Web of wind s-2

by J F Rivkin

  Mesthelde interrupted.

  “Didn’t they? But they must have,” said Garast uneasily.

  “We’d have heard about any disappearances from hereabout.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Garast, but he made no attempt to explain.

  “We understand well enough,” said Raphe. “You’re not the first treasure-seeker to come sneaking about here.”

  “The dogs catch them betimes,” ’Deisha put in. “I wonder how many others have fallen into the hands of those slavers, though, and we none the wiser.”

  “They’d only themselves to blame if they did, for not seeking our leave in the first place,” said Mesthelde. “If we’d known they were there, we’d have known they were missing.”

  Raphe frowned. “It must have been you stealing food from my harvesters, scaring folk away from the temple.”

  Garast protested his innocence with some indignation, but Diastor silenced him with a wave of his hand. “We don’t much mind if every fool in the valley wants to waste time looking for that treasure-begging your pardon, my dear Corson-but we do object to prowlers who don’t make themselves known, thief or no.”

  “I-I couldn’t make myself known. I have enemies in these parts.”

  “I daresay,” said Mesthelde, folding her arms.

  “Garast, you really may as well speak the truth,” suggested Nyctasia. “The Edonaris were always friends to the Circle. There’s nothing to fear.”

  The others turned to her in surprise. “The Circle-?”

  “It’s not true, I’m no Cymvelan!”

  “No, of course not. But you were as a child, no? You see, I think I have something that belongs to you,” said Nyctasia, handing him the page of Cymvelan rhymes and riddles.

  23

  the edonaris had no time to spare for treasure-hunting, but Corson, Nyctasia and Garast undertook a thorough search of the underground passageways without delay.

  A few led to empty chambers of stone, others ended abruptly in a solid wall, but there were those which opened into deep caves high in the foothills of the Spine, some of them leagues from Vale, and more than one on Saetarrin land.

  “Most convenient for smuggling people to foreign slave markets,” Diastor observed, when the family was told of this discovery. “The first thing we’ll do when the pressing’s over is have masons seal the entrances on this end. I daresay the Saetarrin will do the same when they’re told of it.”

  “They’ll have to,” said ’Cacia darkly, “but I wonder how much Lady Avareth knows of it already…” From the looks that passed among them, it was clear that they all had been thinking something of the sort.

  “It’s no use asking that,” said the practical Raphe. “You know we can’t afford to make enemies of the Saetarrin. If they’ve been in league with outlaw slavers, we could never prove it. We’ll have to be satisfied with putting a stop to it.”

  “Yes, you’re all to keep your suspicions to yourselves,” said Diastor firmly, but he couldn’t help smiling as he leaned back in his chair, regarding the vaulted ceiling thoughtfully. “Of course, if any of the malefactors are caught, it will be interesting to hear what they have to say of their dealings with our noble neighbors. But till that happens, there’s to be no talk of the matter, is that understood?” He looked pointedly at ’Cacia.

  “Yes, sir,” she sighed.

  “And you three, if you must keep up this treasure-chase of yours, be careful.

  Take care you don’t lose yourselves in a tunnel that leads right to the dungeons of Castle Saetarrin.”

  “And ’ware another thing,” said Raphe seriously. “If any of those tunnels lead beneath the temple, remember how unsound the flooring above you is. The treasure won’t do you much good if you’re buried in a stonefall.”

  It was Mesthelde, as usual, who put in the last word. “Treasure!” she said. “If there ever was a treasure, those slavers would have found it. It’s trouble you’re looking for, not treasure, you mark me.”

  “I hate to admit it, but Lady Mesthelde is probably right,” said Corson, discouraged. The tunnel they were exploring had forked into two branches, and they had taken the left way, only to come up against another dead end. “This is fool’s sport. We may as well fish for hake in a hayloft.”

  They slowly made their way back through the narrow stone corridor and started along the other branch of the tunnel. “Fool’s sport is better than none at all,” said Nyctasia. “I myself have always liked the chase better than the kill. I don’t even believe in this treasure, but hunting for it does pass the time.”

