Shadowtrap: A Black Foxes Adventure
Page 15
Arik looked down at the elder. “And this is the Blue Lady we seek?”
“White Lady, Blue Lady, it’s all the same.”
Arik leaned forward in his saddle. “Thank you, sir. Is there anything we can do for you in exchange?”
The elder squinted an eye at the weed in his unlit pipe, then said, “No, son, I don’t think so. Glad to serve. Glad to serve.” He looked up at Arik. “Mind you now, stick to this side, and close to the wall, now, ’cause everywhere else’s too deep. And you be careful, you hear, ’cause things at times ain’t what they seem, I always say, though who would ever listen to an old man like me, eh?”
Arik saluted the old man. “Good advice, sir, and I’ll pass your warning on to my comrades.” With that, Arik wheeled his mount and galloped to the others waiting on the road.
And as the flaxen-haired warrior spurred away, ploonk! the old man’s bobber jerked from sight as something took the bait—hook, line, and sinker—and he leaned forward and peered at the rippling ringlets left behind, then he cast a sidelong glance at the departing Black Foxes and smiled.
After a meal in Bend, the Foxes continued riding southward along the west bank of the lazy Gleen, the river wide and green and deep. Arik seemed lost in thought, and when Lyssa asked him about it, he said, “Oh I was just reminiscing.” He canted his head sideways and upstream. “That old man back there, he reminded me of Armsmaster Orlan, who taught me blade and bow and axe and hammer and pole and whatever else he could.”
“My teacher favored the spear,” said Kane, touching the scabbarded haft alongside his leg. “Taught me that it was one of the great weapons, a weapon of finesse. Most folks don’t know all it can do: missile, slashing, puncturing, quarterstaff, it’ll do all.”
Ky grinned up at the big man riding at her side. “It’s got a great long reach, too.” She touched her main gauche. “But let me get inside, and I’ll carve you up.”
Kane laughed. “Listen, pip-squeak, could you get inside, you just might do that . . . presuming, of course, that I did not smash you sideways with the haft once you got past the point.”
“Lord, lord”—Rith shook her head—”same old argument. One of these days you’ll have to pad your weapons and give it a go. Settle it once and for all.”
“Oh, we’ve already tried that,” said Ky. “Best two out of three.”
Arton’s eyebrows flew up. “And . . . ? I mean, Ky, don’t leave us in suspense. What happened?”
Ky laughed and rubbed her head. “Well, in the first go-round, when I came to, he was on his knees in the sawdust beside me, chafing my hand.”
Kane hung his head. “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard, mouse.”
“That’s it?” Arton glanced from Ky to Kane and back.
“Oh no,” answered Ky. “In the second go-round, I gutted him.”
Kane nodded. “She’s damn quick.”
Arton sighed. “I know. She’s almost as quick as was I at the same age.” He paused in reflection, then said, “I think, Kane, that had I met you in my prime, you would not have laid me by the heels.”
Kane merely grinned. “We’ll never know, Arton. We’ll never know.”
Ky smiled and cast a sidelong glance at Kane. “Someday, though, you and I will have to finish our contest, go ’round the third time, break the tie.”
Arton snorted. “You mean you still don’t know? You didn’t—you haven’t settled it?”
Kane laughed aloud. “Nah. You see, about the time we got ready to start the third round, some skinny drunk jumped in to help Ky or me—we never did find out whose side he was on—and that started the whole tavern a-brawling. We got out just before the town warders came and arrested everyone there.
“Of course, Ky kept her head and scooped up all the side bets as we fled. We had to get out of town quickly, before those arrested posted bail and came looking for us. If there’s anything I hate to face, it’s an angry mob of would-be winners.”
Arton barked a laugh, and grinning, asked, “When was this, and where?”
Ky said, “Back when we were campaigning in the Gallian Tors. You see, Kane and I were at some tavern along the road when we got into our usual argument, and side bets were made. At first the odds were heavily against me. And when I lost, well, they got much worse. And when I won, they said it was a fluke, and the odds got even more outlandish. I placed several side bets and they were well covered. But then the drunk had to butt in.”
