilene understood they were to remount the horses. She swung up into her saddle, and at that moment, ten or twelve grimmen attacked.
The grimmen rushed forward with their crazy, staggering gait, and the horses screamed and reared. Cariad, half in the saddle, was thrown to the ground, and Juilene clung to her seat with all her might. The stench of old blood and sweat and worse reached her nostrils and she gagged. She glimpsed their red, beady eyes, the blaze of the tusks, the yellow teeth dripping with greenish spittle.
“Run!” cried Cariad. “Save yourself and the harp.” He drew his sword and backed against the wall as Juilene fought for control of her animal. The things paused long enough to consider rushing Cariad and then Juilene, peering at them expectantly, and in that instant, Cariad swung his sword in a broad arc, and Juilene picked her small dagger from her boot and flung it as hard as she could into the back of the closest grimmen. It fell, howling, and one head rolled onto the ground. The others backed away as Cariad once again swung his broadsword. Juilene slashed at one that reached for her. It fell back, blood spurting from its hairy club-fingered hand.
Cariad’s stallion reared and screamed a challenge of its own, knocking two of them down with a blow from its deadly hooves, and Cariad with another double-handed blow lopped an arm off yet another one, and sent a fifth toppling to the ground, blood spurting from his head.
Cariad grabbed at the reins of the stallion, and swung into the saddle. “Now,” he cried, “ride!”
A jagged fork of lightning split the dark sky, and the thunder cracked so loudly the mare leaped forward. Juilene gripped the reins so hard, she thought her hands must bleed. They galloped over the rough and winding track as the rain pelted harder and the wind howled through the rocks.
The horses tossed their heads and snorted, and Cariad turned to Juilene. “We’ve got to look for shelter.”
She pulled her cloak over her head and nodded. The horses kept their heads down, and slowly, as the rain fell and slashed at their faces, they made their way up the winding mountain trail. The rocks ended and the trail once more opened up, into a wide track bordered on both sides by scrubby, stunted pines that offered no shelter. Once out of the rocks, the wind howled with renewed vigor.
“Up there—” Cariad cried over the wind. “Come on—we’ll try to make the other side of the hill.” He turned back, and Juilene saw the blood on his face. The wind slashed the water against their faces in driving sheets. Gasping, Juilene clung to the reins with one hand, while she held her cloak bunched around her face. The water streamed in rivulets down her face, soaking her to the skin, seeping into the collar of her tunic. She was wet to the bone, and she was cold, and the horse slipped and slid in the downpour. “Cariad,” she screamed over the howl of the wind, “we can’t go on much more.”
He turned back and his face was white and stark against the dark cloak. “Up ahead—up here—it looks like a hollow in the rocks.” His voice echoed eerily in the wind, and Juilene shivered. What if more of those things were hiding? A gust of wind and a wash of rain ended all thoughts about that.
Stumbling and sliding, the horse followed Cariad into the shelter. Juilene slid off the saddle, and stood for a moment as water trickled down her back and dripped from her clothes. Everything she wore was soaked, the mare streamed with water. Puddles formed quickly at their feet. She saw that this was no mere outcropping in the stone. It was a cave, and the back of it was lost in the blackness. She wondered if anything else was there.
Cariad was peering into the dark with a frown. She peered over his shoulder, trying to see into the darkness. Nothing moved or stirred, and finally Cariad turned back with a shrug. “I think it’s all right. It looks like a fine place for a nest of dwarf dragons, but I don’t see any signs of them at all.” He heaved a deep sigh, and glanced once more over his shoulder. “I don’t like how far back that cave seems to go—goddess only knows what might be hiding back there. But we’ll build a fire—that ought to keep most creatures at bay, at least until we can escape.” He nodded toward her hand. “What about that ring of yours?”
Juilene glanced at her hand. The sapphire was dark. “Nothing. At least not now.”
“Good. Then let’s build a fire and wait out this storm. We can’t go any farther in weather like this.”
“But with what?” asked Juilene. The floor of the cave was smooth sand. “What will we build a fire with?”
Cariad spread his hands and looked annoyed. He looked around. “With—with that.” He pointed to a low pile of firewood, neatly cut into uniform logs nearly hidden in the shadows.
Juilene swallowed hard. “How did that get here?”
He shrugged once more. “Who knows? Some traveler passing through, perhaps, didn’t stay as long as he thought he would. Come, let’s not waste time.”
The fire cast eerie shadows on the ceiling and the rocky walls of the cavern. Juilene slowly straightened. Her clothes stuck to her wet body, and she shivered.
“Here.” Cariad held out a blanket. “Take your wet things off and lay them out on the rocks to dry. You’ll be more comfortable.”
Juilene blushed, then hesitated. She drew a deep breath, thinking that she ought to say something, protest in some way, but the thought of shedding her wet clothing was more tempting than she could bear. She took the blanket Cariad offered and retreated to the darkness deeper in the cave. Cariad was hunkered down before the fire, his back turned to her. She bit her lip. What would Neri say, if she knew? A gust of air blew through the cave, whipping the fire higher and slicing through Juilene’s wet clothes like a knife. What difference would it make, now, Juilene decided. Her fingers shook as she unlaced the tunic and breeches and peeled her wet underclothes off her damp skin. Quickly she wrapped the blanket around her body. She tucked the end securely into the folds of the fabric, and carefully spread her clothing out on the rocks.
She sidled past Cariad, and slumped down on the soft sand beside the fire. It was very clean, she noticed, no twigs or leaves or other debris. It was as if the cavern had been kept clean for a purpose. She glanced down at her ring. The sapphire was still dark, the flames dull in its surface. She twisted the ring thoughtfully on her finger.
Cariad got to his feet and retreated to the back to the cave. Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked at him as he stripped off his tunic and shirt. He was slim, just as she had thought, but his skin was crisscrossed with scars, and muscle curved over his shoulders and upper arms. His
back was to her, and she couldn’t see his chest. He bent, slipping out of his breeches, and she blushed, unable to turn away, at the sight of his tight rump. His thighs were covered with a fine coat of dark hair. She turned to look at the fire as he gathered his things, hoping he would attribute the rosy flush on her cheeks to the heat of the fire.
She barely raised her eyes to his when he joined her at the fire, the blanket wrapped tightly around his waist. He held another blanket in his hands. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her, “use this around your shoulders. It’s still chilly in here.”
As he leaned over her, she saw the flesh of his shoulders was prickled with gooseflesh. He was just as cold as she. “We can both use it.”
He raised on eyebrow, but shook the blanket out. Bits of straw flew in all directions. He squatted down beside her, one end tucked around his shoulders, and held the other out to her.
She snuggled into the dusty folds. The blanket was a little damp, and it smelled strongly of horses. But it was drier than anything she had been wearing. She was acutely conscious of his presence. The fire leaped up and a log split in a shower of sparks. She pulled the corner tighter over her shoulders and dared a peek at him.
He was staring into the fire, his chin on his knees. Wrapped in the blankets, he looked far more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. The ugly ridges of scar tissue marred the smoothness of his skin, and suddenly she remembered what he had told her about people tortured by magic. Could he have been one of them?
“Cariad?” She spoke his name softly, barely louder than the flicker of the fire.
“My lady?” He did not take his eyes off the burning logs.
“What—what sort of country do you come from? Is—is it very far?”
A shadow crossed his face and instantly she regretted her questions. “Well,” he answered finally, which surprised her. “That depends on how you look at it.”
The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden Page 23