  They were surprised when Garast, who spoke little, suddenly said, “I never believed in the treasure either-none of us did who’d lived here as children.

  Members of the Circle worked hard and lived simply. There were no riches to be seen.”

  “So Rowan told us,” said Nyctasia. “And the Edonaris, who knew them well, say the same.”

  “Then what are you looking for here?” Corson demanded.

  “I don’t know, but there’s something here they want-the ones who survived the attack. Something they were forced to leave behind when they ran away-saved themselves and left the rest to be slaughtered.”

  “I suppose they escaped by means of these tunnels, then.”

  “They must have,” he agreed. “They probably hid down here until

  … until it was over, then sneaked away. My whole family was killed that night. I was the youngest-just a small child-but I remember. Now they mean to come back and claim their own. But it belongs to us-to Rowan and Jocelys and to me-not to those traitors. It’s our birthright!”

  Nyctasia forbore to mention that any treasure found on Edonaris land would in fact belong to the Edonaris. Time enough to deal with the rights of the matter if any treasure really did come to light. She said only. “Rowan wanted no part of it, though.”

  “Rowan’s a coward. I know he thinks I’m crazed to come here, but he told me what he remembered of the riddles, and so did Jocelys, though she fears for her family. I don’t think they’ll refuse to share in the treasure when I find it.”

  “When we find it,” Corson reminded him.

  “If we find it,” said Nyctasia.

  “If we find it,” Corson continued, “I’ll not refuse to share in it either.”

  There was a long silence before Garast said, hesitantly, “I don’t think it’s anything you’ll want, whatever it is, but you’ll want to find it before the Cymvelans do. They mean to use it somehow to avenge themselves on the Valleylanders for destroying the Circle. I learned that much when they first sought me out, and they told Jocelys the same.”

  “With gold enough they could hire an army of mercenaries and lay waste the whole valley,” said Corson. “The land’s ill defended.” She sighed, thinking of other uses she could find for such a sum.

  For Nyctasia, the quest had ceased to be a game. She had lost one home, and was Vale now threatened as well? “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” she asked sharply.

  He stopped and turned to face her. “Ask rather why I tell you now! It’s not from any love of the Valleylanders, I promise you! And the Edonaris-you call them friends of the Circle, but what did they do to help that night while their neighbors murdered the Cymvelans? I’d not raise my hand to save the whole of the valley from sure doom!”

  Corson gripped the hilt of her dagger, ready to use it. There was no room in the tunnel to wield a sword. Rowan was right, she thought, he is mad.

  “Very well, then, why do you warn us now?” Nyctasia asked calmly.

  “Because I need your help to carry out the search. You have the favor of the Edonaris. And time is passing-the last of the Circle are to meet here at the temple on Yu Valeicu. I’ll prevent them from claiming my heritage if I can, and you’ll not abandon the search now either, if you care about the fate of the valley.”

  The Turning, the harvest holiday called Yu Valeicu-the Changes-in this part of the world, was less than a fortnight away. �
��I don’t believe a word of it,” said Corson, before Nyctasia could reply. “You needn’t try to frighten us into keeping on with the hunt. If there’s any treasure to be had here, we’ll find it, and we’ll deal with the Cymvelans when they appear-if they do. They could be kept out of the temple, you know, even if they know a dozen secret entrance-ways. The Edonaris can post guards.”

  “That’s so,” said Nyctasia, glad as ever of Corson’s matter-of-fact view of the matter.

  Even Garast seemed satisfied. “That would suit my purposes. I don’t care why you help me search, so long as you do it. But for your own sake, I suggest we try to find it before Yu Valeicu, all the same.”

  “By all means,” said Corson, “the sooner the better. And we won’t find it by standing about here while our lamps burn low. We’d best go on or go back, before we run out of oil.”

  “I’m going on,” said Garast promptly.

  Nyctasia blew out her tamp to save the oil. “We might as well go on for a way, since we’ve come so far.” They set out again, Nyctasia walking in the middle between the two burning lanterns.