“Good thing,” growled Kane, “otherwise we’d’ve left town dead broke.”
Ky flared. “You big pig, you presume I would have lost. But I think not. And so when I scooped up the side bets, I was merely taking what was rightfully mine.”
“Nah, we would have left town broke.”
“Rich.”
Kane rolled his eyes and turned his palms up. “As you can see, Arton, we’ve never really settled the score.” Kane rubbed his stomach and winced in painful memory. “As for me, I’d just as soon let that sleeping dog lie.”
Ky sighed. “I suppose you are right. But you know, I might be in favor of it if we could manage another barroom brawl and cash in on the distraction. Your kind of money, Arton. Your kind of money.”
Arton’s cackling laughter rang out across the River Gleen.
The Foxes rode in silent good humor for another moment or two, and at last Arik said, “Orlan would have agreed with you, Kane, about the spear being one of the great weapons. In general he valued it above all but the sword. Even so, he said that there are times when the axe is the finest. At other times, the mace. And so he would go down through all weaponry, naming circumstances when each one is best to use.”
Lyssa looked at Arik. “And that old, feeble man reminded you of your armsmaster?”
“Don’t be fooled by appearance, love,” replied Arik. “It was his knowledge I sought, and he gave me much.”
“No, no,” protested Lyssa. “That’s not what I meant. Instead I was pondering myself over someone who reminded me of another. Veyar. It seems as if I’ve not only seen him before, but knew him by that name, too. Yet damned if I can remember where it was. He is just a child, and so it could not have been more than a year past, and yet . . .”
Kane glanced toward her. “I thought the same about his sister. —Ah, faugh, it’s merely coincidence. Children are all alike anyway.” But even as he said it, Kane knew it was not true.
The land began to rise about them as they fared southward; the farther they rode, the higher the ’scape to left and right. The river itself now flowed through a clasping vale. Ahead they could see the walls of the valley moving in and up, and as they rounded a bend, stone bluffs on either side greeted their sight.
Into the resulting canyon they passed, the river trapped in the gorge, waters flowing around and over great rocks here and there. Yet in stream center the river ran calm and deep, and this was the channel that the rafters and bargemen and boatmen plied.
South the Foxes rode, and south some more, the walls rising steeply to either side, slowly pinching inward, cutting down the embankment until all loam disappeared and they rode along a strip of ovoid rocks. Here they dismounted to lead the horses and followed along this way. In single file they clattered, Lyssa in the lead, Arton bringing up the rear, his horse and stolid pack mule following. The other two pack mules trailed on tethers after Kane and Arik’s steeds. Inexorably the strip of rounded rocks pinched inward, too, until at last there was no shoreline left . . . on this side of the river or that.
Now the Foxes waded in the chill water of the Gleen, walking close to the steep stone, the sheer yellowish ramparts above rising upward a thousand feet or more. Dark shadow filled the depths of the narrows, here but some sixty feet wide, and a ribbon of sky slashed high overhead. Yet it was daylight and so they had no trouble seeing their way. Waist-deep on Kane, and up to tiny Ky’s armpits, the gurgling water came to the bellies of the steeds. Yellowish sand could be seen down through the shadows trapped in the green crystal flow. The bott
om itself shelved outward some five or six feet, then plunged down into darkness, and so the Foxes hugged the perpendicular wall.
Ky peered into the darkness and muttered something under her breath, then ducked her face into the water. She came up sputtering and blowing, and then said, “My, my. Even with my darksight, I cannot see the bottom. It looks as if the river has turned on its side to flow through here.”
“Probably so, Ky,” responded Rith. “The water does not run swift, and so it must run very deep.”
At last the canyon began to widen, and slowly a rock-laden shoreline appeared, expanding until they could fare along its ’spanse, iron-shod hooves aclatter. Dirt reappeared, and soon they were striding on loamy banks again, much to the relief of all concerned, for round rocks and horses are a dangerous combination.