  “It can’t be much farther to the end,” Corson said. “We must be halfway to Osela by now. What’s that-not another blind end-!”

  She groped ahead of her uncertainly. The passageway narrowed to a sharp angle overhead, but the obstruction didn’t seem to be solid stone. She pushed against it and felt it give way slightly. “This is wood!” Handing her lantern to Nyctasia, she set her back against the sloping planks and slowly forced them up and outward. A shaft of bright sunlight startled them all.

  Nyctasia slipped through the narrow opening and pulled at the door from above.

  Garast followed her, and both held it open for Corson. They found themselves in the middle of a stand of pear trees. Garast went to investigate a nearby building.

  When they let the door fall back into place, it seemed to become a part of the gently sloping ground. The boards had been covered with a deep layer of turf, its moss and grass rooted in the very wood.

  “Clever,” said Corson. “Hard to find, but not too hard. And those who find it don’t come back to tell of it.”

  “And their disappearance feeds the rumors that the place is haunted, so most folk stay clear of it.”

  Corson spat. “A tidy profit for the slave-dealers all round. But they won’t find it so easy to smuggle their wares through the valley in future. Blood of the Hlann, I hope they’re caught! I want to see them hang.”

  “Perhaps you will,” said Garast, rejoining them. “Come look at this-someone’s been hiding in the ruins here. Maybe some of them are still lurking around these parts, hoping to recover their gold.” He led them around the corner of a tall stone wall and climbed the white marble steps, now neglected and muddy, littered with leaves. “These were our living-quarters… we were sleeping here that night, when-” He shook his head. “There, you see, someone’s camped here recently.”

  “Why, this is where we sheltered for the night, on our way to Vale,” said Nyctasia. “It looks different by day.”

  Corson looked round with distaste. “I remember that filthy pool well enough. So that’s how those bastards who attacked us got away from me-just vanished down a hole in the ground like the weasels they are. It was too dark for me to find the door.” She examined the remains of the campfire, and frowned. “But you’re right, someone has been here since we were, and not long ago.” What interested her more than this discovery, however, was that she no longer sensed the disquieting presence of magic in the place. Could it really have been a dream, after all?

  She wanted to question Nyctasia, but would not do so before Garast, and said instead, “More likely it’s our harvest-thief hiding here than-”

  Then, as if to resolve the question, someone suddenly broke from the cover of the bushes nearby and darted behind them into the building.

  They gave chase on the instant, but within the roofed entrance-way were corridors leading left and right, and just before them was an open room with another door in its far wall.

  Corson cursed. “We’ll never catch him. Nyc, stay here and guard this doorway.”

  Corson ran down one corridor and Garast the other, looking into each empty room as they passed. Some still held simple wooden pallet-beds, or tables. But the roof and walls were so broken down in places that Corson saw that their quarry could easily have climbed out through a hole and escaped. Discouraged, she slowed to a walk and looked around her carefully, but saw no sign that someone was hiding in any room she passed.

  The corridor finally widened to a hall, cluttered with the remains of long tables and benches. Garast was wandering through the room aimlessly, as if looking for something he’d lost. “We had our lessons here, and meals,” he said.

  “Are there cellars?”

  He pointed to an inner room. “Beneath the kitchen. But I doubt there are any secret passages out of them-they were only used to store potatoes and preserves and such. In here, through the bakery, I’ll show you.”

  Corson peered down the stairs to the dark cellars and considered whether to send Garast back for a lantern while she kept watch. But the very dust on the flagstone floor showed that no one besides themselves had been there for a good while. “It’s no use,” she said. “If he knows of a way out, he’s gone already.

  There are probably dozens of hidden ways in and out of this warren.”

  Garast turned away and pushed wide the back door of the kitchen, which opened onto the large inner yard with the old well at its center. Corson now saw that there were cloistered walkways on three sides of the yard, their tapering arches supported by a colonnade of slender pillars. Where there had once been neatly laid out kitchen gardens and flowerbeds, there was now a wilderness of weeds and greenery run to seed. Nyctasia was kneeling in a tangle of overgrown foliage in the far corner of the yard, gathering sprigs of a few low-growing plants. “These were knot-gardens,” she said delightedly, as they approached. “In all four corners-look, you can still see the designs.”

  The plants had been arranged in a symmetrical swirl of interlaced lines, Corson saw, though the pattern was now partly obscured by new outgrowths and uninvited wildweeds. “Trust the Cymvelans to make a puzzle of something simple,” she said.

  “Oh, this isn’t a Cymvelan notion. It’s traditional to grow certain herbs together in patterns. Some of the designs are hundreds of years old. This one’s called Lace of Ease, because these three herbs all-”

  “Why weren’t you watching the entrance?” Corson demanded, dismissing the lecture in herb-lore.

  “I was-you can see it from here, through the doorway. No one’s gone by, I assure you.”

  Corson shrugged. “Never mind. He’s far away by now, whoever he was. What have you got there, fresh cuttings of poisonous plants for that nasty herbal of yours?”

  “Unfortunately, I left that in Hlasven. But I have an herb here that would be good for you-dumbcane. It causes muteness. A pity the effect is only temporary.”

  Corson grinned. “Have you got one that causes deafness? That’s what I really need when I’m in your company.”

  “Those who will not hear are worse off than those who cannot hear,” said Nyctasia sententiously, turning back to the tangled herb-bed, and pretending not to see the rude hand-sign with which Corson answered her, “It wouldn’t be difficult to restore these gardens,” she mused. “They must have been very well tended once.”

  “They were,” said Garast, “and very pretty they looked, but we children didn’t like them, because we were expected to help weed and water them. I used to carry pails of water from the rain-barrels for these herbs.”

  “Hornwort…?” Nyctasia muttered to herself, frowning at a curled, yellow leaf.

  “Why?” Corson asked Garast.

  “Why-?” he echoed.

  “Why did you fetch water from the rain-barrels instead of drawing it from the well there?”

  Garast looked startled. “I don’t know… I don’t remember t
hat we ever used that well…” he said slowly.

  Nyctasia looked up, then got to her feet. The three of them all started to speak at once, and stopped. Then, without another word, they dashed to the well and stared down over the edge.

  They could see nothing but the silhouettes of their own heads and shoulders darkly reflected below, and the well-rope hanging down the middle of the shaft.

  Corson grabbed it and pulled it up easily. There was no bucket at the end, but large knots had been tied in the heavy rope at regular intervals, to serve as footholds.

  “This rope’s new,” she said.

  “Why isn’t it wet?” puzzled Nyctasia.

  “We’ll soon find out,” said Garast, and started to climb over the side, but the others persuaded him to wait till they’d lowered a lantern into the well to judge its depth.

  It struck bottom far sooner than they’d expected, and with an abrupt clatter instead of a splash. “It struck sparks!” exclaimed Nyctasia. “It must have hit stone.” In the faint glow of the overturned lantern, they could see that it rested on a flat, unyielding surface that was dark and highly polished. “Black marble?” she suggested. “Do they mine marble this side of the Spine?”

  No one answered her. Corson and Garast were both straining to see into a large, dark shadow on one side of the shaft. “That must be the opening,” breathed Garast. “You two stay here and discuss it if you like-I’m going down there.”

  They watched him drop to his feet on the smooth, dark flooring, take up the lantern, and disappear into the arched opening in the wall. Corson climbed down at once, and Nyctasia lowered the other two lanterns to her before following.

  The knots of rope were too widely spaced for her to reach easily, and she had to inch her way down slowly and cautiously.

  “Hurry up, can’t you!” Corson said sharply. She felt buried alive in the narrow ring of stones that pressed in on her from all sides. Her heart pounded in panic, and her throat clenched like a fist at each breath, but she set Nyctasia on her feet before she hastened through the open archway into the stone corridor beyond.