Evening was drawing near, and although a band of light from the setting sun shone high on the eastern rampart, the shadows down within the gorge cast a darkness over all. “I hope we come to the Blue Lady soon,” said Ky. “I am all squishy and chill, and need to get out of these leathers where there’s a blazing fire to warm me.”
“So do we all,” said Arik. “I say we mount up and ride at a good pace. According to the old man, she can only be another mile or so ahead.”
They cantered the horses for three quarters of a mile before spotting a great archway along the stone of the opposite bluff, a vast hollow carved out of the canyon wall. A thicket of silver birch grew along the shore and partway into the recess. Another quarter of a mile and they reined to a halt opposite the grove and dismounted and led their steeds down to the river’s edge On the opposite shore the trees blocked the ground-level view into the great concavity.
The river ran between them and their goal.
“Do we swim or what?” asked Arton, peering across.
“I don’t see why not,” said Ky. “We’re already wet.”
“Some of us more than others,” rumbled Kane, grinning down at the syldari.
“The current does not seem swift,” said Arik, mounting his horse. “I gauge the animals can swim it, but let Redlegs and me test it first.”
Without comment, Lyssa turned to her steed and lifted a coil of rope from the hook on the left of the rear cantle and loosened the binding thong, making it ready should it be needed.
Into the river rode Arik, fording outward. Some third of the way across, the horse floated free, and Arik slid from the saddle and into the water, holding onto Redlegs’ mane and urging the steed onward.
Lyssa walked along the near shoreline, her own horse trailing behind as she kept pace with Arik and Redlegs slowly floating downstream.
Two thirds of the way across, Redlegs found footing, and at Arik’s command, waited while the warrior remounted. Then they surged up and out of the river and gained the far shore.
Signaling silently
Long moments passed, and Kane began fidgeting, as did Ky and Arton and Lyssa, the ranger once again at their side. Only Rith seemed calm, all but the fingers of her right hand drumming upon her saddle. Finally Kane turned to the others. “I think—” he began, but did not finish his sentence, for at that very moment, Arik strode into view and the Foxes exhaled a collective sigh of pent-up breath.
“Come on over,” called Arik. “We are welcomed.”
They checked the oiled canvas wrapping each mule’s cargo, making certain that it would hold the water at bay for the duration of the short crossing. Then Arton went first, a tethered mule after, while Ky used the tip of her rope as a light whip to drive the protesting pack animal from behind so that it wouldn’t drag back on the horse and founder the animal. When both were afloat and swimming for the far shore, Ky returned and snapped the rope against the rump of the mule trailing Rith, but this time the syldari continued onward, she and her horse swimming after the bard. Finally, Lyssa drove the pack animal trailing Kane into the water, and when they were safely swimming, she, too, followed.
All easily made it to the far shore.
As they rode into the great hollow in the wall and dismounted, they were greeted by a middle-aged, fat black lady dressed in a white, hooded robe, with white gloves on her hands. She was darker than Rith—so black that even in shadow her skin seemed to bear a blue tinge.
She gave them a wide smile and cast back her hood. Her head was shaved bald.
“Welcome, Black Foxes, to my humble abode,” she said, her voice rich with hospitality. She turned and gestured into the depth of the recess. And there in the gathering darkness they could see stone ruins clutched against the far wall.
After the animals had been seen to, the Foxes walked to the ruins, to the remains of one of the stone buildings, low tumbled-down walls on three sides, where the Blue Lady awaited them next to a great pile of wood and a built-up fire. A large kettle of freshly made stew bubbled on a cook-iron above the flames. And as they shed their clothes and dried themselves with the towels she provided, “I gather the driftwood for times like these,” she said, “though I myself seldom need a big blaze, living alone as I do.”
They took seats around the fire ring, wrapped in their bedroll blankets, their leathers and undergarments strung here and there on jury-rigged ropes for drying.
“Here, this will help warm you,” said the Blue Lady as she handed Rith a steaming cup filled to the brim with a pale yellow liquid, the aroma of spices redolent on the air. “It is made with the juice of a tart citreous fruit of a tree not found in these parts. The rivermen bring them to me from the South.”
“Ah, yes,” replied Rith. “We used them when we crossed the seas, did Alar and I. He said it would keep the sailor’s blight away. And though you name them tart, I would say they are quite sour-bitter instead.” Rith took a sip, then smiled. “Ah, this is anything but.”
Kane looked into the cup the Blue Lady passed to him. “Er, have you any honey?”
Ky kicked the big man. “Shut up. Drink up.”
Cautiously, Kane took a sip. A look of delight crossed his face, and he gulped it all down and held out his cup for more. The Blue Lady smiled and replenished it, as well as all the others.
As they sat sipping the bracing drink, by the flickering firelight they could see ancient line drawings on the arching stone wall of the cavernous hollow, drawings which once were tinted with pigments of varying hues, hues now faded nearly beyond recall. Around the perimeter of the arch the pictures spread as far as the eye could see, drawings of animals with antlers and hooves, drawings of great-toothed tigers and mighty tusked boars and huge fanged wolves and great clawed bears, drawings of fish and snakes and lizards, and sketches of fearsome beasts none there could name. And high up, faintly seen, only because it was pointed out by the Blue Lady, there was one lone drawing of a fox. And the wavering flames of the fire and fluttering shadows on the wall made the ancient paintings seem to move and shift and pace, as if caged by the very stone that held them.
Ky, in particular, was fascinated by the drawings and stood and walked to the wall, where she spent some time feeling the stone and tracing the outline of the animals with her fingers. “Ho, here are some small figures of men,” she called, “and look at this great rough beast. Part giant bear, part, um, huge cat, with claws like sabers and fangs like long curved spikes. And see, the men run away, fleeing in terror.” Ky turned to the Blue Lady. “What is this animal? It looks quite formidable, twice, three times larger than the men who flee.”
“From another age,” the Blue Lady called back, and swept wide a hand, “the paintings and buildings, all.” She sighed. “Long gone, long forgotten.”
Arton looked up from the fire. “It is said that there are drawings in a cave in Lothen, to the west. Ancient paintings of ancient creatures. Much like these, I would imagine.”
“Perhaps,” said the Blue Lady as she refilled Kane’s cup. “At the moment, I don�
��t know.”
Ky, finished her firelit examination and returned to the others, and held out her cup for a refill.
The Blue Lady obliged her, then set the pot on a stone next to the blaze and turned to the Foxes. “And what exactly brings all of you to these parts, eh? To see me, I gather, from what Arik said.”
All eyes swung to Arik and he cleared his throat. “Lady, we are told that you may know where lives a mage we seek.”
The Blue Lady tilted her head, but said nothing.
“Pon Barius is his name,” added Arik.
The Blue Lady smiled, but her eyes showed no spark of recognition, as if she had no knowledge at all of the name. “After we eat, then we shall see if I know aught of this Pon Barius, whoever he may be.”
“Bu-but,” protested Ky. “He’s the great mage of the demonwars—”
The Blue Lady held out a hand to stop Ky’s words. “Oh, child, it does no good to tell me this. You see, although I know many things—some say everything—I don’t know the unknown that I know; the knowledge is hidden from me.”
Kane leaned forward, concern on his face. “Are you well, Lady?”
The Blue Lady laughed. “Oh, yes. I am well. And I have suffered neither great shock nor something appalling nor anything of that sort. You see, my memory is quite good, and my learning adequate. But as to my knowledge concerning things unknown to me, well, it is quite remarkable.”
A puzzled look washed over Kane’s visage, and he shook his head and said, “You speak in riddles, Lady, and I will not press you. However, if you have suffered injury, a blow to the head or other such, perhaps I can be of service.”
The Blue Lady laughed. “Oh no, Kane Healer. I don’t need your services. You see, I have always been this way. I can indeed answer questions of import; but as to those of triviality . . . well, let us just say that I live isolated here so that not too many come my way.”
Rith sipped her drink then said, “Lady, if you accurately answer questions without consciously having the knowledge to do so, then I deem you must be an oracle.”